#this is a LONG POST and it's very scattered lmao

[ratcandy]

Big Huge Irritated Rant About The Latest COTL Update's Story Choices and the Implications

So the lore drop in the new Cult of the Lamb update, Unholy Alliance, pisses me off. The writer's confirmation of what that lore drop means pisses me off more.

Why? Because it's unnecessary recontextualization that was made pretty obviously in favor in one character in particular, and somehow in that process makes that very same character way less interesting. I think it's incredibly detrimental to the story and I will Explain Why in a second.

But before I do, I just want to put this out there: Prior to this update, my opinions on the Bishops and Narinder and that entire plotline were pretty neutral. I'm an NPC enjoyer, I spend my time thinking about that moth with two lines of dialogue. I did not previously have strong opinions on Narinder or Shamura outside of mild dislike for fandom treatment. So I'm not coming from a place of bias here (or at the very least I'm not trying to be). I genuinely, wholeheartedly, 100% believe this writing decision was unnecessary and the Wrong one to make, and I think it severely undercuts the original plotline because this was a retcon and one that sucks pretty bad.

Ok we're on the same page here? Ok awesome. Long rant ahead, and obvs spoilers for the Unholy Alliance update

So first, what the hell am I talking about? What part of the update do I not like? Let's clarify that first.

It's Shamura's dialogue. Like, all of it. For ease of understanding, here is all the dialogue I will be talking about:

"Ah... we gathered here, the four of us, a council of war and I the general. I have not forgot. I did not tell them that chains to bind a God must be forged of Godly matters. What matter of Gods? What matters of Gods? I have not forgot. The betrayal of kin, the breaking of spirits, blood spilled, his and ours. ...the sacrifice of what we had sacrificed so much for... ...shaped into shackles for our own brother. And our wounds always to weep. Such sharp claws..."

--

"He sought to break nature's own laws. Death was his, yet he placed his sacred duty in peril. His experiments... Experiments I encouraged. I am not... blameless. My soul, stained... yet I do not... Ah, The story. Yes the story... He wanted to open the doors between Life and Death, to... to allow their return. Those mere... mortals. Even though he knew their sacrifices, their faith, their fears sustain us. Death must be the end. Otherwise, what use would they have for Gods? They began to flock to him. What he promised, we could not match. He swelled with devotion... while we waned. Would he have let us perish? I could not take... the risk... the hunger... You are lucky there are none left to force such a choice on you. Hail, Lamb. Last God... lonely God... Ah... I feel... unburdened..."

And for fun, before anyone tells me I'm misinterpreting any of this or that it's left up to interpretation or is intentionally vague, Word of God (the writer of CoTL):

And it's this being Word of God that's spurred me into making this post to begin with. Because prior to this, I just seethed about this dialogue's implications in my server and hoped I was wrong. But now it's been confirmed what this means, and I'm . Disgruntled, to say the least!

And since I've started writing this post, there's been another addition made to further clarify parts of this. But I'm going to go over that addition more towards the end, because it also irritates me for separate reasons.

So, let's get this straight.

Prior to this update, the specifics of what happens between Narinder and the Bishops were pretty vague. We were told Narinder was "gluttonous in his ambition," per Shamura's previous dialogue, and that they "introduced him to ideas of change" but "Death cannot flow backward." Heket somewhat elaborates on this by saying he preached "heresy" and "noxious ideals" that would not be tolerated. Heket also notably refers to Narinder as a flat-out "monster." Narinder attacked his siblings and left them each with a big, symbolic wound. Then he was chained by the four of them, with Shamura the one to lead it (in their own words).

There's a lot of talk of betrayal, but before this update, it was unclear if the betrayal was meant to just be Narinder's experimenting with death (which even then was pretty heavily suggested to be resurrections) or the wounds inflicted upon his siblings. There's also a lot of talk of sacrifice, i.e. from Leshy if you kill Heket before him: "After everything we did. After everything we sacrificed. He will not be satiated."

Regardless, the picture this painted was of Narinder being this ambitious, evil, violent God that even his fellow Gods (Kallamar) feared and felt needed controlling. The idea that the wounds could have been in the nail in the coffin to this entire ordeal made sense; as they were obviously planned by Narinder to some extent (otherwise why be so intentional about who got what wound?) and a fair reaction to Being Mutilated would of course be to chain him.

Then of course there's the idea that the wounds were given while he was being chained and in self-defense, which only seems possible if you think Narinder could take on all four of his siblings at once like that and only manage to lose his claws in the ordeal (which was only revealed in this update to be something he's implied to have lost thru the relic). I thought this at first too, but realized it seems pretty impractical for that to have been the case if the wounds were also purposeful in who got what. I mean, sure, they could all be coincidentally symbolically appropriate for each Bishop, but I have doouuubts?

but now we're here, with this update, and all has been revealed.

And what's been revealed exactly?

Narinder's thing he was doing was indeed resurrections (we knew that)

Shamura encouraged him to do it (we also already knew this)

It seems like he did literally nothing else outside of that

His siblings got pissy about this because it made their domains purposeless and got all their followers to flock to him

"Would he let us perish? I could not take the risk" - Implies they literally did not even ask him

Shamura knew that in order to forge chains that could keep Narinder down, it would require a sacrifice of their bonds AND their flesh

They DID NOT tell the other Bishops this

Their wounds were requirements to chain him. They had to get the wounds they bear now in order to chain him. ONLY Shamura knew this. That means they allowed their siblings (and themself) to get attacked knowing full well what would happen. They may have even encouraged it, perhaps provoked Narinder into it, seeing as they knew the wounds were necessary to have him chained. (Or they just knew he would retaliate. Which, like. Yeah. They're condemning him after he went down a path they encouraged and, as far as we can tell, nothing else.)

And for... what?

In this version of the story, Narinder was experimenting with resurrections, and Shamura told him to keep doing that. Then he was successful, mortals turned to him, and his siblings (including Shamura, the one who told him to do it) got mad. That's it. That's their reasoning for chaining him. There's nothing else given. "Would they perish?" We have no idea. Is that how it works? Seems like Shamura doesn't know either. Or at the very least doesn't know if Narinder intended for that at all. Gives the vibe that literally no effort was made to talk to him and figure this out. They don't even really go down the "it puts nature out of balance!" path, which would at least have some merit, maybe. It's literally just "we are no longer sustained. What's the point of Gods in this world?" <- idk babe you had all the other ones slaughtered. So you tell me

And then Shamura just took it into their own hands, leading their siblings to their shared wounds (WITHOUT consulting them) and their inevitable destruction because of........... reasons, I guess. (I mean, if you think about it really hard, they probably also already knew what would happen following all this. With the lamb genocide and Narinder's resurfacing and etc. And they had their siblings wounded anyway. For no god damn reason)

And now why does this make me mad?

Because, honestly, in and of itself, there's not anything necessarily wrong with this added context. It's not contradicting anything in the main game. Shamura knowing what was needed makes sense, after all.

But it's... unnecessary. It screws up the motives and makes them more shallow, less nuanced, more... petty. Making gods petty is cool and all, I love doing that honestly, but in this case it just feels like a waste of potential.

But beyond all that. But most importantly.

This entire recontextualization of events REEKS of being made specifically to absolve Narinder.

I mean, come on. He's made out to be the victim, here. Shamura knew what he would do, knew what he would become, and knew exactly what would happen to their siblings if they sought to chain him (without doing so much as talking to him beforehand), and yet they encouraged it.

All blame is being shifted on Shamura. All Narinder did specifically against his siblings was inflict the wounds, which at this point seems to be hinted as self defense or a retaliation against threat or insult (assuming he was provoked into attacking, somehow). Because the wounds were part of the process.

And almost equally irritating, this seeks to arbitrarily absolve Leshy, Kallamar, and Heket as well, as they had no idea what the plan was and were just strung along. Which is just kinda worse, right? As far as they are aware, Narinder did just randomly attack them for no reason, and this wasn't foreseen, and surely couldn't have been stopped. All because Shamura didn't tell them any of it.

Shamura is being made into the big bad. Shamura is at fault for everything, for all of it. Narinder is a victim of Shamura encouraging him down a path they later condemn him for, their siblings are victims of Shamura and Narinder both (the latter of which could have been resolved at any point prior), and now any possible intrigue about Narinder being this big bad guy who tore apart his siblings due to his own ambition getting the best of him is ERASED.

It's GONE. All in favor of making him more sympathetic.

And sure, about a million different excuses could be made for Shamura, or could be used to headcanon whatever you want about exactly what happened. But with what we're given right now, just from the source, no attempt as made to stop Narinder before it got to this point. It is literally suggested they didn't even talk to him.

"Maybe they were too scared" - For the other three, maybe. Shamura is the eldest and clearly the most respected one, by Narinder as well (he holds some amount of respect for them even STILL. After EVERYTHING). They at any point could have stopped this.

"Narinder could still have been a bad guy outside of the attacks" - Sure, but we're given little to nothing on that front. In the old dialogue, literally all that's mentioned is the resurrection stuff and the wounds. Shamura is the one who said his ambition made a glutton of him, by the way. And hell, this isn't even touching the very real possibility that all of the Bishops (Narinder included!) are unreliable as hell.

"But Kallamar feared him even before his chaining, that suggests he was still a bad guy beforehand" - Sure, it could! But that's about all we get! And hell, in this new update, Kallamar's fears are fucked with, too. He states:

"Once, long ago, Followers would worship at my altar just to glimpse the beauty of my temple… of course, it could not last forever. Perhaps my siblings did not understand this, but I have always known. It did not make me less afraid. Cowardly Kallamar, ha…"

Here, it seems Kallamar's fears have been changed to be more about the decline of his temple and the loss of his followers, which was happening because of Narinder. He refers to Narinder's plans as "foolish" as opposed to... idk, horrifying, or threatening, or whatever. He also fully takes on the 'cowardly' title, giving the impression that his fears were somehow unfounded, which wouldn't make a lick of sense if Narinder indeed sucked ass outside of the wounds.

Not to mention he "didn't want to hear it" when Shamura "revealed the plan," but we know because of Shamura that they didn't mention anything about the wounds, so Kallamar didn't want to hear that they... had to chain Narinder? That's literally all he could've been told about the plan. Why wouldn't he want to chain Narinder if he was scared of him up until that point?? Doesn't make any sense!!! EDIT AFTER I POSTED: On reconsideration this might just be referring the lamb genocide plan, but that's hardly better, because now this update absolves Narinder, Leshy, AND Kallamar by making them blameless in everything (both Leshy and Kallamar expressed not fully understanding the plan for the slaughter or, in this case, not wanting part in it). What's up with THAT. Why is Shamura getting the blame for LITERALLY EVERYTHING.

Anyway, my point is

This was a story decision made to make Narinder sympathetic. It's so blatant. And it's so, so irritating. It gets rid of so many potential cool flaws of Narinder and replaces it with "Actually, Shamura was the bad guy the whole time! Huzzah!"

And honestly, had the entire game come out like this to begin with, released at the start how it is right now, I don't think I'd care this much. But being added now, as an afterthought, after the fandom and devs alike have grown to favor Narinder above all others, it just...

It reeks of favoritism. It smells of revising the story to make Narinder more likeable. It's just erasure.

And for what. Like, I don't want to be That Guy, but I cannot help but notice that one of two nonbinary characters (outside of the Lamb/Goat themselves) is being this heavily demonized in favor of absolving a Man of his crimes. What's, uh. What's up with that.

Oh, and that addition by the writer I mentioned was made while I was writing this.

This was made after Jojo was questioned whether this was a retcon as to who caused the wounds, as this whole thing could also certainly be read as Shamura being the one to directly wound their siblings (which I didn't think was the case, but still).

"I don't know if they thought it would be so severe" - How do I put this in a nice way. This feels like a weaseling out answer. This feels like giving Shamura an out only after being questioned on this writing choice. How could they possibly not know how severe it would be. This spider is Knowledge. This spider has Foresight of some kind. And how do you not know what they thought. You are the Writer. If you want to clarify something like this you gotta say it with your full chest.

Not to mention a good portion of the fandom probably won't even see these tweets, so this context is all missing from the story presented in the game. This is Tacked On Context on top of already Tacked On Context. It's unnecessary retconning all the way down.

Anyway. I realize the fandom at large will not care about this, because (and I mean this in the nicest way I can manage) the Narinder favoritism in this fandom is already impenetrable, but for me personally? This retconning that was so clearly done out of that favoritism?

It ruined Narinder's character for me. More than the fandom possibly could have. I mean, if it's fanon, it can be ignored. But this was canonized. Because Narinder is the dev team's favorite guy.

And I can't stand it.

[dwaekkicidal]

Sharing is Caring[2: Meanracha]

˚ʚMeanRacha x fem!Readerɞ˚

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ summary: After that night with 3Racha, you agreed to become involved with all 8 men. So what happens when Jisung’s loud ass accidentally tells the rest of the members, and meanracha takes to bullying their leader?

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ word count: 7.2k (im sorry)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ warnings: *inhales* pwp, fem! Reader, ot8✗reader mentions, smut is reader✗MeanRacha(Jeongin, Seungmin, Minho), 4some, free use mentions, reader is referred to as: ‘kitty, pup, and baby’, unprotected sex, rough sex, dp in one hole, oral (m receiving), hair pulling, subspace, big dick!jeongin, name calling (slut, whore, 1 bitch), spanks/slaps (ass, pvssy, & like 1 face), dirty talk, overstim, aftercare kinda mentioned, i THINK thats it?

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ notes: for some reason the sfw parts of this was sooo hard for me to write LMAO but anyways… only 2 more of the bois left :3 part 3 is HyunLix✗reader! I think i'm going to make it softer/not nearly as rough as this i hope u like it i kinda hate it

Sharing is Caring Masterlist

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

After that Friday night’s events, you constantly found yourself in situations where one of the producers pulled you aside to have their way with you. In fact, for the first 2 weeks after the fact, there were only a handful of days where you weren’t filled to the brim by at least one of the men. And, in their defense, it was part of the agreement you guys ended up creating! Why wouldn’t they take advantage of you allowing their hands on you and their dicks in you at essentially any time they wanted.

It was now three and a half weeks after the fact, and the boys were cooling down after practicing for a themed choreography video. While Chan and Minho left the room to get water for everyone, the others laid scattered around the room. The only sounds that circuited the room were calming breathing sounds and the quiet side chatter among a few members. Then all of a sudden, a loud groan was heard from Jisung followed by a whiny and (not so) quiet, “Fuck.. Where is (y/n) at? I need her so badly right now...”

Jeongin’s ears perked up and he stared into the older man as if he sprouted a tail. “Hyung.. What?” He asked, looking around at the others to see if he was going crazy or if he actually just heard something he shouldn’t have. Some of the others shared the same expression, but when his eyes flickered to Changbin he was instead met with wide eyes and a very poor attempt at hiding a smile.

“Yah! Han-ah???” he shouted, shaking his finger at the boy as he does when he wants to ‘discipline’ somebody.

“W-What?... Oh shit- SORRY!” was the only reply before the two burst out into laughter. The others darted their eyes between the two, occasionally exchanging confused looks with each other until their laughing fit eventually died down. Seungmin was the first to speak up, a frown evident from the outrage of hearing his crush get spoken about so vulgarly. “Care to explain yourselves?”

Before they had time to respond, the door to the practice room was thrown open and the devil herself walked in with the 2 oldest members. A huge smile was on your face while they carried bags of food you had bought for them. “Dinners here, losers!” 

About an hour passes and most of the boys had forgotten what happened in favor of stuffing their faces. Well, most of the boys. The 2 youngest members watched as Jisung’s hands would linger on your thighs for too long, sometimes even trailing up your inner thigh. They also watched you giggle and grab his hand, but not push it away, then whisper something into his ear that would cause him to blush and grin like a cheshire cat.

The two boys were more than confused, but Jeongin didn’t want to make a scene so he chose to stay quiet and ask about it later. Seungmin on the other hand.. made his frustrations known. To everybody. With a very loud and sudden, “Yah, Hyung. What do you think you’re doing.” He didn’t mean for it to come out as menacing as it did, but he was secretly thankful that he did when Han’s hands were speedily removed from your body.

It was quiet for a moment and he honestly felt bad for bringing everybody's attention to Jisung like this, but seeing his crush get felt up by one of his closest friends isn’t exactly a nice sight to behold. Jisung choked on his spit and stuttered in his spot next to you, looking to you and the eldest to help him out.

“What’s wrong Seungminnie?” You tilted your head at the boy and smiled. You knew what was wrong but you didn’t want to air everything out all at once if he wasn’t going to be bold in front of the others about what he saw.

“...Are you two dating or something..? Why were his hands all over you..” The anger had faded into sadness, it was so obviously evident in his eyes and the way he sadly pouted at you. You felt your chest pang and you looked between the 3 boys you were involved with, staring silently for a moment before turning back to the other boys and sighing.

“Well.. no but yes?” Loud ‘HUH?!?’”s were heard from a few of them, and you would have laughed had it not been paired with despaired faces. “Ok ok, let me finish! No because we aren’t officially together but yes because we are all…. involved? with each other and the plan was to maybe date eventually..”

“We?” Hyunjin’s voice came immediately after you finished and you nodded curtly as Jisung spoke up again.

“Um.. ‘We’ as in me, Changbin, and Channie.. BUT!! Before you guys get upset, we wanted you guys to join us before we make anything official. Hence the ‘yes but no’ answer.”

Felix’s ears perk up and he stares wide-eyed at the boy, “So that’s what you meant by that ‘poly relationship’ question last week.”

Both your and Chan’s necks snapped to Jisung, watching as the boy laughed it off and held his hands up at the two of you in defense. “Hey! I just wanted to see what they would say and how open they were to it.. AND I’ll have you know!” He started before turning to you and holding eye contact as he pointed his finger at each boy, “They ALL agreed they wouldn’t mind sharing you if it was with the rest of us.”

The oldest rolled his eyes before mumbling, “You have such a big mouth, Hannie… Don’t make me stuff it full again.” Han chokes on his spit and crosses his arms, silently leaning back into the couch with a pout.

Surprised faces scattered across everybody but the 3 of you at the last comment. A “Huh??” was heard from somebody before he continued with a teasing yet petty attitude, “Since we’re apparently putting everything out there, why not bring that up too?”

“Woah woah woah… Can one of you please explain what the hell is going on!?”

Changbin sighed loudly then finally chimed in. “Moral of the story is: Channie-hyung here has been fucking our little Bunny for the last few months behind our backs. Me and Jisung walked in on them a few weeks ago and we’ve been fucking her now too.” He let the words hang in the air and he watched their expressions. He was about to continue talking when Felix spoke, “....Okay… well that answers that question, but I think it created so many more..”

Then you spoke up, “I’ll answer any questions you have, but before any of you say anything I want to make some things clear.” You waited for each of the boys' agreements before taking a deep breath. “First things first, I love all of you guys and knowing that you feel the same is an insane feeling. Next, after they walked in on us, we four came to the agreement that we would be friends with benefits until we could get all of you aware of what’s going on and get roles figured out for a relationship.. if a relationship was even on the table.”

You paused for a few seconds, letting that sink in before continuing, “Now that that’s out there, I want to date you. All of you. If you’re okay with it of course. I had this same talk with those two idiots that I can end this fuck-buddy agreement the second that somebody disagrees. You guys mean the world to me and I won’t let some good dick ruin what we have now.”

Chris has a cocky smile on his face as nods at the boys. “I know it’s sudden, we wanted to plan this out and tell you guys one by one but that’s not really an option anymore.” He says with a glare to Han, who gives an apologetic smile back but continues to sit silently otherwise. “You guys don’t have to answer us right away, take as much time as you want. We can put things on pause to make you guys feel more comfortable, if you want.”

Jisung makes a whining noise and the few who spare a glance at him notice the frown and pleading eyes he gives Chan. Changbin’s hand smacks the back of Han’s head, making the younger yelp before he starts complaining.

Hyunjin is the first to break the silence after that, “So… we’d all be dating?” Chris, already having this talk with you, answers for you. “It doesn’t have to be that way unless you guys want it to be. The basis of it would be her dating all of us at the same time. Everything else would be like our normal day to day experiences with her, but now we can love on her and do ‘couple’ things with her and vice versa. You guys just have to be 100% percent ok with sharing.”

With a few shared looks among the boys sitting on the floor, they silently agreed to come to an agreement now. They all trusted each other enough to not be afraid of judgment regardless of their answer. And how could they disagree… it’s totally not like they haven’t fantasized and spoken about this with each other countless times.

Before he gets the chance to speak, Felix’s wide smile gives away his answer, but it doesn’t help you not be star struck when he says he wants in. After that, it was a domino effect. One by one the boys vocalized their answers, and to your utmost surprise: they were all yes’s. Han grins widely when the final member gives his ‘yes’. “Okay! Now that that’s settled, let’s talk about fun stuff!”

“Fun…?”

The whole group watches as a smirk takes over his features, and you can only roll your eyes. “Sexy stuff~”

“O-kay… How about we talk about boundaries and all that BEFORE we get to the sex stuff..”

Later that day, Chris gave the rest of the boys the same rundown from last time.  And just like that, everybody went on with their lives, almost like before. Almost. Now, the boys were MUCH bolder with you. Lingering hands all over you and more intimate cuddle sessions were now a norm, even in front of each other. 3racha was no longer forced to hide their intentions with you, and Jisung specifically was now unashamedly vocal when he was horny.

Then, a few more weeks had passed. At this point, every member had experienced sex with you multiple times. They all decided their first few times with you to be 1 on 1. It gave everybody the chance to learn your body and vice versa, and it gave them time to discuss fantasies and kinks with you more in depth!

Recently, a certain silver bracelet came in the mail. One with each of their initials engraved into the shiny metal plate. It was one they all chipped in to buy so that you had a form of nonverbal consent between them. You took a picture to send to the group chat instead of making them wait to see it in person, but you ended up sending it to just Chris to have him share with the rest. And, of course, some of the brats had to tease about it.

Chris huffed from his office chair while Han and Changbin laughed from the couch, them both having watched the texts unfold from where they sat. He rolls his eyes at the other co-producers and he sends you screenshots of the chat before returning to his work.

And this is how your current situation is caused. You're in the Cat Dorm with Jeongin, Minho, and Seungmin. Felix had just walked out on the basis of going to dinner with one of the other boys. Part of you wishes he hadn’t because the second the door shut behind him, teasing pokes were being thrown towards you relating to ‘Chan trying to keep you to himself.’ The boys made it clear they weren’t actually mad about it anymore, but they couldn’t slip up an opportunity to get under your skin.

You’re suddenly snapped back to reality at the sound of Seungmin’s voice, “I’m just saying! He could’ve said something the second he found out how we felt and this all could have happened much earlier.”

“I think Channie-hyung just liked having her all to himself.” Minho teased, smirking to himself when you rolled your eyes. “And if we’re pointing fingers, our pretty kitty here was also oblivious to all of our feelings. She even said herself how clear it was.” You crossed your arms at the implication and looked to Jeongin for assistance. But instead you were met with a smug smirk and a shrug as he shoveled chips into his mouth like he was watching his favorite movie.

If they wanted to play like that, then you would too. “You guys are just mad he had the balls to make a move first. Even now, after all the times we talked about it, the rest of you STILL barely make any moves outside of PDA. Not my fault you guys are a bunch of wussies.” Seungmin furrowed his eyebrows at you while Jeongin let out a surprised laugh, and when you turned back to Minho. He all but raised his eyebrows at you. The final straw for them was when you stuck your tongue out at them and sent a middle finger each of their ways, grinning to yourself in victory.

Minho’s eyes flickered to your wrist, your shiny silver bracelet sitting nicely against your skin. A shiver is sent through you when his eyes meet yours again. Well.. maybe not a complete victory.

“You know what, since you want to be a smartass. My room. Now.” Your eyes widened, taken off guard by how suddenly he switched up. He smirked internally as he watched you blink rapidly at him, but kept up a serious face. When you stood there for too long he spoke up again, “Oh, I’m sorry. Would you rather me fuck you against the dirty kitchen floor.” When you shook your head, he grabbed your decorated wrist. He pulled it closer to his face to relish its beauty and its meaning, but also for the younger boys to see clearly what he was getting at. “Hmmm. But I don’t think I stuttered. Did you guys hear me stutter?”

A curt “Nope.” was heard from Seungmin and Jeongin said he “Heard you loud and clear, hyung.”

“That’s what I thought… So, would you care to explain why you are not naked on my bed right now?” You muttered a quiet apology before pulling away from the man and speed walking to the room. Jeongin watched as the two older men stalked after you before disappearing behind you into the room, and his chips were quickly forgotten as he stumbled after them.

You situated yourself in the middle of the bed with your legs folded under your ass and your heart pounding in your ears. The three men stood in front of you, Minho’s head tilted with a shit eating grin on his face as the other looked you up and down like they wanted to eat you alive. Memories from that very first Friday's events suddenly flooded in and you could almost laugh at the situation repeating itself. Talk about deja vu.

Seungmin was the first to speak up as he slowly walked towards you, “Last call, puppy. You okay with this?” When you silently nodded he narrowed his eyes at you and moved his fingers to pinch your cheek, “Words.”

“Yes! Yes, it’s okay..”

The second the words left your mouth, the boys behind him started undressing themselves. You got to enjoy the view for only a few seconds before Seungmin was pulling the oversized sweater above your head. Once it was completely off you heard the boys groan at the sight of you in just your underwear, and you couldn't help but giggle at their reaction. The now naked Minho took a seat at the foot of the bed as Jeongin stood in his spot and stared at you, biting his lips as he palmed himself through his underwear.

Seungmin hurriedly rid you of the thin pieces of cloth and ran a finger over your nipple. You sighed at the feeling before moaning painfully when he pinched and lightly pulled at it. “Undress me.” You looked up at him with wide eyes before rising to your feet on shaky legs. Your hands pulled the hem of his shirt up and over his head and then you sank to your knees. He watched silently and looked down at you with lidded eyes as you grabbed both elastic bands of his bottoms.

You bite your lip in order to hide a smirk and before he can ask what you are doing your hand pulls the elastic of his underwear back and lets go. The sound of it hitting his skin startled him more than the pain hurt, but that didn’t stop him from jumping and letting out a surprised noise. Before you have any more time to laugh, a hand shoots into your hair. It grabs a tight handful and positions your head to look up at him, then his other hand comes down against your cheek. “You think you’re fucking funny? I think you forget that I’m the worst out of everybody. Don’t make me break you, pup.”

The reminder had your pussy dripping but you nodded as best as you could, “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah sure you are. Now get on with it.” When his hand stood its ground in your hair, you pushed his bottoms as far down as you could reach and watched as he kicked them away. Your eyes followed his length, from this distance your tongue could almost reach the tip. You wanted nothing more than to have him down your throat and saliva started to pool in your mouth in excitement. Your eyes met his as they softened, it reminded you that you were the one really in control here. “You remember what to do if it’s too much?”

When you nodded and repeated back your safeword along with a ‘tap 3 times if I can’t speak’ he smiled and his demeanor returned to the previous. “Good girl… Now, you’re gonna suck my cock while Jeongin fingers that pretty pussy.” You nodded eagerly and the grip on your head led you closer to his dick. Your tongue was out and ready for him, but he teased you again by pulling you away the second your tongue got too close. He let out a chuckle at your frown and grabbed himself from the base. He pulled you closer and smacked his tip against your tongue a few times, sighing to himself at the feeling. “Lapping at me like a real puppy.”

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head when he finally sunk himself into your mouth. The salty taste flooded your mouth when he wasted no time before using the grip in your hair to fuck your mouth against him. He let out heavy breaths and low groans as his head tilted back. “God, what a wet fuckin mouth...” Once he sunk in further, your eyes closed as you focused on holding back your gag reflex and breathing through your nose. He let out loud groans whenever you swallowed around the tip lodged into your throat.

Suddenly 2 long fingers trailed down to rub against your folds, pushing into you with no warning when you grinded onto them. They made a scissoring motion that pulled wet, squelching noises from your pussy that made you dizzy. Jeongin whispered something into your ear about you being loose before a 3rd finger was added. Then, out of nowhere, they were shoved to his final knuckle and curving into your weakest spot. It made you gag against Seungmin, pulling a loud moan from him as his hips stuttered. He pulled you off him before shooting a glare at the man beside you.

You coughed as air returned to your lungs and Jeongin spoke. “Haha sorry. But, I don’t think she needs much prep, she’s taking 3 of my fingers no problem. What's got your pussy all loose for us baby?” He whispered the last part just loud enough for the other two men to hear before latching himself onto your neck.

You looked between the two and cleared your throat, trying to focus on your words and not the nonstop curling of fingers inside of you, “Channie fucked me a few times this morning b-before he left for the studio..” A scoff was heard from Seungmin and Jeongin’s fingers faltered.

“Yeah of course he fucking did.”

Minho stood from his spot on the bed before reaching between your legs, “Let me see.” Jeongin went to pull his fingers out and let him have a go, but before he could Minho shoved two fingers in next to the three that were already buried. You gasped at the drier stretch and moaned when both of their fingers started thrusting into you. The difference in the lengths and thicknesses made you clench tightly against them and squeal, causing Jeongin to groan in response and curl his fingers harder.

“Mmmm.. Yeah she is ready. At least Channie-hyung did us a favor.” Minho curled his fingers roughly before pulling them out, sliding his knuckles across your clit in the process. Jeongin followed in suit once the older returned to his desk chair, smiling wickedly and slapping his palm on your cunt once his fingers were free “Haha.. Think you can even handle it baby?”

You grinned at him, “Think you can even deliver?’ His smile faltered and he frowned at you. Seungmin chuckled and loosened his grip in your hair, massaging it lightly until Jeongin grabbed your arm and pulled you to your feet. 

When Seungmin finally moves away, Jeongin pushes you to sit on the bed, swiftly shoving a pillow under your ass before shoving you almost flat against the sheets. He gives you no time to steal a glance, pulling himself out of his underwear and immediately running himself along your folds. You sigh and your eyelids flutter as he does so. He pauses his movements when Seungmin returns with a bottle of lube, handing it to the maknae before settling himself at the head of the bed.

You watch the older of the two curiously, almost motioning for him to come closer so you could suck him off but all of a sudden Jeongin meanly shoves his now lubed up dick into your walls. He’s so deep all so suddenly and it has your eyes rolling into your skull as your jaw drops. His hands find refuge against the bed near your shoulders as he lifts his hips to slam them back against yours. For a moment, nothing but gasps fall from your mouth as Jeongin rams into you, damn near hitting your cervix without even bottoming in all the way.” Did he magically get bigger or something?? What the f- “F-Fuck! How are you-” You’re quickly interrupted by a moan when your gaze returns to his face, a cocky smirk prominent as Seungmin laughs from his spot on the bed. You swore he was deeper than before and the thought has you whining pathetically below him as your head was thrown back.

“What’s wrong, puppy? I thought you could handle it.”

Jeongin is desperate to see you fall apart so he lands a slap against your clit and watches in amusement as your legs struggle to close around his hips. Your eyes water when you look up at him through your lashes and he tilts his head teasingly. He smiles before landing a slap to your thigh and rubbing his thumb roughly against your clit.

You hear Minho’s voice from the desk, “Come on, Kitty.. You can’t even take Iyen-ah all the way? Tsk.. I thought Channie said you were a good slut.” In response, a desperate moan is pulled from you at the thought of them talking so vulgarly about you amongst each other and you hear scattered laughs amongst the three. The man above you chuckles before breathlessly speaking up, “It’s fine, Hyung. I just need to train her to take me all the way.” He ends his sentence with a sharp, deep thrust that pushes his final inches into you.

Your eyebrows curve and you silently scream, gasping and shaking under him as he rubs along every inch of your walls. “See? Wasn’t even that hard. Bet it’s because the little whore was still stretched from Channie-hyung.” The sound of Seungmin’s deepening voice combined with their casual chatter about you while you’re being drilled into so deeply it has you clenching down dangerously on Jeongin. Your orgasm starts to take over, causing him to moan at the constant clenching. His thumb moves faster against you as his hips slow down so that he grinds into you at a medium pace until you eventually stop gushing around him. Then he’s speeding up again to chase his own high.

“You feel that?” He starts, angling his hips to aim directly into the gummy spot in your walls. Unable to respond, your hands clutch the sheets and you cry out as the grip your cunt has around him doesn't let up. He groans from above you before continuing, “Yeah, riiight there. That’s where I’m gonna cum, and you’re gonna take it. Right, baby? Fuuuuck.. Yeah, you’re gonna take it.” Your hands squeeze into his forearms as he speeds up and the two of you share a desperate look before his lips crash into yours.

He pulls away from your lips to groan loudly as he cums, pulling out so that only his tip is nestled in you. His head angles down to look where the two of you meet and one of his hands shoots down to stroke himself through his orgasm. You feel his hips stutter and lightly thrust back into you in the process, but he watches with deep moans as your cunt milks him dry. Once he’s finished, he pulls the rest of the way out and slaps his tip against your clit playfully, laughing when you groan and push his hips away. Your lips meet one more time before he taps you on the ass and moves away from the bed completely.

Your eyes close as you’re given a few minutes to catch your breath. While this goes on you hear footsteps closing in on you and a voice speaks up from in front of you, “My turn, pup.” 

Your eyes open for a second before you’re flipped onto your stomach. You yelp but giggle when he pulls you up to kneel against the bed, holding you against his broad chest. He trails kisses down your neck as his hands roam up your body, squeezing your hips before his left hand settles against your neck. He doesn’t squeeze, but uses it to hold you possessively as you melt into his arms.

“You good to go?” He mumbles against your shoulder. When he feels you nod, his right hand pulls away from your skin and lands a nasty slap to your ass cheek. Instead of him speaking up, Minho is heard somewhere to your left, “He asked you a question, Kitty.” You let out a moan before quickly apologizing, “Uhh~ I’m sorry.. Yes, I’m good. So good.. Please, Minnie.”

He doesn’t respond and instead pushes you forward and shoves your face into the sheets. A hand rests between your shoulder blades as he slides in, humming at the sight of Jeongin’s cum being pushed out of you. He starts off at a medium pace, wanting to give you a break and wanting to revel in the wet sounds coming from your cunt. His hand lightly traces down your back and joins the other in a death grip on your hips.

You turn your neck to lay your cheek against the sheets, and you're met with the sight of Minho leaning back in his chair. His eyes are lidded as they watch your body and his dick visibly twitches when your eyes meet. You can’t help but moan once his hand reaches for his dick. He just smirks and softly rocks it back and forth, teasing you because he knows you can’t get him yet. You pout and whine, causing the man fucking into you to catch onto what is happening. He frowns and slows his pace just enough to grab at you.

