#ahhhhhh it took so long to make it

[nessa-rpgs]

Back with another big one ! Kellen fighting a bandit leader !

[olieadeuxx]

PKMN Champion Yuuki challenges you to a battle!

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Country Honey

 ♡ featuring: ranchhand!toji x richgirl!reader

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

 ♡ wc: 16.5k+ (AHHHHHH)

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

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

“Almost there.” 

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

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

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

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

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

You could die right now. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*Chop* 

You clutch the side of the parted door. 

*Chop* 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pompous ass instigatin’ little-” 

“-Callous disrespectful pig!” 

“-Brat.”  

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit” you mumble.  

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

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

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

“Yea, nobody you know.” 

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

“Jerk.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Slip. Crash! 

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

Brown. It’s on your face.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

That shit-eating grin. 

“No need to thank me, miss piggy.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, and did I mention very annoying? 

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

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

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

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

“HEY!”  

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

“This is my bathroom you idiot!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get yer feet off the wheel.” 

“Mm, nah. It’s not hurting anyone.” 

“’S hurting me.” 

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

“What did I-” 

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

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

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

“Sorry.” 

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

“What are you doing?” 

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

Your ears perk up, “She?” 

“Yup.” 

“Does she have a name?” 

“Nope.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe Rosy? Oh, or Susie.” 

“Think I’ll just call ‘er (Y/N).” 

“Huh? Why my name?” 

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

“Why not an A?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.” 

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

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

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

“…What?”  

“Oh. Uh, nothing.” 

He returns to what he was doing.  

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

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

“Yeah.” 

“So…did he figure it out?” 

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

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

“Can’t. Hands full.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not important” he responds curt. 

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

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

“…like someone cut you” you mutter. 

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

“I-“  

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

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

The space between you widens with each step. 

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

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

“Thank you for the tea.” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Everythin’ alright, sugar?” 

“Think I messed up.” 

“Hm? How so?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“...” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you know where he is?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What kind of horse is it?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yup, since I got to the farm.” 

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

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

“It would be if I never finished school.” 

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

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

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

“Forget it-” 

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

“I want to help people.”   

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

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

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

“That’s not what I meant.” 

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

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

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

“My bad.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you scared now?”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ya have no sense of danger.” 

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

“...I'm glad.” 

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

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

“Ouch.”  

“Careful, hun.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Should I write one for you, too?” 

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

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

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

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

“Wanna go for a ride?” he calls. 

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

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

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

He holds his hand out, “Up.” 

“To where?” 

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

“Might wanna hold on.”  

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

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

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

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

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

“How come?” 

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

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

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

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

“It looks cute on me.” 

“So what?” 

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

“I think you’re a brat.”  

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

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

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

“The feeling’s mutual” you retort. 

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

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

 scoops and sets you down.  

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

“I guess this is it.” 

“Yup” he agrees. 

“Try not to miss me too much.”  

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

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

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

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

“Heh. Yes, ma’am.” 

“So…um.” 

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

“Y-yeah.” 

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

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

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

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

“Like I wanna look at you.” 

“I wouldn’t mind if ya did.” 

“God, you’re so far up your own-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wanna do so much worse.” 

“Then do it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe you’re not doing good enough.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you cry. 

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

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

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

“Y’know just how to get me.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s” 

“Pussy” 

“Is this?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“I wanna sleep” he grumbles. 

“Then you should’ve let me leave” 

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

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

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

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

[wegc]

perv!channie and reader finally fucking but she teases him the whole time until he has had enough. “you’re such a fucking pervert” and “you’re so disgusting” all while she’s grinning at him and riding him like her life depends on it. he’s literally a second away from cumming as soon as he’s inside her. “you really think you deserve to cum? after fantasizing about fucking your best friend’s sister?” she denies him to cum for so long that he finally snaps and flips her over, pounding into her like a madman. “such a tease, you whore” and “don’t have much to say now, huh?” she cums so hard but he’s not done. even after he cums, he aint done either…

OK IM DONE AHHHHHH (please feel free to finish or add on or write more to it bc i would v much appreciate it)

i’m ascending. something about cocky!reader paired with a perpetually flustered, perv!chan is such a mouthwatering combination.

perv!chan whose cock twitches inside you every time you humiliate him with yet another reminder of how repulsive and depraved he is; he can’t bite back immediately because you’re right. he’s nothing but a disgusting pervert and he’s fortunate that you aren’t completely appalled by him.

when you grip the base of his cock and guide him inside your dripping cunt, chan feels like he could pass away beneath you. every delusion of his, whether it emerged in his bedroom or your washroom—a mere room away from you—was coming true and it was far better than he had ever imagined.

all he can do is pant and whine under you, taking in the sight of your tits bouncing in his face and the cute flush of your face, which scrunched up in pleasure. most importantly, the feeling of your cunt—the warmest thing in the world—took his breath away; his cunt, all his—he’d make sure of it.

the overwhelming feeling of being inside you, the epiphany and high of all his dreams and desires coming true right before him has his poor cock pulsing inside you, seconds away from cumming. each flutter of your cunt, each moment your fingers teased his nipples or when your hot, wet mouth whined against his had him feeling lightheaded—he knew he wouldn’t last long.

and your teasing—while it did turn him on, it also infuriated him. god, you were such a fucking brat—a mouthy little handful. did you frankly know what he thought of every time he stroked his cock to the image of you? you wouldn’t be behaving so pretentiously if you knew all the things he yearned to do to you, all the positions he’d bend you in, all the fondling and groping he had dreamt of, all the mean and obscene remarks he’d taunt you with, all the ways in which he would make you beg for more. you had no fucking clue.

before you even realize it, you’re pulled off his cock and manhandled to your hands and knees, where the drilling of chan’s cock seizes your breath. he’s suddenly so deep inside your cunt—you swear the tip of his cock might kiss your cervix—and you can scarcely catch some air every time he snaps his hips to go harder.

chan would grin, smacking your ass, laughing shakily at the sounds of your yelps and wailing with each drag of his length. your face is buried in his pillow, but even that hardly muffles your loud sobs and pleas.

“god, you don’t ever shut up do you?”

“fuckin’ brat, you want more?”

