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mooishbeam · 2 months ago

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『♡』 Country Honey

♡ featuring: ranchhand!toji x richgirl!reader

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

♡ wc: 16.5k+ (AHHHHHH)

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

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

“Almost there.”

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

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

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

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

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

You could die right now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*Chop*

You clutch the side of the parted door.

*Chop*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pompous ass instigatin’ little-”

“-Callous disrespectful pig!”

“-Brat.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit” you mumble.

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

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

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

“Yea, nobody you know.”

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

“Jerk.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Slip. Crash!

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

Brown. It’s on your face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That shit-eating grin.

“No need to thank me, miss piggy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, and did I mention very annoying?

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

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

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

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

“HEY!”

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

“This is my bathroom you idiot!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get yer feet off the wheel.”

“Mm, nah. It’s not hurting anyone.”

“’S hurting me.”

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

“What did I-”

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

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

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

“Sorry.”

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

“What are you doing?”

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

Your ears perk up, “She?”

“Yup.”

“Does she have a name?”

“Nope.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe Rosy? Oh, or Susie.”

“Think I’ll just call ‘er (Y/N).”

“Huh? Why my name?”

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

“Why not an A?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

“…What?”

“Oh. Uh, nothing.”

He returns to what he was doing.

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

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

“Yeah.”

“So…did he figure it out?”

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

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

“Can’t. Hands full.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not important” he responds curt.

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

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

“…like someone cut you” you mutter.

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

“I-“

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

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

The space between you widens with each step.

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

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

“Thank you for the tea.”

“Don’t mention it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Everythin’ alright, sugar?”

“Think I messed up.”

“Hm? How so?”

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

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

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

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

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

“...”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you know where he is?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What kind of horse is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yup, since I got to the farm.”

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

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

“It would be if I never finished school.”

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

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

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

“Forget it-”

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

“I want to help people.”

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

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

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

“That’s not what I meant.”

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

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

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

“My bad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you scared now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ya have no sense of danger.”

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

“...I'm glad.”

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

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

“Ouch.”

“Careful, hun.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Should I write one for you, too?”

“You can jus’ tell me now” she beams.

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

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

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

“Wanna go for a ride?” he calls.

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

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

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

He holds his hand out, “Up.”

“To where?”

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

“Might wanna hold on.”

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

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

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

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

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

“How come?”

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

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

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

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

“It looks cute on me.”

“So what?”

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

“I think you’re a brat.”

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

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

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

“The feeling’s mutual” you retort.

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

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

scoops and sets you down.

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

“I guess this is it.”

“Yup” he agrees.

“Try not to miss me too much.”

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

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

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

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

“Heh. Yes, ma’am.”

“So…um.”

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

“Y-yeah.”

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

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

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

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

“Like I wanna look at you.”

“I wouldn’t mind if ya did.”

“God, you’re so far up your own-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wanna do so much worse.”

“Then do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe you’re not doing good enough.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you cry.

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

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

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

“Y’know just how to get me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s”

“Pussy”

“Is this?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I wanna sleep” he grumbles.

“Then you should’ve let me leave”

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

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

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

#jjk toji #jjk x reader #jjk #toji fushiguro #fushiguro toji #toji x reader #toji smut #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut

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planetaryupscaled · 5 months ago

Text

Newfound Wonder

Male OC x Newjeans Hanni

Tags: 9k, first time, creampie, dub con, tw

The story is not ours, we alternate the original story to match our desired settings.

“Come on, hurry up already!” Under the watchful eyes of her friends, Hanni stumbled out of her parents’ house while dragging along a suitcase nearly twice as heavy as her petite body.

“Ye-yeah, I know, I know!” The stuffed container dragged across the asphalt while she put all remaining energy into pulling it towards the parked camper van just a few feet. After which she uttered a sigh of defeat upon realizing that she would still have to lift the suitcase at least a foot off the ground in order to haul it into the back of the rusty old van.

It sucked. It hadn’t even been her idea to go on this spontaneous camping trip, it had been her friend’s, Danielle. A childhood friend, she was pretty and clever, even if she had a tendency to always see the best in people.

Difficult to decline such an offer to be away from home for a day. At least sometimes, Hanni had to pretend that she enjoyed going out instead of sitting at home all day. Her parents were happy to remind her that doing new things, helps to turn you into a responsible adult. It’s not like her genes were making it easy to spend time outside even if she wanted to.

The sun is Hanni’s worst enemy. She’s like a vampire, just without any valuable superpowers other than the ability to get a sunburn twice as easily as her friend.

“Need a hand with that? I don’t want to be stuck here for the rest of the day.” The third and final victim to join the small adventure was Danielle’s boyfriend. A tall handsome guy — Minsoo. Pretty athletic and in very good shape, he enjoyed working out and has more flavors of protein powder at home than any sane person should possess. As to why he decided to start dating Danielle, it’s a mystery. He’s a few years older and already done with college. “Here, there you go.” Minsoo easily lifted the suitcase up and into the back of the van before returning to the passenger seat.

Hanni climbed in as well and took a seat herself, brushed some dust off her jeans and shot her friend a quick glare. Danielle’s family was seriously well off, it must’ve been an itch for nostalgia that urged her to rent a cheap old vehicle like this.

“There you are Han! You got all your stuff, then? I swear you’re gonna love this!” Danielle was grinning from ear to ear, giddy as a kid for this opportunity to go camping. Another advantage of having plenty of spare money — if she really wanted something, she simply went ahead and did it. It’s a surprise she managed to remain a grounded, decent person.

“I guess.” The engine gave a loud groan, but started dutifully and the trio’s journey began. Through the city and plenty of farmland, over a mountain and past large patches of empty land before eventually arriving in a dense forest, hours away from where they had left. It was a decently idyllic place, untouched by civilization. Bumpy hills and vegetation as far as the eye could see.

“You doing all right?” Danielle kept one hand on the steering wheel while handing her girlfriend a bottle of water, something to get by for another hour.

Hanni happily accepted the treat. “Are we there yet?”

“Add another ten minutes for each time you ask that question,” came the witty response. The road was getting rockier, harder to traverse without slowing down significantly. At least the atmosphere changed dramatically, lush colors were surrounding the area. Trees large enough to pierce the sky. If you pay enough attention, you could even spot a natural lake here and there.

Not like Hanni was paying any attention, she held her smartphone tightly and stared at the bright screen while playing games. Old habits die hard.

The car eventually came to a stop, and Danielle basked in relief at the sight in front of them. The road ended right into a large open space in the midst of towering trees in all directions. “That’s what I’m talking about!” she announced gleefully. “Told ya we’d find a nice spo-” she turned her head, glancing at her distracted companion. “...spot. Han! Are you even looking? Come on!” she insisted. “Look!”

Finally the distracted teenager lowered her phone and gazed out the window. “I guess, it doesn’t look half-bad. Good graphics, ten outta ten. Just be careful not to get eaten by a tiger. “

A sigh of frustration followed. “Tigers live in India and Russia. And apparently in your fantasy.”

Minsoo opened the door to exit the vehicle and a fresh breeze of nature greeted the trio. It was a damp, wild forest smell. It’s something you just don’t have in the city — no impurities, no weird unidentifiable stench around every corner. Just nature. He took a pleased deep breath. “Worth it.”

“Oh shoot!” Danielle reached into her pocket and rushed out of the car. “I almost forgot!” She began to frantically toy with her phone only to utter an annoyed groan. “I can’t get a signal! Crap. My parents wanted me to leave them a message before we go! Aw...” she whined. “It uh... it should be fine, I guess. I already sorted the important stuff before we left.”

In the meantime, Minsoo already opened the backside of the van to retrieve the tent and various supplies. “It would be even finer if you’d lend me a hand over here.”

Hanni used the opportunity to retort. “Ah-huh. The dude who is into weightlifting is asking girls for help? You can lift things ten times heavier than what I can carry!” she scoffed.

“Perfect, then you can grab the tent while I carry the heavy anchors and the hammer. See it as opportunity to show some...female empowerment or something.”

Hanni rolled her eyes at that and reluctantly climbed out of the car to follow his instructions. After the tent was set up and ready to go, Hanni waited to continue helping but was left dumbfounded. “Uhh- where’s the second and third one? Where are you guys going to sleep then?”

Minsoo gave her a quizzical look. “We...share one tent? Obviously? If you don’t spread your arms and legs in all directions we’re going to fit in just fine. Just please, try not to eat any beans before we go to sleep.”

Hanni face flushed a bright red, eyes wide open. She quietly turned and walked off, using the lack of knowledge of the area as excuse to go for a walk. Maybe she would find something of interest. Or perhaps...maybe not. It was an uneventful walk and she found little besides more trees and insects everywhere. Seriously a lot of bugs. It would’ve been nice to find a secret cave, or waterfall. Like in the movies. Alas reality was harsh and dull.

She returned an hour later to see that Danielle and her boyfriend had set up a proper campsite. A big log had been cut in half across the center, to create two comfortable makeshift benches. They were strategically placed around the campfire for maximum comfort. The large flame already helped to illuminate the nearby area, and the soft crackling of burning twigs and branches was a soothing sound to behold.

Both lovers were already seated by the fire and cuddling closely, Danielle clung tightly to her boyfriend’s arm and affectionately rubbed her cheek against him. “Dan! Did I miss anything?” Hanni approached and reluctantly sat down on the second, unused bench. The wood was hard, nothing like her computer chair.

“Not really. I think.” Danielle reached to the side and slid her hand into a bag of chips, retrieving a handful and leaning back to enjoy the view. “Oh! But! We did think about playing a round of truth or dare, if you’re up for it. Could be fun. Also a chance for you to get to know Minsoo a little better! It would be amazing for the two people I care the most about to become close friends too!”

He agreed as well and conjured a bottle of bourbon from behind the log. “Every time you get picked, you take a shot. To up the stakes a little.” Minsoo produced three shot glasses, and rearranged the seats so that each person would be seated near the tip of an imagined triangle.

Hanni watched on. “I...guess it’s too late to say no. Sure, whatever.” Once more did she take a seat, and Danielle — as host — went ahead to be the first one to spin the bottle. It pointed at Hanni.

“Do you have any secret boyfriend you haven’t told us about?” asked Danielle, grinning slyly.

Her friend shook her hand and furrowed a brow. “No? You’d be the first one to know. I already told you that I don’t have any plans to waste time on that stuff, not until after we’re done with college anyway, and that’s still years away.” Hanni leaned forward and gave the bottle a new spin, it pointed at Minsoo this time. “Since you two seem to be into asking private questions, here’s one. Have you banged yet? You two seem awfully close so I can only imagine that you’re going at it daily, like clockwork.” There was a hint of jealousy in the way Hanni said those words, and Danielle instantly averted her gaze and stared at the ground.

“Nope. She wants to wait.” Minsoo answered. Nothing else was said and there was a brief silence while Hanni was torn between nagging for more information, or leaving the topic alone. Minsoo reached for the bottle and gave it another spin, it spun and spun before slowing down and pointing at... Hanni!

“Hold on, I already had a turn just now!” Hanni objected.

“We are just three people,” he pointed out coldly. “Bold question you gave me. Have you even had sex yet?” His gaze was entirely focused at Hanni, and she had no choice but to lean back, completely taken by surprise.

It was Danielle who interrupted the awkward, tense moment. “Okay, okay. This was a bad idea. That wasn’t at all how you’re supposed to play the game. There’s also another thing both of you forgot, I guess now is as good as time as any.” Her slender hand reached for the shot glasses and she filled each one, after which she quickly drank one in a single gulp and poured herself another.

They sat there, quietly. For the longest time they simply looked at the campfire and listened to it. Occasionally drinking another glass of strong whiskey. Each one of them thought about something different. Hanni felt a deep pit in her stomach, awash with the guilt of prying into something she should’ve left alone. Danielle felt both upset, and embarrassed — her family valued chastity until marriage. An outdated concept, but not something that’s worth getting disowned for just to break it.

More time passed without any of them speaking a word, they kept going until the bottle had been emptied. Danielle managed to pass out while still seated on the bench. Her head was tilted to the side with closed eyes, and the empty bottle slipped out of her lap. Minsoo caught it just in time.

“That’s it, then.” He slid his arms underneath her and lifted her up. There’s no way she could walk, he had to carry her to the tent. “This night is officially over, let’s get some sleep,” he spoke, only to notice that Hanni was nearly equally smashed and moments from falling off her seat. Swaying from side to side, much like the subtle movements of the large flame in front of her. It was a dreamlike sequence, almost like watching a pair of innocent twins — the girl’s flowing mane scarlet hair and the identical red fire.

Hanni’s eyelids felt incredibly heavy. Each time she blinked, it was a taxing achievement to open them anew. Her vision became a blurry mess.

Every time she opened her eyes, she felt slightly more...at ease. Comfortable. She began putting more effort into narrowing her eyes, focusing her view, only to stare up at the ceiling of the tent they built earlier. How did she get in there, when did she get there?

Hanni raised her head up, straining to do so. Her entire body felt stiff and heavy. As she looked down, she stared back at her naked breasts, even though she couldn’t remember removing her top, or taking off her bra. Her legs began to move on their own, rising up...and there in the dark she could see two hands manipulating her body.

Minsoo looked back at her, while his hands were holding onto the waistband of her underwear to peel them off her body. Just like that they came free and he tossed them off to the side. With her legs still up like that, Hanni could look at her own crotch. Her hairless, bare slit was completely exposed. It took her another moment to fully comprehend — she’s completely nude, and Minsoo was able to look straight at her womanhood. “Wha...what’s happening?” she groaned. “What the heck’s going on...” she slurred drunkenly.

“It’s cool, relax. We are going to help each other out tonight.” Minsoo gently lowered her legs back down to the cushy blankets that layered the ground. “I totally get why you were asking those things earlier.” His hand reached for his belt buckle. As soon as it came loose, he removed his pants completely, followed by his boxers. As soon as that fabric was out of the way, his erection jumped into sight as it bounced in excitement. A shimmering fat bead of pre-cum rolled off the engorged tip of his organ and dripped onto Hanni’s inner thigh.

The rapidly panicking teenager reached to the side, reaching for her friend. “D...Dan!”

Minsoo swiftly grasped her wrist and pulled it back in. “It’s all right, she’s sleeping. This is going to be our secret. You want her to be happy, right? Since I haven’t gotten laid in... fucking months. But something tells me that you don’t care about meaningless shit like remaining a virgin, right? It’s ridiculous. Tiny bit of skin. That stuff shouldn’t prevent you from enjoying your life, yeah?” His much larger body size made it nearly impossible for Hanni to squirm away, with a simple grip on her wrist he was fully in control of her actions. It didn’t help that her petite, small body was a much easier victim to the alcohol they consumed earlier. It had barely any effect on him, but she had become an utter mess and could barely even remain awake. Minsoo’s grip moved up to Hanni’s shoulder and hips, and with a single push he rolled her over onto her belly. She could feel the pit in her stomach, her intoxicated mind was spinning out of control.

He spat, presumably into his hand, since she could soon feel his fingers applying something wet to her labia. He spat again, but this time he shoved a finger into her slit and began spreading the lubrication around within her vagina. There was an immediate resistance and she moaned in discomfort. “What the...fuck, man. I am not Dan.” Hanni crawled a few inches forward, but he chased after her and simply shoved his finger back into her to finish applying his saliva to her delicate insides.

“I know, I told you. She wants to wait with sex, but you don’t. Either we fuck, or I’ll break up with her since lord knows I need some action.” Minsoo withdrew his finger and inhaled the subtle scent of her pussy. It clung to his finger after what he did. Hanni almost retched at the thought that he now knew exactly what her pussy smelled like.

She drunkenly pulled her arms close and placed her hands flat on the blanket, attempting to push herself off the ground while cursing under her breath. Her muscles behaved like wet noodles, there’s no tension. The tent began to feel even darker when she noticed Minsoo’s large body hovering over her own and casting a shadow. One of his arms moved underneath her to pull her in for a tight embrace. Her breasts were squished up against the blanket because of the added weight on her back.

There was a pause, until she could feel something fat and blunt kissing the lips of her pussy. His dick. Another push allowed it to nestle right there between the soft embrace of her labia. He simply needed to keep applying more pressure and that mushroom-shaped head would follow the trail of spit, right into her snatch. “That’s...all kinds of mes...messed up, cut it out...! You’re... her boyfriend. Boyfriend,” she repeated twice. The world continued spinning even faster now. Hanni reluctantly took a deep breath and stopped trying to talk, she was moments from throwing up. Any more effort and she would lose control.

A wet smooch announced the sudden entry of his dick, her insides were immediately stretched to the brim to try and accommodate the bloated, smooth crown. “Ahnn! Nnnnh...!”

The tight grip of his hand suddenly pushed against her mouth, silencing her almost entirely. “I know, babe. The first time is always the hard part. It’s just like opening a wrapped gift, ‘kay? After you’ve opened the box once, there you go, it’s always going to be nice and... accessible, right? I’m gonna open that little gift you’ve got down there, okay?” The remnants of saliva inside her did little to help his advances, and her gaze constantly shifted back to Danielle still sleeping just a couple feet away. Would their relationship really come to an end just because he didn’t get laid? His reasoning almost made sense, maybe she should let it happen. She stared down at the pillow while struggling to decide.

An angry demanding shove forward, out of nowhere, suddenly sunk his entire length into the petite girl. Her fragile hymen tore and disappeared. Her pussy instantly clenched down hard, a futile attempt to expel the invader while she sharply inhaled through her nose. Everything inside her felt sore, stuffed, stretched! For the first time in her life, she had the entire length of a cock wedged into the deepest parts of her cunt. She hadn’t even noticed herself groaning into his palm, a sound of pure defeat.

While Minsoo remained still and completely sheathed within her body, Hanni gradually became aware of...more. The shape of his cock. Every ridge, every bump, every vein. She fit like a glove, that soft warm flesh of her deflowered womanhood offered a loving embrace around every inch of his manhood. It was an intimate connection unlike anything else she ever experienced. Even moments after his rough intrusion she could feel her insides rhythmically tensing up and squeezing down on his erection. Loving spasms that caressed his appendage despite her reluctance.

It’s like her own body was betraying her. Tightness, heat, stimulation. Her pussy freely offered him everything he could’ve hoped for, including plenty of convenient space to dump his seed into.

“Come on, come on...fuck.” Hanni was vaguely aware of Minsoo’s annoyed tone, just an inch or two away from her ear. His breath was caressing her neck, it felt impossible to tell how many moments had passed.

Every sensation, every feeling, all of her attention was centered on her crotch. It’s the only thing she could do to keep her head from spinning all over again. All nerves inside her remained utterly overstimulated, firing off like a million alarms while her pussy refused to relax. She was torn between terror, confusion and uncertainty. If only she hadn’t touched that stupid alcohol. Her mind was the only thing that even remotely functioned, her body was all but useless.

Was she supposed to try and struggle, or was she meant to accept her situation however cruel it may be. The choice slipped out of her grasp when she felt herself blessed with another unfamiliar sensation.

More wetness, deep inside her loins. It was warm and gooey, pouring into her. The result of months of forced celibacy. Cloudy globs of Minsoo’s sperm were rapidly spurting into her crotch and splashing into the deepest corners of her love tunnel. His cock was quickly delivering it all, pumping and pumping it through the entire length of his manhood and depositing it inside her. Minsoo kept himself hilted inside the unfortunate girl, to make the most of his premature explosion by relishing the grip of her cunt for as long as it would last. His masculine erection continually throbbed and thrashed against her tightness, dumping as much seed as possible inside her pristine cunt. It was his first proper climax in so long that he made sure to get the absolute most of it, the idea of pulling out hadn’t even crossed his mind.

The former virgin struggled to keep up. The warm and slippery sensation... it began to awkwardly spread and ooze into every corner of her womanhood...everything inside her felt sticky and gross. It dawned on her that she just received her very first creampie, willingly or not. Her pussy had succeeded in gulping down every drop of semen that his cock had to offer. He was the first man to truly inseminate her little cunt.

His sweat dripped onto her back and he collapsed, pinning her in place and sinking his dick just a tad deeper into her abused twat. He had popped her cherry for good. The aftermath of losing her virginity was nothing to write home about either...there had been no romance involved. He didn’t kiss or cuddle her. He didn’t whisper into her ear that he loves her.

Hanni is stuck with the sensation of warm goo sloshing around within her most intimate parts.

She wasn’t even on any birth control, and there had been nothing to separate their genitals when he ejaculated all that pent-up semen into the welcoming comforts of her pussy. They had been intimately connected — like only lovers should be. It absolutely messed with her mind that she hadn’t been able to put up more of a struggle. Her only comfort was that she had done Danielle a favor, essentially by taking care of her boyfriend’s needs. While Danielle receives the cuddling and love. Hanni was only there to satisfy his cock and to carry his seed inside her — that thought was the last thing on her mind before the last remaining energy in her faded away.

Absolutely drained and exhausted, she passed out with his softening appendage still being kept in place by the lips of her cunt. Those soft folds remained neatly wrapped around the very base of his dick, just barely tight enough to prevent him from going completely flaccid. Her limit had been reached long ago and her body surrendered, there was no way she would wake up again anytime soon.

And when Minsoo woke up an hour later, it only took a few strong, deep thrusts into her before he sighed his approval — moaning into the sleeping girl’s ear while allowing his cock to twitch and squirt another helping of fresh cum deep into her unprotected loins. Two more times did his insatiable need return, and each time he took full advantage of Hanni’s peachy cunt. Every time he managed to last longer. For her final ride, nearly half an hour passed before another creampie was forced into her.

She was in absolutely no shape for repeated intercourse, not after she had just lost her virginity. Her tightness provided so much friction that she had rapidly reached her limits, and it would take her a long time before she would return to normal down there. It was her first marathon fuck, and she slept right through most of it.

Her sleep had been restless, fueled by negative emotions.