One hand tangles into your hair as the other grabs your throat, using both as leverage to pull you to sit up as he continues to fuck into you. The new position and rough pace has your jaw dropping and the hand around your neck quickly takes advantage of the opportunity. 2 fingers are shoved past your lips, fucking themselves into your throat and making you choke. Your eyebrows furrow further as his previous pace continues and he pulls you into his thrusts. Your orgasm is building up fast, but the bullying of his dick against your walls feels like it's almost too much. You tap his wrist and his fingers are instantly removed from your throat. “S-Seungmin!!! Wait!”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m here shoving my dick in your tight pussy, and you’re so cock hungry that you’re eyeing up another man.” The grip in your hair tightens before pulling you flat against him. His thrusts stop completely and he instead holds you in place while he continues. “You already had Jeongin’s cock fuck you open, and I was trying to be nice but now you’re basically drooling over my hyung.” You moan and grind back against him desperately trying to push yourself over the edge. He notices right away and his free hand smacks down on your ass, pulling a cry from your raw throat. “Now look at you. Greedy fucking pussy sucking me in while I’m yelling at you.”

You whine out an apology and glance over to the older man in question, the smirk is still on his face but his dick rests against his stomach now. “‘M sorry Seungmin..”

“Don’t act like a stupid pup.” He growls, landing another slap to your ass. “You’re only sorry cause my dick isn’t moving.” Before you have a chance to respond, he’s pushing you forward again. This time he pins both your hands to your back with one of his, then the free hand returns to your hair to shove your cheek against the bed. He makes sure to face you away from Minho before he starts moving into you at a painstakingly slow pace, but he also makes sure he goes as deep as physically possible while in this position.

You desperately try to crawl up the bed when you swear you can feel him in your throat, but he only drags you back and alternates smacks across your ass cheeks. “Stop fucking running. Be a good bitch.” When your moans quiet down and turn into whimpers, he finally lets up on your ass. Then a grin takes over his face when your hands stay against your back even when his hands move away.

He leans forward and once his face is near yours he coos lowly. Jeongin watches in pure awe as the scene unfolds in front of him. He’s never experienced this before and the sight of you physically melting into the sheets has his dick twitching back to life again. Minho’s eyes widen for a moment but he chuckles to himself and returns his attention to the scene in front of him just in time to hear Seungmin talk again.

Your eyes have lost focus and you feel your brain turning to mush. “There she is… Hi baby.” One of his hands moves to pet your head, then moves to stroke your cheek as his hips pull away from yours, “You gonna be good for me now babe? Gonna let Minnie take care of you?” You whine out a pathetic “Uh-huh” and he knows you’ve almost completely drifted into subspace when the lack of being filled is enough to make tears subconsciously form in your eyes, some falling when he finally pushes back in.

“Shhhh, I got you baby. Minnie’s gonna fuck you nice and good now. You know your safe word.” You nod and push your hips into him so he returns to the rough thrusts from earlier and his thumbs rub back and forth against your clit. At this rate, your orgasm builds back up in no time. He leans forward and sucks hickeys up your neck, slowly leading his lips to yours in the process. When you feel his soft lips push against yours your orgasm finally takes over. Your legs shake and try to clamp shut against his hand but he grabs them and holds them in place as he speeds up his thrusts.

He pulls away from your lips to listen to your cries, his own orgasm finally creeping up on him. “Gonna cum in this pretty pussy. You want it mixed with Iyen-ah’s?” You respond with whiny pleads and nods, “Please! Please Minnie..! Pretty please…”

He bites into his lip as he finishes himself off, groaning as he fills you to the brim. Both of you ride your orgasms together until he finally pulls away to watch his dick slide out of you. The combined loads leave a thick white ring around his dick.

He doesn’t move away from you immediately, instead opting to shower kisses down your back and whisper praises against your skin. Then you both hear Minho stand from his chair. He slowly walks towards the bed after tucking himself in his boxers.“You still with us, Kitty?” He laughs when you nod feverishly and rasp out, “jus’ need water please..” Jeongin is quick to grab a water bottle out of the nightstand beside him and sit next to your now upright form. He holds the bottle and tilts it for you as they instruct you to take small sips.

When he leans away to return the bottle to the nightstand, your hands shoot out towards the oldest and he pulls you into his lap. Your arms wrap around his neck and pull him into a series of kisses. It turned into a slow and sweet makeout session until your hips started to ground down against his, his dick still hard and now sandwiched by both of your pelvis’. 

You whine into his mouth from overstimulation and his hands grab your hips to hold you in place. He’s the first to pull away from the kiss, smiling up at you when a deep pout forms on your face. “You sure about that, Kitty? They already put you through a lot.”

A cry is pulled from your lips, “No…! No please Min! I was good for them, I’ll be your good kitty too, please! I promise!” He hushes you and pushes you off him, moving to sit on the edge of the bed and laying back before signaling you with a ‘come hither’ motion. You’re quick to crawl back into his lap and grind against his dick impatiently.

“What’s your color?”

“Green.” When he stays quiet you whine and repeat yourself, “I said green! Green I swear! Min pleas-” He shuts you up by hooking a thumb in your mouth and pushing against your cheek, humming when you run your tongue along the digit and suck it.

“You like being our little cocksleeve that much? Hmmmm?” You give an eager nod and grind down harder, making him grin. “If you wanna be my good kitty you’re gonna have to ride me. How’s that sound?” You respond with a muffled agreement and he pulls you up just enough to rub himself along your folds. “So wet and messy down here.. The boys really did a number on you, huh?” He says it more to himself, and doesn’t even allow you time to answer before he’s sliding in.

You sink down all the way and throw your head back. Your legs shake against his hips and he smirks, running his hands up and down your thighs in an attempt to soothe you. Once you’re ready, you lift yourself and drop your hips against his a few times to test the waters. And once you’re comfortable, you set a slow but pleasurable pace and ride him almost weakly. His eyes are glued to your chest and he reaches up to grab a hold of your neck, using it to guide you forward and leaning you towards him so your chest is leveled with his face. The feeling of his tongue against your neglected nipple has your hips stuttering, but you’re desperate to please him so you quickly return to your efforts.

Suddenly there’s an extra pair of cold hands against your sweaty skin and Jeongin’s voice is heard from behind you, “Jagiya… Need you again..” He ruts against your ass and you moan when you feel how hard he is again. Minho reluctantly pulls away from your chest once he realizes what the youngest wants, and he locks eyes with you to make sure it’s okay. “We talked about it already, but are you sure it’s okay?”

“God, yes please..” They both smile at how fucked out you sound but ultimately nod at each other, and Minho holds a tight grip on your hips to keep you still as Jeongin pushes in next to him. He slowly pushes in as Minho lets a hand trail down to rub messy shapes into your clit.

“Deep breaths. We got you Jagi.” Minho mumbles into your ear, pressing kissing to your temple as Jeongin holds your ass cheeks apart to give himself more space to work with. When his hips finally stop you let out shaky breaths and try your best to not clench on them too hard. Jeongin’s hands are running up and down your back soothingly as Minho’s rest on your thigh, his kisses still being littered across the side of your face that he can reach.

They check once more that you’re okay before they start slowly fucking into you, stopping completely anytime they heard a hiss. Eventually, with the help of your last orgasms and the fucking within an inch of your life that Seungmin just gave you, you start to loosen up more. They take their time speeding up their thrusts, Jeongin doesn’t even dare to try and bottom out. But he does manage to push a few more inches into you as you loosen up more.

When your quiet whimpers turn to full moans, they don’t hold back as much and fuck harder into you. This goes on for a few minutes before a door opening and closing and a quiet “Holy fuck.” is heard from the missing third man.

“Jesus, pup..” Your face turns to look at him and he can see tears streaming down your face. He almost folds on the spot, but the sound of your voice calling out to him has him basically sprinting to the bed. He crawls onto the sheets and sits by your head, reaching a hand to stroke your hair as he pulls his phone out.

Seungmin lets out a breathy laugh at the way your eyes sparkle, and he takes a few pictures of you all fucked out between the two boys. You lean in to pull his boxers down but he swats you away. Instead, he grabs your face by your jaw and leans down to pull you into a kiss, occasionally dropping further and leaving wet kisses along your neck. “One more time for us, m’kay pup? Then we’ll be done and we can go take a shower.”

The two men inside you are close, their frantic moans and groans are telltale signs of it. Their ruthless fucking continues for another few minutes and it rips another orgasm from you, one that causes a death grip around them in your walls. Minho’s hips stop completely and he lets the erratic movements of the younger man help him ride out his orgasm. You can feel the combined mixture of their cum with yours pooling out of you and it makes Minho shiver when some of it trails down his sensitive dick.

When they’re finally finished, Seungmin pulls away from you and the two still shoved inside of you start to pull out slowly. You’re laid on your side as Minho slides from underneath you, and both men disappear into the bathroom as Seungmin scoots closer to you. He smiles and lands a soft kiss on your nose and allows you to catch your breath. He stands and you hear a few camera clicks before you look up to see his smirk behind his phone. You flip him the finger and he laughs loudly, “Fucked your brains out and you still have the energy for that attitude. sigh.. What are we gonna do with you, baby?”

The cloth he returned with earlier is used to wipe you down. He kisses apologies into your hip as he tries to clean your overly sensitive pussy as fast as possible. When he’s done, you notice the sound of the shower in the background, and Jeongin walks back into the room from the hallway with wet hair.

“Shower time Jagi!!” He smiles at you and leans down to place a kiss on your temple. Seungmin defensively pulls you against him and glares at the younger boy, “I got her. Go away ugly.” You wheeze out a laugh at the two bickering and are suddenly the victim of a kiss off. A “who can kiss you better” challenge that you weren’t even aware of until your face was suddenly sloppy from wet kisses.

It’s not until Minho walks out from his shower a few seconds later that the two stop their attacks, “What the hell? Okay, can one of you at least take her to shower so I can clean off my bed?” He grumbles almost angrily, but when you look over at him he has a small smile. Before Jeongin can even turn around, Seungmin is already helping you to your feet and walking you to the shower.

The rest of the night is a blur after that. The shower, the snacks, and the cuddle puddle were all fuzzy in your head. The last thing you remember before falling asleep was being on a new bed in a different room, and Seungmin pulling you as close to him as possible as the other boys left the room.

You lay chest to chest with him, your breaths matching with his, and his soft hands caressing your thigh while he places soft kisses against your lips. His pretty hands caress your cheeks and your eyes hold each other’s gazes between kisses. Part of you wonders where the other boys had gone, and if you had the energy to ask you would have. But when your eyes start to flutter closed out of heaviness and his fingers continue to stroke your skin, you don’t think you want to bother caring.

Taglist:

@jiminssluttyminx @changisworld @juskz @linohumina

[rafecameronsslut4ever]

CASUAL pt.2— lando norris (angst)

pairing; fem!reader x lando norris summary: it took lando too long to realise it wasn't just 'casual'. warnings: a LOT of angst, toxic relationship, sexual implication, not proofread a/n: casual part 2 was not really a part of the plan but the audience had demands 🦧also i think this was too long lmao. AND IM SO SORRY FOR THE LONG DELAY OMG

part 1 - casual

miami grand prix: the biggest pr nightmare for every driver—especially lando norris.

the media had been all over him that weekend, going to the lengths of literally calling him 'the hottest catch on the single market'. hollywood stars and instagram models were so desperate to marry him and have his kids that they didn't catch on the fact that he was a 23-year-old racing driver who couldn't give a fuck about them.

because he was stuck on you.

for weeks, he'd waited—hoping you’d reach out, or at the very least, watch his instagram stories. he posted shirtless photos, sun-kissed photos—hell, he even threw out a thirst trap just for you. But you didn’t take the bait. you didn't take the fucking bait.

you hadn't texted him or spoken to him since the moment you walked out of that hotel room weeks ago, so he didn't try to reach out either. "would've been a blow to my ego," he'd told sainz.

but now, he didn't give a shit about his ego. he was tired of waiting.

his eyes darted across the packed club, friends and guests scattered all around. he couldn't wait to get out of there.

he hadn't been drinking. didn't really feel like it. truth be told, he hadn’t been feeling much of anything at all.

pool parties, clubs, yachts, champagne and girls.

he was tired of the glitz and glam of his life, and you were the only escape from it.

but you were gone.

his mind wandered to that morning, when you had kissed him and the two of you had ordered room service. when he had held you for the last time.

he hated how the only thing on his mind was you. how it was the only thing on his mind all through the celebrations, as hookers danced around him and people tried to pour drinks into his mouth.

for fuck's sake, he had won a grand prix for the first time in his life, and yet he was unhappy.

how did he get here?

he looked up, eyes falling on a group of men in the VIP section, the lights illuminating their faces.

everyone could tell something was off with lando. he didn't want to do any of this.

all he wanted was you. you, you, you.

the girl who had left without an explanation.

why had you left, anyway? no calls, no texts. your friends avoided him, and you avoided his friends. it was like the two of you were nothing.

lando norris was many things, but he was not a fool. he could recognise when something was wrong, or when a situation had escalated beyond his control.

he knew that there was a reason why you left, but the reason never clicked in that thick brain of his. what had he done wrong? where had he gone wrong?

"i'm not feeling too well, mate." he muttered, handing the beer bottle back to the guy standing next to him.

okay, maybe not admitting his feelings for you had fucked things up. but, what could you expect? he didn't have the time to give you what you deserved.

not right now, at least.

lando norris had the world on his fingertips. he could have any girl he wanted. anyone, really.

"what are you waiting for, then?" the other man asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"what?"

"just call her, bro. i know it's about a girl because there's no way any sane man would say no to expensive beers and a million hot hookers."

did lando even know this man? probably not.

"i can't call her. she doesn't want to talk to me. trust me, i've tried."

"have you?"

he didn't know how to deal with rejection. not like this, not with you. you weren't supposed to leave.

"judging by your sulkiness, i doubt you're going to find a girl like her again. and you'll never have her if you're here."

lando didn't have a heart of stone, as much as his social media persona might suggest. he didn't care for any of this. the women, the money, the fame.

he wanted to hold you again. kiss you, tell you he loves you. he wanted to hold your hand. he wanted to be near you, and only you.

so, when his feet hit the floor and he found himself walking towards the exit, he wasn't surprised.

yeah, it was foolish of him to leave a party full of women who were celebrating him (literally) for a girl who had ghosted him, but the need was stronger than his pride.

out of the yacht, he was dialling the only number he'd ever memorised. the phone rang, and then it rang again.

would she be wearing his clothes, or would she have gotten rid of everything related to him?

maybe she'd found another man, finally realising that lando was a bad investment.

as the phone rang, you were hidden in your apartment with blankets wrapped around you and a youtube video playing in the background.

it had been months since you'd heard the word 'casual' leave his mouth. months since you had fled london and monaco to move to miami.

at first, his words had echoed in your mind constantly, and you'd cried yourself to sleep a few times more than you'd like to admit.

but just like every heartbroken poet in history, the hurt faded and the pain slowly morphed into hatred. and anger.

you wanted to slam your head against a wall. scratch that, you wanted to slam his head against a wall.

it was so stupid, and you hated yourself for believing he'd been genuine.

it was just sex. that's all it ever was. it truly was just casual.

the phone was still ringing. your finger hesitated over the answer button. you weren't going to answer it.

it wasn't worth it. you didn't want to hear his voice. didn't want him to have the satisfaction of knowing that his words had hurt you. you didn't want to know if he was sleeping around, if his girlfriends were prettier than you.

so the line went dead.

lando stood by the harbour, watching as yachts and ships sailed past him. the air was humid and his t-shirt clung to his body, the heat almost unbearable. the sound of waves, the distant laughter and music, and the sound of his ragged breaths.

he ran his fingers through his hair, looking around. where was his car?

he had to find his way back to his hotel. he was a mess, and his clothes were sticking to his skin. he needed to fix his appearance, buy a bouquet a flowers.

he checked the time on his watch, and cursed as he saw the numbers. it was almost 3 am. he wouldn't find flowers anywhere at 3 am.

"fuck it." he said, running over to his car. the drive was quiet, save for the low hum of music and his occasional swearing when someone drove a little bit slower than he'd like.

lando norris had the world on his fingertips. he could have any girl he wanted. anyone, really. but he only wanted you. he was a hopeless romantic, and you were his muse.

when he pulled up outside the apartment, his nerves were going haywire. he ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath before getting out of the car.

he knocked twice on the door and when it opened, his eyes lit up.

you stared back at him, sleepiness in your eyes and confusion etched on your face.

and god, did you look gorgeous.

he loved you, he realised. he had to cross his hands behind his back to stop them from reaching out and holding you close.

"lando?" you breathed out.

he had grown a slight stubble since you last saw him. his hair were still the same, except a little bit longer. his blue eyes were wide as he looked at you.

"hey," his voice was shaky.

"what the fuck are you doing here?"

he wanted to say so many things. ask you why you left, where it went wrong, why you moved to miami. he wanted to declare his love for you, press his lips to yours, hold you by the waist. he wanted to hear you say that you loved him too.

he was so in love with you, and you had no idea.

"lando? why are you here?" you asked again.

he was at a loss of words. what could he say? he couldn't exactly just stand there and say nothing.

"because," his voice cracked, "i miss you."

your throat went dry. he could not just say that.

it had been weeks. weeks of him not contacting you, weeks of you not speaking to him. the phone calls had stopped, the text messages had stopped, the late night chats had stopped. everything was just gone.

and now, he missed you?

tears welled up in your eyes, a lump forming in your throat. you shook your head, pushing back the tears, "go away."

"what? no, wait. wait. don't do this." he pleaded, his voice fragile and desperate, like a child trying to avoid bedtime.

"lando-"

he interrupted you, voice louder than before. "can we please talk about this?"

"what is there to talk about?" you were raising your voice. you hated him. how could he act like this after all that happened?

"everything. just—please, can i come in?" he sounded so pathetic. he felt so pathetic. his hands were slightly hovering over the door, ready to push it open and walk in.

the request took you by surprise. "i-no."

you missed him. there was no denying that.

you wanted him to tell you it was okay. wanted to go back to that night in his mclaren, the night he told you he liked you. wanted the weekends spent in london with his family. you wanted him, all of him.

his curly hair wrapped around your fingers, blue eyes staring at you, soft lips kissing you. his cold hands grabbing yours, and his voice saying your name. you wanted it to not be casual.

"i just want to talk to you."

he was drunk. there was no other way he would've showed up here, let alone begged to talk to you. the fact that he needed to be drunk to have this conversation made your blood boil.

"do you still have my jacket?"

of course, you still had his stupid jacket. the one that had his smell embedded into the fabric. it was an exclusive print mclaren had given him, and he had swung it around your shoulders after the night you had first made love to each other.

but he didn't care about the jacket, and neither did you. it was just a reminder.

you were silent for a while, taking in the sight of each other. it was his breath mingling with yours.

"i love you." he whispered.

your breath hitched in your throat, the tears finally falling out of your eyes as you sighed.

"i love you," he repeated to himself. "yes, i do. and i've known that since the day i met you."

you choked back sobs as you shook your head, "you're drunk, lando."

"i'm not," he chuckled, "maybe a little, but not enough."

then, he added, "i mean it. i love you." his voice was steady. he truly meant every word. but he didn't know what would happen now.

"what do you want me to say, lando?"

he sighed, "anything."

you laughed bitterly. anything, he said.

anything would've been better than what had happened.

"i don't think i can do this, lando."

"we can take it slow."

"you've never done slow."

he fell silent again because you were right. he'd never done slow. he didn't know how to take things slow. he was a fucking formula 1 driver, after all. slow wasn't something he did. he'd always lived life like it was the last day. and that's how he had lost you.

"i'm sorry," he began, his voice breaking. "i should've been a better person. i'm sorry for everything i did. i should've given you more, i-i should've loved you more, because you deserve so much more. i'm so, so, sorry."

"lando," you whispered, "it's not—"

"don't make excuses for me, please. i love you, i realy do. and if i have to spend the rest of my life proving that, i will." and he meant every word. "i just want you back."

your mind was racing, a million thoughts running through it. it was like a movie. his blue eyes, his voice, the desperation in his tone, the way he stood before you.

"okay," you muttered.

"wait, okay? does that mean—"

"you're gonna have to work for this," you said.

"i know, and i will. i promise."

you sighed, rubbing your temple. this wasn't a good idea. "get in."

lando's face lit up, and before you could change your mind, he had walked into the apartment. he hadn't really been here before, considering you moved here after the two of you had stopped talking. but the apartment was lovely, homely. everything you.

you closed the door behind him, watching him look around the living room.

"how'd you know where i live?"

he chuckled, turning to face you. "i'm a famous driver. i have my sources."

"i'm sure." a tense silence followed, neither of you knowing what to say.

"i'm not letting this happen again," he blurted, "i'm not. i don't know how, but i won't."

"i don't believe you." you scoffed.

"fuck, baby, what do i have to do for you to believe me?" he stepped towards you, closing the distance.

"stop calling me that."

"you are my baby." he tried to joke.

"lando, i'm not joking."

"i'm serious too," his voice was sincere, "i love you, and i'll do whatever it takes for you to believe me."

you had been through a lot together. the highs, the lows. you had seen him at his best, and at his worst. the good and the bad.

he moved closer, reaching a hand out to hold yours. you didn't know why, but the moment his hand touched yours, it was like a switch had flipped inside of you.

you let his hand wander over yours like a ghost, his calloused fingertips tracing over your knuckles. he intertwined your fingers together, eyes casted down.

"i've never cared about anyone the way i care about you." he admitted in a soft voice.

and then he pressed his lips to yours. his other hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

and god, did he taste the same. lando had a way with his lips. it was a talent. he kissed you like he needed your lips to survive. he was desperate for your touch as if he had been starving without it.

you were so lost in the feeling that you hadn't realised how far you had pushed him until the back of his knees hit the couch, and he fell on top of it.

his eyes were wide, mouth hanging open. his shirt was halfway unbuttoned, exposing his chest and toned abs.

the two of you stared at each other, eyes searching the other's.

"i love you." he murmured for what seemed like the hundredth time that night.

maybe it was the way his blue eyes bore into yours, or the way his lips quivered, or maybe it was the fact that he had driven across the city to say this.

but for the first time that night, you believed him. suddenly, the anger was gone. it was all gone.

"i love you, too." you whispered.

it was the only thing the two of you needed. the confirmation, the reassurance. the love.

you leaned down and connected your lips once more, hand reaching up to his curls and tugging lightly. he moaned into the kiss, pulling you on top of him.

your tongue entered his mouth, the taste of him making you lightheaded. his hands roamed over your body, the feeling of his skin against yours.

"baby," he whispered between kisses, "i want you so bad. i've waited so long."

his lips trailed along your jaw and down your neck, sucking marks into the sensitive skin.

"i want you," he murmured against the crook of your neck, "so fucking bad."

but he pulled away, flipping the two of you over so he was on top of you. he took off his shirt, and rested his head on your chest. he cleared his throat, "i should've asked this question earlier, but are you single?"

"yeah." you chuckled, running a hand through his curls.

"so, can i be your boyfriend?"

"lando norris," you hummed, "did you finally get the guts to ask me out?"

"yes," he smiled, lifting his head up to look at you, "yes, i did. will you be my girlfriend?"

"you're a dork."

"that's not an answer."

"yes," you laughed, "yes, i'll be your girlfriend."

lando grinned, and you grinned back.

it wasn't casual anymore.

(u guys im so sorry if i've tagged someone who doesnt want to be tagged i just had no idea how to let non-followers know part 2 is out bcs tumblr is not letting me reply to comments😭if anyone wants their tag removed, feel free to dm me!! i hope u liked this) @oscarpiassrri @meglouise00 @f1fantasys @technicallypleasanttree @ggaslyp1 @obxstiles @nataliambc @prudyhoo @idkwtdwml123 @ushygushybaby @emilyroxy @yootvi @fishingarden @pillowprincess4him @herexpertcollector

[imagine-darksiders]

Transformers Prime: Optimus + Reader. Chapter 1.

So, I read @lovinglonerhybrid 's post here. And it absolutely had me in a chokehold, so this is based off that premise. I'm in the UK so please excuse my ignorance of American states lmao.

So, there is a part 2 to this, but I'm going away for 4 days and wanted to get some of it posted before then.

You've broken down fifteen miles short of Jasper's city limits in the dead of night. Deciding to hike in to town, you feel the earth rumble beneath you, and over the horizon, something enormous approaches...

Chapter 1: 9352 words.

-------

It’s a rare and covetous thing, to find even a single moment of peace in the midst of an intergalactic war.

The gap from one of those precious moments to the next seems to grow wider and wider every time, until their frequency is so negligible, it becomes hard to recognise them for what they are anymore.

For everything Earth could have offered Optimus Prime, he hadn’t been expecting it to relinquish the gift of peace so willingly. But he’s glad – more than glad – to accept them when they come, even if he’s only stealing glimpses of tranquillity on the sand-swept road leading out of Jasper.

Low-beam headlights lazily trace over the faded tarmac ahead of Optimus’s tyres as he trundles along Highway 49, one of only two roads that surround the small, sleepy city of Jasper. It’s a very routine patrol, one he obligingly excused Bumblebee from taking after his poor scout all but begged Optimus to give it to someone else, beeping out promises that he’ll take double shift tomorrow night, if need be.

All this on the back of Miko announcing another of her ‘slumber parties’ at the base, much to Ratchet’s noisy chagrin and Optimus’s private amusement. And, of course, when Bumblebee found out that Rafael would be staying the night too… Well…

‘You’re too indulging,’ their old medic had admonished from his workstation, the broad expanse of his back turned to the Prime, ‘He ought to learn he can’t always have his way.’

But it was a harmless indulgence, and Prime was more than happy to take over the patrol in this instance.

Besides, he had an arguably selfish reason for doing so.

If he’d admitted as much out loud, Ratchet would have scoffed and sent a pulse of chiding dismissal crashing into Optimus’s EM field. ‘You don’t have a selfish component in your body,’ he might say.

But this… Optimus muses, gazing skyward as he trundles down the highway in vehicle mode, letting the crisp, night air slide through his grill and cool his powerful engine… This is the appeal of a solo patrol.

Every now and then, there are times when the Decepticon activity goes quiet, Fowler has nothing to report, and Optimus can almost pretend that he’s just another Cybertronian enjoying a long, quiet drive through the Mojave wilderness. And while he remains ever vigilant, keeping every sensor poised outwardly in a constant surveillance of his surroundings, the old bot still permits at least one sense to wander.

Somehow, it’s always his sight.

Oftentimes he catches himself doing it. Other times, on nights that are quiet and still and clear like this one, there’s a wire-deep longing that overrides his logic gates, and the Prime won’t notice that he isn’t keeping his processor and his optics on the dusty road ahead of him. He’s too busy stealing long, pensive looks at the stars above him, scattered like a-hundred-billion souls sprawling across a curtain of crushed velvet.

It’s out there… somewhere… riding a lonely orbit on the furthest reaches of the galaxy’s Centaurus arm.

Cybertron.

Home.

Their first home, he amends gently, depressing his accelerator to speed up when he realises he’s starting to crawl. Earth is as much their home now as Cybertron ever was.

Sagging on his suspension with a low hiss, Optimus drags his hidden optics back to the road ahead, and all at once, he nearly lurches to a halt, his exhaust pipes sputtering out a hollow sound to betray his surprise.

There, parked several feet from the road a few hundred yards ahead of him, is a vehicle.

Prime’s senses sharpen to a startling focus.

Pumping his brakes, he slows down again, and the roar of his engine fades to a fluctuating hum.

A Decepticon…?

He doesn’t feel anything trying to breach his EM field, nor does he pick up on any resistance when his scanners hone in on the vehicle – ‘Ford. F250. A Pickup truck.’ Year….? Optimus’s focus narrows to a pinprick… ‘Eighty-seven.’

It’s red - a faded, dusky red like some of the sun-baked sandstone at Red Rock Canyon. As Prime’s massive form rumbles on through the night, looming closer and closer to the mysterious truck, his lights reflect off something situated above its rear bumper, the presence of which quells his flaring codes and eases his rigid frame.

A number plate.

Thick, black numbers and letters stand out against the white rectangle, though it isn’t the sequence that alleviates Optimus’s suspicion, it’s their mere presence.

No Decepticon he knows would ever suffer the ‘indignity’ of having a human number plate stapled to their bumpers.

Primus, even the Autobots have foregone the accessory after Fowler gave up trying to keep Bumblebee from losing his, Ratchet from ‘misplacing’ his, and Bulkhead from bending his irreparably whenever he transformed. Optimus had given it a go, for a time… mainly because he was growing worried that their overworked liaison would quite simply combust if he had to intercept one more phone call from ‘concerned civilians’ who were reporting a semi-truck driving through Jasper without its registration.

The Prime’s number plate came to its own crumpled end when he sat down on his berth one evening without removing it first.

One genuine, slightly sheepish apology to a very fed-up liaison later, and Optimus was informed that he and his team no longer needed to wear the plates.

So, the presence of one on this truck is a good sign. It’s less likely to transform and cause an incident.

That does, however, open up an entirely new avenue for concern to creep in.

A crash, perhaps?

Several dark skid marks indicate that it must have veered off the road after a hard, panicked brake.

He can’t pick up any biological signatures either. Even when he casts a wider net, all his sensors catch are the heat signatures of a few tiny, Earthen mammals scurrying about over the sand before they dart into various rock formations when he rolls by. But just because he isn’t picking up the presence of a living human, it doesn’t negate the possibility of a human being inside…

Frame suddenly taut, Optimus trundles to a cautious halt on the road alongside the truck, his engine idling like some great, murmuring beast in the quiet of the desert.

A throaty hum seems to escape his smokestacks as he peers down at the smaller truck, contemplative… considering… Then finally, relieved. There doesn’t appear to be anyone inside, judging by what his headlights illuminate through the cab windows.

What is it doing out here?

It definitely wasn’t here yesterday when he made the drive into Jasper. It isn’t a vehicle he recognises either, and he’s been doubly vigilant of late regarding all the civilian cars, bikes, trucks, vans, and even agricultural vehicles in and around the town.

Privately, he’s been compiling a catalogue of them all, for his own reference.

If there’s a threat to his human charges lurking about in their hometown, Optimus needs to know about it. A Decepticon disguised as a civilian vehicle would be an effective method of infiltration.

Casting one more, cursory ping out into the night to check that he’s definitely alone, he at last begins to unfurl himself into his bipedal mode. Metal plating slides away from his grill, pulling back and rolling along the body of the semi as he rises onto newly revealed pedes. The mechanical whines, whirrs and buzzes are terribly loud and alien amongst the desert’s natural ambiance, but soon enough, the air falls still once again, and a monolithic Cybertronian stands in the place where a Peterbilt used to be.

Soft, cerulean light spills over the abandoned truck as Optimus settles his optics upon it, easing his enormous frame down into a crouch and draping one arm across his knee with a ‘clunk.’

At first glance, he hadn’t noticed anything especially odd about the truck save for its unexpected presence. Leaning sideways, he casts an optic over the front bumper and finds nothing out of place, no damage to indicate a crash, no broken headlights or crushed bonnet.

It’s the same story with the truck’s bed. Only when Optimus hauls himself upright and treads carefully around it to inspect the other side does he notices the glaring problem.

The whole vehicle is canting onto its offside front tyre, a tyre that sports a rather sizeable puncture, considering how flat it is. And from the looks of it, this one was only ever meant to be used as a temporary spare. A quick glance into the truck’s bed reveals what he assumes must be the original tyre, flat as well, with the silver head of a nail jutting from the centre tread block.

Optimus clicks his glossa softly for the owner’s run of bad luck.

Right away, he sends a ping to his team, advising them to be wary of stray nails along this stretch…

He receives several pings in return. Immediately comes Bumblebee’s frustration, buzzed over the airwaves like a sulking sparkling who’s been told his toy was broken. Given the Scout’s inclination to race at top speed all over these roads, Optimus doesn’t doubt he’s just vexed at the shuddersome notion of having to slow down.

Arcee and Bulkhead respond in kind as their leader absently moves his attention to something strange obscuring part of driver’s window, letting their concern wash over his field.

‘Popped a tyre, Boss?’ Bulkhead’s message hits his comm, informal and probing, but with the warmth of care behind it.

Optimus is quick to send a pulse of reassurance back through their shared channel. He’s fine. If one little nail was all it took to take a Prime out of commission, they’d all be in serious, serious trouble.

The channels go quiet after Arcee and Ratchet send their short, concise responses, and once again, Optimus is alone on the road, peering down at a small sheet of paper that’s been taped to the inside of the truck’s front window.

Gradually, he furrows his optical ridges until they almost click together into one, solid line, the apertures inside each optic whirring and shrinking as he reads the words scribbled on the paper.

He recalls the first time he encountered the languages of Earth as they were written. The looping letters, graceful and elegant, chasing one another across the front of the letter Agent Fowler gave him as part of an unofficial welcome to the United States.

Optimus had held the paper so delicately between two of his digits, blinking down at the dark ink soaked into repurposed cellulose fibre. It was beautiful.

When he remarked as such, Fowler made a noncommittal comment that you could tell a lot about humans from their handwriting.

Optimus would sometimes find himself glancing over the children’s homework when they left their books out unattended on the table in their recreational area.

Jack’s neat and sensible cursive. Miko’s chaotic, glittery script that rose and fell and ventured outside the lines because she was usually paying more attention to her music than the words she wrote in her textbook. And Rafael, of course, with his quick, almost frantic stokes of the pen as he tried to scribble his thoughts down as fast as his brain could make them, only to end up losing his confidence halfway through a sentence, doubled back, drew a single line through the words, and started again on a fresh page.

This handwriting though… written in blue, splotchy ink and stuck with a piece of scotch tape to the truck’s window, makes Fowler’s words ring true in Optimus’s processor.

He can tell a lot about the human who wrote it.

‘Please don’t steal/break into my truck,’ it reads. The word ‘please’ has been underlined several times. ‘Not worth much, it’s all I’ve got. Tyre is flat, spare tyre too, so can’t get far anyway. Walking to town to find help bcos phone died and I don’t have a charger. Be back soon. Thanks.’

The ink has run in several places and rendered some of the letters illegible, as if water has been dropped on them from above.

Optimus isn’t naïve. He’s seen the children cry, more times than he can bear.

Then underneath all that, in much smaller writing stuffed underneath the first message like an afterthought they forgot to leave enough space for…

‘P.s, if the truck is still here in 3 days, assume I’m dead.’

With a sudden groan of his metal frame, Optimus braces a servo on his knee and hurriedly pushes himself to his pedes once again, helm swivelling sideways to stare down the length of the road.

The truck’s nose is pointed in the direction of Jasper, but the town itself is still about a fifteen-mile drive…

Surely they wouldn’t make the journey on foot…

But if the note is any indication, then…

His processor flashes again to the children; Miko in particular, and the alarming disregard she has for her own safety. The boys are guilty of that as well, though to a lesser degree.