“dirty little thing, you’re just as gross as me.”

“you feel like a whore, don’t you? doesn’t it make you feel dirty, knowing everything i’ve done? you hate that you like it, don’t you?”

chan, who fucks until dawn, cumming continually inside you and pulling out periodically to observe and engrave the way his cum oozes out of your gaping hole. he feels so pleased as he takes in the bruises and marks he’s littered on your body, marking you as his. or even better, the way your eyes gloss over, looking at him desperately with tearful eyes. your hair is dishevelled, draped messily across his ruined sheets, and your lips are bruised with his kisses and nibbles, lipgloss pathetically smudged away.

“so fucking pretty—my pretty girl, yeah? you wanna go again? can’t go without me, hm? need me so bad to stop all that fussing, right?”

“you’re all mine now, you know that? can’t fuck you just once—can’t have you looking at other people.”

[milkzoro]

'innocent' cuddles with him. t.law

mdni

he held your back flush against his bare chest, holding one of your legs up as he touched the softest parts of your body.

his cold hands swayed over each and every curve of your delicate self. you felt the warmth of his soft breaths as he came to rest his nose perfectly in the space of your neck, he kissed tenderly at the skin making you sigh in comfort and bliss.

his voice was so calm as he spoke to you. “how are you feeling baby? your skin is so soft.” he kissed again.

he nuzzled deeper, leaving little love marks and trails of kisses from your collar bone and up. your breath hitched.

they moved as if they had a mind of their own, your legs trembled and parted farther for him the more he teased the sensitive mound in your panties.

“m-more. . . please, keep touching me there. . .” you begged.

his long fingers swayed between the silky folds of your cunt, rubbing swift circles around your clit with his middle and ring finger. “like this? tell me what you want y/n. i wanna make you feel good.” he whispered.

you felt the growing pressure of his cock rest against the tail of your spine as he continued to hold you tight, gently rutting against you as he changed the pace of his touches.

his name dripped from your parted lips in a whine, your cheeks flushed as he made you grow closer and closer.

“so wet baby. . . you gonna cum?” he purred, kissing you all over.

his two digits slid in deep with ease, meticulously pumping and curling against your g-spot. your boyfriends eyes clenched shut with the feeling of his twitching cock pressed firmly against your skin, he was going painfully slow but it made it that much better for him.

“babyy- i want to feel you. . . your cock, law. . . let me help you t-too.” you moaned, trying to turn back around to face him.

he groaned in response, “fuck. no, not yet- give me this one first y/n.” he quickened his pace, pushing another finger deep inside you. your juices coated his skin and soaked the sheets beneath you. “you’re close baby, let go. then i’ll give you what you want, yeah?”

you heard the sneer in his voice, selfishly getting you off for his own pleasure, you wanted to cum so bad. “shit!! yes, law! g-gonna cum!” your eyes tightened as you were beginning your release.

he hooked his fingers up towards your tummy, repeatedly stroking the sensitive pad in your cunt. the knots holding you together were coming undone, making you drip all over his fingers.

“that’s my girl, you’re doing so good. now, look at my fingers baby.” he removed his self from you to let you both admire what you’ve done. the aftershock of your orgasm made it hard for you to focus.

“open y/n. ahhhhhh-” his slick digits toyed with your bottom lip before sliding them down your throat, you sucked them clean already knowing what he wanted. you heard laws breaths become sporadic and hoarse, feeling your tongue lick and suck him clean.

he slowly took them out and gently squeezed your hips to lift and face you towards him, he placed you perfectly in his lap. “such a good girl, come here.” his hands snaked around your neck to pull you close. tenderly, he kissed your plush lips.

you reached down to lower his sweats, struggling with the hem as your lips were still pressed to his.

he let you go.

“so eager, let’s take care of you.” he snickered, holding his hand on yours to help remove the loose fabrics containing his needy cock.

[81folklore]

heaven - PIASTRI - part 3

pairings: oscar piastri x private!reader (fc: gracie abrams)

summary: oscars girlfriend attends her first grand prix and the public get to see just how proud she is of oscar

authors note: ive honestly missed writing for oscar and priv!reader so we are back in honor of oscars FIRST EVER WIN AND INCREDIBLE SPRINT RACE!! im genuinely so proud of oscar and im honestly in shock. i also follow ZERO wag pages so i have no clue what they are like, if people actually follow them etc.

authors note 2: short-ish and sweet for OSCARS FIRST WIN?? i started writing this about 30 minutes before the sprint race so i had no clue where this was going to go but HE WON!!

part 1 part 2 masterlist

f1wagupdates

liked by user5, user81, user9 and 7,289 others

yn entering the paddock for the first time today! she followed shortly after oscar, spoke to some oscar/mclaren fans and handed a few who were unable to meet oscar, on his way in, some signed things she had. we absolutely love her already!!

view comments

user81: omg she’s literally the sweetest thing😭

user17: I LOVE HER ALREADY

user61: the fact that oscar fans already love her🫶🫶

user9: oh she looks so cute!!

user72: i was one of the girls she gave something too! she said she had been following behind oscar and kept an eye on anyone who he missed to give them something after he left. she was very very shy, but she made sure to speak to everyone who oscar missed and was asking us questions about us, overall she was very sweet!!

user22: this makes me love her even more😭and congrats on the signed stuff!! do you mind me asking what it was?

user72: thank you! and of course, we all got something different! i got a signed polaroid of oscar (im still in disbelief?! and it must have been one she took herself bcs i couldnt find the photo online anywhere), someone a bit down from me got what looked like a drivers card and i saw someone else get a picture of his car!

user22: A POLAROID?? oh you won😭😭

user1: i wonder if we will see her again

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant and 9,619 others

first qualifying in the paddock was a rollercoaster of emotions, not the result we were hoping for, expected or wanted but its ok because oscars gonna smash it tomorrow and we’ll pretend today didnt happen!!

view comments

oscarpiastri: glad you had fun🤍

oscarpiastri: my goodluck charm wasnt goodlucking today

yourusername: dont say thattt☹️ill try and be extra lucky tomorrow promise!!

oscarpiastri: i love you

yourusername: i love you more🤭

user3: the photo difference😭

user14: loved seeing you in the garage today

yourfriend3: i love you but those photos😭😭

yourusername: stoooop i was so nervous all day😭

yourfriend7: wish oscar luck from all of us back home!

oscarpiastri: 👍👍

user81: u are so cute☹️

user2: so unfair how they told oscar during the interview!!