It was only sometime in the late morning when she stirred and woke up, the pesky chirping of birds surrounded the tent. An intense headache assaulted her long before she even managed to open her eyes, and she regretfully remembered the night of drinking. Those cursed birds weren’t making the morning any more pleasant. She felt like she awoke from a terrible dream, her entire body was sticky with sweat and she looked around to find herself safe and sound in her sleeping bag. Her memories weren’t all there, she couldn’t quite remember what happened after the little game they played. “Dan?” She glanced at two empty sleeping bags nearby.

Hanni slipped her arm out of the tight comforts of her sleeping bag and unzipped the sides, but she winced as soon as she attempted moving her legs. Her crotch felt horrible bruised and sore! While trying to remember what had happened after the game by the campfire, she slid the zipper down to the bottom and took a better look at herself. All of her clothes were gone. Her perky breasts had nearly a dozen of bite marks and hickeys, especially her nipples — usually pink — were reddish and tender.

A soft gasp escaped her mouth when she lowered her gaze further and spotted the current state of her womanhood. It wasn’t the sight of a subtle slit, the unremarkable view she was used to seeing between her legs. Her labia was fully engorged and red, the swollen flesh was glistening and wet after an entire night of being stimulated. The intense, pungent smell of unprotected intercourse assaulted her nostrils and she coughed in protest. The usual, ladylike smell of her vagina was overshadowed by something else. Her cunt had the smell of a good few hours of fucking.

Upon leaning forward, she also spotted a string...a cotton string dangling out from between the raw lips of her pussy. A thick, sticky substance kept the folds of her cunt almost glued together and a pool of mostly translucent fluid had gathered underneath her crotch. She gingerly touched the string and gave it a gentle tug. There’s a familiar feeling somewhere in her tummy. It’s a tampon. And it’s pretty deep inside her. It was then that she noticed the...sheer wetness inside her. It’s like someone had popped a water balloon in there. This wasn’t the normal default state, this wasn’t even arousal. Her memories came flooding back.

She carried his sperm still inside herself. Millions and billions of those grotesque tadpoles. All of them swimming around inside her genitals, hoping to find an egg. He had happily transferred the contents of his testicles into her defenseless womb without thinking of the consequences. Hell, he probably had no sperm left inside his balls at this point, all those wiggly excited things were now safely stored inside her young and receptive vagina. And the tampon kept her nicely plugged up, giving his spunk all the time it needed to get the job done. The fool probably thought he was doing her a favor, a real gentleman, plugging her up like this so that she wouldn’t spent the entire night leaking cum.

Again she felt her stomach churning. Her highest priority was to get back to the city and to get a morning after pill. At least he had been right about one thing, she really didn’t care about her virginity all that much. Sex is just that, a physical act. Dick goes into vagina, both participants have a good time, dick pulls out and you’re done. Nothing special.

When she stood up, Hanni could feel the mass of goo shifting around somewhere inside her flat stomach. She’s gonna have to remove that tampon as soon as possible, this felt just too weird. It sent a cold shiver down her spine. It’s creepy that a guy had taken full control of her lady parts like that, and it felt even weirder to think that she’s carrying a batch of his DNA inside her crotch. Literally the only purpose of that stuff was to plant a baby in her tummy, it was repulsive.

Hanni carefully gathered her panties and her shirt and began to get dressed, enough to conceal the awkward cotton string dangling below and to hide the marks on her tits. Every step made her wince in discomfort, but she simply couldn’t leave the tent while naked.

Upon brushing the flap aside to peer outside of the tent, she spotted Danielle and her boyfriend by the campfire as if nothing had even happened. The two lovebirds were affectionately cuddling and whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears. It was a golden opportunity for Hanni to sneak just behind the tent, squat down, and to peel the crotch of her undies aside before removing the plug that had kept her sealed for lord knows how many hours.

A gush of liquids spilled out of her almost instantly, and she gasped at the awkward realization that nearly all of it was just...remnants of serving as that guy’s cum dumpster for a night. It poured out of her tender slit. The pressure faded rapidly, and as soon as it did, the stream began to trickle down her inner thigh to create even more of a mess. “No! No, no...shit.” This wasn’t at all like in the movies, why did she have to put up with this humiliation when she hadn’t even been the one to enjoy an orgasm? She reluctantly stayed put, awkwardly peeing out that guy’s cum for the next few minutes...

Simultaneously, Danielle experienced a whole different kind of adventure. She was entirely locked up in her own little world of fun and experimentation, knowing nothing of the struggle that happened just a few feet away. Her eyes were fixated on what was just a few inches in front of her face. “Are you sure? I didn’t think we would need this. I’m not even sure if it works,” Danielle laughed nervously, staring at the object of her desire.

“Yeah of course it’s going to work, Dan. Just try it.” Minsoo did his best to reassure her, right now there was only one thing he could think about.

“All right! I’m going to do it!” With a nervous grin, Danielle continued holding onto the heavy cast iron skillet before squeezing a big chunk of pancake batter out of the plastic bottle, which she held in the other hand. As soon as the thick fluid spread into a large enough circle in the midst of the pan, she moved the frying pan to hold it over the open flame of their wild campfire. Soon enough, the batter formed bubbles and she yelped in amazement upon flicking her wrist and successfully flipping the pancake in the process. She felt like a master chef. This was her world. This was all she ever wanted, pure joy.

“This is the best thing ever!” she cheered in bliss. Cooking in the kitchen just didn’t quite feel as special and raw as this. After preparing the first few pancakes, she also spotted her friend appearing from behind the tent. “Han! Breakfast is ready! I didn’t even know you were awake!” The petite girl approached on unsteady feet, more hungover than anyone else by the looks of it.

“Ye-yeah. Nice. Coming.” Hanni struggled to keep herself from walking bow-legged. The events of last night need to remain a secret for the time being, regardless of what’s going to happen in the future. Her gaze lingered on her bestie instead of the guy by her side — she couldn’t bear the thought of looking at the one who pounded her into submission just a few hours prior. She could still vividly remember the distinct feeling of his dick as it plunged into her over and over. Up until then, nothing had made her feel so out of control. But after what happened, it didn’t even feel like her pussy was still entirely her own. A part of her now belonged to him. She couldn’t deny that there had been some weird, primal connection between them. Perhaps sex was more than just a physical thing after all.

Hanni half-heartedly nibbled on her breakfast while sitting on her lonely bench by herself.

“Oh I almost forgot!” Danielle interrupted. “I got...some good news and some bad news, which do you wanna hear first?” she asked while looking over to her absent-minded girlfriend.

“I guess the good news? Are we leaving after breakfast? I need...to do something. We gotta stop by the pharmacy. I’m not feeling so well.” She took another bite of the pancake and lazily chewed the soft texture.

“Well that’s going to be a wee bit problematic. I mean you see, the good news is that you’re gonna get to enjoy the mountain air a little longer since we may be here for a bit.” A nervous laughter followed and a faint blush crept onto Danielle’s cheeks. “You see, I kind of forget the car keys in the ignition, so the car battery’s all dead. It doesn’t help that our phones can’t get a signal here. But!” she said while reaching an arm forward and raising her index finger to the sky. “Don’t you worry! I had told my parents where we are going. They’re on a trip for the weekend but they’re without a doubt going to pick us up as soon as they return! With some rationing, our food’s easily gonna last for two days! Two or three days and we’re gonna be rescued with an amazing story to tell! So yea, take the good with the bad, yup?”

Hanni’s heart sunk right down into the dirt beneath her feet. She doesn’t have two days, even one day would be stretching it. Remnants of his spunk still lingered inside her. At this rate she would’ve left home as pristine virgin, and she’s bound to return home as freshly pregnant teenager just a few days later. This camping trip had been just the worst so far.

She could feel Minsoo’s gaze stripping her again. He’s an asshole all right, and there’s no doubt he’s had sexual intercourse with her without a trace of consent, and his sperm has got to be one of the most vile things she’s ever had the displeasure of dealing with...but she couldn’t deny that having his cock inside her tender slit felt lewd, perverse...natural.

And now that Minsoo had gotten a taste of the paradise Hanni’s carrying between her legs, he couldn’t wait to get back in there and to continue where he had stopped. Strangely enough for Hanni, a tiny part inside her was actually beginning to look forward to it. There had been countless times when Danielle and her gossiped and chatted about that curiosity, about what it may be like to have sex.

Neither of them had ever been in a position to experience it, but now Hanni had a chance. Her memories of the first encounter were foggy at best...but simply by remaining quiet about the ordeal, she would soon enough be forced to repeat the encounter. While sober. Perhaps it would feel good this time. Better. It could even end up feeling amazing, like the only part she’s been missing her whole life.

Needless to say, breakfast had done nothing but to fill the teen with more anxiety and reasons to doubt both herself, and the situation she’s in. At least she didn’t have to worry about it until nighttime, or so she thought.

“All right...” Danielle glanced back at her childhood friend. Something was quite clearly upsetting her a lot, and Dan had nobody to blame but herself for the dead car. “Since we might be stuck here for at least two or three days, I guess we should try to make the most of the situation, right?” The reasons eluded her, but both her boyfriend and Hanni had been completely distracted. As far as she knew, they were bothered by the dire circumstances. “How about you two stick around and give it another try to fix the car battery? Han is good with electronics, and Min knows how to handle a car!”

She reaffirmed her beliefs with a confident nod. “And for the worst case scenario, I’ll go ahead and grab the backpack with some snacks and see if I can find a lake somewhere nearby. At least we can take a bath and clean ourselves if I find one. I did notice you two were a bit sweaty...but no pressure. It’s supposed to be a hot day today, so a bit of sweat is normal. I’m sure I will find something!”

“Wa-wait, already? I think you should stick around for a bit.” That nervous stutter was more than enough for Minsoo to realize that Hanni must have remembered what happened during the night — if the sticky mess between her legs hadn’t already clued her in. That simple thought was already enough to fill him with a familiar ache in his loins and an urge to bend her over again. On the contrary to his expectations, the rumors about the petite girl were true. Her pussy was the tightest he’s ever had, and the orgasms with her were addictive. He could still remember struggling to pull out of her in the early morning, it was like a damned vacuum seal, her cunt was practically sucking him right back in.

“I think that’s a great idea Dan,” Minsoo pointed out. “If anything happens, just yell and I’ll be right there for ya,” he added while leaning in to give Danielle a kiss on the cheek. She beamed with pride and quickly retrieved her backpack. She was determined to make them happy.

“Okay! Great! If you do manage to fix the car, don’t forget to pick me up before leaving!” The way he suddenly seemed to be at ease was enough motivation for Danielle to get right to it — if finding some fresh water would be enough to redeem her for her mistake, then that’s something she would happily do, without hesitation. “I’ll see you guys later, good luck!” With that, she took a quick look around the area before walking forward and entering the shadowy area of dense forest vegetation.

Which left Hanni entirely alone with the guy who had stolen her virginity. They sat on different benches just a few feet from each other, and he stared at her. There was no love or affection between them. No romance. What they both felt was little more than pure instinct, a physical need. They both had something which the other person needed, like two pieces of a puzzle.

Hanni could feel it. Despite her hesitation, her body was already taking over in anticipation of what’s likely to happen. She could feel the blood rushing into her crotch, her natural lubrication began to flow more freely, and a vague emptiness inside her was yearning to be filled. She didn’t even like the guy! Even less so after he casually blackmailed her. But her pussy was trembling and aching. Subtle contractions squeezed her pussy around an imaginary invader, and jolts of pleasure teased her from head to toe. Every spasm left her a little more breathless.

“Same deal as before. Get naked, or I’m going to break up with Dan.” A long moment of silence followed while her eyes wandered across the earthy ground, pondering her options. Almost in slow motion did Hanni eventually give in and surrender to Minsoo request. She hadn’t always been a perfect friend to Dan, but at least like this she could keep that relationship intact. Assuming he didn’t break his word. Plus, she couldn’t deny being at least a little curious about what sex is like without being drunk.

Her petite hands moved down to grab the thin fabric of her panties, and she gradually pulled them down her slender legs until she held the bundle in her hand. Even now, her peachy slit was glowing red and had dried white flecks of cum across her labia. Her inner conflict grew even more when his hungry gaze pinpointed that delicate triangle between her legs. “Just... just promise to keep it secret, okay? Don’t tell Dan...and you have to pull out! You can’t come inside me!” She quickly dropped a hand down to block the view at her battered womanhood.

This was a terrible idea, what was she thinking? She once more realized that she’s entirely unprotected, there would be absolutely nothing to separate them once he’s inside her. Bareback, that’s how they would be doing it. There was too much at stake, and she definitely didn’t want to get knocked up before graduating. She didn’t want to get knocked up at all. The idea was repulsive, she didn’t want to carry some guy’s DNA inside her belly for nine months.

“You are way, way overthinking this,” Minsoo told her while approaching. It was easy for him to pick her up, one quick arm underneath her knees and one to support her back, just like that he lifted her up and she yelped in surprise. He began carrying her towards the tent, the same place where he robbed her of her virginity. This is what he had always wanted. Not a girl in her mid-twenties, who already fucked a dozen guys and learned to rely on rubbing her clit just to tease an orgasm out of her twat.

He was Hanni’s first. He had a chance to teach her what she’s allowed to enjoy. In addition, her body was untainted and never endured all the chemical changes that can be caused by using a hormonal birth control. Plunging into her bare, unprotected cunny was as natural and desirable as it could get.

He could barely wait to bust another nut inside her, to force her vagina to absorb more of his spunk. It’s like a delicate ecosystem in there. Dump enough sperm inside and things will go haywire. He looked forward to filling her many more times. Until he managed to erase every last trace of the girly scent her vagina used to produce, and she’s stuck with the musk of his own semen continually escaping her slit. He loved the idea of completely owning her sexuality. Even if she were to sneak off to rub an orgasm out of her little cunt, she would be forced to inhale the warm pungent smell of his cum as soon as she got wet enough. It would be an instantaneous reminder that her pussy belonged to his dick and nothing else.

Hanni had no idea of the consequences if she were to keep welcoming him with spread legs and a bruised cunt willing to accommodate his fuck-stick, despite the discomfort his size was causing her.

“I ain’t overthinking anything, okay!? Dan is my best friend so this is something I do only for her sake. And you can’t come inside me! Do you even know how high the risks are? The average sperm count of a normal ejaculation is-” Hanni was instantly interrupted when Minsoo dropped her onto the blankets and zips the tent back up, closing the only exit. “Ou-ouch...what the hell, man?” She had dropped right on her perky bum, and rubbed the sore cheek. She didn’t even notice that she was sitting spread-eagled and gave him a good view of her pussy. There was a faint glistening, a shimmer of arousal. It was obvious that her body was at least slightly interested in repeating their previous encounter.

“It’s just sex, all right? What do you think a pussy is for anyway? That’s like...literally what it’s made for. I think you spent way too much time on the internet or something, just accept you’re not a guy. You are a girl. This is your purpose.” Minsoo began removing his shirt, followed by his pants. “You’ve got a perfect little cunt down there, so we’re going to use it. I’m going to use you. The less you talk during it, the better.”

A furious blush crept across Hanni’s cheeks. Did he seriously just dare reducing her to little more than what is between her legs? She furrowed her eyebrows. That charming personality he’s putting on around Danielle had all but disappeared, he didn’t even attempt to be pleasant. He spat into his hand and once more lowered it down to her crotch before thrusting two of his fingers into her, coaxing a gasp out of the startled teenager. He gradually moved those digits back and forth, spreading his saliva inside her.

“Did no one ever tell you that’s...gross and unhygienic?” She gazed down and looked at the vile combination of lubrication her pussy was coated in. A mixture of her own juices, his frothy spit, and old cum that had still been inside her. He was able to shove his fingers in much deeper than in the past. Her hymen was no longer in the way. He had made sure that one is permanently gone.

Even if he was right and getting laid is just a simple matter, it was still heavily nagging on Hanni’s mind that he treated her like a pile of meat. On the other hand, it was difficult to care a whole lot about having sex one more time, considering the...current state of her vagina. It wasn’t flattering. She was a sloppy mess down there. His choice of words was pretty spot on. This didn’t look like a cute virginal slit anymore. It was a cunt, one that looked like it had been fucked a few times, by a cock that had been just a tad bit too large to fit in properly. Nothing would change if she took him in just one more time.

It was so incredibly difficult to think straight with so many emotions in her head. She felt furious but excited. She felt shame and arousal.

He removed his underwear and revealed his cock once again, semi-erect. It was slowly pulsing to life, still growing and hardening. It’s the first time that she saw one in person, in broad daylight. It was veiny and grotesque, dicks are not an attractive sight. But it didn’t need to be. She knew where to hide his fat erection. Inside her.

A warm throb echoed through her crotch and she was reminded of that dull empty feeling inside her. It was disgusting how needy her body felt. It only grew stronger when she inhaled that musky scent of sex that still originated from her pussy despite her earlier attempts to clean up. It was their combined smell, their mingled juices, his cum as well as her own. Her vaginal walls were saturated with it, her pink flesh had soaked up every last drop of their intimate encounter and she knew that she would never again feel clean on the inside.

“Whatever,” the feisty girl added with her eyes embarrassingly glued to his appendage. She remembered his insulting preference to take her from behind, and reluctantly rolled over onto her belly. It was a mutual preference, at least this way she didn’t have to look him in the eyes while he used her. It only took him a few seconds to climb on top of her while he kept a fist wrapped around his chubby dick. He placed it right up against the entrance of her well fucked pussy, and unceremoniously shoved it inside with a single greedy thrust until her labia snugly engulfed the base of his member.

“Ahnn! Nnhaah!!!” Hanni tensed up, every muscle in her body went stiff, and it suddenly felt like her entire cunt was stretched to the brim to make space for his cock! However, she knew well enough by now that complaining or whining would just urge him on to be even more of a dimwit. Minsoo proceeded to hold himself there for a few more moments while she endured that unpleasant, sharp feeling somewhere in the back of her lady parts. Unbeknownst to her, he had managed to hilt his entire length within her — that smooth crown of his dick touched the end of her love tunnel, smooching her cervix. A milky bead of his pre-cum already escaped his tip, joining what he had dumped inside her during the night.

He began with slow, steady thrusts. Mechanically. Fucking into her and loosening her up from the inside. Every now and then he would change the position of his hips a little bit to the left or right, causing him to thrust in at an unusual angle and straining her insides further. Hanni didn’t make a sound, she was firmly biting down on her pillow to prevent herself from moaning out loud. There was a growing feeling of pleasure the longer he kept going, her pussy was surprisingly quick to adjust. It was humiliating to think that she was gaining something so pleasant out of having sexual intercourse with her friend’s boyfriend, it was so wrong but was beginning to feel so incredibly right.

Her bigger concern was that she noticed how it wasn’t merely the presence of his meaty package which turned her on so immensely, it was also the needle-like sharp pain whenever he pushed too deep. It made her flinch and groan into the pillow, but it felt so oddly arousing at the same time. It was a good pain.

His pace quickened, and his carelessness grew. Both of his hands grabbed a tight hold of her hips while he aggressively hammered into her snatch, filling the small tent with the audible sound of sex. His crotch slammed against her shapely ass repeatedly and audibly, akin to getting spanked, and it only drove her crazier. Hanni could feel herself reaching it, the peak, way up high and just barely out of reach.

But then he simply groaned into her ear and collapsed on top of her. He had finished just as she was about to have a good time. His entire weight fell onto her backside, which in turn pressed her breasts uncomfortably against the ground. They had been bruised already, so this pushed her right off track and ruined her orgasm.

Instead, she was treated to a warm wet sensation spreading inside her loins, and the dull throbbing of his appendage while he pumped wave upon wave of fresh cloudy cum into her receptive cunt. His balls contracted rhythmically, dutifully delivering his seed at a rapid pace, as nature intended. She immediately blamed herself more so than anyone else — she should’ve known better. Of course he didn’t pull out. This was her punishment. She’s his cum receptacle.

However, Hanni could feel her own excitement coming right back at the thought of him using her for nothing but his own selfish desires. It’s the first time a guy had ever shown such an obsession with her, even if that interest lingered mostly on her privates. She could feel her heart beating faster. Her skin tingled with desire. By sheer instinct she suddenly began to buck her hips back against him while inhaling sharply. Her own eyes widened in surprise as she felt spikes of pure pleasure thundering through her entire being, robbing her breath and making her acutely aware that she’d just climaxed at the mere thought of being used like this.

A small orgasm, but she’d undeniably gotten off to the thought of being his puppet. She enjoyed that he cared so little about her that he didn’t even bother to pull out. For a split second, she even thought she could feel his sperm as it began to swarm her cervix, swimming inside, chasing down the egg that may be waiting inside her. “Oh god...what the hell is wrong with my pussy, why does this turn me on so much,” she mumbled to herself, after which she immediately rushed a hand up to cover her mouth. She did not mean to say that out loud!

She waited. She couldn’t tell if Minsoo had managed to hear her words. He must have, considering she could feel his breath on her cheek. Slow and calm. “Wait, are you...” Raising an eyebrow, she twisted her head to glance up at his face and confirm her suspicions. He had fallen asleep, with his flaccid dick still lodged inside her womanhood and his weary testicles resting against her tenderized labia. She was uncomfortable, sweaty, and the obscene scent of unprotected sex began spreading inside the small tent...it couldn’t get any worse.

Until someone began unzipping the tent...and Danielle stuck her head inside with an innocent expression on her face.

“Where is everyo-” she interrupted herself, after which she at first coughed in disgust, and then took a step back. “What the...Han? Min? What’s going on?! What are you two...?” Her gaze lowered down to where their genitals were still connected. The vaginal lips of her best friend were horribly stretched around the thick penis of her boyfriend. She struggled to believe her eyes. Unlike Hanni, she was a devout religious person and had never even seen the privates of someone other than herself. Her world begun spinning, she felt dizzy, this couldn’t be...