Suddenly, there’s a very high likelihood that there might be a human wondering through the vast Mojave, alone. Worse still, Bumblebee had reported just last week that there’s been an increase in Decepticon patrols in the area around Jasper. No doubt Megatron has been ramping up his efforts to locate the Autobot base. Their growing presence in the vicinity of town makes these roads particularly treacherous…

Optimus ex-vents roughly, more troubled than frustrated.

Blue optics narrow at the road ahead, and once again, the peace of the desert night is filled by the sounds of living metal collapsing back in on itself.

A powerful engine roars to life. Somewhere nearby, a startled jackrabbit darts beneath the safety of a sagebrush, hiding herself amongst its silvery leaves.

Unblinking, her wild eyes stare after the great, thrumming beast as it moves on down the road.

—————-

You’ve had a lot of ideas in your life.

Some good. Some bad. Some that have paid off, but most that have gone nowhere at all.

Perhaps you were growing tired of going nowhere…

What else would have possessed you to up and move all the way to the middle of Nevada state on the back of a job offer that came from a man your uncle purported to know?

‘Oh yeah, Terry? Did a job with him a few years back for some cattle baron out in the sticks. ‘Course, Terry always wanted his own dairy… Want me to tell him you’re lookin’ for work?’

Turns out, Terry did end up getting that dairy he always wanted. And as it happened, he was looking for a farm hand.

Does it count as nepotism if you’re fairly sure your uncle had only met your future employer once?

Beyond a certain point, you simply couldn’t care less.

A job is a job, even if it is out here in the desert near a town you’d never heard of a month ago.

Dust-caked trainers trudge to a weary halt in front of a large, green road sign.

The moon, thankfully, hangs fat and luminous in the cloudless sky. So at least you don’t need a torch to see, not now that your eyes have had time to adjust the darkness cloaked over the desert.

With your run of bad luck, you half assumed the heavens would have opened by now and given the Mojave a nice, little dose of rain.

“Well,” you mutter aloud to yourself, peering up at the green sign with a grimace, “Could be worse…”

‘Jasper – 10 miles,’ reads like a slap to the face.

Still… It’s better than the fifteen miles.

You must have walked at least five already, dragging your legs behind you like extra baggage that doesn’t want to cooperate.

It has to be beyond midnight now. Well beyond, you suppose.

You’ve been walking for the better part of two hours, slow and sluggish and exhausted. The journey getting to Nevada had been tiring enough, then as soon as you crossed state lines, your tyre caught a puncture going over a particularly nasty pothole that had snuck up on you.

After an hour spent in the blazing sun jacking up the truck and changing to the spare, you set off again for another several hours of travel. Then, twenty miles out of Jasper, just as you dared to celebrate being home-free, the unthinkable had happened.

Who hits a pothole and drives over a nail in the same, damn day? Apparently, the same person who forgot to buy a charger adaptor for the truck.

No charger? No phone.

No phone…? No calling for help…

Your chest expands and deflates with a bone-tired sigh, turning your gaze back onto the long, dark road ahead of you. Tears sting at the inside of your eyelids, and for a moment, you consider letting them fall, if only to ease some of the pressure building up behind your temples. But crying hysterically about the unfairness of the world hadn’t un-punctured your spare tyre, so why would it help the situation now.

“Come on,” you coax yourself, hauling one leg out in front of the other. Rinse. Repeat. “Not far now.”

Just a few more hours…

The going is slow, tough, draining. Even the dark shapes of rocks start to look enticing as you pass them, letting your eyes slide over to them as you wonder just how safe it would be to fall asleep in the desert by the side of a road.

Ever since you broke down a few hours ago, you haven’t seen one, single vehicle out here.

‘Which,’ you hum, pursing your lips and tipping your head back to peer up at the bleary sky far above you, ‘Isn’t so bad…’

The stars are numerous, and startlingly clear out in the wilderness. The moon as well seems brighter here, unobscured by clouds. She makes for a quiet companion on your journey towards Jasper, her starry brethren endlessly stretching out to each corner of the horizon.

Suddenly, you feel very small. A hopeless traveller trying to find port in a sea of sand and rock.

Swallowing roughly, you hike your tattered rucksack high onto your shoulder and tear your gaze from the stars.

It’s quiet out here, save for the rustle of sage bushes disturbed by the warm breeze, and the skittering of rocks as night-time animals go about their hunts.

Perhaps that natural silence is why the sudden introduction of an entirely new sound unnerves you so much.

You jerk to a halt, ears straining to hear something approaching from the distance. Underneath the thin, worn soles of your shoes, you start to feel it; the road thrumming with gentle vibrations, growing stronger every second.

Lighting quick, you whirl around to face the way you’d come, hands flying up to grip anxiously at the straps of your rucksack.

You’d have thought you’d be excited to see those headlights rise up above the horizon line. At last! A stroke of luck! A potential ride! Potential help.

Instead, it’s as though the sudden appearance of two, dazzling lights blooming into view as they crest over the hill finally jar some sense back into your dizzy head.

The haze of fatigue lifts slightly, pushed away by little bursts of adrenaline as your brain fights to wake you up to an unconscious threat.

You’re alone out here. Defenceless, phoneless. You don’t know the area. Nobody knows you’ve broken down… You try so hard to think the best of people, but now that you’ve had one doubt, a hundred others start to scurry around in your brain, demanding attention.

You can see the vehicle, or their lights at least, but you doubt they can see you yet, this far down the road. You wonder what it is. Car? Truck?

… Alien spacecraft? Despite yourself, you let out a snort at that. Isn’t that infamous military base supposed to be in Nevada? The one hiding alien activity?

Right. Sure.

Despite your scepticism however, a thrill of fear rushes down the length of your spine as if to say, ‘Oh? But are you sure sure?’

 Gulping audibly, you take a few steps sideways off the road, stealing a glance at a cluster of large rocks that sit conveniently just several yards to your rear.

You have a decision to make.

Maybe you’ve been alone on the road for too long, and isolation has bred a paranoia in you that’s so deeply rooted, you can’t shift it at a moment’s notice. If the sun was out, perhaps you’d be less apprehensive, but the night, no matter where you are, makes everything seem so much more… treacherous. It hides things. People, motivations, monsters.

And though it pains you to do so, you swiftly decide to err on the side of personal safety.

The vehicle is closer now, and your blood trembles as the roar of a loud, formidable engine thunders over the tarmac. Yet you’re still certain it isn’t close enough to have caught you in its high-beams.

On sluggish legs, you haul yourself about and make a clumsy dash for the rocks, clenching a fist around one strap of the rucksack and using your other hand to grab the closest rock and swing yourself behind it. Dropping to your backside, you flatten your spine against the cool, solid surface, eyes wide, heart beating hard against the cage of ribs keeping it from leaping up into your throat.

‘Coward,’ a voice in the back of your head scoffs, sounding suspiciously like your father. You shake it loose. Now is not the time to be bothered by old ghosts.

The thundering engine draws nearer, rumbling in your chest as it seems to creep towards your hiding spot at a pace even a glacier would be impressed by.

Around the corner of the rock, you can finally see the glow of its headlights smoothing over the tarmac, illuminating the sand and brush all around you. Hurriedly, you tuck your toes right into the shadow cast by your rock, keeping a breath held hostage behind clenched teeth.

“Come on… Come on,” you urge it frustratedly, aware that every second you spend not moving is another second towards sunrise. If you’re not on the dairy ready for work by then…

The vehicle rolls to a stop.

It stops.

The temptation to let out a frustrated scream is only held in check by your tongue getting stuck to the roof of bone-dry mouth.

They saw you. They must have seen you. There’s no way they could have known you were here otherwise.

Idiot!

Wasting time on the decision has only taken it right out of your hands in the end.

A bead of sweat escapes your hairline and rolls down the side of your face, following the curve of your cheek. Should you run? Keep hiding? Did they stop by coincidence? If they meant no harm, they’d have seen you hide and kept on driving, wouldn’t they? Stopping is suspicious. It conveys a desire to engage.

And then something really strange happens.

“Excuse me?”

And… Well, you’re… not entirely proud of the choked gasp that jumps out of you, nor the way you flinch as if you’d been struck.

When did they – He? It’s a low voice, deeper than anything you’ve heard in a long while, full of bass but soft like distant brontide.

When did he get out of the vehicle? You didn’t hear a door open, nor close.

You nearly jump out of your skin when he speaks again.

“I’ve frightened you…” Despite how gentle the timbre is, his voice is loud, like he’s speaking all around you, not just behind you. “I apologise,” the stranger continues, “That is the last thing I meant to do.”

What the Hell is he talking about?

There’s a long, unpleasant stretch of time until he speaks again.

“Was that your… Ford?” he asks, like he’s testing the word on his tongue, “Up the road?”

Shit. You’re starting to regret leaving that note. He must have read it and knew someone would be walking into town, alone and vulnerable.

The vehicle's powerful engine is still idling, strong and steady, buzzing along the ground and up through the soles of your feet.

It goes against your nature to ignore someone when they’re talking to you, but there’s still a part of you clinging to the hope that he’ll just give up and move on if you don’t respond or show yourself. Perhaps he’ll think you were just a figment of an overtired imagination…

Of course, instead, he persists. “Please.”

Jesus, he almost squeezes the word out, oozing dejection.

“You have nothing to fear from me… I’m a friend.”

A friend indeed. You huff quietly to yourself. You don’t even know him. He doesn’t know you. He’s trying to coax you out of hiding after watching you flee from his vehicle. Hardly the foundation for a good friendship. Still, you have to wonder why he doesn’t just come around the rock to stand over you if he’s so keen.

After another few seconds of stubborn silence on your part, the voice speaks again.

“Will you at least step back from the rock?”

What?

“There are scorpions on it, and I fear you’ll get-“

You don’t think you’ve moved so fast in quite some time. One moment you’re pressing yourself to the rock, and the next, you’re scrabbling to your feet with gusto, lurching away from your prior hiding space and spinning around, skin already crawling.

Sure enough, a pair of giant scorpions are scuttling around on the flat top, their tails held aloft, proud and large in the moonlight.

“-Hurt,” the stranger finishes.

Snatching your head up, you find yourself staring right into the vehicle’s headlights, and you instantly grunt with discomfort, raising a hand to shield your eyes from the light.

“Oh.” There’s a pause, the vehicle’s engine skips, and the lights suddenly dim, plunging you into almost darkness save for the dim glow of residual light. “Forgive me. Is that better?”

“Much. Thanks,” you respond automatically, only to turn rigid once you realise you’ve spoken aloud.

Well. He’s already seen you. No point pretending you can’t talk either…

Again, the stranger’s vehicle makes an odd noise, it’s engine hums gently, and as you lower your arm to seek out the man you’ve just opened a line of conversation with, you finally see what you’d been hiding from.

A monstrous Peterbilt sits squarely across the width of the road, entirely alien in the barren, rocky landscape. Smokestacks on either side of its cab reach towards the sky, glinting silver in the moonlight. It looks red under the meagre glow, with lighter panelling on the main body and dark, blue accents on the wheel trims and storage compartment. The grill is, in a word, massive, standing taller than you are, sporting a logo you don’t recognise on the front.

All in all, it’s a hell of a truck. Powerful, you imagine. Expensive too.

You try not to let your mouth hang ajar.

“Where-” Your voice cracks, still dry. “Ahem…! Where are you?”

Glancing around, your hackles start to rise. You can’t see the speaker anywhere. Which is why you let out an embarrassingly shrill yelp when his voice rumbles directly from the semi.

“I’m right here,” he assures you, polite enough not to show his amusement whilst you flap your mouth open and closed.

No, you shake your head. No, that is too weird. “What, are there like… speakers on the outside of your truck or something?”

There’s the tiniest of pauses, followed by a simple, concise, “There are.”

Oh. Well, then. That answers that burning question.

“Okay? So, um… Can I… help you?” you ask awkwardly, screwing one side of your face up.

The man seems to hesitate, allowing a pregnant pause to hang in the air between you before he replies, “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Somehow, your expression twists even further south, and you begin casting your eyes over the semi, squinting through its dark windshield to try and catch a glimpse of what’s on the other side.

“I saw your truck on the side of the road,” the unseen man continues, “I feared you might have been hurt in a crash, so, I stopped to check that you weren’t still inside the vehicle. Then I found your note.”

He falls silent, and the air is dominated once again by the purring of his semi’s engine.

“Okay?” you prompt, still unsure of his motivations.

“It said you need help.”

He trails off, waiting. You’re promptly struck by the idea that he’s trying to guide you to some conclusion he hasn’t yet revealed. Finally, just as you start to grow restless, he forges ahead, “These roads can be hazardous for a lone hu-“

Suddenly, the truck’s engine revs, drowning out his voice for a second and sending you leaping backwards, startled.

“- A lone traveller…” he clears his throat just after the roar of its exhaust cuts out. Then, “Ah, If I may be so bold...”

All of a sudden, the passenger side door unlatches and swings open, and you’re presented with a clear invitation into the darkened cab. “May I offer you a ride into town?”

You wonder if he can see you turn stiff at his suggestion. Your body all but pleads on hands and knees for you to accept. What’s the worst that could happen, after all?

Well. You’ve watched several documentaries and movies that give you a pretty good indication of what ‘the Worst’ entails, thank you very much. You don’t like that he’s inviting you into his truck without showing his face to you yet. You’d like to gauge the person you’re speaking to. Get a bead on him. Is he big? Strong? Tall? Could you overpower him if it came down to it? Does he look like he’s hiding a weapon on him?

All these questions only serve to dry the moisture in your throat.

“I… That’s… very kind of you,” you admit, wringing your hands together as you take a small step away from the semi, “But I’m sure it’ll be okay, it isn’t that far.”

“At an average speed of three miles per hour, you will reach the outskirts of town in just under three and a half hours.”

You blink, caught off guard. ‘And they said we’d never need to use equations after we graduated.’

“Maths guy, huh?” you cock a hip, laying a hand across it and shooting the truck’s windshield a tentative smile, “Maybe I walk at four miles an hour.”

“Two and a half then,” he quips back just as smoothly, the door to his semi still hanging open. When he continues, you can’t help but notice that the cadence of his baritone voice rumbling through the speakers has turned to something a little more sombre, quieter, like he’s trying to impress upon you the gravity of a situation you don’t yet know about. “But time and distance aside, I do not wish to leave you to walk into Jasper by yourself, particularly at this time of night.”

He speaks like he’s been to elocution lessons. Every word seems to be carefully selected, every vowel and consonant articulate and refined.

It’s disarming. He’s disarming. But you’re still not convinced.

“Listen… Thank you, again. But…” It feels rude, like you’re committing some kind of faux pas in turning your back on the semi, yet you can’t shake the nagging voice at the back of your head, telling you that there’s something not quite right about the man in the truck. Not bad, just… off.

“It’s a kind offer,” you tell him again lamely, turning on your heel. And so, you recommence your weary march for Jasper, tossing one last sentiment over your shoulder, “But I’m sure I can make it on my own. Take care, okay?”

You almost expect him to argue, but all you can hear is the now familiar drone of the semi’s almighty engine. For several paces, you can feel a pair of eyes watching you, scrutinising and pensive, if a little baffled by your short yet polite dismissal.

When you make it another ten feet, heaving your tired legs after you over the tarmac, your ears perk up to the sound of an engine revving.

Smokestacks chugging, the massive truck pulls out of its standstill, unseen behind you.

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you keep your gaze fixed to the ground ahead and raise a hand, flapping it about in an apologetic farewell as you meander further off the road and onto the sand, giving him plenty of space to get past.

You start to frown when you make it twenty paces without being overtaken by the truck.

That frown only grows deeper when the engine keeps churring away behind you, rubber tyres crunching tiny particles of sand under their treads as it crawls along in your wake.

Is he…?

Tearing your eyes off the toes of your shoes, you send a fleeting glance over your shoulder, surprised – but not much – to find the nose of the Peterbilt creeping slowly along in your peripheral vision, keeping pace with you.

Your frown eases back, and you quirk a brow at him instead, calmly asking, “What are you doing?”

And just as easily, the voice returns, “If you will not allow me to drive you, I will happily escort you to your destination.”

You can’t help yourself.

“Ha! ‘Escort.’” The snicker jumps out of you faster than you can raise your hands to press your fingertips against an unbidden grin. “Sorry,” you immediately try to amend, “You just sounded so serious.”

“… I… am serious?”

Letting your hand flop back to your side, you give your head a shake, still grinning. You really do meet all sorts on the road.

“Regardless, I’m sure you have far better things to be doing with your time.”

How the truck matches your walking speed without his engine faltering or sputtering, you’ll never know.

A strange noise gurgles from its exhaust, almost perfectly reminiscent of a troubled hum.

“On the contrary,” the driver responds, pulling forwards a little until only the grill overtakes you, and for a moment, you worry he’s about to drive across your path, “There is nothing at the moment that concerns me more than getting you safely where you need to go.”

Huh. Of all the genuine, stubborn…

“Look.” Your shoes scuff up a cloud of sand as you draw to an abrupt and decisive halt, turning bodily towards the truck. Hands splayed on your hips, you glare at the windscreen, aiming approximately for the driver. A second later, he must have hit the brakes because the semi lurches to a stop as well, hissing noisily.

Still, he doesn’t step out.

“You seem like a nice guy,” you start, trying to keep your chin raised and your tone stern. You fail, of course. Your voice cracks nervously, but at least you try. Taking a deep, steadying breath, you finally elect to stop beating around the bush and just address the elephant in the room – or desert, as it were.

“But I don’t make it a habit to get into random trucks with strangers.” You make it a point not to directly accuse him of having ulterior motives, but you hope you’ve at least driven home your main concern. At best, he’ll grow offended that you’d think him capable of such a thing and – hopefully – move on. At worst… Well. You brace yourself for that, teeth grit so tightly, your jaw starts to ache as you flick your eyes over towards the truck’s driver-side door, waiting.

The truck in question does something odd then. It… sinks? At least you think it does, lowering on its axles by a few inches like the wheels have just deflated. It’s difficult to tell in the dim moonlight though, and it’s over so quickly, you can’t be sure you saw anything at all that wasn’t just a trick of the desert.

How long have you been awake?

You’re busy calculating the hours you were driving when the stranger’s voice is kicked out over the speakers again.

“You assume I mean you harm…” he utters.

And just like that, the stern, rigid scowl is instantly wiped off your face.

He sounds…

…sad.

Not offended. Not angered by your thinly-veiled implication.

Just sad. Dispirited, even. As if it’s only just occurred to him that you might have perceived him as a threat.

It’s almost painful when the pair of you dissolve into an uncomfortable silence that lasts for several beats of your rapid-fire heart.

Biting down on the inside of your cheek, your brows drift apart whilst you try to think of something to say. Trouble is, you’re afraid that speaking again will only make things worse.

You have no idea what’s going through his head. What if his dejected tone is followed by something worse?

“I’m sorry,” you backtrack, pressing your lips together and chiding yourself for faltering, “It’s nothing personal, just… I-I should probably get going before I fall asleep standing up.” You give a stilted laugh, but it soon turns into an awkward sound made at the back of your throat, lips pulled over your teeth in a grimace.

Dipping your head, you swallow thickly and grip the straps of your rucksack again. But just as you make to turn away, the semi’s wheels abruptly twist towards you. It’s ever so slight, just enough that the truck rolls a few paces in your direction before it stops again, its grill pointed straight at you.

With an audible gulp, you go to take another step back, staring at the metal in anticipation. Your retreat is soon halted by the mellow rumble of his voice.

“I understand your hesitation. And I know that the word of a stranger may not hold much weight,” he begins slowly. The Peterbilt inches forwards again. “But I can assure you, you have nothing to fear from me…”

Shifting on your feet, you let go of your bag and clutch instead at your elbows, brows tipped up indecisively. He’s persistent, you’ll give him that. He also speaks with a candour you’ve never encountered outside of a film or a storybook. Frank and forthright in a way you’ve never been privy to. Is that why you’re hesitating? Is that why he seems ‘off?’ Because his level of sincerity doesn’t have a place in your world?

Perhaps you’ve been spending so much time by yourself, it’s turned you distrustful. Maybe you’re just getting cynical. Looking back on your journey here, you realise that only other person who you’ve spoken to was a disinterested server who took your order at a drive-thru… That was four days ago. How long before that did you listen to someone who wasn’t the people on your truck’s radio?

Why is it so suspicious that this trucker wants to help? Hell, you’d be concerned as well if you saw some poor bastard hiking alone through the desert at night without a friend in the world.

Christ, you need some perspective.

The driver must see the conflict painted like a brand across your expression.

“Would it reassure you to know that this vehicle is operated entirely remotely?” he pipes up.

You blink once. Then again to wake yourself up a little more, pulled from your inner turmoil. “What?”

“This vehicle,” he tells you, “It is an unmanned vehicle.”

Curiosity overtakes suspicion faster than you can uncross your arms and stare at the grill dumbly, face opening up in surprise. “Wait. You mean it’s one of those self-driving things?”

“In a sense.” The semi’s engine rumbles softly, and the not-driver adds, “I am what you might call… the safety driver.”

Now that is curious.

You don’t even realise you’ve taken a step closer. “Really? But I thought that sort of tech was still in testing?”

“It is,” he replies, “We are, however, attempting to advance to field-tests, to see if these vehicles can autonomously haul freight in areas with sparser populations, to minimise the risk of collision.”

“Hence why you’re driving it out here in the middle of the night,” you realise aloud, raising an inquisitive brow at the windscreen, “So you’re really not in there? You’re driving it from somewhere else?”

“Would you care to see for yourself?” he asks kindly.

Your wide eyes flit to the passenger door when it eases open once again, though this time, it seems far less foreboding than before.

Tugging a loose piece of skin between your teeth, you give the silver steps leading to the door a scrutinising glance.

That does reassure you…

Slowly, still at least a little wary, you coax your legs to move, and they begrudgingly carry you onto the road. You approach the semi-truck with all the caution of a doe crossing an open meadow.

As you venture closer, its engine kicks up a notch, emitting a steady, gentle purr as if the vehicle itself is pleased with your acquiescence.

Suddenly, as you move along to the open door, you’re dazzled by a light flickering on inside the cab, bathing what you can see from this angle in a calm, golden hue.

From down here, it looks… just like an ordinary interior.

And lo and behold, as you stand on your tiptoes to see in, you find the driver’s seat is eerily devoid of its occupant.

You let out a breath that emerges shakier than you would have liked it to.

“Wow,” you laugh, impressed.

Maybe just a quick peek…

A vast chunk of apprehension breaks away from your chest and vanishes into the ether as you shuffle towards the steps, raising an arm and stretching your fingers across the space to the grab handle that sits invitingly just beside the open door.

This side of the truck is bathed in silver moonlight, and it’s only now that you’re this close that you happen to notice something you hadn’t before.

You almost wince when you spot them.

Although shiny and speckled with only the lightest dusting of desert sand, the metal panelling on the semi is covered in signs of wear and tear.

Enough to give you pause, at least.

For a moment, you’re taken aback, turning bodily away from the open door and cocking your head at the myriad of scratches that criss-cross their way up towards the semi’s roof.

All the paint in the world couldn’t hide some of those shallow nicks and lines that have been scraped out of the metal. In any case, something big must have scuffed it. Perhaps another driver in their own Peterbilt? Or perhaps it’s all damage sustained in testing the vehicle’s automated capabilities.

Clicking your tongue, you absently raise a hand to stroke your fingertips gingerly along the length of a particularly prominent scratch by the door.

“Oh dear,” you tut softly at the side of the truck, “You’ve been in the wars, haven’t you?”

Without warning, the engine that had been buzzing so gently suddenly ramps up and starts to vibrate firmly beneath your fingers, so strong you can even feel it judder the ground through the soles of your feet.

Recoiling like you’ve been zapped, you whip your head around to peer through the open door, half expecting the driver to admonish you for touching his vehicle.

As swiftly as it started however, the thrumming engine dies down, and the truck returns to its soft, benign idling. “My apologies,” comes that gentle voice again through the speakers, “Just an overactive combustion chamber.”

“Is it... safe to ride in?” you retort, giving the back of the truck a sidelong glance.

“You will find very few vehicles safer than this one,” he tells you patiently, “I will not allow any harm to befall you, as I would not allow it to befall any of my passengers.”

Your shoulders jump with a silent laugh. “Befall,” you parrot, fighting a smile, “I love the way you talk.”

“… You do?” His speakers buzz with a pleasant hum.

Fingers flexing anxiously, you reach out once again and slide them around the grab handle beside the door, finding that it’s unexpectedly warm under your palm.

“So, I just… get in?” you ask, only to cringe immediately, realising you probably sound like a fool who’s forgotten how to get into a truck.

Before you can rebuke yourself harshly though, the absent stranger offers his response. “Do you require assistance?”

“No, no,” you rush out, placing one foot on the first, silver step and hoisting yourself up off the ground, bringing yourself level with the cab’s seats.

Your eyes grow wide with wonder as you take in the interior.

“Oh, wow,” you breathe, suddenly hesitant to pull yourself up those last few feet.

“Is there something wrong?”

“It’s just… It’s so clean!”

Laid out before you is a perfectly ordinary truck cabin. Soft, grey leather covers the seats, with the same dark colouration on the roof, doors and most of the glovebox, interspersed by a rich, black steering wheel. The soft light, you discover, is emitted by multiple strips of blue neon LEDs that the driver must have fitted underneath the radio dials and dashboard, casting the truck’s interior in a cool, soothing glow.

But most astonishingly, for as much as you search, you can’t spot a single thing out of place. It’s absolutely immaculate. There isn’t one receipt stuffed in the door pockets, no traces of sand or gravel dirtying the footwells, no loose change tossed into the centre console…

Dumbfounded, you glance into the back, but all you find it a dark, grey panel and a shelf set back into the semi’s rear wall, meant for use as a bed, you surmise. It’s empty, unsurprisingly. Not a blanket or a pillow in sight.

Finally, your suspicions are put to rest. This truck doesn’t look lived in at all. He really is operating it remotely.

“God, it looks brand new in here,” you marvel aloud, suddenly hyper-conscious of the abysmal state of your old pickup. The scratches on this semi’s exterior play briefly on your mind but you brush your musings aside, too fatigued to consider the contradictions of a worn exterior but an immaculate interior.

Instead, you feel a frown crease the skin between your brows.

It really is immaculate in here…

Glancing down, you scowl disdainfully at your filthy shoes, the tank-top that’s stained irreparably by dropped food and greasy finger-smears, and trousers that are tattered and worn at their hems.

“Is everything all right?” the ‘driver’ asks again. His voice must emerge from the speakers on each door, low and warm, filling up the cabin.

“My shoes are dirty,” you admit out loud, your grip on the handle turning slack until you sink a few inches back to the first step, “I’m dirty. I-I don’t want to get sand and crap all over your truck.”

“I don’t mind.”

Spoken with more consideration than you’ve heard in a long, long time.

You pause at once, brows tipping up in the centre of your forehead.

A deep inhale through your nose brings with it the unobtrusive scent of leather, with the faintest undertone of adhesive sealers, giving the interior that ‘new truck smell’ that so many drivers try to replicate artificially.

Comparatively, it’s been several days since you passed a rest stop that had showering facilities. Those that did asked for a hefty charge. You’d glanced down at the handful of coppers in your centre console and decided you could go without. Now, you’re starting to regret that decision. Every now and then, whenever you raised your arms to stretch or flip the visor down in your pickup, you’d catch an unpleasant whiff of yourself wafting out from under your light, cotton shirt.

Embarrassed as you are to confess that you’ve been severely neglecting your personal hygiene, you swallow past a lump in your throat and croak, “I… haven’t exactly washed for a couple of days… I wouldn’t want to make your truck smell…”

And in a tone so kind it threatens to brings a tear to your eye, the stranger answers consolingly, “I think your scent is perfectly fine.”

It’s so damnably genuine, you can’t even find it in yourself to point out that he isn’t here to smell you, so his point is moot.

“I…” One more cop-out strikes you. “I don’t have any money,” you murmur truthfully, ashamed, “I can’t pay you for the fuel, or-“

“-I ask for nothing in return but your company,” is all he says, cutting you off as gently as his profound voice will allow.

And just like that, you’re out of viable excuses. Or perhaps your body has noticed the comfortable seats right in front of it and you don’t have enough fight left in you to deny it a sit down. Besides, any reasons you come up with to dip are likely to be met with a counterpoint.

Even so, you can’t help but hesitate for one more question, hand clasping and unclasping around the grab handle. “Are you sure it’s okay? I’m not going to get you in trouble or anything am I?”

The next sound that hums through his speakers is so soft and rich, you think it’s the truck’s engine playing up again, at least until the stranger cuts the noise off by saying, “You do not look like trouble to me.”

If he only knew.

The sound prior, you realise, was a chuckle, the first one you’ve heard out of him yet. Something in the measure of it settles the last of your nerves, only slightly, just long enough to have you throwing caution to the wind. With a final heave, you pull yourself the rest of the way inside, sliding gingerly into the comfortable passenger seat. You never notice how the metal below your foot shifts microscopically, lifting you closer to the cab.

It takes a lot of restraint not to let your eyes drift closed, nor to slump backwards into the wondrously giving material on your spine.

Instead, you sit stiffly with your rucksack keeping you upright, legs pressed together, hands folded neatly in your lap. If you make any kind of mess in here, you’ll be mortified.

After a moment, you remember to close the door, but just as you turn and peel a hand off your thigh, you jolt, staring agog at the door as it swings slowly shut with a dull ‘click.’ All of its own accord.

“Full remote access,” the voice pipes up as the engine below you roars to life, and then you’re moving, and all you can do is stare through the window at the desert drifting by whilst trying to ignore the uninvited ache in your chest.

“Seatbelt.”

His gentle prompt spurs you to reach over and grab the fabric near your shoulder, tugging it across your body and fumbling a little to slot it into place. Suddenly, you feel an invisible pull on the belt, and the metal buckle finds its way into the socket on your next pass.

‘Must be magnetic,’ you muse distractedly.

“Are you comfortable?”

Blinking back the moisture in your eyes, you turn to glance at the empty driver’s seat. It’s bizarre, and more than a little unsettling to see the steering wheel turn itself around as the truck pulls back onto the road, driven by unseen hands.

When you don’t immediately respond to his query, the man continues just as patiently as before. “If it is too cold, I can turn up the heater. Or… perhaps you are too warm…” He hums to himself, thoughtful. “You have been exerting yourself.”

You instantly become aware of the light sheen of sweat that hasn’t quite dried on your forehead. Puckering your face up into a solemn smile, you shake your head and at last respond. “Not to worry. It’s very comfortable in here.”

What follows is a poignant moment of hesitation before the voice speaks again. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but… You do not seem comfortable…”

The open-ended statement fades into silence, and you’re left casting nervous glances around the cabin again. “How do you-?” you start, tugging your shirt further down your arms, “Can you see me? Like… in here?”

Again, there’s a pause, barely longer than a second, yet long enough for you to notice it.

“Cameras,” comes his measured response, “Both external and internal. They’re how I spotted you on the road.”

“Oh, I hadn’t even considered that… Of course.”

Suddenly self-conscious, you reach up and begin to paw uselessly at your dishevelled hair, humming though a thin-lipped smile. “I must look a sight,” you half joke.

“You look tired…” he replies diplomatically, and there’s nothing in it for you to be offended by.

Rubbing a thumb over the wrinkle slowly carving a home between your brows, you heave a dreary sigh. “It’s been a long journey.”

“I can only imagine… And… Where does it culminate, if I may?”

“Terry’s Dairy?” you offer, “Uh, it’s this little farm just on the outskirts of Jasper.”

The truck beneath you gives a reverberating thrum. “I know the pastures, but I’m afraid you will find they lay beyond the ‘outskirts’ of the city.”

Letting out a groan, you knock your head back against the seat behind you, staring bleakly up at the ceiling. “Of course… How far?”

“Only a few miles, to the East of Jasper. We’re coming in from the Northwest highway. I can get you there in twenty-five minutes.”

“Twenty- Oh, no, no. You really don’t have to do that,” you protest, shifting in the seat to frown at the empty driver’s seat in lieu of anywhere else to look, “Just drop me off in town and I’ll walk the rest. You’re already going out of your way for a stranger.”

“I am dropping you off at your destination and not a mile before,” he tells you steadily.

His uncompromising tone brooks no argument.

You stare at the spot a person should be for several, long moments, debating how much you could push an argument. He’s already coaxed you into his truck, his powers of persuasion are rather good. What chance do you have, sleep-deprived as you are?

Conceding sullenly, yet appreciatively, you let your back touch the seat, settling into it a little less hesitantly. “You won’t be taking no for an answer, I assume?”

He only lapses into a stubborn silence, an answer in and of itself.

That quiet is broken, however, when you suddenly let out all the air from your lungs, a smile growing across the width of your face as the breath escapes your nostrils in a sigh. “Thank you for this… Really. You’re saving me a lot of grief.”

The blue neons on his dashboard seem to flare a bit brighter for all of a second before they dim again. “I am glad to be of service,” he replies warmly.

“Oh my god,” you blurt without warning, leaning forwards in the seat and staring through the windscreen with wide eyes, “I’m so sorry, you’re being so nice and I’m so rude – I never asked your name.”

“Nor did I yours,” he points out, “You may call me Op-“

Suddenly, a burst of static buzzes through the radio. You shoot it a funny look.

“Optimus,” the stranger admits over the static with a hesitance you pick up on right away, drawing your gaze from the dash, “My name is Optimus.”

“Optimus?” you repeat incredulously, a small smile quirking at the edges of your mouth, “Wow… You must have had creative parents.”

“I appreciate that it might seem… an unusual name…”

“It is,” you agree pleasantly, “I like it. Makes you sound cool. Unique. My parents just stuck me with Y/n.”

At once, Optimus echoes your name, and you’re jarred by the sound of it coming from someone else’s lips, reverberating around the truck. It’s been a while since anyone used it.

“Y/n,” he says again in his velvety timbre, “It’s a fine name. I like yours too.”