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 9,182 others

changed outfits but we are ready for the sprint!!

tagged oscarpiastri

comments on this post have been limited

oscarpiastri: love you lots and lots, thank you for coming🧡

yourusername: I LOVE YOU!! and you dont have to thank me, ill always stay with you🤍🤍

f1

liked by yourusername, mitchevans_ and 817,175 others

PIASTRI STORMS TO SPRINT POLE IN QATAR!🤩🔥

He just keeps getting better and better!

view comments

mclaren: YESSSSSS!!!👏👏👏

user6: P1ASTRI

yourusername: INCREDIBLE🤩🤩

user18: more than deserved!

user73: absolute legend

yourusername added to their story

seen by oscarpiastri and 6,289 others

user6: AHHHHHH

user81: LOOK AT HIM GO

oscarpiastri: ☺️☺️

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 10,278 others

oh how i obsessively adore you.. today you took your first f1 pole position, hours later you became a formula one race winner (idc if it was a sprint you still won!!)

i have been on this incredible journey with you long before your first f2 race. i was by your side at your first f2 win and im still by your side now youve won in f1

i know how much this win means to you, i know how much you wanted to prove yourself to everyone and you have. you never fail to amaze me, especially coming back after the shit show that was yesterday

you are truly incredible and you are so so special🐨

i love you so much, congratulations🧡

tagged oscarpiastri

view comments

user61: WHAT IF I STARTED SOBBING

user11: THE KOALA😭😭

user72: so deserved🧡incredible drive!!

user68: the f2 race winner picture😭😭the f1 race winner picture😭😭THE SMILEY INTERVIEW PICTURE😭😭

oscarpiastri: my favorite goodluck charm🧡

oscarpiastri: thank you so much for sticking with me through it all

oscarpiastri: i appreciate you so much my love

yourusername: you are so special, lovely🩵

landonorris: usually i hate your sappy posts but ill make an exception this time..congrats mate!!

oscarpiastri: you too mate!

yourusername: knew id get you to love these posts eventually🤭

formula2: we’re so proud of our aussie🥹🐨

oscarpiastri and yourusername added to their stories

seen by yourusername, aussiegrit and 722,519 others

*text on first photo reads: my favourite thing is when i open my phone after a race and i see the photos yn sent me during the race🧡* *text on second photo reads: i love seeing my boy do what he loves*

oscar’s replies:

user52: shes so cute☹️

user12: tell me that was when you won the race and not before

user61: where can i find someone like her😭

yourusername: babyyy i didnt know youd share these😭😭

oscarpiastri: just had to show everyone how grateful i am for you🤍

user49: get yourself someone who supports you the way yn supports oscar!!

yn’s replies:

user17: oh i love you guys so much

yourfriend2: we are all so proud of oscar!!

oscarpiastri: i love you so much more than i can ever express

yourusername: osc☹️☹️ i hold so much love and adoration for you

oscarpiastri: wait when did you take this photo??

yourusername: i watched the final lap in the bathroom so i could sob in peace😭

[teeskzagain]

original post got taken down unfortunately😔😔, here is the updated version

Anonymous asked:

I keep imagining Mingi forcing you to cockwarm him at a movie theatre AHHHHHHSHSHH and like he teases you by occasionally thrusting up to hit all the right places and saying it was just him “getting comfy” or “he had a cramp” when he really just enjoys seeing you try to keep everything together 👹 I also feel like he’d whisper in your ear like “pay attention Angel, I didn’t spend money on these tickets for nothing” WITH HIS DEEP ASS VOICE AHHHHHH IK GENUINELY TWEAKING RN- 🙏🧎‍♀️AHEM- He would also SO massage your thighs and hips (IMAGINE THROWING YOUR HEAD BACK AND HE STARTS PEPPERING YOUR NECK WITH KISSESHSJSHSHHSJSGRRRRRRRRR)

There are so many “also’s” in that sentence 💀 BUT WHATEVER YOU GET THE POINT HOPEFULLY 🤡 don’t feel at all obligated to make anything of this especially since idek if you take requests 😭 I just thought that this is such a YUMMY Drabble prompt 😀 and HAD to share it <3 take care pookemssss

OHH??? uh first off I would like to say I'D LOVE TO TAKE REQUESTS (you're actually the first to provide me with a prompt) and second this is so absolutely delicious.

warnings: smut (COCKWARMING, exhibition, semi-public, teasing, kissing) 18+

wc: 1.2k

~

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this probably wouldn’t even be the first time you found yourself in this situation. no, it’d be a regular occurrence at this point, a developmental game if you must. that’s why bf!mingi absolutely loves the movies, because that’s when he get’s to play his favorite game.

‘how long are you gonna last this time around?’

imagine bf!mingi, who’s caressing your thigh tenderly with the backs of his fingers, shushing you and mumbling sweetly into your hair while your ass continues to squirm against his pelvis. getting situated always took the longest. so tedious, finding that perfect spot where you can just slide down and onto his lap, your walls gripping his cock and swallowing it whole.

he sits idly and unmoving, allowing you to move around for a bit. because at some point, bf!mingi’s gonna start the fun part of the game. the part that really tests your strength.

and once you finally achieve that perfect spot, the sensation makes your face scrunch pleasantly and a soft sigh floats out of you. so entranced, you almost don’t notice the pretty pink blanket, draped over the both of you, slip just slightly down your leg.

“shhhh…okay baby, i need you keep still,” he’d tell you, and a part of him almost doesn’t want to go reposition it. what if he left you out and exposed? imagine, someone walking up and discovering the disgusting scene. it’s exciting him, these thoughts, but soon enough he’s lowering himself down and recovers you two, all the while holding back a smile. it’s enjoyable for him, just the riskiness of it all.

how the dark theatre somehow shadows your lewd actions, yet the monumental screen ahead provides illumination onto your struggling face, “if you wanna win, you know you can’t move.”

after many weeks of playing, you haven’t won a single round. not once. you would get so close, but then luck out whenever bf!mingi would buck a bit too hard, or your own desires began to consume you. every, single round, a loser had been made out of you.