“Da...Dan! This isn’t what it looks...no, I can explain!” as the girlfriend just kept watching from the entrance of the tent, watching the way her friend suddenly squirmed and struggled to try and get free from underneath her lover. Danielle stumbled backwards on unsteady feet before collapsing to the ground. The shock had been too much for her to endure. She passed out.

Her vision went black.

It felt impossible to tell how much time passed.

Consciousness returned only slowly and Danielle couldn’t manage to open her eyes just yet. She could however hear and listen well enough, to the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. There was also a distinctly wet and slippery sound, a perverse squelch that accompanied the rhythm. Danielle parted her eyes and found herself on top of her sleeping bag with a blanket to cover her. She was inside the tent.

And in plain sight, she watched Hanni on all fours, completely naked, with widely parted legs while being taken from behind. Each eager thrust from her partner caused a small shockwave to ripple up along her body, the force caused her breasts to jiggle and bounce in tune to the primitive pounding. She still couldn’t believe it. How could this have happened? Her heart broke into a thousand pieces, and shattered into another thousand each time she listened to the sound of their lovemaking.

“I’m breaking up with you,” Danielle spoke weakly, her voice trembling. “This is disgusting! You are both disgusting...!” Minsoo glanced at her for just a moment before gazing right back at the ravishing girl he mated with. He had a newfound interest in knocking her up. It was entirely new to him, but the idea of inseminating Hanni’s cunt and forcing a baby into her belly was hot. She had to be the most petite girl he had ever seen, and it was a thrill to think how she may look like with his child growing inside her.

“I don’t even care anymore, you should’ve introduced me to your friend earlier.” He began speeding up, feverishly fucking into that pristine pussy. There was no grace to his actions, this was all about taking charge. “It took a single day to get into her panties, and she gets off on being treated like a slut,” he added. “She’s prime fuck-meat. A perfect little whore.”

Right there between the teenager’s legs was their visible connection. Minsoo’s hairy crotch repeatedly met with the hairless opening into Hanni’s pleasure box. It was an airtight vacuum. Nothing escaped her, nothing else entered her. They had become one, together. Every inch of cunt meat inside her was stretched taut around his erection.

Hanni buried her face in the pillow, both to muffle her gasps and sighs, but also to hide her face. It stung that he was telling the truth. When he finally reached his orgasm to end the ordeal, he used his grip on her waist to sheathe every inch of his dick inside her while uttering a guttural, pleased groan. He injected her with multiple thick bursts of his semen, pumping her full until it was overflowing and dribbling out of her peach to join the puddle underneath her crotch. Hanni cried into the pillow upon feeling her own climax triggered by the sheer humiliation of it all. Her body shivered uncontrollably. She hated just how much she loved the discovery of her own perversion. It wasn’t going to end. She had gotten addicted to it. At this point she would do almost anything just to keep her womanhood stuffed with his prick as much as humanly possible. They belonged together.

And so, for the following three days, Danielle had no choice but to accept the new circumstances. She lost the two people she cared most about. Not only that, but she had to watch them — and listen to them — having sex for nearly the entire time up in the mountains.

The two lovers didn’t care for the lack of privacy. They went through every possible position, wherever they could, while keeping Danielle as spectator. The entire campsite reeked of their combined cum. When they ran out of clean clothes, they simply remained naked. It wouldn’t make a difference. Hanni kept a rich coating of dried semen along her thighs and her entire vulva was kept sticky and gooey. Minsoo had remained true to his words, every creampie was served directly into the girl’s twat while Dan had to watch helplessly.

When her parents came to pick everyone up, the car was dead silent. Overall, it was the complete opposite of what Danielle had hoped to achieve with the spontaneous camping trip. She never told her parents what happened. She cut off all contact with everyone, to focus on her studies. To distract herself. To pretend none of it ever happened.

Her only relief, bitter-sweet as it may be, was seeing a familiar face a few months later at the prom party towards the end of high school. Hanni wore her jet-black hair in a long ponytail, cute red blush adorned her cheeks. She almost looked like a princess. Almost.

Some girls envied her, others laughed at her. She was the only girl at prom with a big healthy baby bump.

#hanni smut #newjeans smut #kpop smut #girl group smut #female idol smut #male reader

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barleyo · 4 months ago

Text

Consequence.

Adoptive Dad! Enji Todoroki X Fem! Reader (smut)

A/N: nobody asked for this but idc :3 i wrote this as a b-day present for myself!! i luv this old abusive man so bad oh my god!!! nasty old man who tries to be good but fails so miserably :3 old man who is just MEANT to be awful and abusive and gross!! luv it!!! i wanted to do a full on incest fic w him but idk if anybody would be interested >_< just let me know!!

Tags: adoptive-incest (daddy-daughter), age gap (18-50s), p in v, purity, sexual abuse mentions, loss of virginity, allusions to physical abuse, size difference, creampie, gross nasty stuff in general

Wordcount: 1.6k

Once all of his kids had given him a final 'fuck you' and left him on his own, Enji felt the pressure of loneliness crash down on him. Being on top in the hero rankings was worthless to him when he came home to an empty house. Every second he sat alone in his house, he realized that it was simply too big for just one man. It had never been a home, only a house where a fragmented family resided. Only once his kids fled did that realization hit him.

He needed to fill the space and quick, and more than that, he needed to start over. He wanted to redeem himself somehow. Whole new family for a whole new man.

But dating was hard at his age, and all the decent women were taken. Only fame-chasing whores were interested in him at this point, and he couldn't blame them. What the hell else did he have to offer? No woman would want to be with a tired, emotionally constipated, divorced, middle-aged man. Nor would any want to have kids with one, especially not at his age.

Adoption it was. Simple enough. Plenty of kids in the system. Plenty of needy little brats that could benefit from his new-found, new-wave parenting tactics that he read up on in his abundant spare time. 'Don't abuse your kids.' Who would've thought it? Crazy. 'Top ten reasons why your kids won't visit you when you're in the nursing home.' Well, shit.

He knew he had to go older. He would be absolutely damned if he would take in a toddler, or worse, a tween. He wasn't ready to raise anyone— he needed something already broken in for the most part.

17? Yeah, that should be fine. He could do that. Old enough to take care of itself for the most part. Another body in the house was what he needed, not another responsibility. A girl? Yeah. Girls were supposed to be easier, right? Girls are sweet and grateful, always considerate and willing to help out. Girls are gentle and tender.

Just his luck. He got the most clingy girl the foster care system had to offer. It was, at most, a bit irritating for the first few days when you were skittish and nervous around him all the time, but he understood. The problems occurred when you started to get comfortable.

He thought he wanted an affectionate little thing, especially considering the radio silence he received from his biological children, but this was just too much. Wherever he was, you needed to be. All day, all night. Twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, excluding when he was on patrol.

Enji knew that adopted kids tended to have abandonment issues, or whatever, but did you have to be such a damn velcro child? It was cute, in a way, the first year or so of your stay with him. He kinda liked it, having some positive attention finally turned his way, but at a certain point it was just too much.

Like when you turned 18 and decided that sleeping alone was no longer an option. Of course, he gave in. He tried to argue back, but the threat of tears from you was too much for his now mended heart. He was trying to change, damn it. He couldn't possibly not give you everything you ever asked for.

'Oh, what's that? Sleeping in daddy's bed isn't enough? He has to spoon with you until you fall asleep? Honey, do you really think—? No, no, don't cry. Okay, okay, I'll do it.'

Or when spooning wasn't enough, and you needed to be massaged before falling asleep in Enji's arms, taking up his bed like nobody's business.

'What's wrong, baby? Daddy's already rubbing your back, what else do you want? Touch you where? Baby— okay, since you said please.'

Every night, his thick fingers ran tight circles over your clit, strong arms holding you tight while you flailed and wriggled against him. You never seemed to get used to his touch. It was just too good. He split you open with his index and middle, curling into the spot you couldn't quite reach on your own. Every night, like clockwork.

But, of course, you, the mouse who was given a cookie, asked for more. Fingers weren't enough. You needed more from daddy. Sleep didn't come easily enough for you after his skilled touches. You whined for him after every exchange, but he just couldn't give you what you wanted.

Daddy would do almost anything for his baby, anything you asked! Hell, if it made you happy, if it helped to ease the guilt he carried from his older four screw ups, why not? If it helped to mend the hole he created in his own heart, he'd pepper you in every kiss and suck and touch you as much as you wanted him to, but—

he really didn't think he could deflower you.

The idea was too much, way too much. Kind of hypocritical of him. Finger banging and slurping on his adoptive daughter was well and good enough, but playing a little game of 'just the tip' was a line he didn't know if he could cross.

It was tempting, and every time he turned you down he felt like a real douchebag, but he didn't trust himself with you. You were so small. He was anything but gentle. He had broken enough of his kids in other ways, he didn't exactly want to add to the score.

Your cunt was swollen and drooling after your near nightly ritual with Enji. Crawl up into his bed, whine, scratch at him and beg for his sweet touch. You always got what you wanted, except for one thing.

"Why not?" you whined, gripping onto his forearm as he curled his fingers into you from his spot behind you, lazily acting as your big spoon.

"This is enough." His teeth were gritted softly, trying to hold himself back. "You cum like this just fine."

You let your mouth hang open, shuddering silently at how he seemed to speed up and abuse your g-spot. "Not enough," you were finally able to make out, legs clenching in an attempt to force him to stop.

Enji huffed, ignoring your whiny excuse. He hated when you locked him out like this, trying to keep your cunt from him like some type of half-assed punishment. Moving your legs back open, spread even further now, he continued fingering you with the same brutal, forceful pace.

"You're being bratty, baby. I don't appreciate when you act like that," he said simply, looking down at your convulsing body.

"You always say that," you said, pushing his arm as you tried to squirm away from him to pout. "You don't wanna 'cause you don't love me. Don't wanna get close t'me."

That was his final straw. He had been holding himself back for your sake, but he could not handle the hurt tone in your voice, even if he knew you were faking just to get him to bite.

He pulled his fingers out of your hole and pushed them into your mouth, stuffing the digits down your throat. He slipped his girthy cock out of his boxers, jamming the wide tip into your needy warmth.

"You know that is not true," Enji said, already fucking into you without regard to how you were almost too tight. He'd fix that. Make you fit like a glove soon enough. "I spoil you enough, and you still want more?"

You moaned, sound coming out muffled from his fingers blocking your words. He pulled them out, strings of saliva coating your cheek as he brought his hand back to your clit.

"Jus' wanna be closer to you 'nd feel you."

He scoffed, pushing down on your clit with too much force, bringing you to the edge of climax already.

"No, you're a spoiled brat. I give you too much," he said, not meaning a damn word that came from his mouth. "Got used to getting whatever you want, huh? Selfish little pussy taking everything it can get."

The pure euphoria you get from him being rough with you for once is unmatched. Daddy gave you what you wanted all the time, and you liked it, but he was too gentle with it. Like he was scared to mess up or make a mistake (again). You needed him to correct you, you'd wanted him to fuck some sense into you for so long.

You clenched the silky sheets on the bed, hands trembling while he pounding into you, hips cramming against yours spastically.

God, he was ashamed.

Not because he was fucking his daughter, hell, he came this far without problem. He just usually was much better in bed. Your gasps and shaky moans did little to appease him. Any other time, he'd be composed and sophisticated with his strokes, but he was sloppy and needy now.

His cock kicked inside of you, twitching when he spilled his seed. He was so caught up in his own embarrassment that he hadn't realized how dangerously close he had gotten.

"Daddy, did you—?"

Your question was interrupted by his hand covering your mouth, unstable thrusts continuing to fill your senses. You couldn't care that he came in you when he made you feel this good.

While your legs shook and your pussy gushed, one thing was made very apparent to both you and Enji:

This was the first time he let himself go and fucked you, but it would definitely not be the last.

#cw incest #tw: incest #enji todoroki x reader #enji todoroki #enji x reader #endeavor x reader #endeavor x you #mha #mha x reader #bnha x reader #x reader #dad x daughter

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jackles010378 · 2 months ago

Text

Confessions of the night...

Dean winchester x Y/n

No warnings, just pure fluff 💚

When it's Sam's turn to hook up and bring a women back to the motel room, you find dean sleeping in his car and invite him to sleep in your room.

Dean sat in the Impala, his mind racing with a mix of emotions. He had never been one to shy away from a good time, but this time was different. Usually, it was him who brought girls back to their motel room, but tonight it had been Sam who had hooked up. And it left him feeling a bit out of place.

After successfully getting rid of a wendigo, Dean, Sam and y/n went to the bar nearest the motel to let of a little steam. Y/n called an early night and left the boys at the bar. Dean wanted to walk y/n back to the motel but she told him to stay with Sammy and have fun.

Dean had caught the eye of a few women in the bar, but none had peaked his interest. What he didn't expect to see was Sammy playing tonsil hockey with a pretty brunette on his way back from the toilet. He stood frozen for a second but then had a proud look on his face as he thought to himself 'that's my boy'. Dean pulled his jacket off the back of the chair he'd been sitting in, momentarily interrupting the make out session between his brother and the girl sitting on his lap. He slid the room key over to Sammy saying "don't do anything I wouldn't" with a wink and a smirk.

As Sam and the girl disappeared into the motel room, Dean made up his mind to sleep in the Impala. Taking a swig from his trusty flask, he settled into the backseat, hoping the familiar scent of leather and oil would soothe his restless thoughts.

Meanwhile, Y/N, was making her way to the ice machine. Dressed in a t-shirt (that she had stolen from Dean) and shorts, she was surprised to see Dean sitting in the Impala in the dimly lit parking lot, she wondered if he and Sammy had had a fight after she had left them at the bar. She could sense his unease and decided to approach him.

"Hey, Dean," Y/N called out softly. Dean looked up, surprised to see her there. Y/N gestured towards her room. "You look like you could use a decent night's sleep. Why don't you come crash in my room? I promise I won't bite."

Dean hesitated for a moment, but the offer was too tempting to resist. He followed Y/N to her room, taking in her easy smile and the warmth that radiated from her. Settling in on the spare bed, y/n handing him a beer, Dean found himself opening up to Y/N in a way he rarely did with others.

As the night wore on, the two of them talked about everything under the sun - from hunting to childhood memories. Dean found himself drawn to Y/N's easy laughter and the genuine interest she showed in him. And before long, he found himself confessing his fears and doubts about their dangerous way of life.

Y/N listened intently, her eyes full of understanding and compassion. She reached out and took Dean's hand in hers, she moved over to sit by his side, the feeling of her by his side sent a rush of warmth through him. In that moment, Dean knew he had found someone who saw past the tough exterior he presented to the world.

As the night turned to early morning, Dean and Y/N found themselves inching closer together. Their shared confessions had forged a deep bond between them, one that neither wanted to let go of. And as the first light of dawn peeked through the window, Dean leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Y/N's lips. "So much for sleeping huh" y/n said as they broke away from each other, foreheads resting upon each other.

The kiss was soft and fleeting, but it spoke volumes of the emotions swirling between them. Dean pulled back, his heart hammering in his chest as he searched Y/N's eyes for any sign of regret. But all he saw was warmth and affection, mirrored in her gaze "took you long enough winchester" y/n said with a smirk on her face.

In that moment, Dean knew he had found something real and worth fighting for. And as he held Y/N close, he let go of his doubts and fears, embracing the possibility of a new beginning. Sam might have been the one to bring a girl back to the motel room, but tonight, it was Dean who found something truly special with Y/N.

Taglist:

@nescavaneckdaily @k-slla @cevansbaby-dove @kaleldobrev @janineb86 @deans-daydream @alternativeprincess94 @angelbabyyy99 @cheynovak @winchesterwild78 @suckitands33

#jensen ackles #dean winchester #jackles #jensen ross ackles #supernatural #spn cast #deanwinchtser #jensen ackles gifs #soldier boy #beau arlen #dean winchester supernatural #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader

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edgeray · 19 days ago

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I BESEECH YOU

Goddess! Arlecchino x Reader

You fear that your death draws near. You pray to be spared from suffering when you meet your fate.

Content warnings / info - none

When you're a dying individual, time swims past you, ungraspable and constantly evading you. There is almost too much time and never enough of it, a phenomenon that only comes to those whose mercy is death. While you bide your time, waiting for the inevitable to approach, there are still things that need to be tended to. Your farm and animals reserves no impatience despite your aching body and weakening limbs. Still, you find it hard to gripe when they preoccupy you from your fate.

No physician that has found a cure for your ailment, a medical anomaly for someone whose age was just ripe for marrying a reliable, decent man. Oh, how the villagers pity you, yet have not spared a single moment of their time or peace of mind for you.

Winter draws near. Whispers on the streets tell you that this year's harvest was abysmal. A famed apostle foretells that this winter will be harsher than the last. The nobles have, expectedly, stockpiled much of the village's harvest, and your neighbors were left to barter for remains and leftovers. Mania runs amok in the markets. The village brims with a fraught energy, despair palpable in the sad sight of the commoners.

It's an omen, you think. Just as your condition starts to worsen, every breath grows more labored than the last with each frigid and snow-casted night. Even now, with the fur-lined coat and the wool hat, the chill penetrates into your skin. You clutch onto the loaf of bread and bundles of fruit a little closer to your body as you traverse through the snow. It crunches underneath your feet, each bare step another dose of iciness injected into your veins. You shudder and lift your gaze.

A forgotten, barren shrine greets your view, a crumbling but no less sacred sanctuary. A relieved huff escapes from you.

The villagers have long abandoned this shrine and its goddess a long time ago. When the town began prospering, there sprung up many other trivialities for villagers to fret over–not when death seems so distant. When fields thrive, the weather is fair, the villagers’ pockets are full, and the nobles bless them with protection, death comes for few. Why worship the Goddess of Death when you can earn Lord Pantalone's blessing or be gifted with Lord Dottore's longevity and vitality? No longer is death a contagious disease, more so an afterthought. You used to think this way before you were struck with a curious illness. What use does currency have when you're dying? Why had Lord Dottore cursed you?

You kneel before the house of Lord Arlecchino. The coarse ground bites into your skin. The remains of your past offerings suggest that some critters have gotten to them before your Goddess has. Pesky creatures. You lay down the offerings in the center, before closing your eyes.

“Almighty Lord Arlecchino. I greet you, my Goddess of Death. How do you fare?” There is silence, but you still wait for an answer.

“I apologize this time for my lacking offerings. If you could find it in your heart to forgive me, I would be gratified. This year's harvest was not abundant… perhaps my village's luck has been used up. I believe there will be a lot of souls for you to collect. And… I will be among them,” you profess quietly, looking up at the ceiling.

You dip your head back down, inhaling deeply. “I know I have provided only humble gifts to you. But I have been devoted to you for years… I have taken care of this place of worship… may I ask of you for one thing, my Lord?”

The wind whistles through the shrine, and a gust kisses your skin. You take it as a sign to continue. “If you deem me worthy of this grace, then… I would like to die without suffering. If possible… I would like to pass during my slumber. If my request is too impudent… you may strike me down now. Or… I will wait for the time when I meet you. I thank you for your presence. Please indulge yourself in my gifts, Lord Arlecchino.”

You take one final bow, before getting up. You pray that the Goddess will take pity on you. You begin to turn, but then falter. Uncoiling the fabric around your neck, you place down your wool scarf onto the ground.

“I am not certain if you feel the winter chill as I do. Even if you do not, I would like for you to have it. The winter is grueling, as cold and beautiful as you are.”

You finally turn and leave. When you are nothing but a small silhouette in the distance, a pale woman emerges in the shadows of the shrine, observing you.

“Foolish, precious human,” the Goddess sighs as she leans down, grasping onto the scarf. “Do you undermine my omnipotence so much that you do not ask for me to relieve you of your illness? Or perhaps your heart is too large to muse the thought.”

She wraps the soft material around her neck. It is comforting. “It is not time for you to meet me just yet.”

Whipped up something quick cuz I was in a mood. Should I continue, maybe? Lowkey should finish my Halloween Event fic but... too many other ideas.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino #arlecchino x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #edgeray.writes

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year ago

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Immortal (Ghost x Medic!Reader Pt. 3)

"The path to paradise begins in hell."

— Dante Alighieri

Word count: 5.5 k

Summary: He knows now why he always returns to her. It's because he was injured. Badly, severely, life-threateningly injured – no, he was already deceased. What kind of a medic has the power to resurrect the dead? (Last part of Ghost stories.)

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Angst, fluff, smut. Protective!Simon Ghost Riley. Graphic depictions of PTSD, suicidal thoughts and depression, mild violence. Emotional sex, love confessions, happy ending. Ghost POV.

"You can't come here, lieutenant. Not unless you're injured."

No one has ever scolded him.

He's the one who whips people into shape, who makes them recall who and where they are, that Task Force 141 is no place for fuckery. Now he's the one being reminded of his place.

Somehow it's ok to bring her flowers before dinner, but ever since he started to bring her coffee to get an excuse to see her at work, she began to shut down. He can fuck her doggy style at her place, but if he so much as lifts his mask to kiss the back of her neck at her office, she bats him away like an annoying fly.

And he's fucking confused.

He thought he was doing the right thing. He thought that women like to be courted. Now he's standing in the middle of her apartment, waiting for… he doesn't even know what. Pardon, perhaps.

"Why do you always call me lieutenant?"

"Well I can't call you Simon at work, can I?"

She's chaste and decent. Has been like that for a while now, retreating back to her role of a distant professional.

Something's troubling her, and he tries to get to the bottom of it. Tries his best to cheer her up, even if it's absurd that someone like him attempts to do that.

"Y'could use the alias."

"I'm not going to call you that."

She reads Virgil while making it clear that he's quite ridiculous. A ghost. It must remind her of a children's book rather than something stealthy and fatal; to her, it's a grown man's sad attempt to play a superhero.

"Did you come up with the name yourself?" Her voice has a whiff of irony as she finally spares him a glance from her hard-cover poetry.

"...No," he lies, too soon. Far too soon. She catches him on it, pants down.