[luvnoirs]

paige bueckers x fem!reader hcs !

warning(s): none ! (sfw)

she's so attentive like you can obviously tell during her interviews so she loves listening to you what you have to say. it doesn't even have to be a serious or heavy conversation. you could be talking about the weather and she'd be so tuned in like she's in love fr

date nights are mostly chill and cozy vibes. like you'll have movie nights or go to the beach if it's nice out. sometimes you'll stay in an do karaoke cause paige swears up and down that she can sing like sza. but then again paige loves spending quality time with you so she considers everything you do together a date

she'll point to you and say "this is for you" before she shoots the ball (she makes it of course) and then smooch at you

has a playlist dedicated just for you on her public apple music account with songs that remind her of you. it's mostly rnb vibes and "love" by keysha cole is the first song on there

calls you "princess"

like i said before she's big on physical touch so she likes to give back hugs and shoulder kisses

also clingy as hell... if she's had a busy day with school and/or practice and hasn't seen you in a while, prepare to be suffocated by her the second she she's you

paige always thinks she's right so you two are always arguing (nothing too serious just dumb stuff mostly)

"you did not just say drake's best album is 'thank me later'..."

if the argument is serious and she's mad at you or vice versa, it literally never lasts more than five minutes because she hates not seeing you happy. she'll even admit she's wrong

she'll wrap her long arms around you as you face the opposite direction with your arms crossed and a frown on your face. she bends down to place a kiss on the side of your face before her head falls into the crook of your neck. "i'm sorry..."

damn near forces you to play fortnite with her and hypes you up every time you get a kill. she'll be so proud of you too with a stupid smile on her face as she watches you play

all her tiktok drafts are full of those cheesy ass slideshows about your relationship but she makes sure to post the 'what's up riri/what's up rocky' one publicly for everyone to see how cute yall are

she's definitely not one of those people who controls what their s/o wears so if you want to wear something revealing, she'll be all for it

very protective but not to the point where it's consuming or overwhelming. like if you're walking on the sidewalk she'll always make sure she's on the side closest to the street

when it comes to gifts she loves to do the most. like she already loves spoiling you so if it's christmas or valentines day she'll be stressing about making sure your gift is perfect. she's lowkey a romantic too so she'll get you the traditional red roses and scatter rose petals along the floor in your bedroom, and then gets red faced when you tease her about how 'corny' it is (you love it tho)

on the more sensitive side she lets her guard down around you. if she's upset about anything she'll vent to you or cry it out as you rub her back and wipe her tears

calls you her "wife" especially when referring to you while talking to other people like yall are so locked in

pls lemme know if you want more or send some requests thru my asks lmao

[ghost-1-y]

Sabotage

Trickster!Sanemi x Fem!Tricked Princess!Reader

Content Warnings: MDNI, explicit sexual content, dubcon(?), unprotected sex, penetrative sex (f! receiving), oral sex (m! and f! receiving), fingering, handjob, Sanemi can clone himself, double penetration (therefore anal), HEAVY degradation, brat tamer!Sanemi x bratty!reader, Sanemi has an olfactophilia kink, masturbation (Sanemi), spanking as punishment, overstimulation as punishment, lots of dumbification, mentions of breeding/pregnancy, multiple creamp!es, Sanemi is mean in this, Sanemi points a knife to reader’s throat at some point (he doesn’t draw blood), mentions of food, mentions of dead animals, reader is a spoiled, bratty princess, brief mentions of homewrecking (not acted upon), mentions of a future arranged marriage, Sanemi plays “tricks” on reader, lmk if I missed anything!!

Word Count: ~15k

A/N: apologies for this taking literally forever for me to post, I went through a period of burnout and have been in classes these past two months. Also, apologies for this being so long, the plot got ahead of me and it ended up becoming my largest fic to date, but I do promise smut at the end (as you can probably tell by the content warnings lmao). Also please be nice I’m sorry if this fic is actually awful lol :')

Divider Credit: @/cafekitsune

The sound of crystal heels against marbled stone were followed by head turns of maids and servants as you walked through the long corridor, bowing or curtseying as you passed, soft murmurs of your highness and my princess uttered in haste before returning to their duties.

Everything was as it should be: polished gold-framed paintings and chandeliers lit with gentle flames above, ornate silver door handles grasped by armored knights as entrances opened for you time and time again, strolling up rounded stairways and into the throne room – where your father, King Ubayashiki, and his wife, Lady Amane, sat.

The sun was orange through the glass panes that decorated the palace walls. Rainbows scattered across the palace floor, and fractals of light beamed at varying angles which made the golden thrones glimmer with radiance.

“My dear child,” your father smiled gently upon you, “I am glad to see you in good health.”

He was flanked by a line of his advisors on his left side, most of them old and feeble, except for one: a quiet ravenette with eyes which beheld endless pools of deep blue – Tomioka, you believed his name was. 

Tomioka was quite handsome, yet always expressed disinterest in the matters discussed at these sorts of meetings – today, he decided to forgo usual etiquette by holding his head up by one of his fists, eyes taking in the grandeur of the throne room rather than being focused on you – as the rest of the advisors were.

“Father,” you curtseyed – forcing your eyes to pry away from the young advisor, “I reciprocate your sentiment. I am glad to see you well.”

He chuckled, “Your words are much appreciated, but I’m afraid they are not true. I have come down with sickness, and our lovely doctor here–” he waved towards his left, referring to a rather beautiful woman with dark hair and violet eyes who sat further away from the line of advisors, “–Lady Kocho, is doing her absolute best to treat me, but, it has made me realize a few things, namely how very brief our lives are on this earth, and–”

“Father, with all due respect, what have you summoned me for?” you asked, impatience seeping into your tone.

The king sighed, “I need you to be married, my dear child.”

“What?” you exclaimed, “no– I don’t want to. You cannot and will not force me to do such a thing.”

Your father sighed, “that is why, my dear, that we are going to be holding a masquerade ball on the next full moon – which, I believe, is five days from now. We have also decided that, due to time and the uncertainty of my sickness, you will be wed on the very next day.”

“What the hell is a ball going to do? Do you believe I’ll just suddenly meet the love of my life while dancing with a masked stranger?”

“That is not the objective, my dear, I wish for you to get to know the princes from nearby nations, and I believe a masquerade ball is perfect to learn personalities without any bias. Whomever you get along with most, as well as whoever I believe will be most fit as a king, will be the one whom you marry.”

“Well, I wish you luck in making me attend, because I refuse to entertain this idea you’ve thought up. You haven’t even given me a reason as to why I should plan to be married.”

There was tension amongst the members of the advisory council, with even Tomioka paying closer attention to your rather loud grievances.

You could almost feel his azure eyes boring into your soul.

“My dear child, even though I am your father, you must remember that I am also your King, and you will do well to remember that,” he said quietly.

“So, what? Are you going to have me thrown into the dungeons if I don’t comply?” You crossed your arms as you glared down at him. “You can’t possibly be serious–”

“That is not what I wish for, my child, but you must be responsible to your kingdom and do what I ask of you. One day, I will no longer be here, and you will need to step up and take the throne once that happens. This is the first step towards that end.”

“I don’t care about being responsible to the kingdom! They must bow to me anyway, the reason for their subservience is none of my concern.”

If you weren’t consumed by your fit of rage, you might have noticed that to your right, for a fraction of a second, the hue of the handsome ravenette’s eyes turned from a deep blue to a stormy purple.

“My child, you must learn that people do not bow blindly to the throne. They bow out of respect for a leader that makes decisions which keep them in mind.”

“They should respect me regardless. I’m their princess. That should be enough for them.”

You did not wait for your father to continue his lecture, as you stormed out of the throne room and marched back toward your chambers.

—

Upon entering your bedroom, a fireplace had already been lit – its crackling flames providing just enough heat for one’s slumber during a mid-winter night.

You sat down on the edge of your rather large bed – a mattress as soft as clouds, and sheets of the finest silk which was woven with royalty in mind. You kicked off your heels, scattering them halfway across your cozy living space – not caring to put them away properly – the help was there for such chores, anyway.

Your lady-in-waiting – you believed her name was Kanroji – knocked upon the carefully carved wooden doors of your chambers, before entering upon your command. She gave you a soft smile and curtseyed before you.

“It’s a wonderful evening, my princess, I hope today treated you well,” she greeted, and you gave out a loud sigh before flopping onto the mattress, a pout visible on your face as Kanroji picked up your discarded heels from the floor and placed them in their proper spot. 

“Kanroji–” you elongated the last vowel of her name, “today was awful. Can you believe my dad possessed the gall to summon me today? And for what– to discuss marriage?” you groaned, “If I could, I would’ve wiped that everlasting smile off of his face for making me go through all of this!”

“My princess, that is no way to speak about your father, much less your king,” Kanroji lightly scolded you, causing you to roll your eyes. “I’m sure his reasons are sound. I understand if you find the idea rather, well, uprooting I should say, but–”

“–But nothing!” you exclaimed, exasperation evident in your tone. “I don’t want to be responsible for the people, especially if it’s at the expense of my own losses!”

“Princess, with all due respect, they are your people,” Kanroji reminded you, “being a princess doesn’t exempt you from responsibilities.”

Rolling your eyes once more, you grumbled out a “whatever,” and sat up on your bed to face your lady-in-waiting.

“I’m sure that it was at least nice to speak with your father, no? Considering how busy he is and all?” Kanroji asked with a smile.

“Not really,” you groaned, “but I did get to see that one cute advisor he has, so I guess it wasn’t all bad.”

“Are you referring to Lord Tomioka, my princess?”

“Who else? The rest of them are old as shit– you think I’d fall for Urokodaki? Or – god forbid – Kuwajima?”

“A princess must not use such foul language, your highness,” Kanroji chided, “although I must say that I never expected you to fall for those…older men.”

You sighed in annoyance, “technically, I can do whatever I want, Lady Kanroji.”

“Unfortunately, Lord Tomioka is already married to the royal doctor, Lady Kocho,” Kanroji ignored the tone of your voice, “perhaps it would be wise to listen to King Ubayashiki’s words and look for a potential suitor at the next royal ball?”

“I doubt he has that much love for her,” you muttered, “perhaps I could pull Lord Tomioka aside during the festivities and–”

“Your highness, with all due respect, you will do no such thing,” Kanroji admonished you.

“But I’m the princess, Lady Kanroji, surely he’d see that as an opportunity for upward mobility, no?”

Kanroji sighed, deciding not to push the topic further. She motioned for you to stand up so she could undress you. You turned your back to her as she started untying the strands of your outer bodice, before removing it and working on the following layers to place them into a soiled linen basket.

“My princess will wash her face before heading to bed, we don’t want any bad air to ruin your perfect skin,” Kanroji urged as she helped you into your night slip.

“You don’t need to treat me like I’m five, Lady Kanroji. I know how to take care of myself.”

Kanroji schooled her expression from that of a tight-lipped smile to one with gentle radiance.

“Of course, your highness.”

You headed to your bathroom, but, rather than washing your face by yourself, you merely sat down on a cushioned chair beside the door. Kanroji followed, obtaining a washcloth made of the softest cotton and dipping it in water which she had warmed prior to your arrival. She dabbed at your face, removing any excess dirt or sweat which built up throughout the day, before lathering some soap into the cloth and gently applying it to your face, before rinsing it away with more water.

After she patted your face dry with another towel, she handed you your toothbrush and paste, and, after you had finished, provided you with water and a spit cup so you could rinse out your mouth. 

“My princess seems to be all ready for bed now, let’s get you cozied up for the night.”

She led you back to your bedroom, and you buried yourself in warm blankets, choosing not to respond as she blew out one final candle and bid you a good night.

—

The following day, upon your wake, the birds outside of your window were surprisingly quiet. You’d quite often awake to the chirps of songbirds and hoots of mourning doves, which would rise you out of your restful sleep. 

You stood up from your bed, and walked over to your wardrobe, excited to see if the maids had fully cycled your favorite dress through the laundry – one which had been inspired by your own confidence, merely amplifying everything desirable about your figure. It exemplified your wealth, your status; it brought you up into the clouds of materialism as others looked up at you in pure awe.

However, upon opening your wardrobe, you were shocked to find yourself looking at the wooden backing of the closet rather than your endless amounts of clothing that usually hung from the racks – something that you had not laid eyes upon ever since you first received the piece of furniture.

“Kanroji!” you yelled for your assistant, who, despite being summoned, still had the courtesy to knock upon your door before entering.

“Is something wrong, my princess?” she asked delicately as always, yet her honeyed lips did nothing to calm you down.

“You did this, didn’t you?” you accused her as you waved your hands haphazardly towards the empty wardrobe, “why do I not have any clothing to wear?”

Kanroji looked at you in pure confusion, before walking over and gazing upon what you were talking about. She sighed, “I didn’t do this, your highness, perhaps one of the maids went to wash all of your clothing and forgot to return it?”

“Why would they think to wash clothing which hasn’t been worn!?” you argued, “what should I do, then, if I don’t have anything to wear?”

Kanroji pondered for a moment, before seemingly coming to a solution.

“Well, my princess, if you would be so kind to take into consideration this idea I have, I may have a solution–”

“Just spit it out!”

Kanroji sighed, trying not to be taken aback by your rude behavior, “I believe we have extra clothing which is usually reserved for the royal staff. I could go fetch one for you if–”

“So I am to wear a servant’s clothes? To dress myself as a peasant?”

“No, my princess, the royal staff uniforms are hardly clothing meant for a commoner, they are still made of fine quality fabric and are sewn by the best seamstresses in the kingdom.”

You rolled your eyes, “fine, but only because there’s no other choice. Bring me the peasants’ clothing.”

Kanroji turned on her heel and left your room to fetch the uniform, leaving you to walk around your room in silence. After pacing around for a few minutes, you went up to your window, where a songbird had made its nest and laid its eggs.

You had asked time and time again for the staff to remove the nest, as it was partially obstructing the view of your garden, yet they hadn’t gotten around to it, it seemed.

However, today, the nest was completely empty – not a bird nor egg in sight.

“Princess, I’ve gathered a uniform set in your size,” Kanroji said behind you, prompting you to turn your head.

“Give it here.”

She handed you the folded clothing, and you held it out in front of you, inspecting it with expressive disgust.

“How am I supposed to put this on? It’s too frilly and complicated.”

“Allow me, your highness,” Kanroji muttered, before taking the uniform and having you step into it, buttoning it up and smoothing out the skirt.

“You look beautiful as always, my princess,” she smiled at you.

“I’d hardly say that,” you grumbled, “take me to my gardens, won’t you? I need some fresh air after this whole–” you waved your hands trying to find the right word, “–mess.”

Kanroji nodded, “of course, your highness.”

She led you through the winding corridors of the castle, and, as much as you preferred being the one leading, today you were almost hiding yourself behind your assistant – not wishing for anyone to look down upon you for the clothing you wore.

Yet, after a while, you realized that no one spared a second glance toward you. Not a single maid, nor servant, bothered to bow or greet you as you walked by. Easily offended by their lack of etiquette, you caught up with your lady-in-waiting, Kanroji, and whispered harshly into her ear.

“Why are they not greeting me? Usually they bow upon seeing or hearing me walk by. I have never seen such insubordination in my entire life–”

“My princess, it may be due to your clothing. You are wearing quite an unusual outfit for a royal today, and they are quite busy with setting up the decorations and such for the ball. I plead with you to be patient with them, your highness.”

You huffed, but remained silent after hearing her reasoning, your shoulders hunched in annoyance as Kanroji led you outside.

Your garden was one of the more peaceful areas of the palace. It was strategically placed so that you could view it from your bedroom window, a hectare of greenery reserved just for yourself. It caught the rays of sun through the early morning to late evening, with a rather beautiful fountain built in the very center of it made of marble, sculpted with three tiers that had water flow down into a rounded reservoir. The reservoir itself had sculptures sitting on the edges of the fountain – with one of the notable figures being that of Icarus.

Along the border of the garden, white and purple hydrangeas bloomed in the late morning sun, which gave way to various other floral species. It was all proper and organized, each plant having a designated area for it to flourish in. Walking further into the garden, you held out your hand to trace your fingers along the petals of buttercups, a flower which had always been one of your favorites – its delicate appearance attracting you to it. 

You approached a small gazebo that found its place on the edge of the garden, a shaded area for you to use should you grow tired. Taking a seat, you exhaled slowly, recollecting yourself from the earlier mishap that was out of your control, almost entering a sort of meditative state. Your thoughts, however, wandered, and eventually led you to your fathers words of having you become married.

“Lady Kanroji?” you asked, and she smiled kindly at you – just as she always did. It was a rather comforting sight, to have someone so close that didn’t seem bothered by anything in the entire world.

“Yes, my princess?”

“Do you ever feel like…your life is out of your hands? Like you’re starting to lose control?” you asked, voice slightly uneasy as you turned your head away from her, deciding to rather admire flowers which neighbored the bench you sat on.

A bumblebee flew past you, its fat little body buzzing between flowers, working hard to pollinate each one.

“Well, yes, everyone does– but, what is making you feel this way, your highness?”

“I mean, look at this bee here– it probably thinks about nothing but how it needs to pollinate flowers and collect nectar for its hive – wherever that may be, right?”

“Of course, princess,”

The bee landed on a lone calendula, burying itself in pollen, before taking a quick moment to rest before flying off to another part of the garden.

“I wish my life was more like this bee. I wouldn’t have to worry about anything except the task in front of me.”

“Princess, is this about the clothes in your wardrobe being missing this morning?” Kanroji inquired.

You shook your head, “no, I’ve accepted that as a small mishap. I’m more worried about how my freedom might be taken away from me, with being married soon and all, especially to someone that I—”

“—that you know nothing about?” Kanroji finished for you.

You nodded, before eyeing a blooming foxglove plant, approaching it and plucking a single flower from its stem, twirling it in your hand as you admired its range of colors. 

“I just wish that, at least, my last few days of freedom before this ball will be alright.”

Kanroji tentatively, ever so diligently following your every step, took your hand in hers, “I am wishing only the best for you, my princess. I promise that your husband will be as kind and as loving as can be.”

You smiled at her, still holding the foxglove in your hands, “thank you, Lady Kanroji.”

“–and if he’s not, then I promise to make his life a living hell,” she grinned, causing a hearty laugh to emerge from your chest.

“That hopefully won’t be necessary, but I thank you nonetheless.”

You looked down towards the ground, noticing that an invasive species of yellow tansy has taken root in the soil all throughout the garden.

Groaning, you looked up towards Kanroji once more, “do we not have a gardener to get rid of these weeds?” you asked exasperatedly, and she chuckled.

“Your highness, with all due respect, didn’t you fire them last week because they pruned your rose bush in a way that wasn’t to your liking?”

Sighing, you responded, “you’re right, we’ll need a new one soon, perhaps one of the servants would care for a promotion?”

“We’ll see about that, my princess. As for now, though, how about we get you washed up from being outside, and then after I’m sure we can have the royal chef make you one of your favorite meals for dinner later? As a little treat for all the anguish from today, perhaps?”

You smiled, “that sounds wonderful.”

—

You sat in the great hall of the castle, sampling hors d'oeuvres and sipping on champagne, chatting idly with your assistant at your own private table, watching waiters and waitresses move about through all the different tables, serving appetizers and samples of foods to both guests and royals alike.

Music played in the background from an entourage of pianists and violinists, who were playing some piece from Beethoven that you couldn’t recall the name of.

Feeling refreshed, you called over the waiter for yet another glass of champagne, motioning him to fill up Kanroji’s glass as well.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly–” Kanroji protested, to which you waved your hand in front of her.

“C’mon,” you grinned, “you work so hard. Just one glass? Please?”

She huffed in feigned annoyance, but relented as she let the waiter fill up her glass with the bubbly drink. 

“You seem much happier now that the maids found one of your spare dresses in the dried laundry, don’t you?” Kanroji grinned.

You nodded, “I feel more beautiful this way. I really disliked that maid uniform. I felt so…inferior.”

“Clothing does not make a princess, you know,” she reminded you simply as you took another bite of food, and Kanroji grimaced as you opened your filled mouth to talk.

“I know. ‘M a princess regardless o’ wha’ ‘m wearin’,” you mumbled before swallowing, “you don’t need to remind me.”

Kanroji sighed as you so easily missed the point she was trying to make, watching as you waved for the waiter to come by, ready to order your meal. 

“What should I have prepared for you this flashy evening, your highness?” he asked.

The man before you was tall and muscular, with white hair that fell down his shoulders and crimson eyes that reminded you of rubies. He took out a notepad to write down your orders when you realized his left hand proudly displayed three golden bands which were embedded with diamonds, each one on a separate finger. 

You could hardly believe he was just a mere waiter for the castle.

With his looks, you believed he could be doing much better.

“Would it be so bad if I said ‘you’?” you smiled lazily at him, causing him to chuckle at your statement.

“Unfortunately, my princess, I am a happily married man,” he said, pointing to the three rings, “although I wouldn’t be opposed to adding a fourth wife to the family.”

Your nose crinkled in disgust – not because he had multiple wives, no – but because you disliked the idea of having to share him with others.

What belonged to the princess should belong to her alone.

“I’ll pass,” you forced out, “I would, however, like to request the foie gras for my meal tonight, if you could you put that in for me — and, perhaps, a side of toasted baguette with caviar spread will do.” 

“Ah, my princess, as much as we are happy to make anything you desire, I must regretfully inform you that we do not have any foie gras for tonight.”

Your blood pressure started to rise. Putting on a fake smile, which was more akin to that of a grimace, you asked, “and what may be the reason for the kitchen being unprepared to take my order?”

“Your highness, I promise that it is not the kitchen’s fault. A strange occurrence, and a most un-flashy one, really – our local farmers have reported that every single one of their animals have escaped, and what’s more- they can’t be found anywhere within the borders of the kingdom.”

You thought back to the morning, when you made note of the usual songbirds outside of your window being absent.

“Do you not have any duck meat preserved?” you asked.

“No, your highness. We hunt the very same day that we prepare the meals so that they’re fresh. Which is why–”

“Which is why you’re supposedly unable to adhere to my request. I heard you the first time. No need to repeat yourself,” you huffed. “If you don’t have any meat, then what do you have?”

Just as the waiter was about to open his mouth, you held up your hand to stop him, “Never mind. Just get me a salad. Now leave us,” you glared at him, disdain heavy in your tone.

“Of course, princess.”

You rolled your eyes as he sauntered away, and Kanroji stared at you with a slight frown on her face.

“What is it?” you asked, taking her hand and holding it.

Kanroji tensed, but allowed her hand to stay rested on yours.

“It’s nothing, I promise,” she started, “I hope that you can be more patient with them, though, they are doing their best to serve you.”

You sighed, “whatever.”

You looked down at her hand, at which point a frown crossed your face.

“Lady Kanroji, since when did you have such an awful scar?”

Looking back up at her, she seemed slightly alarmed, taking her hand away from yours.

“What are you talking about, princess?” She looked down at her own hand, inspecting it as though she didn’t realize she had such a blemish.

“That scar– I don’t know why I only just noticed it, but–” you paused as she showed you her hand once more.

Her hand was flawless.

“You may have had too much to drink, princess, should I escort you back to your room?”

You looked at your assistant in utter confusion, “but–”

“I highly doubt it was anything more than a trick of the light,” she smiled reassuringly. “Let’s get you to your chambers now, alright princess?”

—

You awoke to the pounding of fists against your door, jolting up from your bed.

“Princess! Please open the door!” one of the royal guards shouted from outside your chambers.

Groggily, you walked up and opened it, to find the guard in what seemed to be a slightly confused panic.

“What’s going on?”

“You’ll have to come down to the royal gardens with me, princess, there’s something that was…er– left for you.”

In a huff, you followed his instructions, the guard following closely behind you, winding through corridors and staircases until you reached the outside, where a small crowd consisting mostly of royal staff could be seen huddling around something, exchanging whispers and gasps that were unintelligible.

“What in the hell did you raise me out of my bed for that needed my immediate attention?” you yelled back at the guard, who was only a few paces behind you, “forcing me to go outside while looking this indecent better have a good explanation.”

You pushed your way through the crowd, only to stop short as you gazed at what was before you: a dead cow, one that seemed to be entirely gutted, with its entrails scattered about around its body. 

The same guard walked up to you, tapping you on the shoulder before handing you a scroll, “this was laid beside the mauled animal,” he explained.

You unraveled it, only to read something that made you feel rather faint.

Here’s that meat you missed so dearly last night, princess.

You could almost laugh, if it weren’t for how absolutely no one could’ve heard about this conversation besides Lady Kanroji and the waiter himself.

Perhaps he notified the chef and one of the kitchen staff got upset? But that wouldn’t explain how they got the cow in the first place if all the animals are all–

“Princess?”

You looked up at the guard, who’s purple eyes seemed to be glimmering in the light of the morning sun.

“What is it?”

The guard frowned – at what, you couldn’t possibly tell – before he shook his head and walked back toward the castle.

Just as you were about to question him, Lady Kanroji came running out from the palace doors and stopped before you.

“Oh, my princess! I’m so glad you’re alright!” she wailed, seemingly disturbed by the events of this morning.

“I’m fine, but I’ll need each and every one of the kitchen staff that was working last night to be interrogated.” 

Kanroji seemed confused, but nodded, deciding not to question your reasoning.

“In the meantime, your highness, would you like to visit your garden again? I know that it tends to calm you down quite a bit and right now you seem quite…frazzled.”

—

“Lady Kanroji, how quickly do flowers usually grow?”

“Your highness, at this point, I have no idea.”

She looked just as confused as you were – gazing upon your garden, which looked entirely different from what it looked like yesterday. Rather than hydrangeas and the occasional foxglove bush blooming, the entire garden had been infested with snapdragons.

“I was here just yesterday, was I not?” you asked rhetorically, and Kanroji nodded in affirmation.

“Yes, you were, my princess.”

You sighed, “I don’t understand – all I wanted was a few peaceful days before I am forced into an arranged marriage. Am I not allowed something as simple as that?”

“Many are not afforded things that may seem simple to others, my princess, perhaps this is how the universe so ordained these few days to unfold.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better about my circumstances, though.”

“Perhaps not, but we can always do our best to make the most of what we are dealt, even if the hand we are given is not the best.”

You listened to her as you looked around the garden, seeing how endless the lines of snapdragon flowers seemed to be, and, in a moment of firm resolve, you lifted up the bottom of your slip before setting your feet bare into the soil.

“What are you doing, your highness? You will dirty your clothing if you–”

“I’m making the most of the hand I’ve been dealt, Lady Kanroji,” you explained, before beginning to weed out the unwanted snapdragon flowers from their roots.

Kanroji smiled, before following suit and helping you in your task, ridding the garden of unwanted plants to restore it to its former glory.

—

It felt like hours since you first arrived to your garden, your night slip entirely dirtied, and your hands caked with soil. The sun beat down on both of you, causing sweat to drip down your face as you smeared it away with your dirtied hands.

A crow flew down and landed in the garden next to you, poking its beak at the bundle of snapdragons that you’d picked out of the soil, you waved at it in order to shoo it away – but to no avail.

“I thought that there were no fauna left in the kingdom,” you mused, and Kanroji giggled softly.

“Apparently this little one didn’t quite catch the memo,” she smiled, causing you to chuckle.

However, another crow flew down a few minutes later, and then another – until there was nearly a flock of crows that surrounded each of you. 

“Lady Kanroji–?” you asked, concern lacing your tone as you looked around, with what seemed to be every single crow staring directly at you, as though you were nothing but prey to them.

It started off with one crow – which flew toward you and started picking at your night slip with its beak. You tried shooing it off, but doing so only invited another crow, and another, and another to do the same.

“Stop! What– stop!” you screamed as the crows continued tearing at your slip, leaving holes and cuts all throughout the thin cloth. You knelt to the ground, curling yourself into a tight ball as the crows hovered closely above you.

Until finally, the torment ceased.

Standing up, you looked around to see them flying away, before looking back at your assistant who seemed absolutely horrified by what just occurred. 

“Your highness–”

“Don’t. Say. A word,” you seethed, tears starting to brim your eyes before you rushed back to your chambers, Kanroji following closely behind you.

—

Sanemi’s POV

A yell of frustration could be heard from your chambers, causing a silent snicker to pass through his lips. 

He couldn’t help that he loved messing with you: you were the perfect prey for someone like him. Someone in a place of authority who needed to be knocked down a few pegs; a bratty princess who wanted everything to go her way – regardless of if it hurt those around her or not. 

Not only that, but the noises you made were music to his ears – how you’d groan and grumble and scream – all because of him. 

He was the one who was causing you all this grief.

And he loved it.

Unfortunately, it seemed that missing clothes and cooking ingredients were just not enough to make you absolutely lose your sense of control. 

“Kanroji!” you yelled from your chambers, causing his ears to perk up. You always had your poor assistant help you out, he realized, it was only ever a matter of time before her name could be heard from your lips. 

It pissed him off, really, that assistant of yours – she would always be there to step in and help you, no matter how terrible your behavior was. 

However, it seemed today that your assistant was nowhere to be found, and so he had the privilege of reveling in your annoyed grumbles for that much longer.

After what seemed to be about half of an hour, your chamber doors finally opened.

He decided that your expression must’ve been priceless, so he took the shape of a female guard and walked down towards your chamber doors.

However, he couldn’t stop his mouth from falling agape upon seeing you.

Your dress – which he intentionally shrunk down a size, caused your tits to spill out from the top of it. Not only that, but your skirt only went down to your mid-thigh, and he could only imagine what a sight it would be if you bent over to pick something up. 

He was frozen – he hated you, hated authority. He despised how you thought that you were simply better than everyone else – that it was somehow your birthright to be above everyone else.

So, why was he awestruck by the sudden beauty that was before him?

You turned your head to him – or, the female guard that he was disguised as – and gave him a nasty glare.

“The hell are you looking at?” you asked.

If there were a higher power, Sanemi would’ve thanked them a hundred times over for the fact that his shapeshifting ability could hide the hardening bulge in his pants.

After a moment, he managed to find his voice – and thankfully he remembered to make it fit the character he was playing as.

“Apologies, princess, did you need help with anything?”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed before marching away from him, and he couldn’t help but smirk as your figure turned down another long corridor.

Out of all the people he’s fucked with, you were definitely his favorite.

—

“Shit, princess, got me so fuckin’ worked up over nothing, didn’t ya?” Sanemi muttered under his breath as he fisted his stiff cock, not even bothering to start slowly as he fucked his hand with each unrelenting stroke.

The precum seeped out from his tip, allowing his hand to glide even faster along his thick length; he was harsh with it, the muscles in his forearm nearly burning at the pace of his movements. 

Sanemi snuck into your room after you left – having now memorized your daily schedule, he didn’t need to worry about you catching him in the act. It would be at least an hour before you returned to your chambers, giving him plenty of time to cum before then.

He laid upon your bed – the mattress softer than anything he ever had the luxury of experiencing before – as he stroked himself to the thought of ruining you.

He wondered if the plush of your skin would be even softer.

Gods, how he would love to trace his roughened hands along your delicate body, squeezing your tits, groping your ass.

You could stand to have a bit of punishment too, he thought before envisioning how he’d have you on your hands and knees, smacking your ass until it was red and sore.

Or maybe humiliation would be better?

He groaned as he thrust up into his hand as he thought of all the ways he could ruin your status, humiliating you in front of hundreds – no, thousands – of your subjects.

Maybe he could take it a step further than he usually would this time – oh, how he’d love to ruin you until you were nothing more than a needy slut for his cock.

“Fuck–” he grunted, before turning his head to the side, where he eyed a pair of your discarded panties in the corner of your room.

“Fuckin’ brat never learns to clean up after herself,” he muttered, climbing out of your bed to go pick them up.

Lucky me, he thought, bringing your panties up to his nose and inhaling deeply, his knees nearly buckling.

Somehow, the head of his cock turned an even angrier shade of red after breathing in your scent, with his length getting so stiff that it almost hurt.

“Fuck– princess,” he groaned, “smell so fuckin’ good,” he added, walking back to your bed before inhaling more of your musk, hips bucking involuntarily into his hand – his cock getting impossibly harder as he fucked himself to the thought of you. 

“Gonna make me fuckin’ cum like this, you fuckin’ brat.” 

His abdomen tensed as his seed shot out from his reddened tip, spilling it all over his hand and lower stomach. He hissed as he continued to stroke himself through his orgasm before pulling his hand back and letting it fall against the mattress, panting heavily.

“Are you sure you don’t have any spare clothes that fit, my princess?”

Sanemi’s eyes shot open, hearing your assistant’s voice from outside the door.

“Yes, I checked every single one and they’re all too tight! I’ve had difficulty breathing all morning because of this stupid outfit!”

You shouldn’t be back yet, he thought, but then again he did disrupt your morning for the third time this week – perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised.

He shot up from your bed, quickly stripping it as well as gathering any dirty clothing you had lying around before transforming himself into a maid.

The door opened, and Sanemi had to hold back a grin when he saw how frustrated you were, his cock starting to harden once more upon seeing your face contorted into a pout.

“Why are you here?” you asked him, before your assistant put a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Leave her be, my princess, she’s just doing her job.”

Sanemi nodded to her and took the linen that he had gathered out of your chambers, leaving you and your assistant alone for the time being.

By the time he was out of sight, he snapped his fingers – causing the linen to disappear completely.

It’s not like you’d care about missing some bedsheets for a while, right?

—

Y/N’s POV

You awoke the next day to the smell of smoke.

You weren’t able to sleep much anyway — namely due to being limited to a simple blanket as you laid on your bare mattress — all because the maid who took your sheets didn’t bother to communicate with anyone else that your bed would need to be made before you retired for the night.

After dipping in and out of sleep, tossing and turning in your freezing room, the sun had finally started to rise, and, although you usually never awoke before it was at least halfway up in the sky, today your sense of grogginess was replaced by complete alarm.

Was the castle burning?

You ran to the doors of your chamber, your already too-tight night slip nearly causing you to trip as you reached for its handle.

Cold.

You slowly opened the door, and the absence of flames relieved you.

Only thinking of yourself, you carefully made your way down staircases and through corridors – the smoke only becoming more intense the further down you went.

Perhaps a kitchen fire?

Yet, as you found your way to the castle entrance, you started to realize that the smoke had been coming from outside rather than in the castle.

Careful to not show your face through any windows – in order to protect yourself from being targeted by any potential enemies or rioters outside – you listened for voices and yelling to determine if the castle was under siege.

But, other than the distant crackling of flames, the night was silent.

Exhaling your fear, you gained enough courage to peek through one of the windows. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, you thought to go outside so you could locate the source of the smoke.

The castle door creaked open, and a plume of smoke entered through the doorway, resulting in a series of coughs which erupted from your throat. The grass you were on was dry as you walked further, the blades poking at the soles of your feet with each step.

You saw the orange glow of the flames in the distance, and, by the time you got close enough to see what was burning, your blood ran cold.

Your garden.

The entire area had been engulfed in flames – the plants reduced to cinders and ash. 

Tears ran down your cheeks as you watched the only place you felt true peace burn to the ground, the fire growing in size until reaching a crescendo of roaring crackles as it burned every remaining piece of your soul, unrelenting until the fire decided to quell itself, returning the borrowed flames to the sun as it rose above the horizon.

Until what remained was nothing but char and dirt.

You sat there for what felt like hours, sitting silently as your eyes reddened – from the smoke or from crying, one wouldn’t be able to tell.

“Your highness…” you heard a soft voice behind you, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to turn around.

The gentle, reassuring hand of your lady-in-waiting laid upon your shoulder once more – just as it had many times this past week. It was her way of consoling you, no matter how horrible things were.

“I’m so sorry,” was all she could offer, squeezing your shoulder as you gazed upon your garden – or what was left of it – in silence.

“Thank you, Mitsuri – but this isn’t your fault.”

Your friend sat down beside you, rubbing your back as you two watched the remaining embers flicker in and out of existence.

Until there was nothing else left for you to have.