“last time, you couldn’t even make it through the previews before you fucking came all over my legs,” he reminds you, a slow and sick grin spreading wide, “you gonna try harder? wanna get your prize tonight?” it’s pathetic how you have to bite back a mewl from his words.

this is always the hardest part for you: the taunting. it kills you every time.

at the start of the movie, it’s through his teasing voice; his low, grumble of a tone that buzzes perfectly into your head.

“see? already made it through the trailers,” he’d laugh. as a reward the aimless touch he provided earlier turns into a hard grab, kneading at the flesh of your thighs with a quiet groan, “one step closer. just needa make it through the movie.”

then, it’s through his touches.

as you become more conscious of your ragged breaths, his hand trails from your leg and drags up towards your shirt. teasing your breasts through the fabric, he grazes absentmindedly before running then back down your stomach, only stopping when he meets your bare pussy. it takes his full strength to not end the game by just simply fingering the orgasm out of you. but if that were the case, then he wouldn’t be able to see you whither. and that’s always his most favored part.

the most you could do is shut your eyes and pray your body doesn’t betray you. but even that doesn’t get you far, with just a few minutes into the movie, friction starts to build within you. while bf!mingi rests his back against the plush seat, grateful for his top view of the movie theatre, a slow thrust of his hips find a rhythm in your core.

it's torturous. the intentional, unhurried movements, leisurely rocking in and out of you. it's like he's rubbing himself inside you, and you're forced to seal your mouth.

"you holding up okay, angel?" he mutters and you give him a brisk nod, turning to the side momentarily. he finds that comical. your desire to always win. the need to prove him wrong.

but he knows you. he knows you're slipping with every second his leaking cock stays within you, radiating the pleasure you so desperately seek. he knows you're crumbling. you’re gonna unravel soon.

right when you think you've conquered this section of the challenge, a quick shift from underneath you has your eyes vibrating, a small gasp leaving you as bf!mingi practically buries himself closer to your cervix.

"ah, oops, sorry...just need to.." he moves around some more, adjusting his position, along with you, before halting once again, "alright, there we go. i feel much better. how about you?"

the angle he’s now hitting feels like it’s splitting you open and a strained yet airy moan tupples from your lips. with no more strength, your head falls down into the space between his shoulder and neck, eyes shut and brows furrowed, "i can't- i can't do it-"

"mmm, baby, no," he wraps an arm around your torso to reach your cheeks, clasping them together with a smush then forcing you back forward, "baby, you gotta keep your eyes open."

he drops his hand but that doesn't stop your whining, you sobbing out a, "no- i can't-"

"shhh y/n what did i say?,” he locks onto your inner thighs and widens them, “you know i didn't spend money on these damn tickets for nothing. come on, watch the movie."

as you feel him start up again with his quiet thrusts, you loll your head back with a grimace and hooded eyes, little noises now spilling out. your neck fully exposed, bf!mingi takes initiative to lean up and bring his lips to the vast area, nipping and kissing at it. he suctions onto your skin which sends a jolt throughout your core.

and just like that, you're done for.

"you're so close, i can feel it." he whispers on your neck as a devilish smirk overtakes his kisses, "i fucking knew it. i knew you would lose."

his words nearly egg you on as you accept defeat, allowing yourself to succumb to the slow pace of his length sliding against your insides. your fingers curl with the repeated motion, a continuous build up until eventually you burst and your orgasm hits you hard.

it causes you to wriggle against him, contracting your body so tightly you’re shaking then releases you, repeating this over and over again all the while bf!mingi keeps his kisses coming on your neck.

like said, this is always his favorite part of the game. the thing he looks most forward to. because no matter how hard you've tried, it always ends the same.

"aww," he notices your high coming down, excluding the occasional body twitches, "and the movie was almost over."

"you're awful." you could hardly muster that sentence, your back resting on top of his chest while you regain your composure. your cunt still pulsed every now and then around him.

he supplies a silent laugh before going in your ear once more, "well, look at it this way. now we can go home and play your favorite game."

while bf!mingi returns back to his seat, bringing you with him, a small whimper is produced by you. because absolutely not what was to come, your favorite game. in fact, it felt merely like an extension of this game.

‘how many different ways are you gonna make bf!mingi cum tonight?’

[donatellawritings]

tella baby it’s ♡ anon I LOVE SWEETHEART READER but J was wondering what if Rafe were with an Americana aesthetic reader? I imagine her being a very vintage-esque girl who loves picnics, farm work, listening to Lana, thrift shopping, sucking lollipops, wearing small shorts and denim skirts, just your typical girl next door OMG sorry if this is too long of an ask I can send a shorter one ahhhhhh ♡ ♡

this is perfect! ugh i love this sm <3

rafe had met you, through the likes of his sister, sarah — she’d stumbled upon your parents’ land during one of her bike rides through figure 8, her lips parted in awe at the sight of you brushing the shiny coat of your white camarillo horse, who’d she quickly learn was named ‘leche’ a silly name that stuck since you first got the horse as an innocent child. that one question about your beloved horse, was all it took for you and sarah to become engrossed in an hours-long conversation about anything and everything. she fell in love with everything about you — your big bombshell hair, cutesy doll lashes, skimpy baby pink polka dot bikini top, and even skimpier daisy dukes, all the way down to the adorable butterfly belly button ring that adorned your tummy.

the moment you’d exchanged the pleasantries of learning each other’s names, sarah was quick to make you her very best friend, your latin tongue making itself known as you spoke, leaving the perky blonde even more entranced by you — making sure that you had her phone number, before she pressed a sweet kiss to the side of your horse’s nose, turning to send you a small wave as she got back on her bike, pedaling her way back to tannyhill. the two of you were pathetically giddy and the potential of your budding friendship, you both were left giggling into the late hours of the night, before ending the call with plans for you to teach sarah how to ride a horse, tomorrow. it wasn’t until you had been friends for about six months, that sarah decided that you should come over to her house for once, she’d grown to accustomed to the judgement-free air that came with being on the farm with you.