"You're a silly, silly man." She shakes her head slowly and returns to her book. Last week, it was Dante who had better things to offer, far better things compared to him – such as a more poetic depiction of hell.

But even with the distant aura he can't quite pierce, she gives him a concept of what it would be like to have a home. A real home where you don't have to dread the evening and everything it brings out in people. Even when he was doing the SAS Fan Dance and lying on the cold ground to have a compulsory 2-hour shut-eye, he never missed home. The weather-beaten trail and a flapping tarp were still a cosier place than the one he'd left behind.

The closest thing to an actual home was always solitude. A few days without routine. A cold shower in the morning to wake him, but not frigid enough to kill the erection. A good, unhurried fap and some stale spit circling down the drain. No one giving him a pitiful eye for tossing old takeaway in the bin and opening the cupboard only to be met with some canned food and table salt.

Now, the first thing in the morning is the sensation of her. Fingertips sneaking their way under his arm and ghosting his stomach, stirring him so softly he doesn't quite know if he's gone to heaven. Home is a sleepy nest and slow kisses followed by the sounds of brewing coffee. Home has become a place of mundane tasks: helping her water the plants and tasting whether the vanilla pudding she made has enough sugar. Changing sheets together, listening to the fitful sea as it breaks upon the shore. Watching how she reads of the Trojan War.

When he just stands there, admiring how her manicured nails glide over the pages, she talks to him again without raising her lashes from the book.

"Did you need something?"

…You. All of you.

Now and forever.

"Ya wanna go out to eat tonight?"

Finally, he grabs her attention. The distance between them is sewn up so fast even a jerk like him can understand he finally made the right fucking move.

"What about your… The mask?"

He shrugs.

"I thought you liked my cooking," she gives him a smile. Sly… Foxy.

"I do. But let me feed you for a change."

He sees in that stare and the way she purses her lips that she's trying to prevent a dirty joke from coming out of her pretty little mouth. As much as he appreciates that little cunning look, as much as he loves when that mouth gets a little dirty, he's more than serious now.

"Come on. Let me take you out."

"Well. If you insist," she smiles, shuts the book, and flies to her closet to pull out a stunner of a dress.

…..…..…..

Her fingertips always make his cock stir. They were supposed to go to sleep – a rare thing, to not slip inside her after a nice lil evening. To his surprise she starts to trace the few hairs on his stomach, threading through them as they thicken below.

He can feel how she gets tense upon seeing that he's hard and heavy before she even reaches there. But she's not tense from anticipation.

"I overheard some of the guys talking about us. Or, well, me."

His cock gives a tug, and she still doesn't touch it.

"How I'm your luxury whore."

The curtain shifts as the wind plays with it: softly, while he's ripped out of the dark safety of the womb.

"Luxury…" She laughs, but it's bitter and thick. "Isn't it funny?"

He's hard now mainly because of the fury that rises. It ripples through his chest and pulls his stomach taut.

"Was it the rookie?"

He hears his voice from far away, from under the sea, but luckily, her hand brings him back. It's placed on him again, this time further up. She likes to trace the cavity between his pecs, pet the hair she finds there, too. Sometimes, she buries her face there and inhales his sweat, then uses that spot as her pillow. It's that very moment when he finds peace if he already hasn't by then.

"You don't have to defend my honour," the night speaks softly.

So, it was the rookie.

Nothing but a boy, younger than Soap and cockier than he was when he left Manchester with nothing but a duffel bag on his shoulder. Nothing but a boy, and she knows how boys are. She knows how boys talk. She wouldn't be in the Force if she took filthy quips seriously.

But this is fucking different. The fantasies of what he'll do to the fucker when he gets back get sicker and more beautiful by the second.

"Just… don't come there anymore unless you're injured. Ok?"

He can't hear her because the vile word overrides even the gorgeous visions of torture. It gathers up his throat as bile, and he barely has time to take a deep breath to force it down before it's too late.

"I'm gonna go take a shower."

"At this hour…?"

"Can't sleep anyway."

He reaches the bathroom just in time before the vomit flies. The power of it forces him on his knees, forces him to take hold of the door frame. Everything he fed to her shoots up, like it was only a dream that he could make her happy.

…Are you just here for sex?

Her shy question echoes from the tiles as another retch pulls the rest of his love out.

He's sweating worse than the time they had to operate him in the field, back when a bullet had worked its way through the naked spot between the straps of his plate carrier. The shower washes some of it away, but the stench stays, the foul word and the insolence, all the shallow things he has given her coat the insides of his mouth no matter how many times he tries to spit it away. The water only does so much, and she's still not asleep by the time he returns to her.

The luxury is waiting for him, silky and sweet.

Wet, even, if he wants.

"Baby… Honey?"

Baby.

He feels his guts in his throat again but swallows them down. She's beautiful, even when sad and sorry. Sorry, and for what? For him, instead of herself and what she's been called, the spite she has had to suffer simply for lying down in the filth with him.

"Are you okay...?"

"Yeah."

He goes to her, pulls her in his arms, and hopes he doesn't smell of puke.

"They're just words. Right?"

I'm more than just your whore, right?

Her hand doesn't shy away from the sweat that breaks through his back. She's not afraid of him, even when he's the monster she never asked for. He can respect that kind of fearlessness.

"You're awfully quiet," she tries.

Baby, please don't go berserk, is what he hears.

"Go to sleep, pet," he calls forth his softest voice, relieved to notice it sounds more like a lullaby than a command. He allows her to kiss him, wondering if she can taste the grave.

"Yes, sir," she breathes a soft smile in his mouth. Then she turns and coats herself with his arm. It must feel heavy around her, but she only gives a happy sigh. "I always sleep better with you. You feel so good… Safe."

He wonders how strange it is that love sometimes feels like pain. Her words come close to a knife slowly being pushed to his insides. They're still burning when she mutters the last essential thing, already half-asleep in his arms.

"They're just words, Simon…"

…..…..…..

He doesn't know much about poetry, but perhaps Dante was right.

The heart of hell is not a fiery lake of torment but an icy, cold, stagnant place. There's nothing there. Everything is frozen: screams, thoughts, even dreams.

He's walked through grey rubble and drenched asphalt, through alleyways of havoc and debris, he's trekked through desolate woodland and marsh. He's run through life like it's a day-to-day race to not get killed, but the worst of it isn't the bullets or the cold or the wind or the rain. It's the sleepless nights, the inertia. His soul in chains. On those nights, he wanted to get killed.

And yet, he's not the only one who has suffered the unfortunate event of being dragged through every plane of hell. He's not the first man to go through the funnel, nor is he the last. It only looks bad in a society where he's supposed to own a credit card and a house. It only tastes like shit when someone asks "How does it make you feel?"

People like him shouldn't go to therapy at all. His solution was to quit playing a modern man the minute he realized he's no longer fit for that role. He's simply a dead body, reanimated to serve a purpose. He's a sharp tool, a weapon. (A zombie.)

He serves the greater good, but everyone knows the greater good is propaganda too. There's no grand fight between light and darkness. Good and evil only conduct people's choices: even his old man must've thought he was making the world a better place by playing the rebel. He told him he served the Queen just to piss that sodded bastard off, but the truth is he never served anyone. Not even himself.

Now, there's an odd purpose to his task. Now, every cell in his body is full of animus.

He's an animated corpse, perhaps, but they forgot to bury the wrath.

"Where's the rookie?"

"Getting stapled."

"Where?"

Which room?

Which fucking room?

He doesn't stay to heed directions. He doesn't need them; his instinct tells him enough. He doesn't even bother to knock, simply barges in, only to see that the boy sits on the bed he used to sit on, in the exact same position as him. And he knows it's not just the blood loss that makes the fucker look so drowsy and smug.

The fury is pierced with an ice-tinged sword as he sees her gentle touch – she's tending to the wounds of an ungrateful kid with the same compassion she gives to all her patients, and the first thing on his mind is that she would make a good mother.

"What're you doing here?"

His voice is soaked in ash, but the boy only looks up from the bed with pure, trouble-seeking gall.

"What are you doing here…? Sir."

She's looking at him too. She's pleading with those eyes. Silently, desperately.

"You can't come here, lieutenant. Not unless you're injured."

Her request only now makes sense as he sees how the boy looks him up and down and sees there's not a scratch on him. There's no reason for him to be here other than to relieve the pain in his loins.

"Well… Have fun," the rookie jumps from the table, and the rage threatens to pull him underwater like a tide. He never needed anything but his voice to stop a man in his tracks. Not size, not rank, not even his reputation, just voice.

"My office. Five minutes."

The boy dares to give him another foul look.

"Is that all you need? Just five minutes?"

He even detects admiration in that stare – like he's some stallion, a prized old stud who receives fine mares to rut. Like the celestial woman standing behind this… boy is just some slag thrown to him like they threw to gladiators of old. His luxury whore.

The rookie finally catches the impending wrath that must swell and roil like sea inside the sockets of the skull.

Yes, boy.

Death is coming.

"Sir," the boy swallows with an arduous blob, then walks out of the goddess's domain, finally with some humility upon those shoulders.

The torture has already begun, and it shoots him full of sweet adrenaline. He tries to mask the rising war from her, but she sees enough just before he leaves her as well. Her words follow him but cannot penetrate the cloak of fury that shrouds him as he goes to prepare for carnage.

"Simon. I just stitched him together..."

…..…..…..

He doesn't solve the problem with a gun or a cock this time.

He uses his fists and a knife.

It should disgust him; how much he enjoys it. It's one of those rare occasions when he almost loses himself in the riptide of blood. The things he imagines are far worse than what he finally allows himself to do. When the boy has a split lip and half his face swollen so bad he can't even see from the bruise, when the wetness dampens the crotch area and threatens to stain the carpet, he lets him go.

"Get out."

He's a different man when he rises from beside that broken boy; from next to the knife he plunged to the floor an inch away from his face to make his intentions clear. The boy is stripped of all arrogance and probably regrets the day he got the splendid idea to insult a woman.

He doesn't have to get his hands deep into paperwork to have the rookie transferred; the boy does it for him. He leaves the base quietly as a shadow and with a face that looks like it has been forced through a waffle maker.

After that, everyone salutes him feet away.

His orders are obeyed without question, without a second's delay on missions. He has never pursued to be loved, but neither has he worked on making people fear him. Now he's not only a source of mystery and intrigue but also fear and wonder.

Soap isn't scared quite as shitless as the rest of them, but neither is he as friendly as he used to be. Price says nothing but he gets a few looks that tell him he has gone too far.

"You shouldn't have," she whispers when they're alone, stopping him in the quiet hallway. She's the only one who doesn't have fear and avoidance in her stare. If anything, the adoration in her eyes has deepened.

He has avoided her strictly, this time obeying her request not to go to her unless he has business there. He doesn't defend himself; he doesn't have the luxury to decide what should or shouldn't be done. He's not a saint nor a judge. He is territorial, though.

"You must be the craziest man I've ever met."

She talks to his shadow as he's standing only a few feet away, unable to touch her.

"Good."

"...and the most incredible."

His sharp intake of air hisses between them as the artificial light casts shadows in electric blue. She tries to thank him for bashing a face in, all her noble Hippocratic Oaths forgotten.

She takes a step – just one, to make it perfectly clear she wants to touch him too.

"You're a brute, Simon."

The woman's eyes are a deep sea of gratitude. He wonders if she's equally as wet between those legs. Her voice says it all: she likes brutes.

The worship in her stare makes him understand why wars have been waged – this is the reason why crusaders sloshed through rivers of crimson blood, why whole civilizations were destroyed. This is why swords are forged and guns are fired. He draws another breath to swear his allegiance, an oath bound in blood.

"No one's gonna call you a–"

She crosses the final breadth of air between them and lifts his mask.

…..…..…..

The waves crash on the shore like clockwork. To him, it's the sound of limbo.

The sea used to pull him in like a seductive pit, especially at night, during the sleepless shifts when he walked to the beach with nothing but the ghosts of all the people he had lost to keep him company. Watching all the futures and should have been's slowly drowning in the sea.

Now he’s here with a living being, and the cold, dead sea has turned into blooming fireworks of crimson and coral. The amnesia has turned into bliss; all the treasures lost in the depths suddenly wash up on the shore like a sunken hoard.

She takes her shoes off the minute they reach the shore, then descends the sands with laughter. She could be from a movie or a magazine, gliding through bleached gold with sunbeams in her hair, sandals dangling from the crook of her fingers, heathers kissing her feet as she dives down the path. Her smile eclipses even the setting sun, and for the first time ever, he thinks it might've been a stupid idea to enlist.

If there’s an opposite to ice and inertia, it's this.

It's her.

"You lied to me," she turns around but doesn't stop walking. "You have been to the beach."

She tilts her head as if reprimanding him, but he knows she's just laughing at his expense. She laughs at his name… She laughs at his broodings, she laughs at his shadows and his hubris.

"Does anyone else know about this place?"

"No."

There's no soul out here but theirs; even the seagulls have withdrawn to rest. She stops to admire the sun, features turning soft as she takes in her counterpart. Apparently, she likes his humble tribute, the scarcity he has to offer. Some hollow bones, his opinion of a beach. Emptiness… A day coming to an end.

"I have no words for this."

"It's just a beach," he offers, and swallows when she turns. When the fuck has he ever felt embarrassed? His mask is gone, so she can see him swallow again as she approaches. It's the strangest thing how she can still cause his heart to hammer in his chest. He's used to stepping into a hail of bullets, driving a truck through a wall, waiting for that last unaware step to lunge forth and slit a man's throat. The organ never wailed then.

Her eyes take in his every flaw and scar, the rotten work on his skin before she wraps her hands around his neck.

"No. No it's not. This is paradise."

She has to rise on her toes to kiss him, and he's glad he got rid of the mask. There's nothing between him and the taste of summer anymore – she reminds him of some bright tropical drink, something pure and sweet and innocent, pure fucking fun, something he has come to understand and define only through movies and tv.

And he knows now why he always comes back to her. It's because he was injured. Badly, severely, life-threateningly injured – no, he was already deceased.

She has introduced him back to the world: the sun, the birdsong, the simple, good life. How it feels like to have curtains, or bake just because it's Thursday, or walk barefoot on the beach in order to feel the burning sand on your skin.

What kind of a medic has the power to resurrect the dead?

"Simon," she shivers into his mouth. "I'm sorry. I didn't want people to think that… That we're just…"

"Pet. I know."

"They said you didn't trouble yourself with relationships."

Years of instinct and training make his spine tingle. He's holding another future in his arms and hopes it's not possible for a sea to swallow a sun.

"They?"

"Well, John. Captain."

Her lashes hide what's going through her mind, but he can tell she's feeling shy from the way she shifts in his embrace.

"I asked about you. In spring. If there's someone… waiting for you."

He wrestles down a bitter laugh. The only lover ever waiting for him was nothingness in that chair; the only wife he came home to was shades, shadows, and dust.

But he's starting to understand what she's trying to say. How, without even thinking about it, he just made the strongest possible declaration of not being here just for sex. He couldn't have sent a louder message with that boy.

Because not only Jonathan Price know that she's his. Soap knows too. Gaz knows too. Everyone working in Task Force 141 knows, even the fucking scrubbers and accountants know what's going on. Everyone knows that Ghost is real, and alive, and troubles himself with a relationship.

"I dreamed of you, you know." Her lashes flutter open, and he's met with the perfect example of total surrender. She's more than happy with the outcome, and why the hell shouldn't she be? Actions speak louder than words. He of all people should know that.

"Love–"

"Do you remember the day I found out you were a smoker?"

"...Sure."

She laughs, taking him back to the odd meeting in the yard when she was prying her suffocating latex gloves off, and he was trying to find some solace in a cigarette because he couldn't have her.

"I was so angry at you. Playing with death at every turn..."

"Yeah. Not the perfect man."

"But you were. You are."

"Pet. If someone's perfect, it's you."

"No… I'm a hypocrite. I wanted you to just–just take me against the wall. After your stupid smoke."

He always wondered if she was suffocating too. In her gloves, in her beauty, in her sterile, medical, professional chasteness.

But he had no fucking clue that she–

"Or during, I don't care…"

Even the thought of her wanting him to tear apart her facades shatters the last sane thought in his head. He has tried to be civil, tried to suffocate the longing, but apparently, he doesn't have to. The image of burying himself inside her cunt while taking a drag from the thing she despises even more than his name or his mask or his guns is too fucking much. The fact that she views a dog like him as a perfect man makes his cock answer her call like a good, stout soldier.

"Is that so?"

She stops breathing for a moment as he takes a drag from her now. She's raw whiskey straight to an empty stomach, the way his mind goes blank from sliding his mouth over the column of her throat. She tastes of sea there, and it's not pulling him in; it's pulling him under. The open-mouthed kisses make her jolt, he even draws out a moan or two; they swell between his legs.

"You like that…?"

She answers to him with a soft whine. A soft nib of her ear, and her hips reply with a roll. The woman tries to latch onto him by gripping his shirt, threatening to do permanent damage to the fabric.

"No walls here, pet. Gotta take you on the sand," he gruffs in her ear, cock hard and ready from her tight little breaths. He could bet half his money that she's wetter than November down there. He could drag his cockhead across her cunt and the sound would be divine.

"Simon–"

"I'll light a cig first."

"Stop teasing," she laughs, voice thick with hunger.

"...Roger that."

His hand is on his belt before he knows it. It's pathetic how much patience he has if he needs to crouch in a downpour and wait for a kill, but at the sight and smell and taste of her, he can't stop himself from wrenching his belt and pants open like a starved dog. It's a rush born of fear - that any time could be the last time.

She seems to shiver from his stare only when she lays herself upon the warm sand, naked as can be. She's like a vision on that beach: leaning on her elbows, thighs slowly parting, revealing the glistening sex between her legs. And she's fucking dripping, like an overripe peach. He could've safely bet all his money on her.

"How do you want me?"

Fucking fuck…

He's walking in a dream: the most beautiful woman in the world is lying naked before his feet, bathing in gold, asking how he would prefer to take her. He doesn't even bother to get out of his clothes; he merely tugs his pants down and crawls between her legs, relishing the tight gasp he gets from being so crude.

Her eyes grow wide at the sight of him there, so close to her core, cock hanging heavy just an inch away from that tight cunt. She tries so hard to look composed while lying under his shadow, to not make it obvious that she wants that ugly thing inside. And it does feel like sin not to spread those legs and plough right in, especially when his fingers meet her silk and find that she's already throbbing.

"Want you just like this, pet," he rasps while dragging the pad of his thumb around her clit. Her back arches on the sand, forcing his fingers deeper into the dripping fruit.

It's different, her wetness; not thick and halfway there, but flowing, leaking, soaking good. The pussy is so glazed that he slips at the first attempt to slide a finger in. Her walls grip him the second he's seated deep, making it known how much she appreciates it that he's not here just for sex.

"Someone's greedy," he's breathing rough, and she whines – he only gets to two fingers before she demands him to fuck her already.

"Want your–I need your cock…"

She's begging, poor thing, almost crying on the sand, and he has no fucking choice but to remove his fingers and grab his cock instead.

"Have to go slow, love."

"Riley–for god's sake, now."

"F' fuck's sake…" He stumbles forward, all but gracefully, forces the tip on her soaked cunt as delicately as he can before pushing right in. She cries from the spread, fingers curling in the sand: a futile attempt to take him in without fainting.

"Tried to warn ya–"

"Don't you dare stop," she gasps, eyes full of love. As always, her wish is his command, and the tightness makes it an endless journey to bliss. The basest parts of him think about dying – having a heart attack on the same beach he almost drowned in, about ceasing to exist just for the sake of knowing that nothing is as good as this.

He's deep as can fucking be, and it's still not enough – it's never enough. He collects her in his arms with a frustrated grunt, cock giving a tight pull only when she's finally safe and snug in his embrace. It's a tight cuddle that leaves them both breathless.

"Hold me tighter..."

It's a soft order, but he can't get any closer: chest plastered on her skin and balls pressed against her ass, the sand grinding against her back as he makes love to her. She’s not made of twigs, but he’s far bigger than her, already threatening to crush her with his weight.

"Tighter…" she begs on his lips, tries to pull him closer with her whole being.

"Pet, I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," she sings, completely shieldless. Something warns him of danger, a reset far worse than drowning or being buried alive or shooting himself in a lonely apartment. He tries to calm her down with a kiss: he knows she loves kisses - but there are tears in her eyes, and his heart is hammering, hammering…

"Simon, do you love me…?"

She asks that question right on his lips, and the first thing in his dog mind is that it's a stupid thing to ask when he's balls deep inside her and still trying to get closer.

"Yeah," he almost chokes on it, knowing it could be their wedding day and he would still choke on it because it doesn't taste like salt or metal or grave.

"I love you," she whispers. "Do you understand?"

No. No…

I fuckin' don't–

"And I'll always be here for you."

To his shock, there’s no sea water in his lungs, no dirt in his mouth. He’s not choking on anything, he's not in fact dying at all: he’s floating, somewhere between the sun and the sand and the sea. There's no more rush, no jaws of death snapping at his heels. He doesn't even long for heaven anymore. Not when there's a paradise on earth.

"Love, I need you to–need you to focus," he tries to stutter nonsense while she's pledging herself to him. Of course she only laughs at him: it hits him with the sweetest warmth.

"You're so silly…"

"Yeah? I know."

He's laughing too. It's just a few notes that get taken away by the sound of waves. It's just a breath from deep within, and still… Her gaze drops to his mouth, a flutter blinks back more tears.

"I love it when you laugh..." Her eyes shine brighter than the sun, riding the spine of the sea as one perfect tear rolls down her cheek. "Love it…"

The sun sets in tangerine, his new favourite colour. There's a whole bloom out there in the sky when she comes, fast and bright in his embrace. He comes right after, just from trying to stay inside her warmth, deep inside her, around her, and she says it, again and again and again… Until he breathes.

….….….