—

Sanemi’s POV

Sanemi was smug – surely a fire would get your attention, would it not?

It was his last resort, but you had just been so awfully bratty and hostile to those around you.

He couldn’t just stand by the sidelines and let that happen, right?

The afternoon was eerily quiet, he hadn’t heard you yell for your assistant once today. Once you got back from your silly little playground, you locked yourself up in your room, not opening up for anyone.

So, that evening, he took on the form of that one maid again, and stole a skeleton key from one of the royal staff.

“Princess? May I come in?” He knocked on your door, and, after hearing no response, decided to unlock it, knocking once more as he entered.

You were sitting on your bed, staring into nothing, your hands lay silent in your lap.

“Princess?”

“What do you want?” you nearly whispered, as though the room around you might shatter into pieces should you speak any louder.

“Er–” Sanemi quickly skimmed through your daily schedule – something he had memorized every detail of – in order to come up with some excuse for interrupting your time alone.

However, he did not have time to answer, as you stood up and held your arms out from your sides – your expression flat and emotionless as your eyes remained fixed on the ground before you.

“Apologies, that was a stupid question,” you continued, your tone almost dejected before looking up at the maid before you, “It’s time for my bath, isn’t that right?” 

“Yes– yes, princess, of course,” Sanemi stuttered.

You simply stared, before speaking up, “well? Are you going to undress me or not?”

Sanemi’s ears flushed a bright red, but did indeed walk behind you – not wishing to reveal himself as an imposter by acting strange – and started to lift up your night slip, the very one you hadn’t changed out of since last night.

You smelled of burning ash, which wasn’t much of a surprise to him – but he didn’t expect you to withstand the smoke for so long, just to stare at the flames that he created.

He removed your night slip, using all of his willpower to not stare down at you while you were indecent.

“Take me to my bath, please,” you requested silently, and, to much of his surprise, he obeyed without a second thought.

He took your hand, leading you to your bathroom, where he simultaneously filled up your tub with warm water with the slight wave of his hand – as though it had been prepared for you all along, as though he knew this would be what he was getting into as he entered your room – your home.

You sat down in the clear water, ash ebbing off of you in ripples as water gently sloshed around you. He reached for a nearby cloth, and lathered it in soap, before rubbing it up and down your back, bubbles forming with each swipe of the cloth. 

You remained oddly silent, letting him wash you as he pleased – of course, you didn’t know it was him. 

He doubted you’d let him be within ten feet of you if he wasn’t acting as someone else.

Yet, when he went to clean your shoulders, he placed his false, dainty hand upon your shoulder, and you sniffled.

You were crying.

“Princess?” he asked cautiously.

You brought your hands up to your face, hiding yourself from the maid that washed you.

“What is happening to me?” you sobbed silently, breaths shaky as you inhaled, “My last few days have been horrible, and today was just— my garden is gone.”

Normally, Sanemi would feel a spark of pride upon hearing that he got under his victim’s skin, but now, he felt nothing but pure guilt.

Had he gone too far?

“Perhaps I’ve been cursed,” you whispered, “all I wanted was to live my last few days before I'm married in peace. I’m to be wed to someone that I don’t know the first thing about, to be silent and obedient, adhering to my husband’s every wish.”

He remained silent, unsure of what to say – he had been the cause of your suffering, at least in the short-term. This marriage of yours seemed unavoidable, something you’d have to endure for god knows how long.

He turned your face by your chin, gently pressing the washcloth to your cheeks, wiping away soot and tears with a few simple strokes. 

“I don’t even know what I did wrong, it all feels so– so unjust,” you confessed.

Had Sanemi not had centuries upon centuries to learn keeping up facades, he would have given himself away right then and there. In a mere second, you managed to replace the guilt that festered within his heart with pure rage.

How blind were you?

He said nothing as he finished washing you up, being careful to not scrub harshly at your skin despite his anger and hatred, and then toweled you up by the time he had finished. 

“Good night, princess,” he uttered before leaving you to dry yourself, resolving to not take a single glance back as you looked at him – or, looked at the maid – in pure confusion and hurt.

—

Y/N’s POV

“My princess,” Mitsuri whispered as she woke you up, “you slept for so long – it’s about time to get ready for the ball tonight.”

Your eyes shot open, anxiety spiking in your chest, “already?”

Mitsuri nodded, eyes softening in concern for you.

Fuck.

Mitsuri brought in a champagne colored dress which had been specially designed for you – taking all of your measurements into consideration, as well as a white mask with gold lining, and white feathers which were reminiscent of a swan. 

Mitsuri helped lace up the dress, which, unlike the rest of your outfits, thankfully fit quite well. She then placed the mask on your face, before taking your hand and gently leading you down to the great hall – where the festivities would soon begin.

Upon opening the doors, it became difficult to breathe, with people clustered together, voices clashing together as conversations carried through the hall. There was some dancing, yet those who were taking their chances on the ballroom floor seemed rather clumsy and uncoordinated in their steps, while those who were on the sidelines speaking with relatives and strangers alike sampled foods from trays that disappeared and reappeared along with the waiters that weaved haphazardly through the hall. 

You walked toward the front of the room, picking up your dress so as to not trip on the ornate staircase which led up to where your father – and King – waited for you.

“You look quite beautiful, my child, I hope you will be able to enjoy tonight’s celebrations,” he beamed, and you nodded in response.

“Are there any plans you have for me, father?”

“I do have a few princes I’d like for you to meet – namely those from the Agatsuma, Iguro, and Rengoku bloodlines. They all show promise – perhaps some more than others – of being benevolent rulers.”

As though prompted, a blonde man walked up the stairs toward you and your father, his hand shaky as he extended it toward you. Otherwise, there were no particular qualities of his that stood out to you. You looked at him expectantly, awaiting some sort of introduction.

“Y-your highness! May– may I please have your first dance of the night?” the man before you sputtered, and it took everything within you to properly school your expression so that your father wouldn’t scold you for poor behavior.

“May I know who I have the pleasure of dancing with?” you managed to ask the blonde, who seemed as though he would keel over and faint at just about any moment.

“Oh– I’m Zenitsu Agastuma, sorry–” he introduced himself, bowing before you.

Reluctantly, you curtseyed back, before placing your hand in his, grimacing at the clamminess of his skin. 

He placed his other hand on top of yours, “Thank you! I promise you won’t regret this!”

He took you down to the floor, muttering brief apologies to every person you two passed by. By the time you two the center of the great hall, he took one of your hands and placed it on his left shoulder blade, before taking his right hand in your left.

“Are you expecting me to lead?” you asked, and his face went bright red.

“If that’s alright with you, my lovely princess, and– if we could just do a simple box step, perhaps? I– I’m not too good with dancing,” he said sheepishly.

You sighed, deciding to take the lead in a box step, with him following each of your movements, until he tripped over your shoes.

“Sorry! Sorry!” he exclaimed, obviously nervous, his movements short and jittery with each subsequent step.

You sighed, but then he tripped over your feet again, and again, muttering out apology after apology each time.

By the time the song had finished, you’d had enough of him and walked him off of the dance floor.

“Wait– please! Give me another chance! I– I promise I’d be a good husband, please!” he babbled, tears flowing down past his mask and down his cheeks. You forced him off of you, shaking your hand so he’d let go.

You went to sit down next to your father, who seemed to be chuckling in amusement.

“Are you laughing at me, father?” you asked, your tone tense after what humiliation the blonde had caused you in front of your subjects.

“No, no– I promise I’m not,” he smiled, before summoning the next prince that he’d mentioned – a rather short man with black hair. Through his mask, you could see that his eyes were quite beautiful – being two separate colors.

Yet, his eyes were elsewhere, staring longingly at your friend, Mitsuri, rather than you.

“Erm– hello, may I ask for your name?” you asked the man.

“Hmm? I’m not interested,” he said curtly, “I decline the opportunity to dance with you, princess.”

Your mouth hung open, absolutely offended by the man before you.

“Are you absolutely sure, Prince Iguro?” your father questioned, and the prince nodded in affirmation.

“Yes, please honor my choice, your highness.”

Your father sighed, dismissing him and the prince quickly found his way to Mitsuri, who started blushing up a storm as soon as he started speaking with her.

At least one of us will have a chance at finding love tonight, you thought.

The last prince whom your father mentioned was summoned next, a young man who seemed rather jovial and filled with vigor, with hair that resembled that of flames themselves and eyes that were reminiscent of crackling embers.

“Your highness, would you be so kind and allow me to dance with you?” he smiled, a grin that was infectious as it caused you to return your own.

“Of course,” you happily responded.

He took your hand, kissing your knuckles before leading you back to the center of the ballroom, placing a hand on your left shoulder and leading you into the dance.

“I hope that this evening has fared well for you so far, my dear princess,” he said, twirling you around.

It was comforting – he was comforting. He provided you with air where you felt you could not breathe.

“It is going much better now that I am here with you, dear prince,” you smiled, “may I ask for your name?”

“Kyojuro Rengoku,” he answered, before leaning you into a dip and bringing you back upright, guiding you into another step, and another.

He was incredibly smooth with his movements – all until a waiter accidentally bumped into him, spilling wine down the back of his suit.

“My prince! I’m so, so sorry–” the waiter apologized, trying to clean up his suit with a spare cloth.

Kyojuro simply laughed it off, “it’s quite alright, dear waiter,” before turning to you, whispering “I’ll go get changed, and then I’ll be back for you, alright, my dear princess?”

You felt a warmth creep up your cheeks before nodding, seeing him give you a quick wink before he was off.

Your observing of the kind prince was interrupted by a gentle touch to your shoulder. Thinking it was Mitsuri, you turned around with a smile on your face, which quickly faded into one of confusion upon seeing the person in front of you.

“Hello, princess, may I have your next dance?”

The man before you was about as tall as Kyojuro, with white hair that seemed untamable. A man who displayed scars in every place of exposed skin, his raven mask unable to fully conceal the ones on his face.

Perhaps he was a royal knight of some sort?

“And who are you, may I ask?” you inquired, and a small smirk stretched along his lips.

“Sanemi, dear princess, my name is Sanemi.”

He extended his hand, which you observed had a similar scar to the one you thought Mitsuri had just a few nights ago.

Hesitantly, you placed your hand in his – immediately noting the warmth and roughness of his skin – as though he’d spent years working with them. His grip was firm, but not harsh – indicating knowledge of his own strength. 

His right hand slid down to the small of your back, finding its purchase just above your hip – not daring to go lower. He led you into a similar waltz that Kyojuro placed you in, yet, this one somehow felt more…intimate.

“Sanemi,” you started, rolling his name along the tip of your tongue, “do you not possess a last name? Or are you perhaps a scoundrel with a tarnished reputation?” you teased, each step between the two of you smooth, almost calculated as he led you through the ballroom.

“Do you believe you have earned my last name, princess?” he whispered hotly, to which you felt heat prickle along your face. 

He chuckled, “apparently not. But–” he led you into a quick spin, before pulling you close once more, “if you get to know me well enough, perhaps I’d be so willing to indulge in your curiosity.”

“Get to know you? Is that supposed to be some sort of challenge?”

“If that is how you perceive it,” he responded vaguely.

Curious, you were – the man before you hauntingly beautiful, the smoothness of his voice and his mystery, combined with his confidence made it difficult to believe he wasn’t of royal blood..

He’d definitely be fit as a King, you thought.

“What, may I ask, is your occupation then, Sanemi?” you asked, wishing to glean more information from the masked man.

“I’ve done quite a few things in my life, and I’d say that I'm competent in all that I do, princess.”

“A jack of all trades is a master of none, you should know,” you challenged.

“Ah, but oftentimes better than a master of one,” he continued, leaning closely into you, his breath gracing your ear, “and trust me darling, I’m a master of all of my works.”

Your face heated up at his claim, thanking the fact that he’d led you into a spin, so you could somewhat hide your embarrassment.

“Is that so? Then I think you’d have to show me one day, Sanemi.”

“Who’s to say that I haven’t already?” he avowed, his violet eyes sparkling behind his mask with knowledge unknown to you.

“What do you mean?” you inquired, side-stepping before he leaned you into a dip, his eyes looking directly into yours as he leaned closely into you.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head, dear princess, I promise you’ll find out soon enough.”

As he brought you back upright, he parted from you, before taking your hand and kissing your knuckles – just as the prince before him did.

With his other hand, seemingly from nowhere, he pulled out an orange lily, and placed it into the hand that he kissed.

“I found this growing on the outskirts of your garden just yesterday. Such a shame the beautiful thing burned down.”

Speechless, you took the lily from him.

“Your condolences are appreciated.” You brought the lily up to your nose to take in its scent, before smiling at him and curtseying. “Thank you for the flower, and the dance, Sanemi, I’ll do well to remember you.”

—

“Father, please, I implore you to tell me who you have decided upon,” you begged, having waited impatiently until a majority of guests had exited the palace and gone home. Maids and servants proceeded with cleaning up the hall quickly after most of the festivities died down, and by now, most tables had chairs overturned on top of them, and mops could be found in use scattered throughout the ballroom floor. 

“My dear child, I am not able to give you an answer as you so wish. My advisors and I will need to convene and discuss our thoughts on what marriage would prove best for our kingdom.”

“Well, if you’d let me, I’d hope that you’d keep in mind that prince from the Ren–”

“My dear, as much as I’d love to take into consideration your opinion, this is a matter of kingdom survival, and thus my advisor’s opinions will have much more weight than my own child’s.”

Your mouth fell slightly agape, “but, didn’t you promise that you’d take into consideration the prince I got along most kindly with?”

“I did, my dear, but I have decided to rescind that statement. After your rather childish tantrum you displayed in front of me and my advisors, I came to the realization that you are not mature enough to make decisions that take more than just yourself into consideration.”

“But–”

“Child, indeed it is a most regrettable decision, but if I am to keep the kingdom’s interests in mind, then I will do what I believe is best.”

Tears of anger brimmed in your eyes as you once again stormed away from your father, exiting through the rather large doors at the end of the great hall and marching through them. You raced toward your chambers, where you wished to sob into your pillow until the morning came.

“Your father is right, you know,” a low voice spoke from one of the more darkened corridors as you passed by, causing you to stop dead in your tracks.

Looking around, you saw no one – you were alone, and yet, somewhere, someone was speaking to you.

Not only that, but they’d also listened in on the conversation you’d had with your father.

You peeked down one corridor, trying to make out a figure in the shadows, when you were suddenly pushed into the stone wall, a hand reaching around your mouth as a body held you in place.

“Don’t. Scream.”

A muffled cry came out of your throat, which prompted the assailant to point a cold, metal blade to your throat.

“The hell did I just fuckin’ tell you, sweetheart?”

Your breathing became rapid, panic ensuing as the knife trailed down your throat – just gentle enough so as to not draw any blood.

“Y’know, princess, I’ve been tryin’ to get you to see your wrongdoings this entire fuckin’ week,” the stranger started, “but you just don’t fuckin’ learn, do ya?”

Your eyes widened as you realized this person had been responsible for everything.

Including your garden.

In a fit of rage, you tried biting your assailant's hand, to which he simply moved it to constrict lightly around your throat.

“Oho–! Do we have a biter here, sweet thing? And to think that I always thought your bark was worse…”

“You bastard, let me go! I’ll have your fuckin’ head for this!”

“Oh sweetheart, you’ll definitely have my head, but not in the way you seem to think. Y’see, I’ve been tryin’ so fuckin’ hard to get you to understand how pretentious you are, how much of a snob you are, and, frankly, I’ve run out of ideas, princess.”

He turned your face towards him, making you realize it was the same person who’d danced with you at the ball – the man with the scars, the white, unruly hair, and his strikingly violet eyes.

“Sanemi?” you asked, even though in your heart you knew it was him.

Sanemi grinned, “ah, so you do have a brain up there in that pretty little head of yours,” he sneered at you, “then maybe this last little lesson I give you will be the one that finally sticks.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” you hissed, and Sanemi chuckled as you struggled against him.

“Oh, princess, have you not realized what I’m gonna do yet?” he cooed mockingly, “I’m gonna fuck the brattiness out of you, sweetheart.”

A small gasp left your lips at his assertion, yet, you couldn’t help the feeling of heat spreading both across your cheeks, as well as the kindling of flames within your lower stomach.

You were to be forcefully married, to live a life of servitude to your husband – who will be pronounced King once your father passes, to endure a loveless marriage – with tolerance of your significant other being the most you could possibly hope for. 

You could have a little fun before all that, couldn’t you?

Sanemi darkly chucked behind you, “I can smell your arousal, sweet thing, you really do want this, don’t ya?”

The man threw the knife to the ground before licking a stripe up your neck and leaving bites across the expanse of your skin, starting with your earlobe and working his way down to your shoulder, teeth sharp as they grazed along your body.

You shivered, embarrassment flooding your veins at how you reacted to his touch – you shouldn’t want this, you were a princess, a proper lady who knew that doing such acts before marriage was scandalous.

But, did you truly care about your marriage?

With each brush of his roughened hands against your skin, the consequences that threatened your wishes of this continuing faded further and further.

Sanemi worked his hands to the center of your back, his fingers deftly untying the lace of your dress – as though he had experience in such skills before this.

“Such a fuckin’ slut, wishing for me to take you before you’re married – what would your father think?” he asked mockingly as he pushed your dress down, revealing your breasts to him.

“Oh– that’s right, you don’t care much of what he– or anyone– thinks, do you?” he answered his own question, before leaning down and pursing his lips around one of your nipples, sucking harshly at your tits, earning a soft gasp from you as your face contorted at the sensation. His tongue laved against the softness of your skin, before biting down – making you let out a sharp hiss before bringing your hand up to his hair and tugging at it.

He looked up at you, hate and lust evident in his eyes as he pulled off of you with a lewd pop, and, just before you thought he would move on to the other tit and perform the same actions, he instead raised his hand and gave a sudden, hard slap to your breast.

“Ah–!” you gasped, evoking a laugh from him.

“Oh, do you like pain, brat?” he taunted, causing you to flush intensely across your cheeks as he landed another slap to your other tit, to which you let out another, shorter gasp from you.

“Answer the question, slut.”

Whimpering, you slowly nodded, and he grinned before roughly grabbing at your tits, rolling your nipples in between his fingers.

“Then get on your knees f’ me.”

You looked at him as though he were crazy, but, with one last slap to your tits, you quickly complied, lowering yourself to the ground.

“Isn’t this a sweet sight?” Sanemi chuckled, “a princess kneeling before someone else – how cute.”

Humiliation seeped into your veins as you looked down at the floor, unable to meet his eyes with  your own, until he forced your chin up, and– after a small wave of his hand, you felt someone else pushing you down onto all fours. Flinching at the contact, you quickly turned your head around to see another Sanemi staring back at you – fully naked and littered with scars.

“What–” you started, before the second Sanemi started to rip your dress off of you – ruining it beyond repair.

“Oh, are you surprised, princess?” the original Sanemi asked, “how did you think all of the shit that happened to you this past week came about?”

Before you could answer, a rough smack landed on your ass, the strength of it causing you to be pushed forward as you whined at the stinging pain that Sanemi’s hand left behind.

“That’s one, brat, I think you could stand to handle a bit more, can’t you?” the Sanemi in front of you decided before taking his cock out of his pants as the one behind you dealt a smack to your other asscheek. He started stroking his cock with his fist as his double continued his assault behind you.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet already,” muttered the one behind you, as you felt two fingers dip in between your folds – collecting your slick before landing another blow, “such a goddamn whore, aren’t ya? And all from being spanked? You’re fuckin’ filthy, princess.”

Smack!

Smack!

Smack!

Tears were starting to escape your eyes – your ass starting to feel raw from the constant blows. The tears found their way down your cheeks before the Sanemi in front of you lifted your chin up with one hand, stroking his cock furiously with the other as he groaned at the sight in front of him.

“Fuck– I’ve wanted to ruin you all week, princess, make you nothing more than a whore for my cock – to turn you into a braindead fucktoy all for my pleasure.”

You whined at his confession, leaning forward a little in an attempt to catch his lips with yours before he pulled away from you, leaving you feeling unfulfilled before his clone landed a harsh slap to your pussy – causing you to yelp as the clone started to prod his fingers at your entrance.

“Please, more,” you begged.

“Hmmm, I don’t think you deserve more, princess,” Sanemi smirked, before closing the distance between you and his cock – the tip of which blushing a deep red as precum seeped out from it.

“Be a good girl for once and earn your pleasure.”

You hesitantly looked up at him, before reaching out your hand and delicately wrapping it around his thick cock. Sanemi hissed, not fully expecting how soft and plush your hand would feel when wrapped around him.

Starting out with some slow, gentle strokes, Sanemi started bucking slightly into your hand – not used to how languid and soft your movements were. You traced your thumb over his leaking slit, gathering his precum before moving back down his length.

The clone behind you finally pushed his fingers deeper into you, making you whine at the intrusion as he curled his fingers inside your wet heat, moving at about the same pace that you stroked the other one’s cock, repeatedly pressing into that one area that pulsed pleasure through your abdomen with each movement. You writhed in his hold, resulting in him using his other arm to keep your hips in place as he fucked you with his fingers.

“M-More,” you whimpered, closing your eyes at the sensation of his fingers inside of you, his tortuous pace and his hold on your hips forcing you to take only what he decided to give you – what he thought you deserved.

“Uh uh–” Sanemi tutted, grabbing your perfectly styled hair into his fist, pulling your head up toward him, “keep your eyes open, brat, you still gotta work on my cock, remember?”

You nodded, opening your eyes as you focused on stroking his cock, increasing the speed at which your hand glided along his length.

Sanemi’s fingers, too, picked up a faster pace, two of his clone’s thick digits pumping in and out of you, until the only sounds that could be heard were the slick of your hands working on each other and the soft grunts and moans coming from each of your throats.

Then, without warning, the clone decided to remove his fingers from your pussy. Whining, you tried pushing your hips back to receive more attention from him, only to let out a shaky moan when you felt his wet tongue travel along your slit.

“Fu–uh–ck” you shuddered as he lapped up your juices, his hands spreading along the meat of your ass, making you wince slightly from remnants of the earlier punishment you received.

“Shit, you taste so fuckin’ good,” the clone muttered as he licked a broad stripe up your cunt, “fuckin’ knew you would, princess, you always smelled so damn sweet.”

“H-Hah–?” you tried to conjure a response, which more so resembled that of a moan as it tumbled out between your lips.

“C’mon, don’t tell me I’ve fucked you stupid already, princess,” Sanemi chuckled, “just what do you think happened to all that clothing of yours? Especially your panties– god I couldn’t get enough of ‘em, your scent would linger for so damn long.”

An intense heat bloomed along your cheeks, realizing just exactly what he meant.

Sanemi’s clone groaned as he plunged his tongue into your heat, lapping up everything you gave him as he ate you out. You continued stroking the other’s thick length, bringing your lips to the tip of his cock, experimentally licking at his leaking slit. Sanemi’s grip on your hair tightened, encouraging you to keep going – to keep serving him.

You wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, a soft hum sending vibrations down his length as you reveled in the way his clone was sucking at your clit. Hollowing your cheeks, you started sucking at his bulbous head, using your tongue to lap up any precum that seeped out of his weeping slit. Sanemi pushed your head further down, impatient with you only giving attention to his reddened tip, which caused you to choke along his length as it entered the back of your throat, tears pooling around your eyes as your lips swollen lips took inch after inch of his thick cock.

“Fuck– that’s it, princess, just hold on a lil’ longer f’ me,” he grinned as he looked down at the mess you were quickly becoming, gagging around him like the good little slut you were, until he finally let you off of his cock, with you gasping for air.

Yet, his clone didn’t stop his assault on your cunt, switching between licking and sucking at your clit and feasting on the sweetness that came out of your wet heat. The original Sanemi put his hand underneath your chin once more, forcing you to look up at him as the tension in your stomach got tighter and tighter.

“God– so good,” you whined, relishing in how Sanemi’s tongue felt against your wet cunt, looking up at the one in front of you with the prettiest, watery eyes that he’d ever seen, eyes which begged him to let you cum.

Yet, just as the warmth in your stomach was about to spill over, the clone removed his mouth from your pussy, leaving you to clench around nothing as you whined and pouted at the one in front of you.

Both of them let out a light snicker, until the one holding your chin knelt down in front of you, grinning as he stared down at your pathetic form.

“Did you really think I’d let you cum so easily, little brat?” he inquired, the raspiness of his throat making his question all the more intimidating. You shook your head, knowing better than to argue or beg for what you wanted.

The Sanemi behind you gave a sharp slap to your pussy, causing you to yelp from how sensitive you were from the pleasure his tongue gave you only seconds before.

“Please– wan’ your cock, wan’ to cum around it,” you whined pathetically, trying to wiggle your hips as they were held in place by the clone behind you.

Sanemi’s eyes were wild as he smirked down at you, “Oh? You want my cock, princess? You want me to ruin you completely – make you a complete mess until you’re nothing but a hole for me to fill?”

You nodded quickly, eyes glossed over as he described what he could do to you. 

“Fine, just because you begged so sweetly for it – but you won’t be getting my cock, princess – not yet. You’ll have to make do with my double’s – think you can do that for me?”

“Yes– please, anything, plea–ah!”

Without warning, the clone behind you shoved himself balls deep inside of your hot cunt, breaking past the thin tissue near your opening and pushing deeper, until his tip nearly kissed your cervix.

Sanemi’s thrusts were rough, plunging into your heat fully with each strong push of his hips. His balls slapped against your clit, providing extra stimulation as he fucked himself into you, turning you into a whining, moaning mess.

The original Sanemi took in every expression and movement you made, relishing in how he was finally able to break you down into tiny little pieces. He grabbed his cock as his clone continued pumping into you, and started fisting himself at an equally fast pace.

“Look at yourself, princess, so fuckin’ pathetic, aren’t ya?” he grinned, “you’d always carry yourself like you were the most important person in the room – like no one else mattered but you, all because of your goddamn status.”

You whined in response, unable to verbalize anything as your mind softened with every single thrust of his cock; you were becoming malleable, your mind opening and wishing to be molded by him the more he fucked you.

“I reject all of that. You were never important – you’re nothing but a fuckin’ brat for me to tame, a slut who needs nothing but a cock to make her happy.”

He slapped your face with his cock, some of the release which seeped out from his tip managing to find itself on your cheeks before he began stroking himself at a furious pace once more. His other clone pounded himself into your cunt, the blunt head of it fucking that one spot inside of you which made your mind go blank.

He was right – you weren’t a princess, you weren’t someone with status or wealth or royal blood – you were nothing but a hole all this time for him to use and fill, a cumslut, a cocksleeve – all for the man in front of you.

How could you be so blind?

All you could do was moan, becoming more and more pathetic as his clone filled you with his cock, clenching around it and gripping his cock like a vice, your cunt sucking him back in every single time he pulled out.

But it wasn’t enough.

You needed – you craved the Sanemi in front of you. You needed him – not his clone, to take you, to truly beat you into submission like the dumb little brat you were.

“Please, please Sanemi– I need you,” you begged with the man in front of you, tears filling your eyes once more as you pleaded for him to fill you – to make you his.

The Sanemi in front of you said nothing before standing up to his full height as his clone removed his cock from you. The original Sanemi waved his hand yet again, this time allowing a cushioned mattress to appear in the small, dark corridor the two of you were in. 

The clone sat down on the mattress, before the original followed suit.

“Sit on my lap,” he demanded, and you obeyed immediately – thighs wrapping around his waist as he slipped his cock into you, to which your head fell to his shoulder as you let out what could only be described as a sigh of relief.

Sanemi gripped your hips, moving you up and down on his cock so you could get an understanding of what he wanted you to do, showing you exactly how he wanted you to bounce on his dick.

It wasn’t long before you grew enough confidence to perform the action by yourself, moving your hips up and down as you fucked yourself on his cock. Your arms found their way around his neck as you whimpered softly into his ear as you impaled yourself on him again and again – with no thoughts going through your mind other than the desire to make him feel good.

At some point, you noticed his clone behind you, a single digit nudging at the entrance of your asshole, pushing and prodding his finger gently so he could fully enter it inside of you. Heat prickled against your cheeks as you forced yourself to relax rather than tense at the unfamiliar contact – allowing the clone’s finger to work its way into your ass.

You continued to fuck yourself on Sanemi’s cock as one finger became two, opening you up further and further, before you felt a lubricant of some sort being conjured from the clone’s fingers, allowing him easier access to your hole as he continued fingering you.

“Relax f’ me, sweetheart,” the clone muttered as you whimpered in response, your movements slowing as you noticed his cock pressing against your ass – which had also been covered in lube – before slowly pushing into you.

You choked on a moan as you felt him stretch you out more than you thought possible, having fully stopped your movements in order to focus on accommodating his massive length inside of you.

Realizing this, Sanemi readjusted himself so that he was laying on his back, heels digging into the mattress before continuing to fuck into you. His clone got up on his knees before entering himself back into your tight hole, entering you when the other Sanemi pulled out – constantly being filled by either one of them without end.

“Fuckk,” you groaned, mind addled with pleasure as the two Sanemis kept filling you with their cocks, unrelenting in their thrusts as they bullied themselves deeper and deeper into your holes. You felt that same pressure building up in your abdomen again, becoming tighter and tighter with each plunge of their cocks.

“Please, ‘m gonna– ‘m gonna,” you begged Sanemi once more as your tears started to flow freely down your cheeks, pleading with him to let you cum.

“No. You’re gonna fuckin’ hold it. You don’t get to cum until I tell you to,” he answered, making you whine yet again at how unfair he was being.

They started fucking you even harder, thrusts unrelenting as they took turns filling you up. It took everything within you to not cum – to obey Sanemi’s command, shutting your eyes tightly as you tried focusing on anything other than how good they were making you feel.

Both Sanemi and his clone’s thrusts started to become sloppier, rutting into you as they both started to reach their own ends.

“I’m gonna cum in this fuckin’ pussy,” Sanemi growled, his voice raspy as he fucked into you, his cock starting to twitch as he neared orgasm, “gonna cum in my pussy, isn’t that right, brat?”

You nodded, “Please! Need your cum Sanemi, please cum inside me–!”

With one final stroke, both him and his clone released deep inside of you – flooding both of your holes with their hot ropes of cum.

“Fuck! Too– too much! Gonna– ah!”

You couldn’t help it– the feeling of them filling you up felt too good. Despite desperately wishing to obey Sanemi’s order, you ended up orgasming all over their cocks, gushing around them as warm ropes filled you up, with both of them groaning as you clenched and pulsed around them.

“Fuck–! ‘M sorry! ‘M so sorry!” you whined loudly as you came, hips betraying you as you attempted to prolong your euphoria by grinding down onto them.

After coming down from your high, you were met with a stormy glare from the man in front of you. 

Your eyes widened, knowing you’d fucked up.

“I’m so sorry, Sanemi, I didn’t mean to, I–”

Sanemi grabbed your face, his thick fingers pressing into either of your cheeks.

“What did I fuckin’ tell you?” he asked simply, and a fresh set of tears brimmed at your eyes.

“Y-You told me not to cum,” you answered meekly.

“That’s right, brat,” he responded, waving his free hand to dismiss his clone – making his double disappear completely as he pulled out of your pussy. You whined at the lack of something filling you up, your poor cunt clenching around nothing once more as Sanemi moved away from you.

“On your back, now.”

You obeyed, flipping onto your back and spreading your legs for him without a second thought. You fought the urge to rub your clit – knowing it wasn’t your place to provide yourself pleasure anymore, as you watched him place his cock right in front of your entrance.

“Please, ‘m sorry,” you pleaded as you watched him glide it up and down your sopping pussy, gathering your slick on the tip of his cock. His lilac eyes met yours once more as he finally lined himself up at your entrance.

“If you want to cum so bad, fine. I’ll make you cum until you can’t even fuckin’ think anymore.”

He pushed his cock inside of you, flicking at your clit with his thumb as he dragged his length against your slick walls, brushing against that one spot which made you see stars.

“Please, nngh– need it,” you sobbed as he relentlessly fucked into you, before he took one of his hands and pressed it down on your lower stomach.

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll fuckin’ get it, brat–” he panted, “feel me? Feel my cock pressing all the way into your stomach?”

You nodded, eyes rolling back as he refused to let up, your orgasm building on itself again until it finally reached its peak once more.

“Fuck–!” you screamed as he fucked you through your orgasm, not letting up even as you came down from your high, denying you any break from the pleasure that he was giving you.

It wasn’t long before the next orgasm as Sanemi rubbed your clit at a similar speed to his thrusts, causing you to gush again around his cock. He groaned as your cunt pulsed around him, milking him for all he had – yet he didn’t stop, rather, he pulled orgasm after orgasm out of you – denying his own release in order to fulfill his promise of overstimulating you.

At some point – you weren’t entirely sure when – Sanemi folded you in half, your legs reaching your shoulders as he slammed even deeper into your cunt, his cock brushing against your cervix with each stroke. Your mouth hung open, your voice emitting short, unrestrained moans as he continued his assault on your pussy – fully abusing it until it molded into the shape of his cock.

“Shit, you’re gonna make me cum, brat,” Sanemi grunted as his hips fell onto yours with every single stroke of his cock. You whimpered, wishing for nothing more than his cum to fill you up – to breed you like the whore you were. 

You responded with incoherent babbles, whining and moaning the more he rutted into your cunt, his thrusts getting sloppier as he approached his peak for a second time.

“Gonna fill you up, make you pregnant before you’re even– hah– even married,” he panted, a promise which made you clench around him even more, “you’d like that, wouldn’t you, brat?”

“Y-Yes!” you managed to voice as he slammed himself deep inside you one final time, grunting as he filled you up – triggering your own final orgasm, causing you to milk him dry as he painted your walls white.

Sanemi collapsed to the side of you as the two of you regained your breath, staying like that for a few minutes before either of you spoke.

“I wanted to apologize,” he said awkwardly, “for ruining your garden in the way that I did.”

In response to your silence, he continued, “I had gone too far, I took something that you held dear to your heart away from you. I’m sorry.”

“I think I need to apologize as well,” you finally said, “not just to you, but to the others as well.”

Sanemi turned on his side, holding himself up by his elbow as he looked down at you, a slight grin on his face.

“You mean to tell me that fucking you was the solution to your brattiness this whole time? Not the crows or the dead cow–”

“Shut up!” you laughed as you smacked him in the chest, only causing him to grin more from your reaction.

“Am I wrong, princess?” he jokingly inquired, to which you hid your face from him with the palms of your hands – until he pushed your arms away, looking down at you with a triumphant smile on his face.

“You’re so stupid,” you half-heartedly spit at him, to which he put a hand to his chest in mock pain.

“You wound me, princess.”

You shook your head, scoffing as he got up, making the mattress beneath you disappear with a final wave of his hand, causing you to fall slightly onto the cold floor of the dark corridor.

“Are you going somewhere?” you asked him.

“I’m not exactly fond of castles, sweetheart, I can’t stand the pretentious atmosphere they tend to have.”