sure, you lived on figure 8, but your family’s property teetered on the fine line of being considered part of the cut, but your parents were insistent on you being in an environment where you could experience the lavish side of life. so, as you got to know sarah cameron, the daunting thought of stepping foot inside of tannyhill had left you a nervous mess as you meticulously dolled yourself up. latin music flowed softly through your speaker as you squeezed your tube of glittery lipgloss between your sparkly cotton candy pink acrylic nails, precisely smearing the sticky gloss across your swollen lips, mushing them together before your pulled away from the mirror of your vanity with a content sigh.

carefully clasping your rosary around your neck, you gently combed your nails through the ends of your perfectly curled hair, before smoothing your hands down your strapless micro dress, the lace and silk lined cups that confined your breasts, adorned with a neatly sewed bow, pushing them up cutely against your chest as you slipped your feet into dainty white kitten heels, before rushing downstairs, your heels clicking against the hardwood floor as you stepped out onto your driveway, silently praying to yourself that you wouldn’t make an absolute fool of yourself. i mean, it was only meant to be an innocent lunch where you’d meet your best friend’s family — surely, in your little naive mind, you manipulated yourself into believing that nothing too bad could come from having lunch with the cameron family. right?

you were broken from your whiplash-inducing thoughts with parted sticky and swollen lips as the sound of sarah’s familiar car horn filled your pearl-earring adorned ears.

୨୧

with a sigh, sarah linked her arm through yours, biting down into her bottom lip as the two of you stepped inside of the grandeur that was tannyhill. before the two of you could exceed the confines of the foyer, she pulled away from you, suddenly overcome with the impending annoyance and embarrassment that came with introducing people to her family, specifically, her older brother. your dolly lashes fluttered together as your eyes softened with confusion.

before sarah could speak, the staggering height of ward cameron stopping behind sarah came into your line of vision, your lips parting as he clasped a fatherly hand down onto his daughter’s shoulder as she forced a warm smile at you, “hi sweetie,” he pressed his lips to sarah’s head, squeezing her shoulder before he pulled away from sarah, extending a firm hand in your direction, “s’a pleasure to finally meet you, i’m mr. cameron,” ward smiled, nodding approvingly as you revealed your name, enveloping your small hand around his as you politely shook his hand.

“hi mr. cameron,” you extended a courteous smile, fighting back a laugh as you watched sarah roll her eyes teasingly.

with a clap of his large hands, ward stepped to the side, “well, we don’t want to keep everyone waiting outside, your brother should be home soon, sarah,” ward breathes out a laugh, your wide eyes sparkling with awe as you walked through the grandeur main room of tannyhill. sarah allowed a giddy smile to pull on her pout as she took in your observant gaze. she loved how despite your status of living on figure 8, you remained humble, extending kindness to every person and animal you came across, so much so that it inspired her to treat even the smallest bugs with utmost respect.

“your home is beautiful, mr. cameron,” you beamed, lashes fluttering as you stepped out into the pristinely decorated backyard. your brief moment of shock once again overtaken by your meddlesome nerves as you approached the flower adorned table, smoothing your hands underneath the plush curve of your ass, before taking your seat beside sarah.

the table was quiet as your wiped your clammy hands against your dress, suddenly overcome with insecurity as sarah’s stepmother and younger sister stared at you, their eyes greedily drinking you in. with parted lips, you began to speak when wheezie suddenly cut in, “you’re really hot,” she blurted, your parted lips expanding into a flushed smile as sarah snorted beside you, a complete contrast from the stern and bewildered stares that wheezie received from ward and rose.

“that was so inappropriate, wheezie,” rose scolded with a displeased roll of her eyes, before turning to face ward who kept his stern eyes on wheezie who sunk into her seat.

you were quick to mouth ‘thank you’ to the younger girl, before turning your attention to ward who let out out a sharp sigh, running a hand over his face, before forcing a smile, “alright, well — my son should be home any minute, so please, feel free to help yourself to what’s on the table,” ward motioned to the array of salad, sandwiches, fruits, and pitchers of juice that covered the table. with a shaky hand, you poured yourself a glass of orange juice, licking over your glossed lips as sarah did followed suit, filling her glass.

just as you brought the glass to your lips, the sight of a tall young man, with greasy strands of hair fanning over his face approached the table, dressed in a black button up and khaki pants. fuck, he was hot. subconsciously your pressed your thighs together, focusing your attention on swallowing down the citrusy juice that flooded your tongue.

“nice of you to join us, rafe — have a seat, son,” ward spoke gruffly, watching closely as rafe took the seat at the opposite end of the table, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he took in your presence. his bright blue eyes immediately went the swells of your pushed-up breasts, before flickering up to meet your shy gaze, earning a disgusted scoff from sarah. ward did not miss his son’s inappropriate transgression, clearing his throat to gather the attention of the table, “son, this is sarah’s friend,” ward introduced you, rafe’s eyes remaining on yours as your name fell from ward’s mouth, causing rafe’s eyebrows to raise in intrigue as his head cocked to the side.

rafe decided that he had to toy with you, see if you truly were as light and airy as your physical appearance portrayed as he parted his pink lips, “yeah? how’d you get so lucky to meet my sweet sister, sarah?” rafe spoke, his tone pathetically condescending as he carefully watched you awkwardly shift in your sweet. you were a skittish one — he liked that.

with a forced and breathy laugh, you smiled politely, “she was riding her bike and she saw my horse, leche,” you answered truthfully, earning an amused chuckle from rafe that left you somewhat embarrassed. your doe eyes were quick to glaze as you swallowed thickly, before you turned to sarah.