"Remember when I said I could've managed? Without you," she asks when they lie on the sand, skin on skin, watching the sun set beneath the onyx sea. The waves rise and break, but around them, the air is still. He's still inside her as she pulls his hand over her heart, entwining their fingers together: it's the softest little arrest, but her squeeze doesn't lack strength.

"I lied too."

"I know."

She chuckles softly. "Is there something you don't know?"

"...Yeah. Why you're here out of all places."

She turns her head from the sunset into the falling darkness of him, and he wonders if that's why she's here... To be with his night. She said that people always get the dark wrong: that it's not supposed to be scary at all. That the purpose of darkness is safety, security, that there are tales where the day chases the night, and the night chases the day. She said it's because they're in love with each other.

"You really don't know…?"

"You were smiling before we met and now you're crying all the time."

She looks up at him with trust and devotion, his daylight, his sun. There's none in the sky anymore, but it doesn't matter. It lives in her eyes.

"People cry from happiness too, Simon."

#ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #ghost x female reader #ghost smut #simon riley smut #simon riley fluff #cod fanfic

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deancasbigbang · 3 months ago

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Title: Drive

Author: LoversAntiquities

Artist: sidewinder

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Dean/Castiel, implied Sam/Rowena

Length: 26000

Warnings: None

Tags: Roadtrip, Casefic, Motorcycles, Sharing a bed, Post-Season 11, Canon divergent, Learning to move on

Posting Date: October 8, 2024

Summary: Dean has cabin fever--which is fine, and a luxury, considering he spent most of his life on the road. Except, when he suggests that he and Castiel take a roadtrip on two of the motorcycles in the motor pool to anywhere they want, Sam drops the mother of all bombshells on him--that he's moving out to attend college in Lawrence, and Rowena is tutoring him in the art of witchcraft. The world is cruel--at least, he thinks, but the road and his burgeoning new relationship with Castiel give him perspective, and the opportunity to finally relinquish the control his father gave him all those years ago: to let Sam go to live his own life, and to let someone look out for him for a change, that someone being the love of his life, and the one man Dean never thought he could have, until Castiel says otherwise.

Excerpt: “One bed, huh?” Dean says amid the silence. Castiel hums a noise that sounds like agreement. “She didn’t offer a foldout or anything?” “Is it a problem?” Castiel opens one eye, not even bothering to turn his head. Maybe in the past, it would be, but now… “I’m tired, man,” Dean huffs and slinks lower. “I’d sleep on concrete if I had to.” “Concrete and sharing a mattress are two different things, though,” Castiel comments. He leans closer, draping his arm over the edge of the tub to let his fingers dip into the water. Swallowing, Dean debates between moving his thigh away and shifting just that bit closer. “You never answered me this morning, when I asked if you were ashamed of sharing a bed with me.” This again. “It’s fine.” He turns his head, his jaw tight. “It’s just—I’m fine, okay? Not gonna get squirrely just because we gotta share a bed—” “Dean.” Castiel lowers his voice, and a shiver runs down the length of Dean’s spine, like Castiel might scold him for talking back, or not talking at all. “If you have a problem, you need to let me know. I’d be more than happy to sit aside for the night.” Fear rises, not from Castiel’s tone, but from the idea of Castiel leaving because of him, because one of his hangups ruined a perfectly decent night’s sleep. He doesn’t have a problem with it—never has, but… “You don’t think it’s weird?” He bends his knees, then stretches his legs out with a few inches to spare. The only good thing about this motel—oversized bathtubs. “The whole…” “Do I find it strange to share a bed with another man?” Castiel clarifies, and Dean nods, sheepish. “It’s just…” He stops, scrubs his face with a wet hand. He needs to shave, his stubble rough under his fingertips. For a long, silence-filled minute, he sits there, staring at the faucet while the cogs grind in his brain, trying to formulate any sort of sentence that doesn’t sound like I’m attracted to dudes, isn’t that weird?

DCBB 2024 Posting Schedule

#dcbb 2024 #fic preview #2024 promo #deancas #destiel

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abbysimsfun · 16 days ago

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Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 86 (Family Drama)

The next evening, before Heather and Conrad left for their date, her youngest sister, Hazel, arrived in Brindleton Bay to watch her niece and nephew.

Ash excitedly called to her from the computer as soon as she walked in the door. "Aunt Hazel, Aunt Hazel, come check out my new game!"

"Thanks for driving out here so Conrad and I can have a night out," Heather said. "The security cameras are working and Conrad's getting the kids fed before we go, so just get them to bed at a decent hour and no horror movies."

"It's just food colouring," she protested, but with Heather's stern glance she nodded obediently. "Sorry, Ashy. No Moonlight Massacre tonight, after all."

Heather changed the subject before Ash could complain. "I'm sad you won't be in town when we're in Henford this weekend to meet River and Cass' new baby boy. Dad says you don't call home enough."

Hazel laughed. "Dad tells me you don't call enough! None of us could ever call home enough. River still lives there and Dad probably thinks he doesn't get to see enough of him, either."

"Missing out on Dad guilt tripping us to visit for a political conference in San Myshuno's pretty cool, though. Ash, that's enough game time. Conrad's almost finished making your dinner."

Ash moaned, but he turned off the computer and headed for the kitchen as Hazel picked up her niece for a cuddle in her unicorn onesie. "I'm kind of glad to be out of Henford for the night to get in time with Ashy and Lava. Has that weird old dude been a problem lately?"

Heather made sure Ash was out of earshot. "Not since the restraining order," she said, the relief on her face more than evident. "And you're stuck on those nicknames, huh? I thought nicknames were too corny for you."

"It's not my fault your kids are just as cool as volcanoes, big sis."

Heather grinned. Hazel, the baby of their family, could get away with anything and dripped charm to spare, but Heather could tell something was weighing on her mind. "Are you doing okay?"

Hazel took a deep breath, setting Lavender down before she moved to the sofa. "What made you realize you wanted to be single when we were in high school?"

Heather laughed. "It was just easier than having feelings. It's still easier than having feelings, but finding the right person is better. What's wrong?"

She frowned. "What if Nicola and I got married too young? We're different people than we were as teens. When her dad died of a heart attack a few months ago, it felt like I wasn't married to the same person anymore. I know she's grieving, but what if we didn't wait long enough into young adulthood to figure it all out?"

Heather could empathize with her sister's confusion over love and relationships. Not too long ago, Heather would have found it unthinkable to offer her siblings, of all people, relationship advice, but Conrad had shown her what great love could be.

"You know I've never been very flirty or romantic, and I held on to my relationship with Malcolm too long because I didn't think I deserved any better. I'd never recommend it, but I also know Nicola's not Malcolm Landgraab. If you trust her, you can tell her the truth."

Hazel nodded. "No, she's definitely not like Malcolm."

"If you're truly unhappy, don't force it because you think you're supposed to. But if you're asking me, I think it means there's still some fight in you to keep it together."

(Lovestruck's new relationship and chemistry features went after Hazel and her new wife, and I'm rolling with it to see what happens. I cheated their relationship back up a bit - as if what Heather said encouraged her to fight a little more - and we'll see how it goes with them.

The way I said that probably gave away what might happen but pfft you don't know!)

Grateful for her eldest sister's advice, Hazel turned her attention back to Lavender, while Heather joined Ash and Conrad in the kitchen.

"Tomorrow night we'll pack some things into your backpack for your weekend at your dad's," Heather said to her son. "He'll pick you up after school on Friday and take you to his place for the weekend."

"He'll probably send their driver like usual," he shrugged. "But Ray's cool."

"What do you mean, 'like usual?'"

Ash looked at her with confusion etched on his face. "Daddy's reporting til seven on the news every weeknight, Mommy!"

Heather stared at Conrad, wide-eyed. "He told me he does those hits pre-recorded."

"He always sends Ray, and Ray always takes me to get ice cream before we get to Daddy's penthouse. Why do you look pretend happy, Mommy? I love ice cream!"

"Your mom just hasn't met Ray, buddy."

"But Mommy, he's not a stranger. He's Ray!"

Heather plastered a smile, and Conrad reached under the table to caress her clenched fist. "I'll be at school on Friday afternoon when Ray's there to pick you up at three," she said. "If he's as nice as you say, I don't want him to be a stranger to me."

Ash smiled. "Okay, Mommy, that's a good a idea."

Heather felt constantly undermined by the Landgraabs. But there was little she could say without disappointing her son, and she didn't want bitterness to affect her night with Conrad. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: Their date continues Monday but tomorrow there will be a bonus post inspired by @purplesimmer455! 👀

NOTE 2: Also noting, since this is an episode where nothing much seems to be happening, there are a few subtle hints in here, too, about how Conrad is on a pedestal, especially when Heather compares him to Malcolm, even though we all know he's keeping this massive secret from her, too.

#sims 4 #sims 4 gameplay #sims 4 screenshots #sims 4 legacy #sims in bloom #ts4 #ts4 gameplay #ts4 legacy #ts4 screenshots #sims 4 story #ts4 story #legacy challenge #sims legacy #ts4 legacy challenge #gen 2 #brindleton bay

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ghcstao3 · 1 year ago

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second time i'm putting ghost and tommy in a band just because

but them being pretty big in the underground punk scene but never straying from that local-band vibe even after they've attracted a decent following. their plan had never been to go big, just to make music, so that's what they do.

johnny's a frequenter of underground shows, and he just so happened to catch word of one when he's in manchester for whatever reason. so of course he goes, uncaring if he knows any names, because music is music, and he's just there for a good time.

when simon and tommy's band comes onto the stage, johnny is absolutely enamoured with the band. somehow it's just about everything he likes all meshed into one act, and while the frontman is energetic, and has seemingly perfected that line between professional and amateur in his sound, and the drummer and guitarist all the same—johnny's eyes are on the bassist the entire time.

his smeared eyeliner and half-obscured face, his messy hair and bloodied knuckles like he'd just come fresh from a fight before playing. his casual stance and dark eyes and—it's no wonder johnny subconsciously worms his way to the very front just to gaze up at the man from up close.

shame johnny hadn't caught the band's name when it had been announced. he feels a sudden need to follow them along all of their shows.

which, speaking of—once the set is over, johnny does the stupid thing of trying to find where the band heads off to. he'd done it once or twice before, and usually shows like this lend the acts to spend time with the crowd as a part of it at some point, so it's not... so difficult.

he doesn't end up finding the band—at least, not all of it.

because in the alley of the venue, johnny finds the bassist smoking, face now fully exposed as he brings a cigarette to his lips.

with nothing to lose but his dignity, johnny sidles up to the man as casually as he can manage, as if he hadn't just become a big fan.

"great gig," johnny says. "how long have you been playing?"

the bassist barely spares him a glance. "few years now. s'there somethin' i can help you with or what?"

his voice is a pleasant rumble in johnny's chest, as low and steady as the bass itself. his tone is indifferent, though, and johnny thinks to change that.

"only lookin' for a name." johnny shrugs, leaning perhaps a bit too close.

the bassist finally looks to him, a mild confusion written into his face. up close, his eyes are impossibly darker, voids johnny thinks he could gladly sink into.

"simon," he eventually supplies. "that it?"

johnny grins. "maybe. you have other shows coming up? haven't heard you guys before, and i have a bit of a thing for live music."

simon stares at him a moment. if johnny watched close enough—which he certainly does—he'd notice the subtle upwards quirk of simon's lips.

"we have gigs planned, yeah. you have a pen? i'll write the date for you."

johnny frowns, just a bit, before searching his person for something to write with.

the best he manages is an eyeliner pencil, but apparently it's good enough for simon to take johnny's arm to write on his skin. the drag of the pencil across his skin is harsh, though it's hardly simon's fault.

johnny watches simon's face the entire time, the lit cigarette dangling from his lips. he never once questions why he couldn't have just been told the date.

"try not to rub it," simon advises once he's finished, straightening his back and offering the pencil back to johnny. "see you around..."

"john," he says. he tucks the pencil away, never bothering to glance at his arm.

"johnny," simon decides instead, taking one last drag of his smoke before snubbing it out on the brick wall and flicking it to the ground. he brushes past johnny and disappears back inside through a door johnny hadn't previously noticed.

it isn't until much too late that johnny looks down and sees that a date had not, in fact, been written on his arm—but rather, a phone number.

cheeky bastard.

the worst part is that johnny still doesn't know the band's name.

#listening to fugazi while writing this #so picture that as the Vibe #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #ghoap #alternate universe #writing

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darlingdekarios · 1 year ago

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bending to the honeysuckles.

rating: explicit. 18+ only. length: 17,216 content: William "Ironhead" Miller x f!reader, reader has a prior drug addiction, drug addiction recovery, drug rehab, mentions of past abuse in a relationship, pining, fluff, Will is a simp, smut [oral, unprotected p in v]

while you insist you don't want a relationship, Will Miller falls for you like it's his destiny to do so. he's willing to meet you where you are while he waits for you to let him love you.

Life had been hell for Frankie Morales since he’d returned from Colombia. While he was able to keep decent control of himself for the first couple of weeks, the things he’d done caught up to him – they always did. He’d retreated into himself, away from his friends and into the confines of his house, numbing his feelings with whatever he could. At first, it was several beers every day, and when that wasn’t enough it was liquor. When the liquor wasn’t enough, he’d remembered what could truly help him – cocaine – and it had all just sort of spiraled from there.

Three months after his return home Frankie staggered into his birthday dinner with dilated pupils, a running nose and an air of confidence only to be met with an intervention from Pope, Benny, and Ironhead. The reminder of how pathetically few people cared about him stung initially, but he quickly remembered he deserved even less than that. He found himself in a rehabilitation program then, spending the next 90-days of his life with far-too-nice people trying to help him get his shit together.

As he expected, Santiago had taken up residence in his spare bedroom in Frankie’s absence, deciding to stick around in the states to ensure his best friend actually recovered this time, found a career for himself, and didn’t lose his house. He’d started attending a group session for recovering cocaine addicts the same week, and that was where he’d met you.

You were at least a decade younger, quiet until you were directly spoken to, and sarcastic and quick when it was your turn to talk. The message deciphered from your introduction of yourself was that you had just moved to take over your grandfather’s company, you were coming up on six years of sobriety, and you did not like to be around people. His second meeting, a week later and your six months of sobriety, you’d approached him at the end of the meeting to propose being his sponsor.

The two of you had been friends since. Wednesday nights you met for dinner before you made your way to group together, and Sunday nights you had a quick phone call to check-in with one another. As much as it helped Frankie to have someone outside of the Delta Force to understand his situation – that he trusted to understand him – it helped you just the same. You had moved to the area a month ago and finding people tolerable was difficult. He quickly became your closest friend, and he was more than happy to introduce you to the other people in his life.

When Will had first suggested coming along to group with Frankie to offer some support, it was a surprise when the older man agreed and mentioned you immediately, almost proud to have someone to introduce to the man he looked up to so much. You’d agreed it was fine to skip dinner that week so Frankie could come along with Will, almost relieved for the extra time alone between work and group. It gave you a chance to shower and change into something a little better than your pink work overalls, ready to meet the first additional person in Frankie’s life.

Frankie walked in much later than he normally would, and while you would normally jokingly call to him from across the room for cutting it close, you lost whatever wit you’d planned on using when your eyes landed on the gorgeous blonde following behind your friend. When Frankie spotted you he raised a hand to wave, which you returned feebly, eyes a little too focused on the newcomer.

“We’re cutting it close, I know,” Frankie breathed when he approached you, your senses suddenly returning and forcing you to your feet in politeness. “This is Will. Will, this is my friend I’ve been telling you about.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were late for your own birth, Frankie,” you greeted him with a quick hug, fixing your eyes on Will with a smile as you mentally swooned under the gaze of his blue eyes. “Nice to meet you, Will.”

William Miller did not get distracted.

When he had a responsibility – a job to complete – Will was laser-focused, in-control, and driven. Whether he was in an active combat zone or giving a speech to a group of veterans trying to rejoin society, he was always able to stay on the task at hand until he’d completed it – until he’d excelled at it. Tonight, his task was to support his friend, his brother, Frankie – and tonight was the first time in months he felt he’d truly failed at his task.

He couldn’t pull his attention away from you for the next two hours. No matter who was talking, even Frankie, Will found his eyes glancing to you, eager to see your reactions and expressions and your body language. On one particularly long-winded monologue from a woman about how she had just tried cocaine for fun, and it ended up ruining her marriage (she cheated on her husband, that’s what really ruined the marriage), you rolled your eyes in Will’s direction while mouthing:

“Are you having fun yet?” Will nearly laughed at the question but opted to respond with a much more situationally appropriate light smile and subtle thumbs up. Your eyes flashed with mischief as you mouthed again. “Liar.”

He couldn’t get you out of his head after that meeting and found himself asking Frankie if he could go with him again the next week, and again, and soon enough he was a regular supporter of the meeting, showing up early to set up snacks and coffee and keeping track of the sign-in sheet. Each time he found himself falling more and more into whatever trap you’d seemingly laid out just for him, and even though he really didn’t get the chance to talk with you much, his interest was sparked enough to want to get to know you more. It was after the fourth meeting he’d joined that he lingered in the parking lot with you even after Frankie had left.

That was the night he’d begun to understand the depth of his fascination with you. Sitting in his trunk bed drinking bottles of water Will permanently kept in his backseat he marveled in you as you opened up to him and showed him who you were…at least as much as you were willing to share. As much as he hung on your every word, you did the same for him, unable to look away from his face as he spoke and enamored by the things he told you about himself.

“I like hanging out in parking lots with you, Will Miller,” you’d complimented, eyes sparkling under the full moon’s light. “You’re good company.”

“Yeah, we should do it again sometime,” came his reply before he could stop it. Reaching to scratch the back of his neck, he opted to continue – there was no going back now. “Maybe the parking lot of a restaurant…after dinner?”

You felt your cheeks burn immediately and, even more embarrassing, the smile that spread across your face like the sun breaking through clouds on a stormy day. All too soon, though, the clouds returned, the melancholy filling your voice. “I’d love to say yes but I…can’t. I’m not looking for anything serious right now with…well, everything. And I don’t want to give you the wrong idea.”

While it wasn’t the reason you’d given, on your drive home you had to think about the fact that Will Miller deserved far more than a recovering addict who was just figuring out how to really take care of herself. If you had only seen his thoughts on his own drive, about how long he’d wait until you were ready, you may have turned around and given into him.

Things settled a bit over the coming weeks. You offered Frankie a job helping you out with jarring the honey and making local deliveries for you, which he’d been happy to accept in the meantime until he could get his license back. It was nice to have him around – he was often the one to remind you to take a moment to hydrate, but he never bothered you while you worked. He even took it upon himself to make some minor repairs to your barn in some of his spare time. Another month had passed faster than you could believe, the time filled with settling into your business and spending time with Frankie and his best friend, Santiago.

Frankie had offered many times – at least once per week – for you to join them for drinks, or dinner, or at the beach. You’d refused every offer, unwilling to face Will again for fear of your wavering resolve. But this week, a Friday, it was different when Frankie asked you to join them before he headed out in the morning to spend his day making deliveries. The loneliness was finally catching up to you, and you figured some time out with other people would serve you well. Plus, despite the bickering you and Santi often found yourselves in, you knew Frankie surrounded himself with good people, and you could trust spending time with them. You agreed to let him pick you up at 7:30, and he agreed with a nod and a smile. Even if you had a miserable time, at least going would ensure Frankie’s happiness for the night.

By the time Frankie’s shitty truck had pulled into the driveway of the old farmhouse you now found yourself living in, you were moments away from sending a text that said you’d changed your mind, the nerves of your horrible day making you dread an unfamiliar place. As you pulled a jacket on and locked the door behind you a sigh released from your lips before you began to make your way to him. While you were finalizing your mental argument about whether it was too late to cancel you saw Frankie’s face peering out of the driver’s side window, an earnest smile on his lips. He was unrelentingly kind and made the decision you faced easy – there was no way you could cancel on Frankie Morales and sleep at night.

“Hiya, Crankie,” you greeted as you climbed into the front seat, rolling the window down before you’d buckled yourself in. Your use of the nickname you’d bestowed upon Frankie made the man shake his head, a quiet laugh sounding as he began the drive.

“Hi, abejita,” came his usual reply, glancing out of the corner of his eye to take in more of your expression. You’d obviously tried to get in the mood to go out, but the tired expression was one Frankie recognized – you probably just wanted to be alone tonight, and yet you were still seated next to him. “Didn’t sleep well last night?”

Of course he knew – he always did. The two of you had spent the last few months bonding over a similar addiction background, and it was nice to have someone that truly understood you. There were no niceties with you and Frankie, and it was the reason the two of you had become such close friends.

“Oh, you know me, Francisco…’I’ll sleep when I’m dead,’ yada yada yad,” you turned your head toward him, offering a falsely reassuring smile. “What’s your excuse? I swear there’s at least five more greys in your hair.”

“I only counted three this morning,” he matched your taunting, chuckling softly at your joking.

“Yeah, well, I’ve told you that you need glasses, and this just proves my point,” you joked, rolling your head back the other way to rest it on the cool glass of the window. “I probably shouldn’t even let you drive me around…talk about self-destructive behaviors.”

He laughed again and the comfortable silence set in, the rest of the drive to he and his friends’ chosen bar passing with light conversation about your days, and both of you agreeing to keep one another to the one drink maximum you’d set. Frankie thanked you for deciding to come with him, and it was a sincere show of appreciation – having someone unbiased and understanding of his situation there to support his recovery was important. And, truthfully – he was helping yours just as much.

Plus, there was the promise of seeing Will again. While it was annoying, it was also impossible to admit that the mere thought of seeing his pale blue eyes again in the flesh caused your stomach to fill with butterflies. It was ridiculous – you’d meant what you said when he’d asked you out a month ago, you didn’t want to pursue anyone or be pursued right now. That didn’t stop you from thinking about his sparkling blue eyes, or the lines of his smile, or how he’d looked at you like you were the only thing he wanted to look at. You wanted to see him, and could only hope, maybe cruelly, that he wanted to see you as well.