“So you’re leaving?” you further questioned, a little upset with the idea of not seeing him again.

“I am, but, if you are going to miss me so terribly, I could always sweep in and take you away from this wretched place, but I doubt you’d so easily leave your status and wealth behind.”

You remained silent, knowing that it would be near impossible for you to forsake all of which you knew and had for a simple, spontaneous desire to say yes, you would.

Sanemi smiled, his eyes soft as he gazed upon you – what was once hatred now replaced with something rather unfamiliar before vanishing before your very eyes, leaving you to stare at the emptiness of the corridor that you were in – having become alone once again.

Sighing, you stood up, gathering yourself – realizing that your once torn dress had been somehow completely repaired – as though it were entirely new.

With a little bit of difficulty, you managed to put your dress back on before heading back to your chambers, the unease of being married the following day looming over your mind once again.

The chirping of birds could be heard from your window once more, and, out of pure curiosity, you decided to peek out from your window to gaze out upon what was left of your garden. Yet, instead of seeing nothing but scorched soil, you managed to spot the blooming of a new plant – one which had not previously grown in your garden at all.

Rain lilies.

Perhaps, you thought, I should go down there and nurture them myself.

Taglist: @k-a-t-h-r-i-n-a, @wow-im-gay, @peanutpunchy, @love-me-satoru, @crazycatlddy, @pastelbluecloudy3, @dinosaur-crime-scene, @llearlert, @thisbicc, @gojoscumslut, @everyonesfinaldestination, @leehoonii-i, @roronoagem, @briefrebelfanalmond, @izuoyarmin, @ahashiraswife, @d1gitalbathh, @homo-homini-lupus-est-1701, @whatthefucksatan, @peachdues, @xxsabitoxx (If your name is crossed out, it means tumblr didn't allow me to tag you. Apologies for the inconvenience.)

I hope y'all enjoyed :)

[bunny-lily]

Lift a Pen and Rewrite the Ending

Fluff for our broken fluffed-out hearts Dedicated to @bunny584 because ow. I promised fluff, so I’m delivering fluff

Pairing: Satoru x piano teacher!fem!reader

CW: just some fluff, man. We all need some happy, sappy moments in our lives with our beloved dumbass boy. 

You taught piano. Plain, simple, easy. At least, you thought so, before meeting an enigmatic man as your newest student. He played a little too well for a beginner, and seemed a little too familiar.

AN: I chose to post this on my side acc since this one was technically made for the exact purpose of writing JJK fics (same with the Ao3 acc (milk_bunny/chimeric-dreams for that one)). So, cheers to the first fic on this blog!

This was honestly scribbled down in a single sitting between 1-5 am. Please don’t judge any mistakes too harshly, I wanted to post it ASAP and not subject it to my endless course of corrections and re-writing.

This is also very short (lmao 6.7k words) for how my work is normally. Again, I just wanted to get it out as fast as I could ;w;

smol update: this has been (minorly) edited! nothing big, I mostly just went in and fixed up a couple mistakes + summoned my dearly beloved thesaurus. Otherwise, it's basically 98% the same as before!

Music sheets laid scattered around you, annotated in messy scribbles in various colors, fonts, and sizes. A scratched out row of bars here, corrected or adjusted notes there, mindless rambles stuffed into the margins as you tried desperately to figure out which key to put your song into so that it matched the exact tone you were going for.

Not like you were some well renowned artist whose career rode on their sole ability to create magical orchestrations. No, you had barely any presence at all. The videos of your songs you posted on YouTube hardly scratched a couple hundred viewers at most, with the occasional comment from a bot or scammer getting your hopes up, only for them to go crashing back down. 

You weren’t some notable figure in the music industry, you were just a white-collar worker that taught piano from your tiny home part-time.

It suited you, you supposed, as bitter as you could feel at times. You were just a normie, a casual passerby who liked having your fingers spring and jump across the keys of your instrument. It was one you inherited from your grandmother. She was the one that taught you how to play when you were little, while your parents were busy working and couldn’t sit and entertain you all day like she could.

She taught you some essentials, too, like how to tune the spinet – ‘It’ll save you big bucks, bunny,’ she insisted – and how to detect even the slightest issue it might have. She was correct about it saving you big bucks.

As shabby as the thing looked, with peeling white paint and floral designs chipping off the sides, the cover scraped to hell and back, and the brassy pedals having long lost their glossy sheen, it was in perfect shape.

In your expert opinion, anyway. You were biased, so what? You had every right to be.

Granny had left the world a while ago, her ashes situated on the short mantel of your tiny fireplace. You lit the candles every day, rested two softly smoking incense sticks on the shallow bowl to catch their cinders, and gave her a swift good-morning before you raced out your door, inevitably arriving at work with only minutes to spare.

In the evenings, you’d teach, then ramble to her about your day, wish her a loving goodnight, and go pass the fuck out. Rinse and repeat, except weekends, where you were teaching all day.

It was tiring, working two jobs like this, especially when some of the kids you taught were insufferable, but music was your passion. At the end of the day, you viewed it as worth every minute spent doing something you loved.

You liked to think she would have been proud of you.

A light tapping sound, a knuckle rapping against the wood of your open front door, caught your attention. It was a warm day, one that was too good to spend with the doors and windows closed. Natural light flooded in, casting the figure standing at the entrance in a brilliant glow that hid their features from you.

You glanced at the clock on the wall to your left, then leapt up from the floor in front of your coffee table, hurriedly and messily stuffing your music sheets into a folder. “Oh, shoot, sorry! I didn’t see the time, I’m so sorry about that. Are you the two o’clock?”

Today was a surprisingly free day for you. You only had one appointment, with a new student, if you remembered correctly. You must have gotten so ingrained in your rapid-fire notations that you lost track of time.

While you weren’t expecting an adult, since the email sounded like it was from a teenager, it wasn’t uncommon. You had students of all varying ages, anyways. It was a nice change, too; you found that adults tended to listen better than children.

A smooth laugh greeted your ears, the sound impossibly pleasant to your ears. “It’s fine,” the man said as he stepped into your home, breaking from the prison of light holding him. His stark-white hair caught you off guard first, followed by his height, and then the round shades resting low on the bridge of his nose. “That’s me.”

Eyes as blue as the most vivid summer sky peered straight through yours and into your soul, his hues almost appearing to shine in the tranquil environment of your living room, without the help of the overhead lamp you had turned off. His lips curled into a sparkling grin, giving him this sort of youthful luminance that had your heart skipping beats.

You swallowed and looked away before his gleaming smile blinded you, striding over to your upright eighty-eight, using it as an excuse to busy yourself and avoid eye contact with him before he made you stop breathing just by fluttering his lashes.

“Come on in,” you responded stiffly, clearing your throat to ease off the tenseness in your muscles. Why were you getting so worked up over him? Sure, he was pretty, but you’d barely spoken two sentences to him. How had he managed to get you in such a tizzy so easily, where your tongue felt tied and your pulse raced in your wrists? “How much do you know about piano?”

“Uhh,” he set down his briefcase against the wall beside your door, slipped off his shoes, and met you next to the instrument. “I know a bit.”

“Alright,” you nodded and patted the bench, then paused to think if it would be too low for him. What intensely long legs. “Do you need me to get a different stool?”

He shook his head, sliding into the seat like it was second nature to him. “Nope, this is just fine.”

“Great,” you smiled at him and tucked your skirt under your hands as you sat down on the other end. “Let’s get started, then! Are you familiar with the different notes?”

His hands took place over the ivories and he slowly pressed each one down as he labeled them. “C, D, E, F, G, A, B, C.”

“Excellent, that’s awesome! You’re already a few steps ahead of other beginners,” you nodded approvingly and retrieved the thin booklet you had laid on top of the upper panel. You opened it and sifted through a few of the jingle options, picking out something a bit more intermediate for him.

It was still simple, but definitely more advanced than nursery rhymes. You found teens and adults had a more enjoyable time learning when they didn’t feel like they were being patronized. Teens especially, fickle little creatures, those ones.

“Let’s start with this one, then,” you said as you set it against the music rack in front of him. “It’s pretty easy, I think you’ll pick it up quickly.”

The piece consisted of quarter-note half steps that ignored the sharp and flat keys for now. You had placed a piece of tape over the tempo indicator, finding that it put your students under too much pressure and made them stumble in their rush to follow the pacing they thought was right when they didn’t know what tempo was to begin with.

The man took a few seconds to study the sheet, then placed his fingers on the corresponding keys and began playing. 

He was a bit slow, holding some notes too long and others not long enough, but you were correct in thinking he’d get the hang of it fast. After a few runs, he was playing it decently well, and confidently, too.

“Perfect! I knew you’d get it like that,” you snapped your fingers, then picked up the booklet again, flipping the pages in search of something a little more challenging. You probably wouldn’t find it in a kiddie book like this one, so you placed it down and got up, grabbing a more advanced one from the side table nearby. “What got you wanting to learn how to play?”

“Ah,” he scratched the back of his head. “My dad always wanted me to learn as a kid. I finally caved in, if only to make him stop yapping in my ear during family dinners. I’m just twenty years late to the party.”

You burst into giggles as you returned to your place on the bench, placing the new song you had chosen out for him where the previous one had been. “Not the first time I’ve heard that. You’d be surprised how many later bloomers there are.”

He chuckled along with you. “Well, that’s a relief. Had me fearing I was the only fully grown student you’d see in your life.”

“Far from it,” you shook your head. “I teach a grandfather that wants to play for his grandson at his graduation next year. It’s never too late to learn.”

When you looked up at him, you found him already peering at you with those intensely cerulean irises, his sunglasses folded neatly into the collar of his shirt. You twitched, startled by his stare. He had you locked in his gaze, captivated as he observed you and you observed him.

You noticed with wonder and fascination that his lashes were as milky white as the tresses on his head.

He really was beautiful. Those same lashes were long and soft, brushing his high cheeks whenever he blinked. His lips were plush and pink, seemingly always curled up into a permanent smile regardless of size. Life and boyish playfulness darted in those mesmerizing oases that refused to shake their hold on you, and you wouldn’t wish them to.

They were the breath of fresh air you never knew you were deprived of, the nectar of life that was water to your parched throat, the flickering mirage that came to life before your very being.

You felt drawn to him, inexplicably. There was something so… familiar about him, though you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what. Like you’d seen him before, across the metro platform, or walking into the store you were just leaving, or someone walking the opposite direction as you on the crosswalk.

Where have I seen you before?

You blinked yourself out of the illusion, your lips parting, closing, then parting again before you finally managed to find your voice. “I-I’m sorry. I forgot your name, could…could you remind me?”

“Ah,” he shook his head, forgiving your forgetfulness. “Just call me Satoru.”

Just Satoru? Is that really okay?

It doesn’t sound like a name I’ve heard before.

“Alright,” you agreed regardless. “Satoru it is. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you murmured your own name in return, dipping your head down in a mini bow. You returned your attention to the music sheet, lightly tapping the back of his hand with your pointer finger. “Let’s continue, shall we?”

You noted how much bigger his hands were compared to yours. It was hard not to see it, your index finger would likely barely reach the topmost joint of his if you pressed your palms together.

Your hands tingled at the thought. You quickly shoved it aside, focusing on being a good instructor. 

Satoru continued to surprise and impress you as he mastered the tunes you chose for him after trying them out a few times. Each time he made a mistake, he listened attentively as you corrected it, laying your hands over his as you adjusted the positioning of his fingers.

“Your hands are so much bigger than mine,” you snickered. “I’m a bit jealous. It’s hard for me to reach those far keys sometimes.”

“Oh, yeah,” he grinned cockily, flashing you a sultry glance between chords. “They can reach a lot of things very easily.”

Heat rose to your cheeks and you stuttered, whipping your head away and acting as if he hadn’t completely flustered you.

Truthfully, the session was only supposed to last an hour and a half, but when you looked up at the clock, you were shocked to see you were nearing an hour longer than expected. It didn’t feel like much time had passed at all, maybe thirty minutes at maximum. Had it really been that long?

You pushed yourself up, stretching your legs as you felt pins and needles spark up in them. “Seems I got distracted twice today. I’ve kept you for an hour longer than I intended, I’m sorry,” you laughed meekly. “Don’t worry, I won’t charge extra for that, that’s on me.”

“It’s no worry,” Satoru reassured you as he got to his feet as well, delicately closing the fallboard with a careful hand. “Are you sure, though? I don’t mind paying for it, I did take up your time.”

He made something warm form in your chest.

“It’s fine, I love teaching. It’s not my main job, anyway, don’t stress,” you brushed away his concern. “You’re a prodigy, y’know,” you told him as you walked him to the still open door. “It’s no wonder your dad wanted you to learn how to play. I’m sure he’s proud.”

He let out a chuckle that sounded maybe a little forced. “Yeah, hope so,” he responded as he eased his shoes back on and bent down to grab his briefcase. “You’re a great teacher.”

“Thank you,” you brushed your hair behind your ear, blushing. “Ah– when would you want to see me again? I-If you do, I mean.”

The odd firmness he had a moment ago melted away, once more replaced by that handsome smirk of his. “Same time next week? Ah, hang on, why don’t I get your number, just in case? I have a bit of an unpredictable schedule.”

“Oh, sure, no problem,” you assented, taking his phone after he unlocked it and passed it to you. “You don’t like using email?”

He shook his head, watching you punch in your number into a new contact, add your name, then hand it back. “Nah, texting is easier for me. I’ll message you later tonight, yeah?”

“Alright,” you acquiesced.

“Oh, right, how much do I owe you?”

You blinked a few times before recalling that it was technically a paid session, though it didn’t feel like that to you. You murmured out the cost, and he gave you an odd look for a brief second. He pulled out his wallet, counted out a few bills, and folded them in half neatly before passing them off to you.

“Thanks for the lesson,” he grinned and waved goodbye, promising to text you later as he headed down your walkway, turned the corner, and vanished from sight.

You closed the door with a quiet poompf, staring blankly at your piano as you tried to remember how to function again. You glanced down at the bundle of money in your hand when you thought it felt a little too thick, brow furrowing as you unfolded it and counted and holy shit that’s way too fucking much–

You rushed out of your house, down the pathway to the sidewalk, and looked for him, though you knew it was futile. He was already gone.

You tried to think of how you were going to slip the excess money back into his pocket next time you saw him, but as soon as you were inside, you raced to the folder you left on your coffee table, practically ripping it apart as you pulled out all the papers, aggressively uncapped a pen, and got to writing at light speed.

That man, whoever he was, infected you with a painful shot of inspiration that you needed to get off your chest right then and there. Your hand flew across the pages, revising entire sections you had been stuck on for weeks in the blink of an eye. Messy verses were refined, the missing notes floated into place, and by the time the moon had risen high and the timid breeze had turned cold, you had finished your song.

You looked it over one last time, a disbelieving giggle escaping you. You finished it. You finished it. This damned piece had been giving you restless nights, a broken loop in your brain that kept skipping over the unwritten parts, but one session with Satoru had seemingly given you the one push you were missing all along.

Your phone buzzed.

You opened it and tapped on the messages icon to find a text from an unknown number.

Unknown, 9:17 PM Hey! Sorry for texting so late. It’s Satoru. Does next week still work for you, same time?

What divine timing on his end. Right as he entered your thoughts, he slid into your DMs. 

Your fingers practically trembled with giddy excitement as you texted back instantly to confirm the time, uncaring of what kind of impression that was making on him. You were elated, feeling like you could exhale in peace at last. You gave a little victory cheer as you went about closing and locking all the windows and doors, pulling the curtains shut with so much energy, you questioned if you’d be able to sleep.

The answer was yes. After you had gotten all ready, having pampered yourself as a small reward for yourself, you fell onto your bed and passed out mere minutes later. For once, everything seemed to be going right.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

“How’d you learn how to play?” He asked one day as he sipped at the tea you prepared for him. He was right about his schedule being hectic at times, but he somehow managed to fit himself into having lessons with you a few times a week, rather than just the standard one.

It surprised you, but pleasantly so. He was eager to learn and improve, and you were more than happy to teach him. He made for fantastic company, too, and you found you enjoyed spending time chatting lazily with him just as much as you did instructing him.

“My grandma taught me,” you told him with a smile. “She passed away a while ago, but I like to think I’m keeping her legacy alive like this, by teaching others, and keeping that old lil’ thing alive.”

Satoru nodded in understanding. “You’re amazing at playing,” he complimented sweetly. “She did a great job.”

“Thank you,” you answered bashfully, hiding your blush behind your own mug of tea.

“What was she like, if you don’t mind me asking?”

His smile felt like the sun kissing the apples of your cheeks on a perfect spring day. Him wanting to know more about you had your heartbeat picking up in speed, chirping a new, happy melody like a canary.

You deliberated before replying. “She was a very shrewd woman, stern in her teaching, but very gentle at the same time. She was the kind of granny that snuck me pieces of candy when my parents weren’t looking. She let me stay up late playing music whenever I was staying at her place. I probably bugged my parents to let me stay there every weekend, just so I could play it and learn from her.”

“So you got into music young?”

You bobbed your head. “I fell in love the first time I heard her playing when I was a toddler. I had woken up from a nap one day, somehow escaped my crib, and crawled to the living room to watch her play for…man, I don’t even know how long. I was just…hypnotized.”

“She sounds like she was a maestro,” he snickered airily, though you knew he meant it.

You grinned widely, resting your chin on the curved cup of your palm. “She really was. I can show you some videos of her playing sometime, if you’d like to see,” you offered.

“I’d love to.”

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

Satoru had been your student for a while now. 

He zoomed through the intermediate pieces into the advanced-amateur category easily, though seemed to plateau around there. Despite this, he was a wonderful student, always trying to improve himself and his skill. You knew he had it in him, he was only missing a little something he needed to tip him to the next level.

At one point, you had joked that he must have been purposefully holding himself back just so he could keep studying under you.

He laughed, and said nothing more.

By now, he reached a point where he would come in with a pep in his step, claiming he had perfected a lullaby he wanted to play for you before you started the session. You’d find yourself (politely) seated on your couch nearby, and would watch with a fond expression you didn’t know was there as he treated your piano with a touch more tender than even your own.

And you’d listen. He’d choose some of the prettiest, albeit not complicated, arrangements to play for you, and you’d find yourself slipping into a state of blissful peace. All your thoughts would drift away, and you’d absorb yourself in the music he played. 

A few sessions had been spent just like that, with him as your personal musician, and you couldn’t figure out why you felt so…happy.

You liked the emotion a lot, though, and found yourself looking forward to his every visit, anticipating the full body chills you’d get whenever he lulled you into that state of delighted serenity. You didn’t remember when you stopped charging him, and when you let him come in without knocking anymore. 

You also didn’t remember when having tea after each session became tradition, but you were grateful for the joy he brought you with his presence alone.

In fact, you decided to get him a small gift as thanks. For what exactly? His company? Patience? Entertainment? Whatever it was didn’t matter. It wasn’t anything big, either. It was a record you stumbled across while visiting a thrift shop recently.

You picked it up for two reasons. First, he divulged he had a hobby of collecting old vinyls. Second, he mentioned he had been searching for that specific record for a few years with no luck, saying it was the last one he needed to complete his collection from that particular brand. The moment you spotted it, you grabbed it and practically bolted to the cashier, uncaring of the price.

There was no way you were leaving it there for someone else to nab it before he could. It was the most reasonable option.

Which was why you were extra giddy to see him again.

You opened the door in the middle of him reaching for the handle, stunning him for a second. That bewilderment was quickly wiped away by an excited grin that surely matched your own.

“If I knew you’d be this enthusiastic to see me, I would have worn something better,” he quipped.

You snorted and waved your hand, stepping back so he could come in. “Am I not allowed to be happy to see my favorite student? You look good no matter what you’re wearing, anyway.”

“Favorite, eh?” He teased as he closed the door behind him, leaning down to give you a quick hug. “Now I really feel like I should have worn something fancy.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that big of a deal,” you giggled, leading him to the usual spot.

“I dunno,” he hummed, a sly expression crossing his face. “Pretty big deal to hear that from my favorite teacher,” You rolled your eyes, smacking his chest weakly, to which he laughed openly. “Ready to get started, teach?”

What a gorgeous sound his laughter was.

“Actually,” you said, “I got something for you. Wait here a moment, lemme go grab it.”

He raised a brow but didn’t raise any objections as he sat down and tugged his tie to loosen it a few inches, saying that he’d be right there.

You had to resist the urge to skip to your room to locate the record and retrieve it from the drawer you had safely stored it in. It was your sock drawer, actually. You wanted to keep it somewhere protected while it tarried for its new owner. You sang the melody of your newest single quietly as you picked it up, inspecting the album cover for any indication that it had been touched since you last put it in there.

Pristine. Obviously aged, but in flawless condition otherwise.

Sounds from your living room brought pause to your actions right as you closed the drawer after dumping all your socks back into it.

…Was that music?

Frowning, you picked up the record and crept towards the source of the noise. You recognized it instantly – it was the most notable piece written by the notorious Gojo Saichi. It was considered the most difficult composition created within the last century or so. You’d listened to it on repeat occasionally, attempted it dozens of times, though you always fell short before the second movement started, which came early on.

Was Satoru watching a video? No, the melody was too clear and full to sound like it was coming out of a phone speaker.

Then…

You froze in the entrance to the hallway, stuck in place as you watched Satoru play the oeuvre flawlessly. From where you were standing, at an angle, you could see his precise actions and motions. Every note came to him as naturally as air, each shift in tempo as easy as blinking, down to the fragile, silk-like contrast that made the instrument sound as if it was a weeping widow, sitting on a window sill as she descanted to the moon, alone. 

His digits knew exactly where to go, when, how deeply to press, how to shift between fierce and floaty as if he was born to do exactly this.

As your eyes flickered from his hands to his face, you saw that his eyes were closed. He was doing what some musicians could only ever dream of achieving in their careers; he was uniting with the music, playing as one, letting it fill his heart, then pour out with every throb like the very blood in his veins.

The most complicated, difficult, astronomical concerto known to man in the modern age, and he was playing it like it was nothing.

Satoru must have sensed your burning gaping as his hues flickered open and his hands stilled over the claviature. He looked over towards you, his mien morphing into something resembling embarrassment.

You staggered closer. “That…that’s…that piece was…written by Gojo Saichi…” You mumbled, barely able to get the words out. You set down the record onto the coffee table, already having forgotten about it.

You were flabbergasted, rattled as you came to a stop at the side of the piano. He…how could he have played that so well? Wasn’t he barely in the advanced category? That was…that was professional, grade A, genius level music he played.

“Yeah,” he grinned, and you would have believed his show of being sheepish if the gleam in his eyes didn’t give him away. “He’s my dad.”

You sluggishly dropped onto your spot on the bench, peering at the keys but seeing nothing as you unpacked the bombardment of information you witnessed.

“That’s…the– that’s the hardest piece…even I can’t…”

“I know,” he rubbed his nape. “He basically forced me to stay up day and night playing it until I got it right.”

“But…how?” You tilted your head, peering up at him from the corner of your eye.

Satoru shrugged like he hadn’t just dropped a fucking bombshell on you. “I asked him to teach me when I was a teen,” You heard him say. “I’m sorry for deceiving you,” he apologized, not sounding very sorry at all.

“I…” You labored to find the right words. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Honestly?” He asked. You nodded, and he let out a heavy sigh. 

Instead of answering immediately, he stood up and pulled you to your feet as well, pulling you into the kitchen, where he filled your kettle with water and put it to heat up.

You desperately wanted to know what exactly was going on, but couldn’t find it in yourself to rush him. He went about methodically picking out both your mugs from your cupboard, tossing a bag of tea into both, grabbing the bowl of sugar on the counter, and setting it all down on the table while he waited for the kettle to whistle. He seemed lost in thought, while you had many and none at all at the same time.

You could only observe him as he picked his words carefully.

He finally began when the shrill noise of boiling water filled the room. “I don’t know if you remember – probably not, since you didn’t recognize me – but we actually did meet a while ago. I was a lot different back then,” he said as he poured the water into both mugs, afterwards placing it back on the stove and holding his hand sideways at roughly chest level. “Maybe this high, scrawny, kind of a douchebag,” he admitted with a chuckle.

You were still in shock over the whole situation. All you could do was silently urge him to continue by leaning closer, accepting the cup when he passed it to you. Heat spread through your fingertips, easing away the frosty feeling you didn’t notice set in.

“You were playing the piano in the music room at the school we went to together. It was…honestly, beautiful. I grew up with a famous pianist for a dad, but even he can’t make music sound as alluring and gentle as you can,” he continued, awkwardly holding his own mug. “So, when I saw you again a few months ago, I couldn’t believe it was you. I always wanted to ask you to play something for me when we were younger, but could never get the nerve to.”

As he spoke, the memories were beginning to filter in through the thick haze in your brain. 

You were so focused on writing music and learning to be a great musician like your grandmother that you never really paid attention to your surroundings or the people around you if they weren’t your granny, parents, direct friends, or music teacher.

From what you did remember, Satoru was always a confident, cocky boy, shameless and loud. To hear he was…shy about asking you to play for him was hard to believe.

“So, I finally let my dad start teaching me,” he rambled on when you didn’t respond. “I’ve tried so many times to replicate the song you played, but I could never get it right. I know it’s probably a long shot, but you don’t happen to remember what song that was, do you?”

You thought back, scraping the dust off your highschool recollections. There was one piece you had hyperfocused on perfecting during the last year there, determined to play it exactly as your grandmother had.

You never did manage to master it.

You set down the tea you had only sipped at twice and walked past him into the living room, heading to your piano in a sort of trance. You slid onto the bench, and set your fingers on the keys. Muscle memory took over, the gentle tune coming to life in…how long had it been since you last played this?

You let the music flow through you, gave it access to your heart, allowed it to peer into the deepest parts of your soul, and simply followed the path it created.

“Was it this one?” You asked quietly.

When you looked up at him, his eyes were wide, lips parted as he stared at you with nothing less than amazement. “That– that’s the one. Which– what’s it called?”

“It’s a piece my grandma wrote for my parent’s wedding,” you answered. “She didn’t tell me what it’s called. I’m not sure if it has a name to begin with. She played it for me once, and I,” you huffed out a short, choked chuckle, “I became obsessed. I spent every day as a senior trying to get it right, to play it like she did, but…”

Your fingers slowed into a stop as you looked at them blankly, recalling your attempts, and the disappointment that followed each failure. You memorized it after playing it just twice, but it didn’t help you reach your goal in the end.

You startled when his hand rested lightly atop of yours, his body partially leaned over your shoulder so he could look you directly in the eye. This close, you felt his light breaths as they brushed your cheek. You could see the exact shade and hue of the teal composing his striking irises, match the exact pace of his heartbeat to a sonata, hear him swallow nervously.

“Keep playing,” he rasped, sounding almost desperate. “Please.”

You obliged. How could you say no to him when he looked at you like that? When he requested it so feebly in a trembling voice that was close to cracking? How could you say no when you saw and felt firsthand how his body relaxed when you filled the room with the lilting melody once again?

The music hopped and glided, playful in some parts, somber and tranquil in others. He stayed right where he was, the heat of his stomach resting against your upper back, thawing the tension in your shoulders as his hands held them gently, thumbs rubbing circles into your tight trapezius.

In every way, the ballad reminded you of your grandma, of your parents, of your childhood spent trying to reach a point where you were truly happy with how you played each note.

But, if that was the case…

How come you saw Satoru’s eyes when you closed yours and listened to your own hands dance across the keys? 

Why did his smile, his laugh, his touch, his voice, his everything, come to mind when you picked apart every stanza and bar? If you put together all the notes a specific way and decoded them, you swore they’d spell his name.

Your hands drifted and halted as you reached the end of the lilt.

Or, rather, the end as you knew it.

There was a brief pause, then he mumbled, barely above a hum, “is that it?”

“Grandma never showed me how it ended,” you told him morosely. “She said she’d tell me ‘when the time is right’, but…she died before she could.”

He sat beside you and took your right hand into his. His fingers massaged meaningless shapes into the creases of your palm and the smooth plane of the dorsum. Neither of you dared break the silence, mulling in your own worlds.

Satoru was the one to cautiously cross the line of quiet, doing his best to not disturb it. He wrapped his left arm around your back, pulling you into his side while continuing to toy with your dainty digits.

“We’ll find it together,” he whispered.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

Truth be told, you never imagined you’d find yourself in this kind of place before – especially not in this position. 

Your hand hovered over your brow, shading your eyes from the brilliant sun as it shined low in the sky, kissing the horizon. Though it was setting, the approaching night was warm as ever. A pleasant breeze ruffled the fabric of your dress and caught the strands of your hair that managed to slip loose from the style your mother put them in. 

Stars were already beginning to dot the expanse above, glittering and so, so crystalline when you were this far outside the city. You never thought you’d get to see them so clearly, enough to point out individual constellations, and even identify Jupiter and Venus. 

You never had a reason to leave the bounds of the city before, so all this was a distant dream you might have had once when you were a teenager. 

But here you were, outside a lovely villa, surrounded by friends, family, and loved ones, miles away from where light pollution would dare to touch. The buzzing, lively chatter of dozens of guests filled the air; the clinks of glasses, the clacks of forks and knives on plates, all of it was so animated. You felt like you were in a sort of daze, overwhelmed with happiness to the point that it almost didn’t feel real.

A pair of soft lips pressed against your temple, drawing your attention to radiant, minty-ocean hues.

Satoru gazed at you with nothing short of pure, raw, true adoration. Like every fiber in his body, each and every singular cell, was dedicated to loving you.

“I have one more present left for you,” he murmured against your lips, giving you a chaste kiss right after before he stood up and raised his glass. He tapped the back of his knife gently on the side, creating a chiming noise that settled the ongoing conversations with ease.

Once all the attention was on him, he set both objects down and began speaking.

“I know we’ve already said it a lot, but I wanted to thank you all again for coming here to celebrate this day with us,” he said, turning his gaze to you. “This is truly the happiest day of my life – so far,” he added cheekily, earning him a laugh from the crowd. “So, before all the festivities end tonight, I wanted to do one last thing, if you’d all be so kind as to grant me this moment.”

Of course they would. Satoru was just that type of person. Charisma poured off him in waterfalls, charming anyone he spoke to without effort – you included.

He pushed back his chair, moving to leave. Confused, you grasped his arm and called his name.

There was a glint of something in his eyes, something you couldn’t identify, not with the light tingle of wine sitting in the back of your mind and the overstimulation of the grand day.

“Just listen, baby,” he whispered to you, then he was weaving through the guests, snaking his way to the grand piano situated off to the side of where everyone was situated. “This is a little song I heard many, many years ago, and fell in love with from the first few notes. I’d like to dedicate it to my mother-in-law, father-in-law, their late mother, and I would like to especially dedicate it to my lovely wife.”

Your mother gasped, grabbing your arm as soon as Satoru began playing the familiar melody of the diapason you had been taught ages in the past. It was the one your grandmother played for you, just once. It was the one she played for your mother and father for their wedding. It was the one you played for Satoru, once unknowingly, and every time after that intentionally.

The one he was playing for you now.

Your mother teared up faster than you did, reaching for a clean napkin to dab her eyes with while she waved her free hand at her face, trying to stave off the tears so that they didn’t smear her mascara, though she wasn’t succeeding. Your father was gently shushing her, rubbing her shoulder while he looked between you and Satoru with pride, and you…

You recalled the first time you heard him play the composition his father had written, when you still believed he was just an advanced player. Back then, you felt entranced.

Now, you felt completely spellbound.

You lifted yourself, carefully making your way between the enchanted spectators. Some clutched and squeezed your hand as you passed, and a few others breathed out little congratulations to you, not risking breaking the delicate atmosphere. 

By the time you made it to him, your vision was blurry, and he was playing the last line of bars.

The arrangement floated into the placid, halcyon evening, each individual note rising like a star to join the thousands that looked on with bated breath, protecting this little moment of clement apotheosis.

His hands swept across the final few steps, barely touching the keys at all. The concluding tone resounded, fragile and silk-like, followed by a second of calm silence before the crowd erupted with cheers, hoots, and deafening applause.

Satoru rose from the bench, encircling your waist with his arms and pulling you in for a deep kiss. It echoed in you, the sweetest lullaby, the happiest composition that could never be written down identically. It was one only the two of you could hear and feel, one only the two of you could dance, live, cry, laugh, breathe, and love to.

Of all the endings you ever tried to give that precious lullaby your grandmother had written so long ago, the one Satoru created was perfect.

Because you created it together.