“rafe, don’t be such a dick,” sarah spat, earning a corrective tut from ward as rafe glanced at his father with feigned confusion.

leaning forward, rafe focused his attention onto sarah, a tall knowing smirk on his face, “easy, sarah — m’just getting to know your little friend, i mean, isn’t that why she’s here?” rafe pushes further, returning his eyes to yours as your fingers fiddled with the silk trims that lined the hem of your dress. “she’s a big girl, i’m sure that she could speak up for her-” rafe began, before he was harshly cut off by the slam of ward’s closed fist colliding with the table, causing rafe to silence, his jaw clenched as he closed his eager mouth.

there was a part of you that felt bad for rafe, you almost felt responsible for his scolding, your soft eyes didn’t miss the way he flinched as ward hit the table. you could see that rafe just wanted attention, and you couldn’t bring yourself to ignore to subtle ache in your chest as he remained silent for the duration of the lunch, his eyes hanging low as the rest of the cameron family made polite conversation with you. it wasn’t until the entirety of the table went off to do their own thing, that you turned to rafe who blankly stared at his empty plate.

going against sarah’s wishes, you insisted on at least trying to talk to rafe and sarah knew that you’d simply felt bad for her brother — it was in your nature to want to fix anything that was broken. so, you remained seated, flipping your hair over your shoulder as your eyes feel on the gold signet ring that dressed rafe’s finger, “i like your ring,” you smiled, your core simmering as rafe brought his eyes to yours, his blank face empty of any definite expression.

“look — y’just a naive little girl who is my sister’s friend, not mine, y’understand?” rafe snapped, fighting back every urge not to bend you over the table as your glossed lips slightly quivered at his harsh words. your stomach churned with embarrassment as your eyes welled with hot threatening tears, “y’don’t speak to me, unless i speak to you, a’ight?” he spat, swallowing back the bitter guilt that became apparent in his tongue as you furiously nodded in your seat.

“okay,” you squeaked out, before hastily standing from your seat as you rushed to make your way back inside of the home, before rafe could see the fat tears that rolled down your blushy cheeks.

rafe knew that he had been a bit too harsh towards you, but he could tell that you needed some tough love — i mean, what was wrong with some redirection? your head was too far up in the clouds, and that would end up getting you into trouble that not even your pretty and swollen smile would be able to get out of. and what kind of a man would rafe be, if he didn’t look out for you, keep an eye out for you … even if it meant that he stole a glance up your dress as you tearfully walked away from him.

[thatdeadaquarius]

it's almost 4am i can't get this out of my head holy shit.

reader whose original body is a literal eldritch forest deity and speaks in hymns (bonus points: after we isekai into said og body, we mix slang into it).

the acolytes have to break their fucking necks just to talk to you eye-to-eye, and the only thing they can make out of what you say is something equal to tablets bajillion years old already.

or that reader is constantly cussing and the acolytes just nod along not understanding whatever this 15ft tall eldritch horror is saying.

-🫀

ELDRITCH HORROR READER. I LIVEEE, NONE OF U UNDERSTAND, THIS IS SO DEEPLY AHHHHHH

I LITERALLY JUST SHIMMY STIM IN MY SEAT WHEN I THINK ABT THIS TOO LONG LMAO

i LIVE AND BREATHE for when we look like eldritch horrors but are just people lmao

IF I HAVEN’T RUN U OFF, 🫀 MY HEART, MI CORAZON <3

U HAVE A BEAUTIFUL MIND DESPITE BEING A BLOODY HEART

☆

Sun: Gender Neutral Reader (they/them only), Eldritch!Reader

Planet: Misc. Genshin AUs

Orbit: some headcanons, tiny scenario

Stars: a little bit of Zhongli, Xiao, Ganyu, Ningguang, Keqing, and the adepti

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: Light Description of Body Modifications/Body Horror-esque, Light Description of Eldritch Horror Creature, Reader has a Non-Human Body,

& Trigger Warnings: Eldritch Monster, Light Body Horror, Non-Con Body Modifications (Wake up as a monster, described as positive).

FUCKING LOVE THIS GIF, AND THIS SONG AND ARTISTTT

hey so here’s a song to listen I was listening to while writing this, chose the instrumental bc it was less distracting!

👉👈 hope u like :)

you just come into Teyvat from either Enkanomiya, the straight up Abyss/Dark Realm or even Celestia/Light Realmunder that glowing mushrooms tree in the Chasm, or like, ooo even by the upside down Barbatos statue 👀

and its great bc ur like- “omg Teyvat ooooo, ahhhh”

meanwhile the animals/magical creatures/beings nearby like shakin in their boots

literally no matter what land type their in, water, air, etc. they’re all bowing (despite the hooves, the paws, the flippers, the wings,) hell, even the bugs?? Might be bowing???

and you were slow to wake up wherever you were, so it took you a second to really process-

plus it just felt so weirdly, natural?

Not like walking on 2 legs no, but more like, how swimming feels but without the act of doing it?

you realize you’re… hovering.

wow, guess you can do that now,

your pretty much crowned with every flower from the regions of Teyvat, and a few from other Realms like Celestia, Abyss, and Enkanomiya, etc.

you have extra limbs, you feel them shift like you’ve had them all your life, even tho you do smack urself a few times with them lmao (new hand-eye coordination is hard)

and you realize u can see elemental traces/elements of beings, even plants, all the time now?

It isn’t until you look into a pretty still pond that you see what you look like,

you’ve got more eyes

I mean u thought you’d just be one of the twins, or ur own person if somebody asked u what youd look like isekaied to Genshin Impact, not what looks like the elemental god of the fucking continent

but you don’t look bad! actually you think you look kinda neat!

You’ve got like this coat of many draping vines and plantlife, glowing coral poking out near the top that’s around your throat, and- is that- tiny waterfalls?? Running down your nature cape too??

the many gemstones and ore of this planet form your legs, strong and taller than even regular human guys back on Earth, you’re like what? Eight? Nine feet? (about 245cm, or 2.5 meters)

You’re head… it’s like a dragons skull?? You’ve got these black horns flowing out from the top too that fade to a golden glow, like a crown nearly, theyre draped with what looks like strings of primogems??

oh and your extra eyes are symmetrical that’s good!

tho it does seem like you got this handy hood included into your cape of much nature to flop onto your head

where your heart should be, there’s two bursting stars circling one another, one of pink, purples and light blues, the other of gold and blue, oh hey, the wishing stars for standard and character banners!

and if you like mushrooms, at least one of every kind in Teyvat’s countries/regions is looking cool on ur cape, and if you like bugs, the cool ones like the rhino beetles from inazuma are being cute little buddies on ur stuff too

and like in the gif, every step you take overfills with life, except it stays and doesn’t wither like above, and it also does that glow bit that some places in Sumeru do/Enkanomiya