“What are you over there thinking about, abejita?” Frankie pulled you back to reality with a quiet voice as you pulled into the bar parking lot, glancing over at you briefly. “You didn’t complain about my driving at all.”

You smiled and shook your head, unwilling to admit to Frankie you’d been thinking about one of his best friends – one of his brothers. The question of whether Will had told them about asking you out flashed through your mind, and fortunately Frankie shifting his truck into park gave you a feasible reason to not answer his questioning. “Let’s go do this. And remember, if someone offers you cocaine in the bathroom…just say no.”

Frankie laughed in bewilderment nearly the entire way into the bar, a bright smile still spread across his face when the two of you made your way through the door. The sounds of Metallica from the jukebox confirmed Santiago was there before your eyes even landed on the mess of grey and black atop his head, drifting over to the golden locks of Benny Miller with his girlfriend sat beside him. As you walked toward their table you released a sigh of relief, though at the same time your stomach knotted in disappointment – no Will.

After your hellos and introduction to Benny’s girlfriend, Frankie excused himself to grab both of you a soda from the bar to start with – it was refreshing to see that this group didn’t even bat an eye at the two of you not ordering alcohol, and you had to mentally commend Frankie for his taste in company. Leaning on the counter height table with an elbow you met Santiago’s lingering gaze.

“You better not be standing to do what I think you’re going to do,” he warned, his words met with a mischievous smile from you. His arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowing at your body language.

“Oh, I’m definitely standing to do what you think I’m going to do,” you taunted, sticking out your leg slightly to block him into the booth. “And you are just going to have to deal with it, Santiago.”

His hand twitched toward the glass of dark liquid in front of him, taking a sip as his eyes stayed on yours. You offered another smile, lazily drumming your fingernails on the table beneath you. Benny’s voice interrupted the stare down, both of you turning to look at him. “I’m sorry, what is happening here?”

“I refuse to subject the people of this bar to Santiago’s Greatest Hits playlist all night. I’m picking the next song,” you replied, offering another smile to the man you were blocking in the booth. Benny was the first laugh you heard, but from behind you another laugh rumbled – and Frankie still hadn’t returned from the bar.

“Nice to see someone keeping Pope in his place,” the older Miller brother commented from behind you, immediately sending a chill up your spine and a rush of heat to your cheeks. Forgetting to leave your leg planted you turned to greet him with a smile, eyes brighter than they should be for someone who’d turned him down a month earlier. He didn’t care to hide the smile he offered you back. “Sorry I’m late. Got a little hung up at work, hope I didn’t miss anything.”

Your willingness to spar faltered, and all you could manage under his gaze was a nod, your bottom lip pulling between your teeth. He turned to greet Benny, who had stood, with a hug before saying a quick hello to Danielle and offering her a gentle hug. Even Santiago got a quick version of a hug. You tried to ignore the jealousy that twisted your stomach.

“You were just about to miss the musical showdown of the century,” Benny remarked, planting himself back into the booth with an arm around Dani’s shoulders. “Someone is finally standing up to Santiago’s musical monopoly.”

“Just because you people don’t know how to appreciate the American classics,” Santiago began, ready to fling himself into a grandiose monologue before Benny beat you to the punch, entering an argument with the older man about the definition of “classics”. You took that as your sign to exit to the juke box, unnoticed by Santi, but not unnoticed altogether – William had followed closely behind you.

“Are you my escort for the evening, Mr. Miller?” you questioned, attempting a playful tone to cover the nerves you felt around him. “I don’t think I’d get lost on the way to show up Santiago. There’s too much at stake.”

Another laugh rumbled in his chest – it was nice to make someone laugh as much as you made him. “The buttons on that old thing stick sometimes, and I wanna make sure you can use it.”

You couldn’t help but smile a little slowing down your steps to join at his side and glancing up at him as you walked. He had to mentally remind himself not to wrap an arm around you, no matter how badly he wanted to. “You know, helping me figure out the machine makes you an accomplice. I wonder how Santiago will feel about your mutiny.”

“Probably about the same way he feels about most things.”

“Forlorn and personally affronted?”

He laughed again in response, siding up to the juke box with you. He allowed you a moment to get your bearings on the machine, and though you likely quickly realized his white lie about the buttons sticking, you didn’t call him on it. “I was happy when Fish said you were coming out,” he admitted, leaning on the machine on his side next to you. When you broke concentration to meet his gaze briefly, he had to remind himself to breathe.

“I almost cancelled. Had a bad day at work and didn’t want to look miserable and stupid,” you replied with a shrug, returning your focus to the juke box and flipping through albums. What Will wanted to do was sit down somewhere quiet with you and talk to you about your day, to listen to whatever complaints you wanted to hurl to a listening ear – but it wasn’t the time or place. He lowered his voice as Santiago’s previous choice finished up.

“Miserable may be one of the last words I’d use to describe how you look,” he drawled, removing his appreciative glance from you to focus on what album you’d sought out. He felt you glance upward at him and could swear he heard the quick catch of your breath.

“You’re very distracting,” you joked, eager to break this tension. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth slightly in an attempt to stifle the smile that was threatening to break under his attention, but it was to no avail – your burning cheeks gave away the fluttering in your stomach enough. “It’s impossible to put Santiago to shame when I can’t focus on this very important song decision.”

He hummed in understanding, nodding his head as he fixed his eyes on you again. Gazing up into the blue pools that waited expectantly you were met with a slightly raised eyebrow. It was infuriating how he managed to look effortlessly flawless. “Should I go back to the table and leave you to it, then?”

“No,” came an embarrassingly immediate reply. “No, just…shut up. Stand there and…keep…looking like a fucking magazine cover, but shut up.”

Will smiled first, a rumbling laughter sounding in his chest. It was impossible not to smile at the laugh you’d pulled from him, eyes taking in the lines of his smile at the corners of his mouth and own eyes. You felt the pull at your heart and had to swallow down the feelings building in your chest, forcing yourself to look back at the juke box – though the smile he’d earned lingered as well. He wanted to reach out to touch you in the short summer dress you’d worn, to hold you closer to him with a hand on your hip – but it wasn’t his place to do so.

Once you’d queued up your song choice you made your way back to the table with Will, glad to see Frankie had returned with a lemonade for you. When you slid into the booth you were delighted to have Will slide up next to you, the warmth continuing to pool from him. As he moved in a little closer, perhaps, than he needed to your song choice began to play over the speakers.

“No way she’s embarrassing you with Donovan right now, Pope!” Benny called, his laughter loud over the music. You smiled a victorious smile across the table at him, eyes bright now that you had confirmation at least one other person at the table agreed with you.

“She thought really hard about her decision,” Will added, taking a drink of the bottled beer sat in front of him. You nudged him with your elbow lightly adding in a playful eye roll.

“I took my duty serious,” you explained before turning your attention back to Benny. “At least someone in this group has good taste. Sometimes Frankie’s music is shit, too.”

“Hey now,” the named man intervened, offering a raspy laugh at your call-out.

“You could try to tell me I’m wrong, but you haven’t reached six months of sobriety yet and your opinions are, understandably, questionable,” you joked, giving him a playful nudge to communicate you were joking if it wasn’t clear.

“So, you have Frankie working down at the…is it called a bee farm?” Benny questioned, pulling Dani in closer to plant a kiss to the top of her head. In the far end of the booth Santiago rolled his eyes, scoffing out a laugh as Frankie nodded.

“Yeah, I took over the business…about five months ago now. It was my grandfather’s, and he passed away,” you explained, taking a drink of your lemonade and wishing you’d had Frankie get you something stronger to get you through the questioning. “I was looking to move, anyway so it…kind of worked out, though I’m not sure my grandpa would appreciate that phrasing.”

Will loved how easy it was for you to find your place in the group.

“Where’d you move from?” Dani questioned, sipping on her hard seltzer to savor it. “I don’t hear an accent, really.”

“Middle of nowhere Montana,” you answered, anticipating the next question. Might as well answer it before someone asked. “I’d been in a relationship but…well, it wasn’t a good one. I left him earlier this year and ended up in a rehab program for cocaine addiction. When I got out…I had a couple of months in sanctioned housing, but I needed a change of scenery. It wasn’t long after that the family lawyer called to say the farm and business were passed to me in the will.”

Will caught the way you chose your words carefully as you spoke about your relationship, noticing how your voice had a slight shake to them. The possibilities of your cryptic words tore into him, festering in quiet anger as he ran through what that could mean. It was possible you’d simply been incompatible, perhaps fighting frequently. It was possible he’d broken your heart by being unfaithful. Or, and Will seriously hoped this wasn’t the case, it was possible your ex had been abusive toward you. The thought made him dig his fingers into the table’s edge.

As he allowed the thoughts to consume him for longer than he’d intended the conversation carried on, Benny beginning to understand why his friends had spent the last few weeks talking up this woman. His thoughts were broken by Santiago slapping his fist to the table quickly.

“Let’s play a round of darts. Winner picks the next five songs. Loser deals with it,” he offered, reaching upward to run his fingers through his hair. With a shrug you finished your lemonade, offering a mischievous smile once again.

“Let me drag up a chair for you to sit in while we play so your knees don’t give out with all that standing, peepaw,” you joked, pulling a round of laughter from everyone at the table except for Santiago, of course, and none louder than Will. The latter took his cue to stand and let you make your way across the bar with Santiago, bickering back and forth as you went. His gaze lingered far too long to go unnoticed.

“I know our mom taught us that it’s rude to stare, Will,” Benny chimed in first, throwing back the remainder of the whiskey in his glass. Will returned his attention to the men and woman still at the table, reaching to scratch the back of his head as he searched for an answer.

“Just trying to hear her give Santiago a piece of her mind,” he attempted a cover, reaching again for his beer and swallowing a large drink. He immediately felt the familiar twist of guilt knot his stomach for his white lie.

“Bullshit,” came Frankie’s retort, a scoffed laugh pulled from his chest. Admirably, only a water sat in front of him still. Benny nodded his head in agreement, and even Danielle raised her eyebrow at the blonde man’s lie.

“You’re into her,” Benny concluded, setting his empty glass on the table. There was no point in trying to cover himself, and even if there was…it wasn’t in his nature to lie to his family.

“I’ve been into her since I met her,” Will conceded, directing another longing gaze in your direction. You stood with your arms crossed, the smirk on your lips evident even from the side as you watched Santiago struggle to take the perfect aim – his eyes weren’t what they used to be. He saw your mouth move and the glare Pope shot your way, and he wished he could hear what you’d chosen to taunt him with. “I asked her to dinner. A month ago,” he began, taking another drink. “Said she’d love to say yes, but turned me down anyway. Said she didn’t want anything serious right now.”

The genuine disappointment in his eyes had Frankie and Benny sharing a look – it had been a long time since Will Miller had acted so bent out of shape over a woman.

“It’s a recovery thing,” Frankie offered some comfort, reaching to pat his back carefully. “She’s afraid if she doesn’t get far enough and the two of you don’t make it, the disappointment will make her relapse. At least…that’s what I’d think.”

“You should have seen her face when she realized you were behind her,” Benny added. “That’s not a woman who wants to turn you down.”

“I’m going to wait for her until she’s ready,” Will sighed, pulling his eyes away from you to look at his brother. “I don’t care if that sounds stupid, or desperate. I’m gonna wait.”

On the other side of the bar, you’d tied with Santiago and split the next five song choices – two from you, one decided together, and two from him. While he made his individual choices after you, you made your way to the bar to order yourself another lemonade to take back to the table. It was while you stood there waiting that a man decided to bother you, standing far too close and making incredibly lewd offers that no one wanted to hear from a stranger.

“Why don’t you come on back to my table with me and my friends? We’ll show ya a nice time, darlin’,” he drawled, moving closer to run a hand down your arm. “Pretty thing like you needs something stronger than a lemonade, and a strong man to show you a good time.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” you replied, taking a step back which he chased with a step forward.

“’fraid I don’t take no for an answer, little lady,” he retorted, reaching to grab your arm and pull you closer to him. “You won’t regret it when I have you in my bed later, I can promise you that.”

A large, flattened hand on the back of the man’s neck cut his sentence off before more vulgarities could come through his lips. From behind the man, William Miller kept his icy gaze on your face, searching for any sign of true distress. When he saw the slight quiver to your lip his grasp on the man noticeably tightened, fingers digging into the sides of his neck.

“Let go of her arm,” he ordered, his tone free of any room for argument. It was a tone you’d not heard yet from him, and one you felt bad for anyone that was on the receiving end. The man’s sweaty hand released your arm, the red mark from his tight hold prompting Will’s jaw to tick briefly, a deep breath releasing from flared nostrils. “I should kick your ass for that, but that would ruin our night. Instead, I’m going to give you the opportunity to apologize.”

His eyes were burning into yours, yet he still didn’t miss the man’s attempt to turn and land a punch on his jaw. Catching the incoming fist with his free hand he pushed the man’s head downward, forcing it to the bar top as he twisted his arm behind him. Shifting his intense eyes to look at the back of the man’s head he shook his head, taking hold of the man’s hair to twist his face to look at you. If he was angry before, he was irate now – but he was controlling himself for your benefit. The man’s nose was unbroken but bleeding, and he spit blood onto the bar as he began to beg. “Look, man, we were just having fun…just let me go and she’s all yours.”

“It doesn’t look like she was having fun,” Will corrected, his grasp unfaltering. “I’ll give you one more chance to apologize to her.”

“I’m…I’m sorry, okay? I’ll leave, just let me go, man,” the man begged, breathing shaky and anxious as he feared the wrath of the man behind him. Will used his remaining grasp to lift the man straight upward again, pushing him toward the door with disdain.

“You should walk off this mood you’ve got yourself in,” Will began, moving to stand closer to you but keeping his eyes on the staggering man now. As the man made his way toward the door, Will left him with another parting threat. “If I see you back in this bar it won’t be good for you.”

Subconsciously William slipped an arm around your waist, turning you to face him as his other hand reached to lift your arm gently. The handprint around your wrist was now bruising lightly – barely there – but it was too visible for Will. His eyebrows pulled together in frustration, trying to steady his breathing and heart rate so he could ask you if you were okay. You beat him to the punch.

“Shhh,” you soothed, removing your arm from his hold and placing your hand on his bicep gently. Your eyes met his again, releasing a shaky breath once you realized how close he held you to him. Chests pressed firmly together you could feel the rapid beat to his heart and his fight for a normal breath – he needed to calm down, and Will being calm was far more important to you than a bruise. It’s not like this was the first one in your life. “I’m okay, Will. I’ve had worse from bumping into the coffee table, it’s alright. Breathe with me.”

Storms darkened his eyes, his hands grasping at your sides now as his chest gave a solid heave. Brushing your thumb against his arm you reached your other hand to rest against his cheek. You pulled him backward with you toward the quiet hallway by the bathrooms, offering a gentle smile once you were alone. Drawing in a deep breath as your eyes remained locked on his you gave his arm a light squeeze, encouraging him to pay attention to you – only you, not on following the guy outside and knocking his teeth out.

He could follow orders, though – that was something that no situation could turn off in him – and he soon began to mirror your deep breaths, hands still clutching you to him. By the time he’d released his fifth deep breath his mind was less clouded with anger, but that didn’t mean it was clear. If anything, it was even more clouded, but now it was clouded with you. You’d never been this close to him. He’d never felt the way his fingers could dig delicately into your skin. He’d never felt your chest pressed to his.

He’d never been only inches away from claiming your lips with his – and that’s exactly what he did as the adrenaline rushed through him. Grasping your hips tighter he anchored you against him, his lips soft and rough as you stood frozen, a quiet gasp slipping through your lips in shock. The quiet sound brought Will back to his senses, immediately pulling away from the kiss with a shock-laced look of horror on his face.

“I’m…so sorry,” he began, though he still hadn’t released his hold on your hips, his eyes transfixed on yours. The concern behind his eyes was unmistakable – he was terrified of how badly he’d just messed things up with you – and yet that didn’t stop his cheeks from darkening slightly, or his tongue from running over his bottom lip briefly for another desperate taste of you. “I shouldn’t have – mmph.”

Your hungry lips cut off his words quickly as you grasped at his bicep, the hand you held against his cheek sliding to the back of his head to hold him closer. He returned your kiss like it was something he’d been waiting to do for years, his hands sliding to rest on your lower back and pull you into him completely. A pleasant sigh slipped through your lips as he ran his tongue across the seam, granting him access to explore your mouth. When he’d kissed you breathless, he withdrew from your lips, his own curving into a smile as he bumped his nose against yours lightly. Leaning his forehead to rest against yours he took in a deep breath, savoring the moment he'd fantasized over for weeks.

“I still don’t want anything serious,” you whispered, eyebrows pulling together in frustration at so many things, none of which were Will’s fault, all of which fell on you and your past. ‘Live in the moment!’ a voice screamed in the back of your head, begging you to see that the man in front of you was a direct pathway to happiness. You’d silenced that optimistic part of you long ago. “I’m sorry I just…don’t. I can’t.”

“Sh,” he cooed, sliding one of his hands to rest on the top of your back to hold you closer. He bumped his nose against yours again lightly, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth before looking deep into your eyes. “I know. I don’t care.”

Your teeth bit into your bottom lip lightly, a sign you were nervous and uncertain. “It’s not fair to you.”

“I don’t care.”

“I can’t even promise…what this would look like, Will.”

He shushed you again, shaking his head before he rested his forehead against yours again. “I will take whatever you want to give me for as many days as you want to give it.”

He’d followed through on his word throughout the weeks that followed, thankful that he had turned out to be a very patient man. Even with the generally negative outlook on life you maintained, always finding a fault in every situation – you couldn’t find one with Will. Yes, it was adorable that he’d show up at the farm during lunch to see you, wanting nothing more than to simply see you in “work mode” and to kiss you as he ran a thumb across your cheek to wipe the dirt away.

Frankie didn’t mind at all that you’d started up this…whatever it was with Will. He enjoyed the fact that both of you were happy, and he wouldn’t complain about the lunches Will dropped off when he visited. Frankie wasn’t the only one in the group to know about the time you spent with Will, of course – Will didn’t believe in keeping secrets between the four of them.

You’d joined them for nights out a couple of times since but remained purely friendly with Will while in the view of others. The car rides home were when he would kiss you breathless in your driveway, holding you close, greedy for every moment you offered him. Things had never escalated past heavy kissing and touching, and that was comfortable – you still felt you could quit him any time you needed to, and it was safer that way.

It was Frankie that had asked you to take a Saturday off with him to spend time with them at the beach before the weather started cooling off a bit for the winter. You weren’t really one for the beach, not having lived anywhere near the ocean or going into the ocean much for most of your life, but Frankie’s pleading brown eyes won you over. It would be cruel to leave Dani alone with the men, anyway. When you’d walked onto the beach with Frankie that Saturday afternoon, Will thought his heart was going to burst from his chest. You and Frankie had elected to keep your presence a surprise, which worked in your favor as he smiled the brightest smile he’d offered you yet as you made your way over to their umbrellas, chairs and towels.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” he greeted, unable to help himself from hugging you. His voice was teasing as he continued. “You know I don’t like secrets.”

“Oh, well I’m full of ‘em,” you smiled, wrapping your arms around him and tilting your head to look into his face. “Like…I actually assassinated JFK, and I helped fake the moon landing. I admit it. All me.”

He smiled at your joke and allowed a soft laugh to leave his chest, shaking his head slightly as he released you before the hug lingered too long for your comfort. “I wish I’d known you were coming; I could’ve grabbed some lemonade for you. I’ve got water in the cooler, though, and I’ve always got a pack of those cashews that you like in in my truck.”

You nudged his arm lightly with your shoulder, cheeks turning red under his thoughtfulness and sweet intentions with you. Before you could thank him, Benny had joined up with you, picking you up in a crushing hug as Danielle said hello from behind. Will had never really envied his brother until he got to witness your effortless acceptance of him, and the way Benny could hug you however he wanted.

“Benny, Jesus, you’re going to crack one of my ribs, you behemoth,” you laughed, gasping for air through his hug as you attempted to wiggle free. Benny placed you gently back on the ground and offered a wide grin, immediately draping his shoulder back around Dani who rested her head on him gently. “Hope you guys don’t mind Frankie bringing me along. I couldn’t leave Dani alone around all you men all day.”

“And that is so appreciated,” the named woman replied, here signature sincere smile on her face. “I am going to work on catching up with Benny’s annoying natural tanning abilities, if you want to sit with me. You don’t seem much of a ‘get in the ocean’ kinda gal.”

You did sit on the beach for most of the day with the woman, getting to know one another more deeply, your conversations free of the hindrance of men being present as the group of four gallivanted about the shore and in the waves. Every so often, Benny would yell a quick “hi, baby!” from the water, causing Dani to smile, roll her eyes and wave, a small laugh falling from her lips. It was well past 4 p.m. and the seventh time he’d done it when she gave a different reply.

“He’s an idiot!” she yelled back, her voice full of laughter and love for the man she’d spent just less than a year with now. She quieted her voice back before she added to you. “I knew that when I agreed to date him, though. I can’t complain.”

“You’re perfect for one another,” you asserted, watching as Benny smiled and blew her a kiss before returning to the group. Your eyes wandered, briefly, only to confirm Will had stopped in his tracks to gaze at you, too. Danielle wasn’t the only one with attention focused on her today. Several times now Will had reminded you – gently but firmly – to reapply sunscreen and drink water. As the men set to work on building a fire, he had called to you again to remind you about the water, pulling a quiet giggle from Danielle.

“That’s five times for that one, then,” she counted aloud, watching as you grabbed the water from beside you to take a large drink. “Benny and I aren’t the only ones perfect for one another. That man loves you, you know.”

You felt the heat in your cheeks and knew they must be several shades darker. You finished the bottle of water and released a deep breath before you chose your words, not wanting to be taken off-guard and say something stupid. “He doesn’t…love me. We just…we get along well.”