─────•(-•ʚɞ•-)•─────

banner by cafekitsune ♥

[bao3bei4]

ON THE TSHIRT METHOD TO WRITING ESSAYS IN YOUR OWN TIME: 

i have had a couple people mention to me that they would like to write essays too, but they are a little out of practice. so i thought i should gather some scattered thoughts into one place. this is not a systematic guide. i am young and inexperienced and still working out things for myself, but this is my basic process and some things that have helped me, summarized. 

my biggest single piece of advice is to write with your proverbial pussy. you are not writing for a grade so don't act like it. forget rigor, forget academic style, etc. read what you're interested in, and write following up on the threads that you're interested in. don’t sweat the details. just do you.

if you still need more advice..... here’s a long winded post. 

step zero: if you have no clue what you want to say yet 

read. and read a lot.

but be realistic. be kind to yourself. your attention is a precious resource, and it is getting eaten up by shit out of your control all the time. if you’ve had a busy day, you may still have the brain power left to read. i almost never do. lol. so make sure to carve out time on a day off, if possible. otherwise you might end up completely fried, reading the same sentence over and over, and ending up scrolling on your phone LMAO. <-- painful lesson also to this end, if you haven’t picked up a denser book in a while, start with shorter articles, especially ones written more recently. if your attention wanders, try getting a physical book instead. the most important thing is just starting things you’ll actually read.  i’ve seen a lot of people (and been that person) who was like. “oh i’m going to start with THE canonical text in a subject i’m interested in” which makes sense right? but that book is inevitably long and dense and convoluted and boring. you can come back to it later. this shouldn’t feel like a chore! 

genuinely this is the most helpful thing you can do is just. read anything. it may be difficult at first (or always), but it is still the easiest way to engage with the foremost experts from around the world and the entirety of written history on any subject you are interested in. there’s not really a substitute to this. 

note: you may say that people can and do come up with brilliant ideas independently of their access to written works. this is true! but if you are one of them, you should skip this section/post, because you already know what you want to say.  okay that was a little too facetious. let me revise: when i say that, without reading, it will be hard to come up with more complex ideas than what you have now, that isn’t necessarily pejorative. maybe your current ideas and impulses are original and meaningful and complex. if they aren’t, however, you don’t have to resign yourself to it.  your experiences in real life are the most valuable thing you can bring to the table, but it can be very difficult to articulate and contextualize them without community—whether that be irl, or the simple textual company of other writers. you can let other people help you and teach you.  basically, this is a long winded way of saying something extremely simple: reading is not the only way to gain knowledge, or even the best. but it is an extremely consistent and relatively egalitarian way.** **scihub and libgen and sometimes the public library are your friends. (my local library’s book coverage is spotty) who cares about piracy. LMAO. 

you may surprise yourself by how nicely you fall into little spirals. you read one thing. and you are enamored with the way the author approaches their subject. so you end up reading everything else they’ve written, and then you start on the authors they list that inspire them in their interviews. maybe you just read one article that’s a little dry but it cites something else that seems far more interesting. read that next. and so on. 

if you are struggling to read that’s okay. you have options. start a book club (or just get a friend who also wants to read more). if that sounds like too much work, pick a friend to keep updated on all your new facts. you just want to get used to reading something, and telling someone your favorite parts again. skim books. skip the boring parts. drop them entirely and find a more interesting one. no one’s going to quiz you. this is for your own enjoyment. 

also important here: read books that make you want to write. sometimes this is because the methods and/or prose of the author are so exciting, you want to do something just like that. sometimes it’s because the content is so exciting, you want to say something about that too. sometimes they speak so powerfully to your own life, you want to tell people this is me!! i see this!! there are books i just enjoy reading, sure, and i do read them. but you know how, like, a good movie makes you want to tell stories too? good theory should do that too, in my opinion. 

step one: you have some ideas now. 

these ideas don’t have to be set in stone. but you should have an idea now of what you might talk about. personally, for me, i have two interconnected types of essay ideas. 

interventions. this is like [tumblr voice] Why Is Nobody Talking About This. i see some sort of hole. maybe i know how to fill it, maybe i don’t. 

free associations. basically i read one thing, or some analysis of one thing. and then it reminded me of another thing. and i’m like. i want to tease apart their connections, their similarities, and their differences. 

there are more types of ideas, i’m sure. but these are the ones i consistently have. with me, the second kind is more common. very rarely do i find that my thoughts are that original. rather, i’ve found that one of my strengths as a writer is being able to make connections that other people haven’t made, or haven’t made in depth before. IN MY OPINION. 

so i find it quite flexible. maybe i watch a movie, and it reminds me of my own life, because i think two women in the movie could be sad queer freaks. and i’m a sad queer freak. or it could be that i think scum villain could be analyzed through the framework of freudian psychoanalysis. you get the idea. 

at this stage of the process, i don’t have a thesis, necessarily. but i have a couple phrases i’m drawn to. i have a bullet point or two. i have vibes. 

to use an example from this blog, one of my friends hui once mentioned that that one fan image was going around again. we were going ughhh it’s victorian not chinese! together and they said “you should write a meta on it.” i wasn’t sure quite yet what i had to say. but i knew a couple things. 

this is, incidentally, because i had done some research into chinoiserie before, because i had cited the zuroski book for a paper i had to write for an english class some years before on pride and prejudice and its use of descriptions of material culture, an essay that in turn was inspired by my random yet deeply felt conviction that jane austen hated me personally and wanted to kill me.  this is why i encourage reading a lot. i think. 

to work on this stage, make lists. lots of them. i have a .txt file where i keep every essay idea i have. a lot of them are a sentence. or they're lists of books or theorists i think i could make something out of. or they're theses that feel true, but i’m not sure why yet. 

it took me a while to get to this point. just like with writing fic, there was a period when i first started where i was like. i only have one idea. i’m going to write it, and then i’m never going to write again. and then i had just one more idea. after a while. eventually you will find you have so many ideas and the world is full of possibilities. it’s a muscle you have to flex. like reading. and telling people about what you’re reading. 

actually, i feel like there was a step 0.5 here that i completely skipped. 

step zero point five that i skipped: how to generate ideas

my very truly complete “first time writing something semi-academic that was original” (with a loose definition of the word original) was literally just me reading literary criticism of one book, and saying “i think this author’s thoughts can be applied to this other book” and found some textual evidence that supported that the process could be replicated. 

this is like, writing with training wheels on. eventually i got better at it (see aforementioned chinoiserie essay. i hope you agree.). but that was a good place to start for me. it made the proverbial blank page less intimidating, knowing i had a scaffolding. 

i suggest trying this. see how it goes for you. read around until you find some piece of criticism, or just some theory about how something works, that you like. and using your newfound hammer, go look for some nails. 

note: i know this expression is meant to like. be a negative thing. but you do have to start somewhere. it’s okay if it sucks. it’s just for your practice and your enjoyment. 

be cautious of stances. weak writing (in my OPINIONNNN) tries to unilaterally defend or condemn a behavior. what you need to do is treat your writing as a bit. and then you need to run with it. you need to take it farther than what is reasonable. if this bit is truly actually deeply true, then what does it mean about yourself? it’s like using a new set of pronouns as a joke or something. you know what i mean? (that was an example of what i’m trying to communicate here)

what else is key to look out for... look for oppositional pairs or tensions. look for perverse incentives and vicious circles. look for embarrassing ideas. that is, what would be extremely embarrassing if it was true? (or to admit that it was true) you may go—tshirt, here you’re just describing things that are sexy. yes, exactly, that’s the point. you want things that thrill. 

just keep reading and making notes until everything echoes with something else. now you’re ready for step two. 

step two: refine your ideas further. 

let me do this by demonstration. once more extending my earlier example of my chinoiserie essay, i knew that i really wanted to take zuroski’s points and basically... steal them. this is called “citation,” i guess. but i thought the following insights were useful to me: 

british women were invested in chinese material objects 

they incorporated them into their own subjectivity

past a certain point, they no longer “consumed” these signifiers, but these signifers became theirs 

critique of one was able to stand in for critique of the other

and from being on fandom twitter, i already had the following insights: 

people deliberately blurred the lines between china and england when it came to fans and tea

people also liked talking about victorian modesty when it came to china 

so it seemed like victorian england and china had a privileged relationship, in a lot of people’s minds in fandom. 

so it didn’t really seem a stretch to say... how can we look at one history, and apply it to our present? 

it was a bit of the combo of the two: i saw something i didn’t see people were talking about, and it reminded me of something else i’d read before. 

something that helps me a lot is tweeting about my essay ideas. if you have me on my private account, you already know this. it forces me to explain myself to someone who doesn’t know what i’m talking about in a very succinct way. oftentimes, i tweet something out while i’m brainstorming, and then i steal the phrasing back into my essay. see? tweets can be writing too. 

this is microdosing on step zero’s “read something and practice telling a friend about it.” now you’re writing something and telling a friend about it. 

step three: okay now you can like. open a google doc 

make an outline. i know i know i know. i’m sorry. you can start just barfing thoughts if you want, but eventually everything that was on the top of your head will be out. and now you can start thinking about structure. the reason the outline is important is because it makes clear the logical progression from one idea to the next. 

i know i usually bounce around in my writing (a tendency which has been magnified here because this is so casual LMAO), but i always want to make sure that my points are substantiated. if we want to talk about how a causes b, we should prove a, we should prove the causal link, and only then can we infer b, for instance. it doesn’t really matter what order that happens in (or even that we set about it that way), but the more complicated your idea is, the longer checklist you need. it’s just a checklist. that’s all. 

as you start writing, you’ll probably need to read some more. you’re going to want to say something you think is true, but you’re going to realize that you haven’t proved it (or you can’t). go look to see if someone else has proved it. 

maybe you’re right. add that evidence in. maybe you’re wrong. now your essay has a new direction. there is a living thing beneath you. actually, on that idea— 

i tend to structure my outlines (if i’m not sure yet what my point is) by pasting a bunch of quotes in a document, and reorganizing them until they make sense, they seem to flow. and then i start explaining why, until i realized i have begun to walk off in a new direction. always embrace that new direction. eventually you will find that you have not been taking twists and turns, but actually you were dizzily walking along a straight path. (unless you have been unfocused and you are trying to say too many things at once. ask a friend to read your essay if you’re not sure which is the case.) 

quotes are the smallest unit of your analysis. work with evidence. or, at least, i do. it makes writing an essay like solving a mystery. the idea of just spontaneously generating something new fills me with terror. rather, i want to autopsy something, trace its steps, and then discover how it came to be dead. this may not be true for you. but it’s true for meeeee and this is my post. 

tl;dr

0. read something and tell someone about it/post it out

0.5. come up with a bit and run with it

1. think "why is no one talking about this" or start free associating

2. come up with weird connections and tell someone about it/post it out

3. collect all of your posts and ideas into a gdoc and organize them.

anyway i like reading posts like this because i’m incredibly nosy. so i tried to write out the sort of thing i like to read from other people. i don’t suggest you actually try to replicate it (if anyone would even want to.) practically basically i just encourage you to try any single part of this that you think was interesting or relatable or helpful. personally, i suggest reading a book and posting your favorite lines from it. if you do this a couple times, i think you will find the seeds of an essay waiting for you in your own posts. 

[bae04xx]

Heyyy I just saw it post and like I couldn't resist sending in an ask (or request if you will)!! If you want to could you write a bill cipher (yes ik💀) x reader where he and the reader are dating but get into an argument and he just says/does sum really mean stuff?? Fluff ending tho please I can't take only angst lmao, for the reader i would pref a Fem reader but gn is fine to!! Also for bill could he be in his triangle form?? (I'm so sorry if this is a long ask💀💀) but yeah that's it!!

One last thing if you don't mind could I be the 😻 anon so like if I send a ask/message I will add that and yk its me!!

-😻

hey ofc, sorry don’t check my tumblr that often! i would love to :)

thanks 😻 anon :)

bill cipher x fem! reader

angst and fluff 🖤☁️

i grabbed my bags out of my car boot, harshly gripping them between my fingers, which the knuckles of began to loose their colour from the chill in the air. after shutting the car doors and locking it up i begin storming down the pebbled drive towards my little cottage of a home. i sigh as i drop my bags and twist the key into the lock. i walk into the warmth of my house- silence greets me. after a full day at work, a very busy day might i add, then running about 5 errands i expect my home to be as i left it, cleaned to perfection. my eyes squint at the crumbs left all over hallway’s floor, i walk through them and set my bags onto the kitchen’s table- only to see condiments and dirty dishes scattered on the counters.

i quickly put my food shopping away, then hastily clean the house top to bottom, from hoovering to polishing to mopping to cleaning all of his dirty clothes because god forbid he contribute anything to this house and take any weight off my already drowning shoulders. i bury my face into my hands and curl up on my sofa, after sitting like this for a few minutes i decide to sit up and distract myself, flipping through a few tv channels to find a decent one.

i wonder why i’m even here, i was only meant to be in gravity falls temporarily, after my mother decided i was too much for her, she shipped me off to live with my aunt for the summer- aunty suz, or as the locals called her, lazy suzan. she ran a diner, which i helped out with as my keep, and there i met the twins. i felt like mable understood me, she really helped me deal with my mental health and overcome it all. she was my bestfriend- until i fell for him. i made the stupid mistake of choosing bill cipher, a living breathing demon, over my bestfriend. and now i’m stuck in this hell hole- gravity falls.

“loving boyfriend my ass..” i mumbled, throwing the tv remote to the ground in frustration.

“what about me were you saying, peach?” he smirks, materialising out of no where, with a snarky expression.

“what the fuck have you been doing all day cipher? i work my ass off and i come home to the house a state?” i plead, standing up to be someone as tall as the floating figure.

“woah woah woah, don’t be so aggressive peach, calm it and remember who you’re speaking to,” he warns, i laugh at him.

“i do everything for you cipher, i have up my life for you and this is the thanks i get? no support, messing with my home and threats? i have every right to be angry at you, you always do this!”

“do what exactly, peach?” his eyes narrow at me, staring me down.

“fuck me over! you expect to be fed, even though you don’t need to eat and can make anything you want appear but no- i have to supply it for you, to clean in a clean house but it’s fine for you to constantly mess it up, and to leave for days at a time with no warning and then just appear back and expect me to be fine? and treat me like shit!”

“i can do whatever the fuck i want peach, whatever i want-“ he grabs me by the chin, “you listen to me, you’re a puppet in my hands, you’re lucky i’m even giving the time of day. you’re only around because i like you, and you’re so lucky i like you because do you wanna know what would happen if i didn’t?”

…

“you’d be dead, rotting your own personal hell. so show me a little respect? don’t forget your place.”

i push myself away from him, i regretfully look in my eyes, i don’t know what to do, so i just stand there, scared, confused, anxious yet angry.

“i’m going, don’t try and get in my head, i don’t want you there.” i announce, before storming off and grabbing my handbag.

“i’ll never get out of your head, you belong to me remember, you’re nothing without me.” he announced, as though he’s just next to me but he isn’t. i’m in the car, applying as much pressure to the accelerator as i can- and he’s no where near me. he’s in my fucking head again. i have no space, no boundaries, i’m not just me, i’m him too- and i have no choice. i can’t escape.

i break as hard as i can, in the middle of a road, no cars were within a mile radius of me, perks of living i. a quiet town. i scream, a blood curdling scream, my nails clawing into my h/c, tears stream out of my eyes. sobbing uncontrollably i feel an arm snake around me, pulling me close.

he’s shushing me, trying to calm me down as a shriek and cry into his chest, not sure if i should push him away or accept him embrace. his boney hands stroke my h/c and instantly calms me, not by my choice though- the bastard is in my head again.

“i’ve given everything for you bill.” i state, wiping my tears away, a dead look in my eyes.

“i’m sorry peach,” he hugs me tightly, “i know i’m shitty, but i’m so sorry.”

and he just holds me, let’s me stay in his arms, i focus on my breathing, as he plays with my hair, he whispers a small ‘i love you’ in my ear, i hum back to him, too exhausted to process what’s really happened.

i wake up in my bed, changed into my favourite fleecy pyjamas, a very worried demon next to me.

i yawn, stretching my arms up, turning to him i say “and how did i get here?” my voice a little gruff from sleepiness.

“you don’t think i was going to let you sleep in the car do you? what kinda demon do you think i am?” he replied in his usually snarky yet flirtatious voice.

“ah yes sorry, you’re such the gentleman- how could i forget,” i giggle back at him before rolling away to the other side of the bed.

“i really am sorry y/n, i’m gonna try more, for you peach,”

“i love you bill,”

“i love you more peach,”

a comfortable silence surrounds us, i sigh before deciding to get up, yet just as a i begin to take the duvet off me i get it pulled start back on.

“what’re you thinking for breakfast peach? my treat, you just stay snuggled up in bed,”

“i bought some croissants yesterday, they’re in the cupboard,” i muse, before grabbing my book off the bedside table. bill let’s out a laugh.

“my treat, you just wait and see what i’ve got planned peach!”

[cherrirui-official]

Friendlocke Violet Gijinkas (Part 4/7)

Hell yeah we're over halfway done! Isn't that crazy? I don't have too much to say here sooooooo onto the usual stuff

I plan on posting them in order by groups of three, so there's gonna be seven parts in total, all of which I'll be linking here when done vvv

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Five) (Part Six) (Part Seven)

!! These will contain personal headcanons I have for the cast, little fun facts, and also spoilers for Friendlocke Violet (for both the edited vids and the streams) !!

@saltydkart-reblogs

Designs under the cut!

VRISKA:

Vriska has an extra set of arms that they can retract and extract whenever they please. However, they usually keep those arms hidden.

The long needle she's holding is her trusty sword that she's used since her pirate days. She doesn't use it as much as she used too, but it's good to keep it on her for self defense in case of an emergency.

The marks on thier neck and shoulders aren't tattoos, they're birthmarks.

Good at sewing, as she often would have to fix her coat after getting into epic pirate sword fights. Sara and Vriska are sewing buddies!

It is unknown why they're unable to sleep, but while the rest of the team sleeps they often find themselves wandering around and doing whatever they want.

Artist's note: I based Vriska's design off the fact that I wanted to make her look like a bootleg version of the og Vriska. As in "Hey that's Vriska" but also "That's not VRISKA" if you get what I mean

MALL BINGO:

Trained herself to become resistant to poison (and by "trained" I mean she just ate a bunch of poison until her body became almost immune to it... please don't try this at home.)

Often goes scavenging for items when she's doesn't feel like robbing someone. If she's lucky enough she'll find some good items scattered around because "stupid trainers often leave good shit on the ground for some reason" (due to all the items you can pick up from the ground ingame lmao)

Mal lost her leg in one of her first heists, after she and another pawmi tried stealing from the wrong person at the worst possible time.

The gun she keeps with her wasn't originally hers, it belongs to someone else.

On a more positive note, Mal has plenty of stories and tall tales to share. She learned them from the eldest in her little pawmi group, as they would often tell her stories before going to sleep. Mal will often share those same stories with Peppy Jr and Mykyie Jr.

Can and will bite you. You won't be expecting it. Be warned.

GRUNPILO:

Due to his abundantly long hair, Grunpilo often lets Mal play around with it and style it however she wants.

It is unknown how or why he picked up on puppetry specifically, but it makes him happy so who are we to judge?

Speaking of which, he creates his own puppets by hand, from simple sock puppets to marionettes on strings. The two hand puppets shown are his favorite ones though.

Sometimes he'll be found speaking to them as if they're real.

Not good in social situations or confrontation, so Mal will sometimes have to speak for him. ("EXCUSE ME! He asked for no pickles!" /ref)

EXTREMELY light, very easy to pick up.

And that's all! Only three more batches left woo, hopefully I can finish them by the end of the year lol.

[nosesitter]

So helpful ! Joel miller

1.4k words

Warning: Dark and perv! joel miller, AFAB!reader, male and female masturbation, dub con, drug use, male voyeuristic, light stalking, breaking and entering lmao, Joel is 55, reader is 24, somewhat established relationship (she be in his apartment), my punctuation (sorry I’m a American and texan)

Gif not mine!

A/N: first public drabble to post in quite a while. Getting thoughts onto here are harder than it sounds be patient I do a lot of drugs but have lots of ideas. So yeah enjoy!

Helpful neighbor!Joel miller installed your rings cameras for you. How sweet! When he tested them he connected his phone up to it. Now he has access to your house inside and out but you don’t know that.

Since moving into your apartment things have been great! The area is perfect you’re not too close to town but if you need anything it’s not a long drive. The neighbors are also great! There’s Martha who lives across your apartment, there’s Josh and Cathy who live to the right of you, and then to the left is Joel Miller, 55 years old and utterly attractive. Joel wasn’t a man of many words but he was very helpful, especially whenever you needed help.

It started off small at first a few stolen Amazon packages, your plants outside your door knocked over, but what finally pushed you into getting the cameras was when you came home one night and your apartment was broken into. Nothing was stolen thank god and your cat didn’t run too far, Joel was able to catch her and keep her at his place.

Too scared to sleep at your place for the night Joel offered his apartment for you until you felt safe. That night you ordered the cameras.

“How come none of these cameras are easy install? I have to have some sort of power tool.” You say to Joel as you sit as his breakfast bar scrolling Amazon. He’s currently in the kitchen making something to eat for you, his way of apologizing cause he wasn’t there to stop the break in.

“I could install them for you, I do have the power tools for it.” He says turning around pan in hand as he scoops out the pasta he made onto your plate.

“I’m gonna be busy this week, it’s okay I’ll just wait till I-“

“I can install them it won’t be a problem, I can come early in the morning.” Joel goes running in the morning and when you’re leaving for work he’s coming back from his run.

“Thank you Joel, for everything.” Reaching over you grab his hand and for a moment no one says anything and it’s quiet besides your cats collar making noise. Him making dinner and you just sitting there. It’s domestic, something Joel didn’t think he’d have after Sarah left for college 2 years ago.

He can’t help but kinda feel bad for breaking into your apartment. He just wanted to have something from you. His thick fingers trailing over your pillow, leaning over his nose fills with your scent, the scent of your vanilla shampoo lingers. Joels slowly walking around seeing fragments of your life scattered around the small apartment, clothes pouring out the closet, your bong on the living room table that’s half smoked, your cat curled up on your side of the bed. Before he leaves he passes your laundry room, right on top of the laundry basket there’s a black lace thong. Joel pockets it.

🫶🏻

By the time you get out the shower Joel is knocking at the door. You stand there and think get dressed or open it. Latching your towel around you tightly you rush to the front door. “I’m sorry Joel but I’m running late.” Joel stands their tool bag in hand as you rush back into the bathroom. Droplets of water trailing on the floor behind you.

“The box is on the counter! Just put a camera in each room please!” Joel stands there for a moment as his gaze fixes to the cracked bathroom door, steam coming from the room, your cat poking it’s head in to see you, and your shadow moving against the door showing you beginning to dress.

Twenty minutes later you emerge from the bathroom hair dry, makeup done, and clothed. You come out to see Joel standing on a step ladder in the corner of your living room. He’s drilling the camera into the wall, flannel tied around his waist as his back and arm muscles contract under his gray shirt. He stops and then turns to see you and he smiles.

“Good morning sunshine, are you about to leave?” You nod your head at him as you gather your bags together. “I’ll try to finish up quick-“

“It’s all good, here you can leave whenever.” You hold out your hand and in it is a little silver key. It’s quite a big step in Joel’s eyes but to you he’s someone you can trust. He takes the key, smiles and as he slips it in his pocket his fingers rub against your thong that’s also in there.

“I’ll see you later Joel, thanks again.” And with that you’re out the door.

An hour later and Joel’s done. He sits on your couch and pulls your bong you tried to “hide” behind the couch and hits it as the ring app loads up. As he’s connecting his phone to the cameras, and looking at the angles he can see you at he notices the little blue light in the corner. Reaching into his tool bag he digs around grabbing a sharpie and starts coloring over the blue dot.

🫶🏻

It’s late by the time you come back home but Joel is still awake waiting just for you. He gets up from his couch and heads to his bedroom where yours is adjacent just on the other side of the thin wall. He decides to use the cameras. Pulling out his phone his finger hesitates over the app he thinks about it for a second. Thinks about how you’ve been so nice to him, it’s under false pretense of course but it’s still genuine niceness.

The thought doesn’t last long cause Joel can hear your shower turn on so he presses on the camera app and opens the one in your room.

He can see you sitting on your bed rolling a joint in nothing but your panties. He swallows hard as you nod your head along to the music softly playing. He wishes he could be over there to greet you everyday to run your shower and cook dinner, to fuck you stupid till you’re not thinking anymore.

His cock starts to press against the lining of his pajama pants. He rubs his hand over the clothed erection as he watches you more. You finish rolling and begin your search for a lighter. Prancing around in your panties Joel’s mind goes dark. He thinks about how you’re just freely out here. He knows that you don’t know he’s watching you but he can’t help but think that this is a show you’re putting on for him. His own personal show. Just. For. Him

His fingers are yanking down his waistband and pulling them over his balls. He’s really hard now. Opening up his hand he spits into it and then lubes himself up. Starting out slow, his pointer finger and thumb squeezing the tip as he begins to jerk himself. You’re laying on your stomach, legs kicking behind you as you smoke your joint. Joel doesn’t mind the smell honestly he might buy weed from you later.

“Fucking tease.” He hisses out as he begins to make his grip tighter and pace faster. He’s not looking at the cameras anymore as he strokes himself only thinking of you and how you’d be such a sweet girl for him. Reaching down to cup his balls Joel is punched back to reality when he hears his name just slightly.

Ripping one of his hands away from himself he grabs his phone and sees you. Fucking slut, hands between your legs, joint between your lips chanting his name low. He came right then and there, massaging the cum all over his dick in his hand as he moans at the sight of you. A few minutes later of watching you, your hands slips away and you lay there catching your breath. Swinging your legs over the bed you hop up, smush the joint in the ash tray and then kick the bathroom door close.

Joel saw that he able to save that whole video. He did and he rewatched it 2 more times. Hearing your sweet voice whimper his name as you play with your clit. Unknowingly you just got Joel addicted. He needed you bad.

———————🪻🧺🫐

Reblog, comment, validate me 🫶🏻

0627

[justakennyoshi]

AIGHT DUDE I PROMISED AN ASK HERES AN ASK

In your post I just praised about Kenny cleaning his sister’s bedroom but not his own: I just noticed this staring at the picture, is that a packed bag in Kenny’s room ready to go???

Because if it is then that is the most depressingly realistic element of growing up in a shitty household holy crap

I had to make a double take bc you're right what

So now let's go on a trip over Kenny's bedroom pics to see first if it was an odd coincidence or is a constant element (in which i agree with the way you think)

This is Kenny's bedroom! As I mentioned in my last analysis, it's disorganized, the bed is not even made and the clothing is kinda scattered around. Not the worst state his room has been tho. Another thing to consider is that during the early seasons everything was far more simple so you can find pics like the following

I'd say the key details are his bed, the scrapped curtains, his toy box (chest like), the rat hole and ofc the posters LMAO

I found similar pics of his bedroom but none of them had that exact backpack anywhere so is one episodic thing

Im betting this is the PSP episode so brb

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a quick rewatch later

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OH OK THATS VERY OUT OF CONTEXT LMAO

Ok so long story short Kenny was so obsessed with his PSP that long story short he started neglecting everything INCLUDING his chores so long story short (pls tell me you get it) that bag is full of dirty clothing 😭😭😭

So that shot was from a sequence, the pic below was when he was just starting to play and the other one is when he was 2 weeks in playing non stop wwwww

bonus these pics i liked from the sequence

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more rewatching

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WHAT????

WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE GET AN ACTUAL POST MORTEM KENNY MOMENT EVEN IF IT WAS BRIEF????????

WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE STILL HAS A BRIEF CONSCIENCE AFTER DYING I MEAN IT MAKES SENSE IF HE REMEMBERS STYLE'S JOKE OF HIS DEATH BUT WHAT

This is breathtaking bc its from season 9

Im such a fake fan bye

mf is more worried for his PSP than his death 😭(he's cool and chill I remember someone posted smth about that I wonder who /j)

[meowmeowmeowmeow4x]

Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Chapter 33

MASTAPOST

god im so sleepy lmao also warning for skulker being a mega creep, but not to the extent of vlad

Damian, for the second time in as many days, awoke in a tank, a fact with which he was extremely displeased. The last thing he recalled was his stomach lurching, the bag he’d been stuffed into serving as an excellent package for Skulker to make off with him. Damian longed for a good blade to sink into the man’s body.

That fact was amplified by the feeling of cold metal on his scales. Damian scratched at the golden bracelets cupping his arms. He was dressed up in luxurious gold and jewels like a lecherous sultan’s slave. A ringed belt-like piece of silver wrapped around his waist and looped over his hip fins. Two more golden rings, each adorned with gleaming rubies, cupped the thinnest portion of his tail just above his tailfin. Despite his best efforts, he was unable to relieve himself of any of the filthy things. They were fitted tight as a glove, almost like they were made for his measurements. Damian shivered, and turned to more productive activities.

His new prison cell was at least more amenable than his last. In fact, it was a little too amenable. Damian found himself in a veritable miniature aquarium. If it weren’t for the reflection of his scaly face in the glass and the lavish (and frankly, tasteless) furniture beyond, he’d have thought himself in the actual ocean. The bottom was padded with beautiful white sand, populated by towering coral structures and schools upon schools of fish, jellyfish, and even a few manta rays. Stalks of kelp rose to the ceiling of the room, as the tank was that tall. Seaweed swayed in an artificial current. Damian picked up the sound of a wave machine gently pushing against the surface of the water.

Tapping the glass proved it was not some common fishbowl’s glass. The barrier between the water and air was at least two inches thick, something even a human Robin would find trouble with, let alone his current state. A golden shine caught his eye. Damian tutted. His fins rattled. It seems Skulker’s poor taste knew no bounds. Solid gold pillars lined the corners of the tank, and ran along the top and bottom.

With a closer look outside the tank, Damian clocked the numerous animal heads lining the walls of the room. Even more baffling was the inclusion of beautiful hand-crafted stone bird fountains scattered around the walls and mounted on posts in the room, populated by, of all the things, red duck candles. An old fashioned writing desk and chair sat facing away from the tank, decorated with what else but more preserved animals, and even more tacky candles, as if they were bought from the novelty shops that Richard would occasionally visit.

Outside of his already-revolting interior décor tastes, Skulker was a hunter. Went after rare and exotic creatures, Danny had told him. Damian’s eyes narrowed. Now he understood fully what the man was after. The abduction, the drowning, the pursuit, the sudden presence of the GiW in Panama, the entire reason for this trip in the first place.

The better question now was whether he was the prize, or the bait? And Damian suspected he was both. After all, Danny had made it very clear how much Skulker wanted his pelt specifically. Why go through the effort of making such a luxurious fish tank for a dead teenager?

There were so many other sirens in the sea, though. It made perfect sense that Damian would be the bait, but why also the prize?

He had caused a media sensation when he’d first arrived in Gotham. Tabloids ran for months, drooling over the gossip and rumours surrounding the mysterious biological son of Bruce Wayne. He’d been swarmed by mobs of rich snobs trying to pair their daughters with him, until his biting tone chased most of them off.

While Skulker wanted to make a coat out of Danny’s scales, he probably also wanted to allure of having such a mysterious and exotic pet. A pet that he’d had a direct hand in creating. Damian’s cheeks heated. He gritted his teeth. Of course. Here he was as much a trophy as the heads on the wall.

The door swung open. Damian bared his teeth. His fins flared wide. If he had his way, he’d be sinking them into the man’s jugular. Instead he was forced to bear Skulker’s smug smirk. He walked in, dressed in black cargo pants and a tank top instead of the customary hulking metal suit. Damian’s scales ran cold as the man looked over his body, bare except for jewelry he himself had placed.

Skulker went to the desk and retrieved a microphone from the drawer. He flipped it on, causing a brief whine in the tank.

“Good afternoon, Damian Wayne. I trust you find your new accommodation satisfactory?”

Damian hissed at him. “If you set me free I might let you live.”

“Hah!” Skulker laughed. The man reached into another drawer and pulled a can of beer. “I’m afraid the world outside is far too dangerous for a little guppy like you. You’ll be safer in here.”

“My absence has already been noted. You will not be able to get away with this!”

“Do you truly believe that, little boy?” Skulker shotgunned the beer in one. “Your little friend Danny wasn’t recognised by his own mother at gunpoint. And even if by some miracle they came here, what would you do? Squeak at them?”

Actually, he would tap out a message in Morse Code, but Skulker didn’t need to know that. And this time he would not hesitate.

Still, that brought up another concern. Skulker did not know he was Robin. As far as he believed, Damian was just some spoilt rich boy. On the one hand, it meant that there would be underestimation, and from there an opportunity. On the other hand, any overt competence he displayed would do badly for the family secret.

What a conundrum.

“So what do you intend to do with me, then? Sell my scales? Bed me?”

Skulker gasped in genuine shock, not the fake politeness that he’d seen Father’s parasites give off. “Did you not know? I am Skulker, the greatest hunter in the seven seas! I am not some kind of sicko. All the pleasure I need comes from the thrill of the hunt! And you have been an admirable quarry, and may now live out the rest of your days in comfort as my greatest trophy.”

Despite his ‘reassurance,’ Damian distinctly thought this made him even more of a sicko. “And what of Phantom’s pelt?”

“Danny will be my greatest coat, or a handbag. I’m open to options. Probably won’t even die the first skinning, what with his regeneration.”

Definitely a sicko. This man would fit right in on Gotham’s rogue’s gallery. Damian had disdain for hunters, especially trophy hunters, but to chase after someone whom you know is human? He recalled the fiery siren girl’s words back at the cave near Amity. To go after your own kind indeed. And Danny had the confidence to casually banter with this man like it was Tuesday?! Not to mention while being shot at by his parents, and the government.

Robin always had Batman, and the family, and the Justice League beyond those people. There were times he craved independence, to strike out on his own and prove himself, only to sorely regret it when it inevitably went pear-shaped. And yet Danny did all that and more, and the only adults in his life wanted to kill him.

“Phantom is thrice the man you will ever be. To covet his skin will only bring you ruin.”

Skulker pressed his face right up against the glass, grinning sadistically. Damian hissed back. “What does a baby sea monster know about manhood? Or ruin, for that matter. Let me spell it out for you. You. Have. No. Rights. Nobody who has those rights is coming for you. I could parade you around animal conservation centres for all the world to see and as far as the law is concerned I’d be as innocent as a newborn babe.”

Rage boiled over. Damian snarled. He lashed out against the glass, clawing uselessly at the barrier. Skulker only laughed harder. Damian slammed at the glass with his tail. His tail rings clanged against it uselessly.

“You’re an adorable trophy. I ought to put a little bell on you, like a kitten.”

The man left soon after, cackling like a TV supervillain (or just a regular real life supervillain, honestly), leaving Damian to stew in his rage.

He was not one to stew for long. With rage, there was never inaction.

Danny stuffed as much seaweed into his mouth as he could fit in his arms. He shoveled shellfish in like a waterslide. His belly bulged with how much food it was taking, and yet kept shrinking rapidly. Danny slashed open a fat fish. He sank his teeth into his flesh, ripped out the guts, then threw the rest out in seconds. It would take too much time to pick the flesh between bones, so he just killed another. Then another, and another.

He’d exhausted himself, and got Damian caught by fucking Skulker. That mistake couldn’t happen again. He couldn’t fail Damian again.

He tried to ignore the way his skin crawled just from how close his mother was. How close Damian’s dad was. If Bruce Wayne learned how badly he’d fucked up, Danny would be a dead fish and he wouldn’t even complain. He deserved it.

Danny ate, and ate, and ate.

He sniffed the water. It was Skulker’s dolphins. The trail was heading away from the shore. Danny swam faster than he had ever swum before.

It seemed Skulker had anticipated many of his first ideas. Damian found the water filter practically welded to its spot. His new ornaments proved useless at breaking or dislodging anything. He’d even found the larger rocks of the aquarium affixed to the bottom and immovable. The pebbles gathered up in bunches at the bottom proved ineffective as well. At the top, Damian found a hatch, probably for maintenance and cleaners to enter, but it was sealed shut. The tank featured no other entrances or exists. What he saw was what he got.

Even if he could break the glass, he didn’t even want to. He was not the only unwilling resident of this tank, but he was the only one with lungs. That left the top hatch as his current best option.

Damian swam into a nook, and began to plan.

This was not ideal. No weapons, no tools, a body for which measures had already been taken. Of course, Danny might come for him. He might. He’d heard an explosion moments after he was snatched right off Danny’s back, then there was the issue of Dr Fenton and his father. To expect Danny to be swift was unreasonable. 

In fact, it might be Damian who needed to save Danny. 

Which was to say he could not afford to lounge around. Simultaneously, it was possible he’s be forced to play the long game in his escape attempt, and the longer he had to endure Skulker’s lecherous gaze, the more chance he might pop a vein or two. 

Time to work on it then. Damian swam up to the top. He knocked against the hatch, testing its durability. To his surprise, there was just the slightest amount of give. Perhaps with a pebble, he could pry it open. A crowbar would’ve been preferable, but beggars could not be choosers. 