You CANNOT be missed no matter where you walk, and your sort of constantly feeling like you’ve drank 3 energy + 5 espresso shots of coffee

but in a way that makes you sort of full? like full on life… and like you could be even bigger, and taller, if you willed it

♤

k but the adepti felt ur presence coming in hot from literal mountains away

Cloud Retainter, and Guizhong, had set up inventions long ago to sense the Original of Teyvat, just in case, because some signs of prophecy of your return had begun to show in their lands

Zhongli especially knew you were close to come after another major sign was met, the corruption after the Archon War, and the ravaging of the land by the fall of Khaenri’ah’s “metal beasts”

So when you finally walk your way into Jueyun Karst, the adepti are already waiting, Xiao, Ganyu, and Zhongli as well,

Luckily Ganyu, with Zhongli’s help or advice, convinced the adepti to share this meeting with the Qixing as well like Keqing, and the Tianquan herself

It was a momentous occasion after all, but you were just now feeling the need to maybe nap a little after nearly, what was it, 2 weeks worth of constant walking?

wow this new body had literal stamina for days

you arrived late into the night, around midnight, under a full moon, and they’re relieved all the signs are being met

◇

honestly the only reason you headed to Liyue was bc you knew it was the closest (the map of Teyvat was both familiar in the way it had been in game, but also on a deeper level, like walking around your house in the dark)

and u rlly wanted to be able to talk to somebody, bc u had no idea?? wtf you were??

honestly you thought the adepti/Zhongli would be a good bet bc they’d maybe tell u what creature u ended up as,

u did suspect maybe you’d ended up as some kind of god, but like?? none of the other gods looked like this???

and u see them all! up ahead in Jueyun Karst! Oh no! You really, really, really, hope they don’t think you’re a walking talking evil tree dragon thing-

…maybe you should wave?

◇

As you get closer,

Xiao’s back straigtens, Ganyu nervously looks at the ground, Keqing is trying to figure out where to look bc ur so tall, Ningguang has her hands respectfully folded in front of her and her facial muscles looks tensed for a fight almost, the adepti are shuffling nervously bc they’re not used to being the magically weaker/younger creatures in the area, and Zhongli-

Zhongli is no longer the mortal Zhongli.

Amber horns curl up from his head, long brunette hair with glowing gold tips flowing and loose, claws on display, as he stands in his finest and oldest lóng páo, black with gold detailing embroidered throughout, it details his deeds as Rex Lapis and Morax, the spears of his vanquishing gods across the front and back, he looks like a living painting

and although he looks as serene as if he’s about to sit down for some tea, the adepti can see the tremoring hands, the same he used to hide in his sleeves when he was genuinely intimidated by another god, usually the older ones he’d had to fight

but for the first time since the archon war, this was one he was going to welcome with open arms, and utmost respect, despite his position as archon forfeited

there’s a strange music in the air of the night as the animals and the bugs and creatures of the realm subtly make the beat, the god’s feet (of ore Rex Lapis hasn’t seen since he was a child, it was so rare to find) shake the earth of his land with each step, a deep quiet booming like a drum of war as they get closer

The God of All stops some distance away from them

…and the Huangdi of All, just waves. 💀👋

at Zhongli, the adepti, Xiao, the Tianquan, and the Qixing.

A long black limb with a rainbow shine like a crow’s wing raises, gives an ironically tiny wave of their clawed black hand,

and tilts their head, though a sort of greenery hood covering it

and speaks,

“ ˙˙˙ʎzɐɹɔ sı ʇıɥs sıɥʇ ¿ʍou ʇɥƃıɹ ɯɐ ı ʞɔnɟ ǝɥʇ ʇɐɥʍ ʍouʞ sʎnƃ noʎ op uɯɐp”

your voice is like singing, deep, high, like a choir trying to sing all at once to them

Xiao cringes a little in surprise, he was braced for your older speech just in case but it still caught him off guard, and unfortunatly, he gives a quick glance to Lord Rex Lapis,

he can’t understand any of that, and Ganyu and Keqing are in the same boat, but while the Yaksha’s only done passive studying in hopes of understanding you, the Lord of Geo had gone much further back in trying to make sure he could understand your words, should the day come, his library, even now living as a mortal, is extensive

the other adepti and Ningguang catch a few words, but it’s too,, simple really, to understand

the words have no context, they need more, but such is the ancients, they’re meanings simple and all-encompassing

Lord Rex Lapis bows deeply,

“We welcome you with open arms, our Huangdi. Please, feast your eyes upon the land with which I have wrought with mine own talons, for all is ever truly yours.”

the adepti announces for them all, voice giving away no nerves, Xiao can still understand him luckily, though he has greatly simplified himself for the sake of being understood by the ancient god of creation,

“ ˙˙˙ʞɔıʇs ɐ uo ʇsıɹɥɔ snsǝɾ ¡¿ılƃuoɥz noʎ uǝʌǝ ¿noʎ oʇ poƃ ɟo puıʞ ǝɯos ɯ,ı 'ǝʇnuıɯ uɯɐp ɐ ʇıɐʍ”

your voice is an energy through the air, and makes the trees nearby lean in to hear you better, the creeks and ponds of the area leave their beds a little to get closer, geo crystalflys emerge and begin to swirl around your natural body, perching on your horns, making it look even more like a crown

Xiao gulps.

Rex Lapis’ and Ningguang’s spines straighten further if they even can from the impeccable posture they were before, They share a quick glance…

…neither of them caught that one, only a few words, and Ganyu feels her shoulders drop as she gives up trying to hear you and understand as well,

you make a strange sound, a high humming, a deep confusion with some worry, the crystalflys buzz around you a little faster,

then point to yourself

...and make a peace sign. ✌️

it was going to be a long night.