“He loves you, and no amount of self-deprecating denial from you is going to change that,” she remarked, taking another drink of one of several hard seltzers she’d had that day. You knew those things barely contained alcohol, but you also had to wonder if it was contributing to her willingness to be so open. “You should let him.”

“I should let him what?” you questioned, feeling the answer in your stomach before she spoke it.

“Love you. You should let him love you,” she replied, rolling her eyes with a soft laugh. “He seems pretty good at it.”

As you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth you turned your face away from her, noticing that the other half of this conversation’s topic had found his way back into the water alone. Finally cracking under the pressure you felt to be alone with him for even a minute you decided the ocean couldn’t be that bad, really, and made your way to the chilling water. You really didn’t want to find your way into the ocean, but if it meant time with Will, so be it.

You’d almost made your way to him when something touched your leg, sending you into an immediate panic as you made your way to him, essentially launching yourself into his arms as you screamed his name. William immediately cradled you against him, smiling down at you with an all-too amused smile.

“I’ve got you; I’ve got you,” he cooed, raising a thumbs up to the shore so no one worried after your scream before he brought that arm to hold you as well. “What’s the matter?”

“Something touched my foot,” you whined, unused to being in the ocean like this. The chuckle that rumbled through him shook his chest, his reminders to reapply sunscreen not influencing him – he’d gotten some color on his cheeks and nose. Even in your distraught state, it was impossible to not recognize how handsome he was.

“Well, there are fish in the ocean, honeybee,” he drawled, his voice full of amusement. His nickname for you caused your stomach to flip in the most annoying way, and you felt yourself curl into him more despite yourself. “What do you want me to do, hmm? How can I fix it?”

“I want to get out. Carry me out,” you stated, clinging to him. Whether it was him holding you that felt so good or genuine fear keeping you to him, he really couldn’t say. He nodded, but instead of going toward the shore he moved away from it, swimming out with you further. “William! I said OUT!”

“I thought you said you wanted me to take you further out!” he replied, his tone too full of amusement. You moved to wrap your legs around his waist instead, narrowing your eyes at him and setting your face to be serious, eyebrows furrowed. He wanted to lean in to kiss the lines. “Hey, hey, hey…” he cooed, turning his back to the shore and leaning his forehead against yours with a light smile. You could see the light freckles on his cheeks that the sun had brought out throughout the day, his eyes light in the fading sunlight as he gazed longingly at you. No one had ever talked to you as soft as he did. “’m not gonna let anything happen to you. You don’t need to worry about a thing as long as I am right here with you.”

His lips pressed to yours in a gentle, reassuring kiss briefly before he returned to simply leaning his head against yours. You lightly bumped your nose against his, resting your hands on his chest gently. It was impossible not to believe him. “Still not nice, William Miller.”

“I know, I just wanted you alone for a minute,” he conceded, angling his head to press a kiss to the corner of your lips. You couldn’t help but smile under his affections, maintaining that hard exterior proving difficult as his kisses chipped away at it. “I’m sorry, honey. Let me make it up to you?”

You tilted your head and raised an eyebrow in curiosity, slipping one of your hands to his bicep. “How do you plan on doing that? I was pretty distraught.”

“Let me take you home,” he offered, his eyes so sincere it hurt. He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips before he continued further. When you didn’t give him a response, he continued. “I have feelings for you.”

“Well…stop it,” slipped from your lips before you could stop it, your cheeks immediately burning at your own callousness. It was second nature to push people away now…especially Will, who was getting closer than anyone was allowed right now. Instead of being hurt, Will could only smile at your attempt.

“Yeah?” he questioned, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to your lips. His words came between kisses as he spoke. “You want me to stop?”

As the kisses grew deeper and you felt the warmth of arousal spreading through your body you had to shake your head, knowing he’d recognize the longing in your eyes and call your bluff if you insisted. He smiled as his hands slipped down from your sides to grasp your ass under the water, pressing you into him firmly as you shook your head and released a defeated sigh.

“You can take me to your house,” you conceded, running your fingers through his hair as you looked at him through your lashes, devouring him with an unashamedly lascivious look. His eyes lit up even further, finally listening and carrying you closer to the shore so both of you could leave the ocean and get to his truck as soon as possible. As you wrapped yourself in a towel and gathered the items you’d brought with you in a bag you ignored her quiet giggles, unwilling to even consider the conversation Will was having with the men behind you. You supposed you owed Frankie a conversation as well on Monday. Dani called to you to have fun as you walked to Will’s truck.

When he had you secured in his truck, he leaned to press a kiss against your lips as he buckled you in. He was a safe driver and had incredible reflexes, you reminded yourself of this frequently as he drove back with one hand rested on your thigh, kneading his fingers into the soft flesh occasionally. He pulled into his driveway sooner than he should have – he’d never speed with you in the car again – and immediately had you cradled in his arms again as he carried you into his house.

When he began to make his way up the stairs he finally spoke, trying to cover the happiness in his voice with seriousness. “You’re sure this is what you want?” You responded by reaching your head to plant kisses on his shoulder, trailing them to his neck as best you could as you nodded. As he opened his bedroom door, he gazed down at you finally, not taking another step forward just yet. “Have to hear you say it.”

“Yes, Will,” you confirmed, and those two words melted his resolve. He placed you on his bed carefully before he crawled between your legs, keeping one hand on your hip and cupping your cheek in his hand as he kissed you deeply. You returned his kiss immediately, just as desperate for him as he was for you at this point. His fingers began to work at the ties of your bottoms as he traced the seam of your mouth with his tongue, groaning appreciatively as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. When he was satisfied with the taste he’d received he released your lips, trailing his kisses to your jaw and neck as he removed the bottoms.

His kisses trailed lower on your neck, Will fighting the urge to suck purple marks into your skin in such an obvious place. Your hands ran up his back to the back of his neck and head, holding him closer as he trailed his kisses to your chest just as he’d worked that tie free as well, removing the fabric from your body and leaving you finally bare for him. He leaned back to run his eyes down you appreciatively, one of his thumbs rubbing gently over one of your nipples slowly.

“You look so fucking pretty in my bed,” he complimented before leaning forward again, claiming one of your nipples in his mouth with a flick of his tongue. He happily familiarized himself with each of your breasts, earning the most beautiful moans that had ever graced his ears from you as your hips pressed up into his in desperation for friction. When your hot core was met with his obvious erection in his swim trunks you moaned in unison, Will pressing his waist into you further. He released your nipple from his mouth to trail his kisses downward again as he whispered. “Bet you’re gonna taste fucking delicious mixed with salt water…”

His hand that had been holding your hip moved to spread your legs as his lips reached your hip, smiling against the skin before kissing it gently. Experimentally he spread your already soaking folds with a swipe of his fingers, groaning appreciatively as you gasped. “Will…”

“All this for me, baby?” he cooed, lowering his head to swirl his tongue around your clit before sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves lightly. “You always get this wet for me? Is this pretty pussy this wet every time I kiss you?”

You whined your confirmation as he ran his tongue through your folds, an appreciative groan rumbling in his chest as he finally tasted you. His name fell from your lips again and he nodded in encouragement before setting in on his first task of the night, devouring every inch that your hot core had to offer him. For as many times as you’d imagined Will’s head between your thighs, nothing compared to the way he tended to every inch of you, groans and grunts vibrating through his mouth as he fucked his tongue into your velvet entrance.

He had your legs shaking on either side of his head in no time, his lips curving into a smile as he connected his thumb with your clit, continuing to swirl his tongue inside of you as best he could. When your breathing became erratic and your hands reached to grasp his hair, he knew he had you on the edge, nodding in affirmation when you warned him you were going to come. When euphoria rocked through you with a loud moan your hips arched off the bed, giving him a much better angle to appreciate the nectar he’d earned.

The ceiling above you turned to a white light as pleasure rushed through you, your moan turning to a scream when he didn’t relent at your entrance or clit, continuing to stimulate you through your orgasm. By the time he’d crawled his way back up your body and removed his trunks you had come down somewhat, only enough to be somewhat aware as he rubbed the head of his cock through your folds with a low groan.

“I can get a condom…” he offered, whatever his full sentence was intended to be cut off as you pressed a lazy, half-aware kiss to his lips as you shook your head, quiet please leaving your lips. Briefly arguing with the responsibility of the decision he was about to make. When you quietly begged him to fuck you again all reason escaped his mind, lining his already throbbing cock at your entrance before thrusting in carefully. Your wet heat welcomed him in like you were meant to do so, the heat of your velvet channel caressing him inch by inch until he was buried in you. He groaned low in appreciation as he pressed his lips to yours in a loving kiss, stilling his movements to give you both a moment to savor the feeling of him filling you. “Better than I could have fucking imagined…”

One of his hands slid carefully up your body to rest on your cheek, pulling you closer as gently as he could to claim your lips in a kiss as he withdrew from you almost completely before thrusting back in, grunting as your walls fluttered around him. As your lips and tongues entered a dance they had done so many times now your bodies came together fully for the first, his cock massaging your walls with each of his well-purposed thrusts. You wrapped your legs around his waist to draw him in closer, holding him against you as close as his thrusts would allow you. He pulled away from the kiss to bump his nose against yours gently before running it along your cheek affectionately, placing a kiss just below his ear when he’d reached the sensitive spot.

“Like you were made for me,” he whispered in your ear, his thrusts increasing in pace as he neared his finish much sooner than he wanted to. He reached to grasp one of your legs, sliding it so your ankle hooked over his shoulder so he could angle into you deeper. The new depths he reached pulled you closer to the edge, his thumb connecting with your clit again, causing your walls to flutter around him.

“I’m on the pill,” you offered, feeling a second orgasm approaching you as he rubbed steady circles around your clit and the velvet head of his cock brushed against the coveted spot inside of you, sensing the end approached for him as well as his thrusts became more erratic and desperate. Your quiet suggestion pulled a groan from his chest, his head turning to claim your lips again in a messy kiss.

“You want me to fill you up, princess? That what you’re asking me for?” he questioned between deep thrusts accompanied by deep breaths, his hand sliding from your cheek to your neck as he pressed soft kisses to your lips. “You tell me that’s what you want and I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you anything you ask for.”

You could only bring yourself to nod as you kissed him deeply, your own orgasm rushing through you as you moaned against his lips. Feeling your walls tighten around him he couldn’t hold his own release back, spilling his seed into you with a groan as he pulled away from your kiss to lean his forehead against yours. He could have told you that he was falling in love with you right then.

As you both came down from shared euphoria he rolled to his side next to you, wrapping his arms around his waist as he went to hold you against him gently. You listened to your instincts by tucking your face into his neck, breathing in deeply to steady your breaths as Will pressed gentle kisses to the top of your head and whispered quiet praises and thank yous to you. One of your legs slid up between his to cuddle closer, your arms wrapping around his middle as your eyes slid closed.

You probably could’ve fallen asleep right then, if his words hadn’t woken you from your peaceful lull. “I’ve got extra clothes and…we can shower before you change if you want.”

The sweet suggestion snapped you back to reality, and you forced yourself to let him know you'd have to go home now. In all honesty, it was the last thing that you wanted to do, but you were unwilling to relent just yet on your insistence to not pursue something serious. Will, of course, didn't want to tell you no because he wanted you to feel comfortable with him - he wanted you to know that he would listen to you, and support whatever you felt was best for yourself. That included you leaving him for the night, even when he wanted you more than he had any night before.

Not hearing anything about accepting a ride home from him, insistent on being independent for the night, you sent Frankie a text to grab you on his way back from the beach if he hadn't made it home already. 15 minutes later Frankie was in Will's driveway, a sympathetic look on his face as he waved to the younger man through the windshield as you climbed into the truck.

Will watched silently as the truck backed out of the driveway and you disappeared down the street, mentally vowing to himself that he would willingly spend as long as you needed waiting.

When November’s curtain call came and the evening chill of December rolled in, you’d found your match with William Miller, who was acting by his promise and providing you with consistency, with reverent tenderness. No matter what distance you tried to maintain from him he was just as unrelenting, finding ways through your obstacles day after day. He never pushed, never overstepped, but he was always there, ever willing to cherish you in entirety whenever given the chance. Lately those opportunities had grown, proliferating into prolonged post-coital kisses and embraces that could hardly be passed off as anything less than adoration any longer.

Falling wasn’t enough to describe the feeling – falling was too subtle. A plummeting nosedive, a cascade…an avalanche, a crashing meteor – so consuming it swallowed you until all that was left was Will, his affections blanketing you with unwavering warmth.

“Honeybee!” Will called as he entered through the front door, the sound of him removing his boots and setting them by the door causing you to smile as you crushed candy canes in the kitchen. All your meetings had been reserved for his home but today you’d offered to host him and his friends at your farmhouse for dinner – Christmas Eve dinner.

“In here, Will,” you replied from your place at the counter, taking a deep breath as you started sprinkling the candy canes atop the cupcakes you made for dessert. An immediate advantage to having Will in your home was the sound of the creaking floor beneath his large frame – even without shoes – meant you could hear him coming behind you. “Don’t mess me up, Will. This is serious business.”

A laugh rumbled through him as he delicately wrapped his arms around your waist anyway, resting his chin on your shoulder for a moment before turning inward, burrowing his face in your neck with a deep breath. He pressed a gentle kiss behind your ear, assessed your response, and then repeated the motion when he realized you remained focused on your task, smiling into your skin lightly. When you finished you slid the cupcake stand back further on the counter for safety before turning in his arms, a playful smile lighting your features. It was only now Will noticed what remained of a candy cane in your mouth, his mind spinning already at the thought of what your lips must taste like now.

“Did I mess you up?” he questioned, leaning forward to press his lips to your forehead with a quiet hum of appreciation as your arms found their way around his neck, not before your hands slid over his chest. He opted to forego the ugly sweater party – you knew that was coming – but he did at least wear a red sweater, the color bringing out the coolness of his eyes. Even in the winter he was managing to keep up plenty of color, but not enough to hide the redness to his cheeks as you held his gaze.

Sometimes he couldn’t decide if it was better you could hold his eye contact now or not – he still hadn’t grown used to feeling somewhat embarrassed just under a woman’s gaze. The way you removed the candy from your mouth with a pop and placed it in the trash behind you certainly didn’t help.

“Nearly, but I’ll let it slide seeing as it’s Christmas and all,” your fingers found their way into his hair, pulling him closer so you could press your lips to his in a gentle kiss. One thing he would never grow accustomed to was the clench in his heart whenever you initiated affection – some of his favorite kisses sparked by you.

“Christmas Eve, honeybee,” he replied when you released him, pressing a kiss to his cheek as best you could from standing on your toes. He tightened his hold on your waist to hold you against him tighter, relishing in your attention and uncaring about the inevitable mess that would transfer from your apron to him.

“Mm, you look handsome in this little red number, Will,” you teased, bringing more color to his cheeks. It was too easy for you now – you loved it.

“I wore it just for you,” he drawled, seeking out another taste of peppermint on your lips with a gentle kiss. The fact that you knew that was true only made your chest swell more.

“Well, you’ll have to wear something else for me, too, since technically…you are out of dress code,” you remarked, eyebrow raised slightly in a manner he knew to be playful. Whatever you had in store he would play along with, as long as it meant this mood you were in would continue, particularly with how the two of you had left things last time – an argument that had been eating at both of you for days.

"You’ll have to make a decision sooner or later,” he’d stated as he leaned against his truck in the parking lot after one of Benny’s fights, trying to appear much cooler on the outside than he was on the inside where frustration bubbled under his skin. He’d slipped – called you his girlfriend, and it had been too much of a reality check for you to handle. Despite his harshness he reached a hand toward you, beckoning you closer – you did not follow. A wild animal backed into a corner – hissing and feral and scared. So many questions remained in his mind about why it was so hard for you to accept love, but he’d never push for those answers. You’d give them freely in your own time. The topic at hand remained to be that Will had spent weeks earning your affection, and while he was patient, it had been worn somewhat thin. “We don’t spend the night together…months now and I’ve never woken up next to you,” he continued, eyebrows pulling together as he crossed his arms again. “And if that’s not frustrating enough, I can’t even slip and call you my girlfriend – to my brother – without you getting upset. I’m doing everything I can here, I just need you to give a little back. Anything.” Your lip had quivered, tears pricking at your eyes. Will hated to see you that way, hated to have caused it – it would gnaw at him in the days that followed, as would all the words that followed, so unimportant now. As much as the argument shredded his heart day after day the same was true for you – perhaps if he knew how guilty you felt because you were still resisting what was right in front of you, he could have gone easier on you.

Even now the guilt festered.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, unwilling to spark any sort of disagreement today. You reached behind you to the counter to grab a Santa hat before lifting it onto his head, smiling a sweet smile before flattening his hands against your lower back to pull you closer. He offered you a smile in return, withholding any fussing about the hat as his eyes met yours again. One of his hands left its position to lift to your cheek, callused fingers lightly dusting across your cheekbones. “I’m sorry about Friday night, honey. I shouldn’t be pushing you like that…I knew what I asked for when I asked for it.”

It was in your nature to lean your head toward his hand, your eyes drifting shut briefly to enjoy the moment. You only met his gaze again when you’d chosen your response, words leaving your lips quiet and sincere. “I’m the one who should be sorry, Will,” you sighed, leaning forward to lay your head on his chest, calmed by the familiar rhythm of his heart. “I do need to make a decision, you were right.”

“Yeah, but I…lost my temper. I raised my voice,” he rested his hand that had been on your cheek on the back of your head, stroking your hair and internally smiling at the streaks of flour leftover from your day in the kitchen. “I should never do that to you, there’s no excuse.”

“Apology accepted,” you whispered, burying your face into his chest to inhale the smell of him – saltwater and oak, subtle and resolute. He leaned to press a kiss to the top of your head, holding you for a moment before the day needed to continue. “Can you help me get the star on the tree and put presents underneath while I set the table? Dinner should be done by the time everyone else shows.”

He nodded, pressing a final kiss to your forehead before releasing you so you could get back to work. “You know at least one of ‘em will be late.”

“I included an extra twenty minutes on the cooking time to accommodate,” you quipped back cheerfully, removing your apron and hanging it on its rightful hook, giving the kitchen one final look over to ensure nothing was forgotten before setting off into the living room, remarking how Will needed to hurry because you had everything planned to the minute.

He’d never been more certain he loved you.

“Why’d you get a tree you couldn’t reach the top of, shortcake?”

You turned to throw him a look, cheeks burning with heat despite the amused smile that broke out across your face. He returned it with one of his own, straightening the Santa hat on his head before walking over to where you stood by the tree. He adored the mood you were in today, and wondered briefly if you were this way every Christmas. Your playful tone had returned. “Size does matter with some things, love. No one wants a wants a tiny tree with no needles.”

It wasn’t the first time that nickname had slipped, yet his chest still tightened. He wrapped his arms around you again, unable to resist pressing a kiss to your forehead as he pulled you in close before lifting you up so you could situate the star atop the tree. Satisfied with the state of the living room you tasked Will with starting the fireplace, putting music on via the record player in the living room, and lighting some candles while you finished cooking.

It was easy being domestic with you.

Everyone’s arrivals staggered from there forward. Benny arrived next, early and eager to spend time with his brother, with an arm slung around Dani, smiling and remarking how fantastic your house was before giving himself a tour. By the way his eyes kept raking over her you could only assume they found a hallway to defile. Dani joined you soon after with a smile and offered to help in the kitchen, which you accepted with some relief.

As Will and Ben broke into a bottle of bourbon and eggnog (Benny had threatened not to come if there was no eggnog available), Santiago showed up – surprisingly not in an ugly sweater after weeks of talking trash about how his was going to put yours to shame. You opted not to even bring it up given the expression on his face – today was clearly not the day to pick at Pope – and instead greeted him with a sweet smile instead. Frankie was last – really to no one’s surprise – and everyone had found a seat at the table as you loaded it up with food.

Santiago had jokingly requested an entire turkey – the largest one you could find – perhaps as a challenge, and you’d agreed to make it without second thought. Frankie was simple and asked for macaroni and cheese, Benny sheepishly requested sweet potatoes and dinner rolls, while Dani was sensible and requested “any kind of vegetable.” Will had shown his sweet tooth by requesting something sweet for dinner, hence the cupcakes you’d finished earlier.

“This looks incredible,” Benny complimented, pulling his eyes away from the food in front of him to look toward where you sat at the head of the table. Frankie and Dani both voiced quick words of agreement while Santi nodded, checking his phone quickly. “You have to give a toast.”

“Oh, no,” you laughed, waving your hand dismissively as you shook your head. Your face burned so badly you felt like all your head had become was a flaming ball. “No one wants to hear me do a toast, seriously. Dig in before it gets cold.”

Ben crossed his arms and Frankie’s face set into concrete resolution. It was the younger Miller who spoke, tone unwavering and serious. You weren’t entirely sure you’d heard him be so serious before…even before his fights. “We’re not eating until a toast is given.”

“Will can give a toast,” slipped from your mouth, nervousness causing the words to spill freely – maybe a little too freely. With a nervous laugh you continued. “He’s basically the man of the house.”

Will’s eyes noticeably widened up at you to your right, his mouth falling open slightly in surprise as his cheeks mirrored the fire in your own. Ben’s head snapped toward Will, giving a light smirk as his brother stood, never pulling his eyes from your face as he lifted his glass from the table.

The toast he gave was short, and yet he still struggled to make it through its entirety. Several times he cleared his throat, feeling the tingle in his tear ducts that threatened to pour with each passing moment, each beat of his heart causing a tightness in his chest.

“And…” he began the final sentence, releasing a shaking breath as he looked around the table. His eyes settled back to you like it was the most natural place in the world for them to be. You reached out to where one of his hands grasped the edge of the table, sliding your hand atop his and giving a gentle squeeze. The simple act spurred him through the rest of his speech. “And here’s to hopefully many more Christmases with all of us together.”