Seizing stress overwhelmed his tiny body. His subconscious recognised it first. Then his conscious mind registered the rattling of everything in the room. The boat shook, as if rocked by an attack. Damian dashed back behind a rock. He waited for a moment. 

Skulker did not come. Perhaps Damian had underestimated Danny’s tenacity yet again. This represented a prime opportunity. While Skulker was busy fighting Danny, Damian could escape and then assist. 

So he got to work immediately. He picked up the largest pebble he could get his scaly hands on. Then he went to the bottom of the tank. Steeling his nerves, Damian kicked his fins in sync. He undulated his body in one fluid motion, and surged with blinding speed. The metal clanged loudly and echoed in the water as he slammed as hard as he could against the hatch. 

It budged a quarter of a millimetre. Damian could hardly believe it. Then he did it again. And again. What he lacked in body mass he made up for with supernatural speed, pebbles in hand bashing against the hatch. He could not hear any more fighting or gather information on the situation outside the ship. The drive to get back to his friend fuelled his resolve, let him ignore his bruising knuckles and aching elbows. Damian surged up and attacked the opening once more.

His heart sank. The door was pushed open enough to reveal a padlock and chains covering the outside. Curse that Skulker! Damian yelled Todd-esque obscenities as he clawed uselessly at the chains. The lock was too far in the air for the water bound boy to reach, the opening too narrow to fit his hands through. He was Robin! He had no intention of letting a demented two-bit hunter with an ego the size of Lake Michigan get the better of him. 

So Damian coiled his tail like a spring again. He imagined all sorts of hateful and unpleasant things plastered over the hatch. The Fenton parents. The Joker. Grandfather. 

Nerves fired up, Damian snarled a barely-human battle cry. He launched himself faster than ever before. One second he was at the bottom. The next he was-

The next second, Damian found himself above the surface. Barely registering his surroundings, he let his gills open up immediately. Did he break the hatch? Was this super strength?

He was on some kind of platform over the tank, like the kind at aquariums for trainers or feeders. There was a tight constrictive feeling around his waist. Damian looked back, and his eyes widened.

The doors had budged, but only by a few inches. The lock and chain remained, albeit stretched out. And Damian? His waist compressed through the tiny gap like an octopus. He made out the gleam of the silver belt and necklace on the other side, wrapped around his tail, which should have been too big for them to fit, and yet Damian barely felt inconvenienced. 

Well. This changed things. 

Damian gripped the metal platform and pulled. He distinctly felt his organs squelch. His stomach had been pushed into his chest cavity, finally returning to its normal spot as his waist came through. His hip fins folded in on themselves. Then each of his bones in his tail bent like rubber bands, his scales sliding through with the help of his copious mucus secretions. At last Damian’s tailfin went through the gap, thin enough to not require any nauseating body modification. Unfortunately, the rings above it were also small enough. If he had the time, he’d have forced them off. 

He didn’t have time, though. Danny was out there and he needed his help. With the help of his mucus, Damian slithered snake-like over the metal platform, then down the stairs at the side. 

Skulker’s trophy room looked even more garish when there wasn’t glass covering his view. Damian spat on the carpet in disgust. Indeed, he was already intending on slathering a generous trail of mucus over the expensive decor, but it was not just about the raw damage. It was about sending a message. 

Damian began to roll across the room. However, just as he went underneath one of the fiendishly ugly bird fountains, another explosion shook the room. Out of water, it was able to ring at his ear fins. Damian was startled out of his wheel position, splaying himself on the floor. 

The shockwaves rattled everything in the room. The water rippled. Mounted animal heads jerked up an inch before returning to their hooks. The post holding up the bird fountain just above Damian jerked to one side. Before Damian knew it, a small waxy weight fell on his side. 

Everything in his body burned.

The jet ski’s radar pinged bright. Their drone in the air confirmed it. Turns out Brucie Wayne had some nifty contacts. Managed to figure out this ‘Skulker’ fellow was the proud owner of a yacht, and had connections in the human trafficking business. Jack felt sick to his stomach.

Brucie should’ve come with them, should’ve been there to rescue their sons by his and Maddie’s side, but he was still injured from Jazz’s mind-controlled swing, which meant it was just the classic Fenton pair once again. He felt another tinge of pride for his daughter’s arm. But mostly, he felt ready to tear this Skulker apart molecule by molecule.

He just couldn’t believe it. Maddie’d seen him. She’d seen Danny. He was right there and she was just that close and then-

He relaxed his body and took in a deep breath, just like Jazzy said. Whatever was going to happen, he and Maddie were going to give it their all, and get the boys back. Then this would all be over.

Five kilometres north. He glanced to his side, where Maddie, the love of his life, revved her craft. Now or never.

Their presence did not go unnoticed. Jack’s goggles picked up dozens of rockets in the air. His scanners detected torpedoes in the water. Without a word, Maddie was firing at will, and Jack manned the jet skis’ systems. Counter-torpedoes launched from tubes underneath their seats. Mini-guns sprang from their concealments and opened fire.

“Jack, there’s one flanking you!”

“Go high!” He yelled back. Jack spotted the lone torpedo moments away from hitting his ski. On cue, Maddie’s jet ski shot ten feet into the air off the back of its thrusters. Jack waited until it was within striking distance. He pushed the handle bars to full throttle as his ski’s backup thrusters went into overdrive. He shot off away from the torpedo at a sharp right angle. Once he had enough distance, Jack directed the blasters to intercept.

The yacht emerged from the horizon. From hatches and panels along its hole, a veritable arsenal primed itself to fire. Looked like Brucie’s intel was solid. Now it was his and Maddie’s time to shine. Jack charged his weapons, he nodded affirmation to Maddie, and together they went into the fray.

[youremyheaven]

Hello youremyheaven!!! I hope you’re doing well and you have an amazing healing heart warming August!!!!

I wanted to ask if you’re still working on/going to post the good side of Rahu/rahuvians post you mentioned a while ago!

I’d looooove to hear your thoughts after seeing all your Rahu posts then seeing how them energies manifest in my life as well. I definitely feel/see that scattered, obsessive energy in myself and would love to know the other side of the coin of Rahu energy.

Btw if you don’t mind sharing I’d love to know if you’re studying rn/ what you’re studying? Also have you always known what you wanted to do career wise or was it a long process for you?

Thank you!!!!

Rahu can be very sharp and analytical and that's a very underrated aspect of Rahu. It can make you veryyyy smart and savvy. However it requires a certain amount of mental organisation to tap into that energy tbh but once it's cultivated, it can make you veryyyyy sharp and astute

Another aspect of Rahu is that it's very good at picking up on and imitating others (much like Venus). This is due to Rahu being extreme Yin

I studied a very long and intensive course 💀💀and what I do rn is completely and entirely unrelated to it lmao. I have a creative job 👀but that's all I'll say 😜 it was a long process for me because I had no one to guide or mentor me and I was hell bent on never using my degree

I'm still in the process of finding the work I actually want to do but my current job is a stepping stone in that direction 😌😌 have faith and keep working, things will work out!!!

[moralesmilesanhour]

what you're searching for.

summary: Margo goes to a shitty poetry slam and gets more out of it than she expects. wc: 4.9k warnings: alcohol consumption, and it's like very VERY lightly implied that they had an Adult Sleepover if you get my meaning. Nothing really too suggestive in here I promise. One singular reference to a tiktok. a/n: this took me a whole ass week but I'm very proud of where my writing style is going! somewhat inspired by the film 'Love Jones'. If you enjoyed this pls feel free to leave your thoughts or your favorite line if you have one! EDIT: OH MY GOD I FORGOT TO ADD: the first poem is actually taken from the Junior novel 'Miles Morales: Suspended' by Jason Reynolds! The poem at the end is mine though lmao I'm not the best poet

Margo can’t stand poetry.

Someone gets up in front of you with a piece of paper clutched in their hands, and recites what is simultaneously the most vague and the most painfully obvious string of fragmented sentences you’ve ever heard as if they’d just touched your soul.

It’s not rapping, not preaching, but the ugly middle child standing between them. Some odd bastardization of music for people who thought they were too smart for either of the first two, but weren't brave enough to just give speeches.

Speeches, at least, are coherent, specific, and can be scrutinized.

So far, sitting in the front row of the bar that her classmate Zoe had invited her to for poetry night, no one has changed her mind. 

Tonight’s performances consisted of an assembly line of men (and a couple of women) in vintage sweaters ranting about their exes to the rhythm of bongo drums, or some mildly relevant social issue that none had the lexicon to really say anything in stanzas that hasn’t already been said. She had heard nothing yet that sounded much more profound than an Instagram post.

Although, one girl had come up and recited a short poem about her late mother that Margo thought was quite sweet, and the least tortuous to sit through.

The crowd erupted in snaps again for a poet with long braided dreads and an ankh tattoo whose words she had tuned out. The host took the mic and announced the final (thank god) participant:

“Now this next one I had to practically drag over here to get him to share his beautiful poetry with us tonight. Everyone, please give a warm welcome to one of my close friends and colleagues, Miles Morales!”

A lanky young man–Margo suspects about six feet even, given the way he’s towering over the host–awkwardly shuffles over to the center of the stage, offering the crowd a tight-lipped smile. 

He’s in a plain green sweater with the sleeves hastily rolled up to his elbows and a bomber jacket tied around his waist. As soon as he’s handed the microphone, it seems to dawn on him that there’s no turning back, and his body visibly tenses. 

He clearly just got here, and for once Margo doesn’t know what to expect.

Squinting beneath the bright spotlight, he clears his throat and speaks into the mic. 

“Um, hi.”

A few scattered ‘hi’s from the crowd.

There’s something bright and sweet in the tone of his voice that makes him sound a little boyish, and she wonders what he could possibly have under his sleeve that warranted him getting dragged up here last minute.

He takes a deep breath.

“It’s said

That nobody

Is ever more

Than ten feet

From a spider.”

Miles began the poem carefully, like he was confessing something. 

“They be everywhere you and me are.”

A few members of the crowd laugh, others shudder at the thought and frown. 

“And even though

We see them only

When they big enough to see, or when

They move,

Like a cursor

Across the blank white

Page of a wall…”

His voice loses some of its airiness in exchange for confidence as he recites the rest of the poem, and Margo realizes that he isn’t reading off of anything. 

Either he’s improvising, or he has it entirely memorized.

“Or when we trip

The web-like wire

Of a booby trap

Or when they

Fang our flesh

We should probably

Assume most

Just be right there…”

Miles paused and looked somewhere far beyond the crowd, lifting his arm to point to the back of the room. Then he repeated:

“Right there,

Right here,”

He gestures toward the front row, where his eyes land directly on Margo. It’s not so close to the stage that she can tell for sure, but she thinks she sees a hint of a smile cross his lips.

“Looking at us,

Looking over them.”

Silence. 

His arm falls limply to his side as his eyes frantically scan the audience, searching for some kind of response. 

Then, someone begins to clap. Then another. Then another. WIthin moments, the entire room erupts in applause, causing a shy smile to spread across the young man’s face.

“Uh, thank you!” he says, surprised at the positive reception, before shrinking into himself again and leaving the stage the same way he came.

The host returns and takes the mic from him.

“Miles Morales, everybody!”

-

After the poetry slam, Margo insisted that Zoe take her to the sushi place across the street. It had a bar sitting off to the side, one with significantly less poets. The decorative lights hung directly above the shelf filled with glass bottles and shrouded them in cherry red.

Zoe takes a sip of her sherry and leans in.

“Sooo, how was it?”

“It was a’ight.”

The light-skinned girl’s lips pull into a pout. “Seriously?”

“Hey, I told you poetry wasn’t my thing,” Margo pauses, then amends, “I liked the last guy, though. Breath of fuckin’ fresh air.”

“Right? His style really caught my attention, subtle.”

“Glad you liked it.”

Zoe’s eyes widened as she glanced just beyond Margo’s shoulder.

When Margo turned towards the familiar voice and froze. 

The poet in question was standing just inches away, a friendly smile gracing his features. His jacket is no longer around his waist, neatly folded over his arm like an expensive coat. He is with the excitable darker-skinned man who’d just hosted the event, and a man the shade of sandalwood standing just behind him.

They’re both wearing the same type of muted cardigan as Miles, but they’ve got actual coats.

“Y’all were in the front, right?” Miles asks the both of them, though he’s only looking at Margo.

She nods wordlessly. Zoe picks up the slack.

“M-hm, you were great up there! You’ve really never shown anyone your work ‘till tonight?”

Miles snorts at the wording of the phrase. ‘His work’.

“I wrote that poem in high school,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Wasn’t supposed to be anything serious, but my roommate…” 

He gives the dark-skinned man a dirty look. 

“...swiped my journal and found it. Told me I should read it out loud somewhere.”

Margo examines Miles’ face and imagines him as a baby-faced high-schooler, sitting in the back of the classroom with a protective arm around the beat-up red composition notebook he’s writing in. He stuffs it in his bag as soon as he’s done, because he has just poured his heart out onto that page, and his crush’s name is in there. Maybe there are tiny doodles of her in the margins.

“Yo,” the sandalwood-colored man claps Miles on the shoulder. “We about to hit up Tiff’s place, you coming?”

“Yeah, in a minute,” Miles nods dismissively. “I’ll catch up with y’all.”

The two other men give each other a knowing look before brushing past him.

“Alright man, catch you later then.”

Once she finally regains the ability to speak, Margo remarks, “You were the only performance I really liked, if I’m being honest.”

“Is that so?” 

“Oh yeah, this one hates poetry,” Zoe places a hand on Margo’s shoulder and laughs. “Tried to change her mind by bringing her over here, but no dice.”

Miles raised an eyebrow. “What made mine so different?”

“Hm, I dunno…” Margo’s eyes float over his form before making their way back up to his face. “Your delivery, I guess.”

Safe to say, he looks amusedly unconvinced.

“My…delivery.”

She catches herself and quickly adds, “I-I mean, it also kinda felt like everyone else was trying too hard. So.”

He tilts his head at the remark.

“Are you just saying that to flatter me?”

.“I don’t flatter people. Too close to lying.”

“That sounds like half a poem already. Maybe you should go up there next week.”

She gives him a lopsided smile.

“Only if you’re there. I need something to actually look forward to.”

His tongue darts out and passes over his lips.

“What’s your name?”

“Margo.”

Miles hums, softly repeating the name before inching his way over to the counter where he leans his hip on it.

“Pretty. Can I buy you a drink, Margo?”

She doesn’t think her name is all that pretty, but he makes it sound that way.

“Knock yourself out.”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Zoe teases as she rises from her seat. “I’m gonna go order us some sushi.”

Miles takes the stool to Margo’s left as he waits on their drinks, his long legs never needing to leave the ground to do so.

He has a funny way of sitting, hands folded neatly in front of him with his back just a few degrees off from being perfectly straight. As if you needed to look distinguished at a sushi bar.

Church boy, Margo guessed. That, or his daddy’s a military man.

It’s adorable either way.

“You in school?” she asked.

“Yup. Princeton.”

Her eyes lit up.

“Oh shit, me too! I’ve never seen you on campus, though. What’s your major?”

“Physics. You?”

“Comp Sci. Been coding since I was in middle school, so…”

Margo remembers the echoing ‘click-clack’ of her keyboard as she sat in an empty computer lab for hours on end after school because she preferred it to her parents’ house.

The bartender hands Miles two glasses of white wine, and he sets the second glass in front of Margo, his warm eyes still focused on her. 

She’s intrigued by how clear they are - no trace of suspicion or calculation behind them. Just the warmth.

“So, where you from? My folks are over in Brooklyn.”

“Georgia.”

Miles’ brows jump to his hairline.

“Damn. What brought you all the way up here?”

To get as far away as possible. 

“Well, it’s Princeton,” she says beneath a forced laugh.

“Yeah, but you got, like, eight different HBCUs over there. How’d Princeton win you over?”

Margo breaks eye contact to stare into her drink.

“Needed a change of pace.”

When she looks up to gauge Miles’ reaction, skepticism is written all over his face. But he doesn’t push it further.

“That’s fair. Princeton’s got a cutting-edge quantum physics program that I’m aiming for. Had to beg my parents to come here,” he grins proudly, “but here I am.”

Margo is silent for a moment.

“Can I tell you something?” she asks suddenly, beckoning Miles to lean in.

“Yeah?”

Grinning, she half-whispers, “I’m actually here on a scholarship.”

He gives her an odd look. 

“Why’d you say it like that? Nothin’ wrong with getting a full ride. The opposite, actually.”

“Some people might feel otherwise. You’re like, the second person I’ve told other than my parents.”

“And why me?” Miles chuckles. “My poetry was just that good?”

“I just…Hm.”

Margo leans back and takes a contemplative sip of her wine, watching him over the rim of her glass. 

Why did she just tell him that?

“I guess I just sorta felt like telling you.”

Margo cautiously sets the wine back down. She figures if she’s not careful, he’ll have her full government name and social security number by the end of the night.

“Y’know, I actually get that a lot,” Miles laughs. “One time, I had this lady I was standing in line with at Target turn around and just start telling me stories about her dead son and how much she misses him. And it’s like, I’m sorry for your loss, but we’re in Target right now and I literally do not know you.”

“Wait, people just go up to you and…tell you shit?”

“Yup. There was this other time at church, too. Just as service ends and I’m about to get up and leave, this short old dude–Dominican, I think–stops me and starts telling me about his entire life. I’m talking start to finish! Apparently I reminded him of his nephew that died in the military or something.”

“Jesus.”

A crease forms between Margo’s brows. She wishes she could say she didn’t understand the old man at church or the lady at Target, but she does. No, it’s not the poetry. It’s got nothing to do with words. 

It’s the way that Miles looks at people. 

Like he already knows all of your secrets, but you’re not worried because they’re safe with him, so might as well tell them. It’s a merciful sort of gaze; you get the impression that he won’t judge you. You might even tell him more after his friendly ‘boy-next-door’ voice coaxes them out of you. The thought unsettles her because she had done just that.

“You ever had a girlfriend before?” She asks, all of a sudden.

Miles shrugs, “Yeah, in tenth grade, then again freshman year. Didn’t really work out.”

“Why not?”

His brows furrow gently for just a second, as if he’s still trying to figure out the answer to that.

“I…don’t know, actually. It goes well the first few months and then…”

“It fizzles out?”

“I get ghosted. Something about how they’re ‘not ready’. Understandable, I guess, but you don’t have to ghost me, y’know?”

He awkwardly examines his fingers, then his glass. 

Margo feels a bit guilty for suddenly bringing up his exes when they’d just met. Would they end up the same way? She saw herself there too, being in a relationship for six months before his weird pastor’s eyes get to be a bit too much and she takes off.

“Yikes, sorry I asked.”

“It’s no problem,” a smile starts to return to his face. “Onto better things, right?”

“Right.”

“And you?”

“Huh?”

“You ever been in a relationship before?”

Margo smiles awkwardly and messes with one of her fingernails.

“Well…not exactly.”

Miles’ eyes widen.

“Never?”

“I mean, guys offer, and then we talk for a little bit, but then…”

“They flake out on you.”

“Pretty much.”

“Damn shame,” he says with a bit of sharpness to his voice. “Not even a first date?”

“Nope, just ‘Read at 4:15’.”

“You know what I think it is?”

Just as he asks this, his knee brushes against her thigh. Margo isn’t sure if it’s an accident, but it distracts her nonetheless.

“What?”

“You’re too smart for them, I can tell. It scares ‘em.” But it doesn’t scare me, is the suggestion.

He smiles then, the kind that shows the whiteness of his teeth on every vowel. It’s wide enough that a dimple comes out of hiding on his left cheek, and she suddenly wants to tell him everything again. She takes another sip of wine.

“So! What’d I miss?”

Zoe finally returns from ordering their sushi at the front with an expectant grin. Miles still hasn’t taken his eyes off of her friend, while she is staring at him like a string of code, which, if you know Margo, is better than nothing.

“You didn’t miss much,” says Margo. “We were just talkin’ about our majors. School stuff.”

Miles checks his phone and lets out a low whistle.

“Well, it was lovely meeting y’all, but I gotta bounce. After getting dragged onstage, I get to be dragged over to a house party, too.”

Just as he rises from his seat, he stops and points at her.

“Before I go, though, d’you mind giving me your digits? I’d love to talk about, uh…computer science…over lunch.”

She snorts, “Who still says ‘digits’?” but hands him her phone anyway. 

It couldn’t hurt to try. 

“Sure.”

His eyes light up as if he wasn’t expecting her to say yes as he saves his number as ‘poetry slam guy’ in her phone, then hands it back.

“Cool,” Miles begins his walk towards the entrance backwards, holding eye contact for just a little longer before turning around. “G’night!”

“Goodnight!” the two women call out in unison as he leaves.

Margo looks to her left at the now-empty bar stool. The glass of wine Miles left on the counter is full, completely untouched.

It’s still on her mind as she's sitting in her single dorm room, re-writing her lecture notes on cyber security in a meticulous neat print that could almost pass for a font.

Every few minutes her pen stops because she’s distracted by the sound of clinking glass in boxes downstairs, or because she pauses to stare at the white wall in front of her that brings to mind one of the lines of Miles’ poem. 

There might be a spider that I can’t see sitting ten feet away from me right this second, she muses to herself. The thought gives her an idea, and the perfect excuse to call him without seeming too desperate.

Margo unlocks her phone and scrolls through her contacts. She smiles to herself at the contact name Miles chose. Did he think she’d forget his name that easily? 

His voice soon filters through the speaker.

“Hey, you didn’t throw out my number!”

“Yup, lucky you.” she replies. “I wanted to ask you a question? About your poem the other night.”

“What about it?”

“See, I was thinking about that first line. Are we really never more than ten feet away from a spider? Like, at any given moment?”

There’s a moment of silence from Miles before he asks:

“You…called me just to ask me that?”

“What? It’s a very pressing issue! There’s probably one in the corner  of my room as we speak!”

“Alright, I’ll humor you,” Miles laughs. “That’s actually a myth from the 90s. Your distance from the nearest spider really depends on where you’re at, so if you’re in a spot with hella bugs, you’re more likely to see one. You’re probably fine.”

“Now wait just a minute!” Margo gasps dramatically. “So you lied to all those poor folks in there?”

“Sure did. Played ‘em all like a fiddle.”

“Terrible.”

“So, why’d you really call? You don’t sound as concerned about spiders as you say you are, if I’m being honest.”

So much for an excuse.

“Don’t nothing get past you, huh?”

This earns a burst of laughter from Miles’ end.

“You’re a worse liar than me, I wouldn’t recommend making it a habit.”

“Ugh, fine,” Margo admits,  “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“You could hear my voice in real life, you know. Offer’s still on the table, and I’m free today.”

Their second conversation, and already a lunch date? But as she’s reminded of what his voice sounds like, she quickly realizes that just the voice is not enough. 

Still, she tries to sound casual and makes a non-committal noise.

“Better than being cooped up in my room all day.”

“Great! Where you wanna go?”

Margo shrugs as if he can see her on the other end.

“Wherever you wanna go.”

“Ah, the ‘wherever you wanna go’ paradox,” he chuckles. “Okay, well–lemme ask you this then. Do you like eating with or without music?”

There’s a beat of silence as she considers.

“Hm…is the music good?”

“I’d never subject anyone to a place that plays shit music. Promise.”

“Music, then.”

“Cool, what time works for you?”

“How does two sound? I’ll catch you in front of the Engineering Library.”

“Bet. See you in an hour, then!”

-

The place Miles chose had a live band playing at the front.

A bass player, a keyboard pianist, a saxophonist, and a few background vocalists on occasion. All are propelled forward by the rapid-fire snare of the drummer. It’s jazz - the easy, conversational kind you hear in the background of 90s romantic comedies where the love interest wears nothing but dark lip liner and filled-in brows with a bit of smokey eyeshadow in the crease.

This is the look that Margo has decided to go for as she sits across from Miles at a mahogany table positioned ideally by the window.

It was all she could do other than frantically adjust the braided 'fro-hawk sitting atop her head and spin around in a mist of ‘Champagne Toast’ before bolting out the door.

She doubts he can even smell it right now through the curry and garlic.

“Figured out what you want yet?” Miles asks as he looks over his menu at Margo.

“Eh, I dunno,” she replies, running her index finger down her own menu. “I’m tryin’ not to blow half my paycheck on pasta right now.”

Miles gives her a strange look, then it clicks.

“Oh! Lunch is on me,” he laughs. “Your bank account’s safe for now.”

Her head snaps up.

“You should’ve mentioned that! I thought we were going half and half this whole time, I had my whole budget for the week planned out.”

Margo has to hold back an ugly cackle at the look of horror on Miles’ face right after she says this.

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.”

With this new information in mind, she orders a bowl of chicken alfredo with a glass of lemonade that she sips on as the band seamlessly transitions into a cover of Solange’s ‘Cranes in the Sky’.

“So, Margo,” Miles rests his chin on his knuckles and squints his eyes comically. 

“If that is your real name.”

Margo giggles, and plays along.

“It’s not, it’s my alter-ego for when I go on top-secret missions.”

“Is it short for something? Or just Margo?”

“Hm,” she puts on an affected, ‘action movie’ voice, “If I tell you, I might have to kill you.”

“It’s worse ways to die out there.”

Margo looks around her as if to make sure no one’s listening, then leans in.

“It’s short for Marguerite.”

Miles snaps his fingers.

“I knew it!”

“What? You think I look like a Marguerite? Seriously?”

“No, but you got a lil’ country twang in your voice. Ain’t no way in hell Margo wasn’t short for something.”

“Man, alright,” she laughed. 

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that,” he winked, “I like ‘em country.”

“Boy, don’t give me that! You look like you’d pass out at the sight of a jar of pig’s feet.”

“Hey now, I got family in South Carolina. I used to go down there and see about ten of those every summer.”

“Fine, but you were still raised a Northerner. I could hear the Brooklyn from a mile away.”

Miles removed his hand from under his chin to clutch his chest.

“Ugh, I feel like I’m caught between two worlds!”

The reference to one of the more choice lines from the poetry slam makes Margo snort and let out a loud guffaw, which she quickly muffles with the palm of her hand.

“Why would you remind me of that!”

Miles is soon infected by the fit of laughter and has to put all his strength into not doubling over at the table and drawing attention.

“This nigga said,” he wheezed, “ ‘I keep doing the Achy Breaky to Suavemente!’ “

“I thought I was the only one who thought that shit sucked,” Margo sighed as she wiped a tear from her eye. “But I didn’t wanna be mean ‘cuz I’m not like, half Puerto Rican, or anything like that.”

“Well I am, and that whole poem felt like a microaggression. And I knew that guy!” He starts gesturing wildly with his hands at the outrage, which Margo finds hilarious. 

“He's like, one-eighth Boricua. His last name is fuckin’ Schwartz!” Miles scoffs, “He don’t know shit about no damn ‘Suavemente’. Bet he looked it up.”

“You should write your own poem, then. ‘Take up space’, as they say.”

“Hell no,” he said. “I left that behind in high school. The other night was an exception, remember?”

“Look, I’m not one to encourage more people to become poets, but you never know. Something might inspire you.”

Miles calms down and gives her a meaningful look.

“Maybe.”

The rest of the conversation saw Miles slyly gathering intel through bites of roasted chicken. He’d quickly learned from their meeting at the bar that his line of questioning with Margo ought to be less direct.

He even hit her with the ‘what’s your sign’ question, though Biggie would’ve advised against it (Margo was a Libra, he was a Leo). He didn’t actually care for astrology, but Margo wasted no time in proclaiming that she couldn’t stand Scorpios because they were ‘too nosy’. 

Miles’ only error was asking if she’d ever dated–correction–spoken to one, and her eyes hardened with suspicion again. He quickly elected to change the subject.

“Okay, totally random question, but humor me. How do you like your eggs?”

Margo blinks twice.

“What?”

“You heard me. You can tell a lot about a person by what kinda eggs they like, true shit.”

“Alright, fine. I like ‘em fried, with the crispy edges. What that say about me?”

“I dunno, but when I find out it’ll all make sense.”

Margo laughs.

“Okay, well, how do you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled, fluffy,” A childish grin spread across Miles’ lips. “And seasoned with Adobo to make ‘em all orange.”

“Never had ‘em like that before.”

“Maybe I could make some for you sometime, if you’d let me.”

“Maybe.”

She remembers his promise a month later when she wakes up to the aroma of the seasoning and hears the pop of frying oil, letting out a sigh of relief at the realization that Miles is still there.

His back is facing her when she enters the kitchen, the morning light illuminating a tattoo she had never seen before. 

It’s a spider with sprawling legs that cascade all the way down the expanse of skin, the movement of his shoulder blades bringing them partially to life. She hadn’t noticed it in the dark, and he was not one to walk around in anything revealing enough for it to have ever seen daylight. It’s faded, which means he’s likely had it for years.

He’s only twenty-one, she thinks. Did he get it in high school?

Amusement creeps onto Margo’s face at the image of Miles sneaking around the house, darting in and out of the bathroom to clean it without his hawk-eyed mother or straight-edged father taking notice. Picturing this, it’s suddenly much easier to believe that their son would have to beg and plead for them to send him a measly forty-six miles away for school, even for an Ivy League. 

Miles doesn’t turn around yet, but Margo catches the way he stops, tilting his head playfully and placing a hand on his hip.

“Man, I can’t believe I’mma have to eat this whole thing of scrambled eggs all by myself, with the ones I just fried! How sad.” “You’re not very funny,” Margo says with a smile, pulling out a chair from beneath the dining table.

He switches the stove off, then does a dramatic spin to face her with fake surprise on his face.

“Oh! Where’d you come from? I didn’t see you there.”

He turns back around to grab two plates–ceramic ones, not the stack of styrofoam ones–from one of the cupboards to serve the eggs in, starting with fried.

Margo watches him silently. The tiny, squint-or-you-might-miss-it gold chain around his neck catches the light as he moves, and she remembers feeling the cold metal brush across her lips.

“The fried ones, are they–”

“Crispy at the edges?” he finishes, with a smile in his voice. “Yes ma’am!”

“You could really be a detective, can’t get nothing past you.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“See?”

The two burst into laughter, and the ink on Miles’ back does also. His poem was accurate, in a way. For the past five weeks, Margo has been no more than ten feet away from a spider.

They have a brief and quiet breakfast, wherein Margo finally asks to try the scrambled eggs and is delighted by the burst of flavor added by the Adobo. They aren’t too dry or too soggy the way they tend to be in restaurants - just fluffy, as promised. She thinks it might be time to finally start taking Miles at his word as she watches his back again while he’s washing dishes.

Once he is fully dressed and about to leave, Miles stops suddenly, as if he’s forgotten something. He reaches into the left pocket of his jacket and pulls out a neatly-folded sheet of paper, nervously running his other hand through the short dreads sitting atop his head.

“Before I leave, I, uh…I took your advice and wrote a lil’ something.”

He hands it to Margo, who takes it gingerly. 

“Well, good for you.”

“It’s been a while, so it’s kinda rough, but hopefully the sentiment is there.”

Miles plants a quick kiss on her cheek, and she smiles easily for once as opposed to the usual raised eyebrow.

“I’ll be sure to let you know if it is.”

Some time after he leaves, she finally sits down to read it while sipping on a cup of tea, because coffee wreaks havoc on her nerves. His handwriting is strange, overly graphic as if it’s the title card of a cartoon, but she reads it.

I know you don't like poetry 

but you said you liked mine,

and the way you sip your wine

has set my pen to paper,

so I hope 

you'll make another exception. 

You've already claimed

half of my sketchbook 

because I just can't get your eyes right.

I always make ‘em too soft,

or too round.

They don't pierce through me,

like they did when

you stared at me over your glass,

eyes narrowed.

When you search my face

and pick me apart,

I'd like to know what it is 

you're always searching for.

[exvelovly]

bkdk fic post meoww

this list is kinda messy just bc i’m trying not to directly screenshot from my notes app but typing is hard :( @mappleiix @demonholdingalillie

from the sidelines by suffocatingspring

my all time bkdk fic it is so good trust it’s abt 400k and a low chap count so the chapters are longfgg there are many shenanigans and its just so freeing to read. i read the entire thing during finals week 2 years ago and i keep coming back to it

landscape after cruelty by ohwickedsoul

support course deku yayy i think this was cute but i read it so long ago lmaoa

weekend at bakugou’s by cat5gale

this idiot (deku) gets reverted into a 4 year old and i don’t remember reading his at all but it’s probably good

this is not an advertisement for gorilla glue by bi_focal

shananigans

some mysterious one shots i didn’t label but feel free to try typing in those links????

scattered anemones by gaytodoroki and lilacs by morphinefangs and bloom by masterofbread

all hanahaki aus what was i going through

the chosen of the dragonborn by s_the_queen

silly fantasy au i think this author is generally good but i can’t remember sorry gang

trending: #letdekusmash also by s_the_queen

this one is so funny and there’s a part 2 which is also good

searching for you in the background by s_the_queen

which is labeled “i’m crying what the fuck” in my notes

more unlabeleds !!

hidden messages by hashbrownpotatoes

makes me giggle they’re so silly idk

tidal hearts by macksmilesback and samisnotlegend

cute as hell mermaid au i think one of u is my mutual hey picasso love ur fic i think i made fanart but i lost it sorry

comfort and control by daniartonline

so i have this labeled as “the boys are traumatized :( nightmare comfort”

nothing’s gonna hurt you, baby. by supercrunch

my label is “silly little yandere detector”

like the moon by osakakitty

i think this one is sexual but there’s also pining

but i’m tired of lying with liars (you’re the truth i’m scared to tell) by youreanovelidea

in which bakugo finds his one tru lov by erina

bakugo’s agency are on the hunt to find his secret bf

are u dating?? by ladyofsnails

which involves streamer deku/omg they’re roommates/and twitter shipping

face reveal! which is also by ladyofsnails

and probably involves a face reveal

sticky note crushes by ladyofsnails

this one’s cute lmao art student deku and his poor roommate bakugo (jk)

down the red line by minervahope

soulmate string au

slow down (it’s a science) by scribespirare

i labeled this “secyyyy smoker bk” so there’s that

torn fur, blunt teeth by scribespirare

in which deku is a shifter on the run and there’s magical shit going on

oh my god they were roommates by maginot

deku’s already fucking taken by asdfjkl129

thank u outsider pov i love u

in which kacchan has a ruff time by oneshotprincess

lol dog bk

room 1217 by possiblynya

college soulmate au yippee

daisies bunches and heather branches by halcyonwhispers

“SO CUTE FLOWER SHOP TATTOO SHOP”

hopeless ramen-tic by lalazee

daddy cool by lalazee

teacher deku thinks dad bakugo is sexy as hel

placeholder by surveycorpsjean

ok listen this one is shinbkdk but jsut hear me out it’s good and the characterization is yeahhh also i’m pretty sure this is like half smut????? maybe????

deuteranopia / by dollcewrites

min perfect rhythm by chalk

band au that i enjoyed very much (bk is the one in the band and deku is his neighbor)