Dinner went smoothly from there, the table’s mood lighthearted and happy as everyone ate, light conversations being passed around – which included stories from both Will and Ben about their Christmases growing up and the trouble they used to get themselves into. Once the table was clear the group relocated into the living room to sit around the tree to complete the Secret Santa gift exchange you’d all planned.

Santi gave Frankie the gift he’d gotten him first – a new fishing pole, a hat (it was the same one he’d always worn, just a new version – you had to wonder how many times he’d been gifted the exact hat), and a pack of new socks. Frankie was enthralled by each of them, saying they’d have to plan a trip soon. As a result Frankie went next, handing Danielle her gift in a bag (he’d tried to wrap it, truly…he gave up when half the roll had been used). Danielle’s face lit up at the various candles and candy inside the bag and waved the spa trip for two pass in your direction with a smile.

Dani gifted Santi with tickets to a concert he’d been complaining for weeks he didn’t secure tickets to, which brought his trademark soft smile to his face as he thanked her profusely. Not before multiple comments were made about how the group hoped there was seating in the venue, so he didn’t have to stand on his shitty knees the entire time, you announced you’d go next since Santi had already handed out his gift. Passing a sizeable box to Ben with a wink and a smile you leaned back against the fireplace, watching as the younger Miller tore into it with excitement.

“You did not get me an original Nintendo 64,” he exclaimed, eyes wide as he pulled the old console out of the box. As Will watched on his chest tightened as you smiled at Ben, the word family seeming to repeat itself in his mind.

“You’ve been complaining about how the new model isn’t the same,” you explained with a shrug, taking a drink of the cider you held in your hand. “I can’t wait to kick your ass in Mario Party.”

“Next weekend, you’re on. Hope you’re not a sore loser,” he smirked, digging through the games that littered the bottom of the box as well. Wrapped up in admiring his gift he almost forgot to pass the envelope he was holding to his own brother with a playful smile. Will laughed – your heart swelled – and as he opened the envelope, he shot his brother a smile. “I know we usually say no gift cards…but you’re impossible to buy for. Figured you could use it on dinner or…somethin’.”

The brothers shared another knowing look and smile before Will reached out to pat his back, mentally noting to give him a proper hug when they weren’t sitting later. Which left Will to give the gift he’d purchased for the only person that remained without…you.

He moved closer to you on the couch, draping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you in close as he slipped his phone from his pocket, glancing down at you first to offer you a smile. “So, you’ve been saying that you miss the snow…”

As his sentence trailed, he turned his phone screen so you could see it, the sight of a small, warm-looking cabin surrounded by snow and pine trees filling your eyes. You turned your head to look up at him, eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion and questioning as your mouth opened briefly. Will beat you to talking.

“Now, obviously…I didn’t buy it, but I did rent it for a weekend…next month when there still should be plenty of snow,” he offered, crystalline eyes transfixed on yours as he spoke. “I thought we could take a nice trip…together, especially since that weekend will be your anniversary of going to rehab. It’s big enough for people to join –“

“Not a single one of us wants to be in that cabin with you two that weekend,” Santiago interrupted, quickly dismissing the thought with a shake of his head.

“…no offense, of course.” Frankie chimed in, elbowing his best friend.

“Oh, full offense intended,” Ben joined in, his words chased by a laugh. “You two in a cold ass log cabin somewhere in the fuckin’ Rockies? Count all of us out.”

Your cheeks burned at their teasing and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from Will, your bottom lip pulling between your teeth briefly as you grasped his hand gently. There were a lot of words that ran through your mind in appreciation – three not-so-little ones squeaking quietly in the back of your mind. You tried to silence them – something you had to do often now. It was getting more and more difficult to do.

Everyone else was ignored, even their taunting. As was so often the case, it was only you and Will.

“Thank you,” you whispered quietly, melting at the gentle curve of his lips. Without thinking you leaned upward to kiss him once quickly and gently, a small action that quickly silenced the group. They knew it happened, but seeing it was far different than hearing about it.

It was thanks enough for Will.

Now the gifts had all been received you excused yourself to gather plates and cupcakes from the kitchen. Once everyone had plates with multiple cupcakes each, it was time to watch a movie – the choice of which was yours.

The movie you chose really didn’t matter – your focus was almost entirely on Will. Taking the loveseat close to the fire, Will had his arms wrapped around you tightly seemingly from the moment you’d sat down, pulling you back against his strong chest to support you while he balanced a plate of cupcakes on his knee. He left no room for you to protest such an obvious display of affection, keeping one arm slung around your shoulder and seemingly pulling you closer and closer by the second.

After everyone had eaten their cupcakes and really settled in, you had to wonder if the other men and woman in the room minded the state you found yourself in with Will. His arm remained around your shoulders, your hand reaching up to lace your fingers with his…which allowed you the ability to press kisses to his fingers with ease. Several times Will turned your head, to press a gentle kiss to your lips, your nose, your forehead…smiling earnestly each time and pulling at your heart.

Halfway through the movie Will leaned to whisper in your ear, his breath hot against the shell. The mint lingering on his to his breath and huskiness in his voice send a chill up your spine – you knew he felt it when a quiet chuckle rumbled through his chest. “Let’s split the other cupcake on the plate.”

You turned your head to flash him an amused look, raising an eyebrow. “That’ll be your third one.”

“We’re splitting it,” he defended with a shrug of his shoulders, his other hand reaching for the aforementioned plate on the table beside the couch. “It doesn’t count.”

“Mm,” you smiled, taking the cupcake to unwrap it before taking a slow bite. When you offered it to him his eyes flashed with a look entirely indecent for company, his voice lower as he held your gaze. A subtle shake to his head confirmed what your mind had already begun to infer. “Gimme a bite.”

You fed him a bite slowly, eyes locked with his as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth slightly, watching his pink tongue dart out to run along his bottom lip to collect the peppermint icing there. He offered another smile with an appreciative hum

“Would you two get a room?” Benny questioned over the movie, shooting his older brother a playful look. He wasn’t serious, he truly didn’t mind seeing his older brother finally loosen up a bit and be happy – but that didn’t mean he couldn’t give him hell. It was, after all, the responsibility of being a younger sibling.

“They’re all my rooms, Benjamin,” you taunted, shooting the man a bright smile that Will took the moment to cherish. Taking another bite of the cupcake with a smirk on his lips he opted to settle back in then, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on the top of your head.

The two of you remained that way for the rest of the movie, his arms clutching you against his chest and rubbing gentle circles on your stomach occasionally. There was nothing stopping him from pressing kisses to the top of your head, either – which he considered fair, given that you were irresistible this close to him.

Santiago cleared out first in a haste, jaw clenching through his goodbyes which he seemed less-than-focused on as he checked his phone’s screen several more times. It was then that you offered a room to anyone who wanted to stay, which was quickly shot down by both Ben and Frankie who shared a knowing look.

“We do not want to be in this house when your…canoodling escalates,” Ben asserted, glancing between his older brother and you, who were now standing a few steps further from Will in an attempt to be less obvious. It was far too late for that.

With a hug and kiss on the cheek from Frankie and a promise to call you tomorrow, Dani gave you a gentle hug which was quickly contrasted by a crushing hug from Ben, who then only had to hug his brother goodbye before the two of you were alone. Will immediately wrapped his arms around you when the front door was shut, pulling you into his chest while releasing a deep breath.

He loved his brothers – but solitude with you was bliss.

“Let’s go clean up that kitchen,” he began, pausing his sentence mid-way through to press a kiss to your forehead. “Get it over with so we don’t have to worry about it, darlin’.”

You’d do almost anything he asked so long as he asked in that molasses thick tone.

You pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, teasing him by pulling away slowly with a light smile on your face before you removed yourself from his arms, making your way to the kitchen with him following. When you began to run the sink to fill it you glanced to watch him lean against the counter to wait, his arms crossed like he was trying to control himself. Following his gaze your eyes landed on the cupcakes that remained (you’d made extra knowing he would be this way), and a smile passed over your features.

“I see you eyeballing those cupcakes, Mister Miller,” you teased, smiling further when he turned to you with red cheeks and a bashful gaze. You leaned across the counter to grab one, taking a slow bite as your eyes stayed on his. He wasn’t quite sure the cupcake was so important anymore. “C’mere and share this one with me before we do the dishes.”

He was good at following orders.

He didn’t need to tell you to feed him bites this time, you gladly taking up the task with adoration pooling in your eyes as you fed him almost the entire cupcake. He offered you a gentle smile as you reached upward to remove icing from the corner of his lips, popping the digit into your mouth with an appreciative hum before handing him the kitchen towel.

“I’ll clean, you dry.”

The rhythm the two of you entered was the same as every other way the two of you seemed to effortlessly fit together these days. Will could reach cabinets you couldn’t which made the task go much faster, and while he found himself quietly humming seasonal songs you soaked in the relaxation the sound brought.

“Today was good, yeah?” Will questioned from beside you, drying off another dish before placing it in its rightful place in the cabinet. “I think that’s the best Christmas this group has managed in years.”

“Benny said he’s going to pay me to make him those cupcakes every week. That Miller sweet tooth is something fierce,” you joked, rinsing out another glass. His cheeks reddened at your teasing. “Did you talk to Santiago? Something was up with him, he looked at his phone at least twenty times an hour, and he was bragging for weeks that his ugly sweater would put me to shame and then he just…didn’t wear one.”

“Mm,” he mused, taking another glass from you to dry it. “Pope is doing a poor job at keeping a secret he thinks he’s doing a great job at. He’s on edge.”

“Doesn’t he know better than to try to keep secrets from you?” you questioned, handing the last dish and turning to fix your attention on him as he dried it. At some point, damn him, he’d rolled the sleeves of his sweater up, and he looked so natural in your home it was starting to make you feel sentimental. Whole. “But today was great. We did a good job.”

“We, like I had hardly anything to do with it,” he hummed, smiling lightly as he put the dish away before leaning on the counter with his hip to face you. “It was practically all you. But…I’ve been telling you we make a good team.”

He reached out his hand gently toward you, pulling you closer to him to press a kiss to your forehead, not expecting a response. Wrapping your arms around his waist you stepped in as close as you could, resting your head on his chest and closing your eyes. He held onto you tightly, shifting to lean his back against the counter to hold you closer. Flashes of the day spent together ran through both of your minds –you’d sat in his lap on the couch in front of everyone – because the living room didn’t have enough seats (lie) – but the feeding him bites of your cupcake was entirely optional.

Will loved you. It was a fact that was growing harder and harder to ignore by the day, the ache in his chest growing every time he heard your name or saw your face. He didn’t want to say his next words, but he had grown so used to them – so used to this routine now that he accepted when they needed to be said.

“It’s getting late. I should probably head out, before the idiots get out on the road.”

It was a long pause, putting William on edge for a moment as he waited for your words. Even hesitation like this wasn’t normal for you. Your voice was soft, slightly wavering as you tilted your head back to look up at him.

“I don’t remember asking you to leave.”

Will paused, brief confusion flashing on his face before he smiled lightly, clearing his throat as he gave a slight nod. He was truly doing his best not to look overjoyed, though that’s exactly what he felt. “Are you asking me to stay, honeybee?”

“I thought it’d be a good Christmas present.”

“Maybe the best one I’ve ever gotten,” he smiled, leaning closer to brush his lips over yours again. His hands slid lower, pulling you closer to press a kiss to your lips gently. You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, at his desperation to be close to you now that the two of you were alone, and his poor attempt at hiding how happy he was. His hands slipping lower still he ran his fingers over your thighs, eyes searching your face for a response. You were getting far too good at the poker face you’d developed against him.

“Are you trying to take me up to bed this quickly, Ironhead?” you cooed, looking up at him with a hooded gaze through your lashes. You hoped your face remained straight despite the burn that surged toward your core – feeling a bit proud of yourself again as you noticed him swallow hard. “You’ll miss out on the matching pajamas I picked up for us…”

“I’ve waited all day,” he pointed out, dragging one of his hands upward to push your skirt up, trailing kisses down your neck and chest. You grasped the edge of the counter to steady yourself, his eyes glancing up into yours again as he began to sink to his knees, using one of his hands to lift your leg over his shoulder. “I’m still starving.”

An embarrassingly wanton moan fell from your lips, one of your hands reaching to slide your fingers through his hair as his hand slid up your thigh to push your underwear to the side. “Is this what you thought about all day, Will?”

“You know it is. That little stunt you pulled earlier wasn’t very nice,” he drawled, eyes hungrily running over your already soaked cunt. “Look how wet you are for me, honeybee. You’ve been thinking about me today too, haven’t you? You sweet thing.”

You whimpered as he ran his fingers through your folds, his lips curving upward into a light smile as he taunted you slightly – waiting for you to answer. “Thought about me all day and now you can’t stop talking.”

He chuckled as he leaned forward, running his flattened tongue through your folds with a low groan as you rocked your core against his face, his nose bumping your clit and causing you to moan. He set in on his task then, satiating the hunger he still felt by licking and sucking and kissing every inch of your sex he could, relishing in your fingers tangling into his hair as you threw your head back with a moan. “God, this is a Christmas present…” The muffled laugh he released vibrated through you, the sensation causing you to buck your core into his face with a gasp as you pulled his hair slightly. “Fuck, William, you’re so fucking…so good at that.”

He removed his mouth from fucking his tongue into your entrance to smile up at you crookedly, his lips and facial hair glistening with your arousal. Slipping a finger into your tight channel he turned his head to press a gentle kiss to your inner thigh. “Love when you tell me how good I make you feel.”

He began to thrust his finger into you as he connected his mouth with your clit, giving the sensitive nub a flick with his tongue before sucking it gently. You whined his name quietly, keeping a hold on his hair as you moved your aching core against his face and hand, already desperate for more. He groaned against your skin with a particularly slow swipe of his tongue, adding a second finger to begin to stretch you.

The tips of his fingers massaged against your walls perfectly each time he pushed them back into you, particularly against the perfectly blinding spot behind your clit. You cried out, hands grasping his hair to steady yourself as you rutted against his mouth desperately. His tongue circled around your clit again, one hand slipping behind you to cup your ass and hold you against him closer, his blue eyes still burning up at you.

“Fuck, Will, I…” you began, words trailing off with an uptick in pitch as your thigh began to shake behind his head. Ensuring he tightened his hold on you he nodded, flicking his tongue against your clit with more fervor. Not long after you moaned his name again loudly, your eyes rolling back as heat rushed through you.

He removed his fingers but continued to lap at your folds, groaning appreciatively at the taste of your release coating his tongue. When he’d drank enough of you down he began to kiss up your body again, holding you close by the hips with one hand and undoing his belt and pants with the other as his lips connected with yours again. You tasted yourself on his tongue and – damn it – all of the cupcakes he’d eaten that lingered as well. After pushing his pants and briefs to the floor and kicking them aside.

Before he could lift you to the counter you broke the kiss, trailing your kisses down his neck before sucking a light mark above his collarbone with a smile. His chest rumbled with a groan, his hands slipping to your lower back to hold you closer. Your hands moved to hold his shoulders, applying pressure to encourage him to swap positions with you, smiling as you looked up at him through heavy lashes.

“Where you goin’, honeybee?” he asked, voice heavy as he reached his hands toward you again. Widening your smile you reached to wrap your fingers around his hardened length, eyes flashing with adoration when his hips jolted forward to meet your touch, a low groan sounding in his chest again. As you continued to rub along his length you sank to your knees, not breaking eye contact as you ran your tongue along the slit of his velvet head to taste the precum leaking from him already. His hands immediately grasped behind your head, fingers lacing into your hair. “Fuck.”

You removed your hand, running your nails down his thigh lightly as your tongue traced the thick vein on his cock, a light smile tugging at your lips when he moaned out another profanity. You continued to lick up and down his length and suck only on the head briefly, enjoying the frustrated huff to his breath that grew as you teased him slightly.

His usual sense of self control was obliterated by his need to feel the warmth of your mouth around his length. Before you could pull your lips free of him again he grasped your hair tighter, holding you in place as he slipped more of his length into your mouth. “Do you like teasing me, sweet thing?” You moaned in affirmation around his length, managing to run your tongue around as much of his length as you could manage. He pushed more of his length into your mouth, head falling back briefly before he corrected himself, eyes meeting yours again. “This is what you want? For me to fuck your mouth?”

You moaned again and he took his command, thrusting his length into your mouth greedily and with almost embarrassing speed. He seldom got to enjoy the feeling of your mouth around his length as he’d always opt to bury himself in your tight cunt before he got the chance, but on these occasions when you insisted – when you wanted him to bruise your throat – he was never one to resist. When his velvet head hit the back of your throat and you gagged slightly he huffed out a deep, sustained groan as his cheeks flushed, one of his hands moving from your hair to cup your cheek and stroke it gently.

It only encouraged you further.

You reached your own hand to cup his balls, fondling them gently as he began to thrust repeatedly into your mouth – gentle as he could manage in his clouded mind. “Fuck, baby…” he began, hitting the back of your throat again and holding your hair slightly tighter to keep you in place for a moment. “God, you’re doing so good. You look so pretty. Going to make you feel so fucking good soon.”

You moaned around his length which spurred him to brush your cheek again before he returned to fucking your mouth, some part of his brain keening at the sight of you drooling around his length. He may have been a clean freak, but there were some messy sights when it came to you that he loved.

He continued to praise you while he enjoyed your mouth, lasting for several more thrusts before he removed his cock from your mouth, gently tugging you upward to your feet again. “Let me fuck you right here. I can’t wait for the bedroom.”

There was something so intrinsically commanding – and sexy – about his tone that had you scrambling to allow him to lift you onto the counter, removing your skirt and underwear and tossing them to the pile with his pants as you went. “You’re fucking me in every room in this house, William Miller. This is just the start.”

He used his hand gently to raise one of your legs and hook it over his shoulder, his other hand fisting his cock to smear your remaining spit around his length as he groaned at your words. Leaning forward he lined his cock up with your tight entrance, releasing his length to grab the hand towel on the counter beside you, holding the fabric behind your head gently as he pressed a kiss to your lips gently.

“Don’t want you hitting your head,” he explained before beginning to push his throbbing cock into your velvet walls, groaning deeply as he leaned his forehead against yours with his eyes screwed shut in concentration. You leaned your head back, grateful for the cushion of the towel and his hand rather than the cabinet as you gasped, keening at the feeling of his cock splitting you open again.

When he’d bottomed out in you he stilled for a moment, kissing you again deeply and hungrily as he enjoyed the feeling of being fully wrapped up in you again. When he released you from the kiss he lowered his head to burrow into your neck, breathing in the smell of you deeply as he began to thrust into you carefully, perfectly. Even with you on a counter he knew the perfect angles to enter you, each thrust knocking the head of his cock against either the spongey spot that made you moan or your cervix, which always made you cry out his name.

It was impossible for him to say which he preferred.

After thrusting slowly and carefully for a while, enjoying the steady beat of your heart against his chest and your pulse beneath his lips. He raised his head to kiss you again, picking up the pace as his tongue danced across your bottom lip again, a deep groan sounding in his chest when your walls fluttered around him. He was unwilling to release you from the kiss fully so he muttered against your lips – how beautiful you were, how good you felt, how wonderful you sounded moaning for him, how fucking perfect you were…

He was burrowing into your mind and heart now. You were letting him.

You intentionally clenched your walls around him slightly, wrapping your other leg around his waist to force him deeper into you, pulling what was practically a growl from his chest. His hand on your hip grasped tighter as he gave several deep, pointed, slow thrusts, his forehead falling to lean against yours as he released a shaky breath.

“Wanna fill you up again,” he breathed out desperately, fingertips digging into you roughly as his pace became sloppy. “Can’t stop thinking about seeing my cum leak out of your pretty pussy.”

“Will, fuck…” you moaned again, hands grasping his shoulders to help ground yourself somewhat, feeling the building pressure again and knowing euphoria approached. His hand left your hip to slide lower, his thumb rubbing quick circles around your sensitive bundle of nerves to coax you over the edge.

“You like that? You like hearing me talk about filling you up, my love?”

“Yes, Will, fuck, f-f-fu-fucking love it,” you moaned out, your eager-to-please tone scratching an itch in his brain and causing his pace to increase – he now pounded into you relentlessly, knowing full well you wouldn’t walk well tomorrow. He’d be here to care for you anyway.

“I know ya do,” he groaned, nipping at your bottom lip lightly. “Means you’re mine.

”You could only nod up at him as your lips stayed open, eyelids heavy. He managed a light smile at the sight, losing himself in the fantasy of filling you so often that one day it would really take and that the two of you would fill this big farmhouse with a family – one day, he thought. For now, he could at least enjoy claiming your womb in practice.

Your orgasm washed over you quickly and powerfully, walls tightening down around his cock causing him to stay buried to the hilt as you cried out his name loudly, eyes rolling back. He ground his waist against you best he could with your tight, hot walls spasming around him until his own release came, ropes of his hot seed spilling into you. He kissed you throughout your orgasms, pulling you in closer to his chest to have you as flush against him as possible.

He continued to kiss you repeatedly, gently, reverently, worshipful as both of you came down from your shared high.

“You still want me to stay?” he questioned quietly against your lips when both of you seemed to have your breath returned to normal. You offered a gentle smile, pressing a kiss against his bottom lip – it was lazy, tired. Some of his favorite kisses from you were such – when you had no energy left and you still tried to give it to him.

“Only if you carry me to bed, soldier.”

He smiled – one of his pure and genuine smiles – as he scooped you up into his arms bridal style, holding you closer to his chest as he nodded. Flipping the lights off, Will began to exit the kitchen to make his way to share your bed for the first time, before a final thought ran through his mind. For a moment he questioned if he should voice the thoughts – but he knew you wouldn’t judge him.

“…You want me to grab more of those cupcakes before we go up?”

masterlist.

#william ironhead miller #william miller x reader #will miller x reader #william miller smut #will ironhead miller #triple frontier #triple frontier smut #charlie hunnam

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