☆

idk if this made any sense, and I sincerely hope that you at least liked what I wrote a little bit, sorry about the over description 😭 I just felt like it was very important but then I realized I hadn’t even talked about the language yet… anyway here u go LMAO

I hope it was alright, and I seriously love your idea, even if I didn’t take it in the direction you wanted/as cool as you meant!! :/

Thanks for the badass idea, i fucking love eldritch shit <3

☆

Safe Travels,

💀 ♒

♡my beloved♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk

[allfortheslay25]

im here asking for specific oc lore abt amirah bahar because im js so happy theres a hijabi muslim character like AHHHHHH

like is that myself?? i see??? also omg if shes desi like pakistani ill love u forever

I’m glad you love Mirah! Gotta admit she is one of my favorites of my Foxes :)

Tw topics: physical/sexual abuse, stalking, violent and murder

Mirah’s mother was Pakistani/Palestinian and her bio father was Pakistani. Since she lives with her stepdad who is Palestinian, she tends to identify with it more

Mirah’s birth father was very abusive to her and her mother growing up and when her mother married her step father, that didn’t stop. Her birth father would often stalk the two of them and wait for her step dad to be at work before he’d break into their home and r/pe Mirah’s mother. Mirah’s mother was scared her husband would leave if he knew and so this went on for five years. Mirah would sometimes be sexually abused by her father too, but she could never find hate or blame for her mother. They were both victims

Eventually, Mirah’s father killed her mother after finding out her mother was pregnant and it definitely wasn’t his child. He was always controlling and obsessed with her mother so the news led him to beating her to death. Mirah had called her step dad while she was hiding and hoped he’d get home in time to save her mother.

Unfortunately, her mother didn’t make it. Mirah’s father was sent to prison and her step dad put in as much work as he could to get Mirah some help to deal with the trauma. Her stepdad taught her to play exy while they tried to bond after her mother’s death.

Mirah had trouble connecting with ppl at school. She’d always had a short temper and the stress of her mother’s death only worsened this. Many exy teams didn’t want to scout her since she was known for her bad attitude.

Ofc Wymack caught an interest in her and recruited her for the Foxes. She soon became captain until an incident caused her to step down and hand over the mantle early to Jackie Jane. Mirah really loves Betsy and her stepdad tries to come to her games any chance he gets (most times Mirah has to convince him not to skip his work)

If you want more fun facts, I’d love to share more. Sorry this took so long to get out😅

[badgyalshii]

ITS NEVER OVER |||

+ (WHERE HAVE YOU GONE)

word count: 1.7?

Paul atreides x Reader (Always safe for POC + PLUS SIZE) Paul POV!!!

warnings: signs of depression? were happy in there tho, proof read? yeah something like that (god i am not good at these😭) y/n is not in this chapter but ofc shes mentioned entirely throughout the text.

A/N: AHHHHHH THE FINAL CHAPTER BEFORE THE FINALE, IM EXCITED TO POSTTTT, i hope you guys enjoyed and i love the feedback i recieved! i love you all, have a good day/night, whenever you get this! (Also, considering that this is from pauls POV i thought that i might add an extra title)

Hey! Have you read the first chapters? You didnt? What! Read it here!! I . II . III . IV.

Hmm? You said you like shii’z writing?! Omg me too! Check out her masterlist!

He let out a heavy breath before he ripped his mask off of his face. He wasn't supposed to be out alone considering he was the new crowned emperor. But he was, and he was searching for you and he wasn't gonna give up until he did. He wore heavy clothing to try and hide his identity from others, and a bag that slung around his shoulder consisting of his journal, water, and other things he might need. He settles for the night in a rock. A rock with a beautiful view. He has been on the road for so long, he's forgotten how long, he didn't really care to remember either, considering it would help motivate to find you. He walks around the rock, searching for anything to give him clues of you or if you might've been here.

As he looked around, It was clear that someone had been there before. He looked at the bad attempt of making a bed, but he didn't touch it. His eyes slightly closed from trying to study the bed, there were still prints of a body, maybe two, on the bed. He hunches over. There was a piece of hair, as disgusting as it sounds…he picked it up. It was the same as yours, he took a rather long pause before thinking, maybe he should smell the bed? No, what if he smells something he doesn't like. He shook his head before looking at the single strand of hair that was in his hand. He sat down on the bed, setting the hair gently aside before taking off his glove and putting the strand back in his palm. Everybody's hair could be similar, he thought. He let out a sigh before looking ahead of him. He didn't know what time it was, but all he knew was that he was tired and heart broken. He didn't miss his home, not at all, not with you not there.

He put his glove and his mask back on before placing the hair into his bag. Out of everything that was going on, at least the view was beautiful. He stood and walked to the view of the rock, carelessly taking footsteps before he sighed and dropped down, his legs open and his elbows on his knees as he took in the view. He let in a deep breath. ¨tired. I am tired¨ he let out in a whisper. He fought his sleep often because he knew it would make him less confident and he would grow to slack, but sometimes he just couldn't take it anymore. The yawns leaving his lips, difficulty holding onto the hooks that latched onto the sandworm, but he thought he could finally settle here for a while, as a reward for finding a piece of hair that have a 5 percent chance of being yours.

As he watched the view, he thought of you. He didn't cry as much anymore. When he cried, he cried alone in private. And during that time, he cried until he couldn't anymore. Every time he saw Irulan it made him sick to his stomach. As much as he wanted to blame her, he couldn't. His heart was too good and he knew better than to let a weak desperate moment turn into anger. ¨why did i offer?¨ he would think over and over, countless times, wondering how could he be so careless. But he wasn't, he didn't want to marry her for the reason of love, just wanted to keep her safe as a promise to the retired and overthrown emperor. Thinking about it made him question his character, who has he grown to be? hed remembered what you said, he always thought of the smart and wise things you had to say.

¨its okay to feel how you feel, paul¨ you looked at him with a pity smile on your face while your hand was on his cheek. He had another nightmare. He didn't want it to be true. ¨this is gonna make me go crazy, y/n¨ paul whispered back, leaning into y/ns touch. ¨don't let it fool you, don't let it phase you, don't let it change you¨ you replied. At times, all paul wanted to do was give up. He didnt wanna be the chosen one. It was all too much. He could stay here forever, with you. For all eternity if he could.

Paul sighs and looks to the side. Remembering what you said, he wished things weren't so quiet.he laughed to himself, all the dreams he had of the future, but none of you. He sat alone, all alone, not one book, not one sound, just him, by himself. He felt empty, he wants you, he needs you, he needed someone to make him feel complete again, but days spread thick and long, bored, fighting himself back and forth between hope for finding you and wondering if you had just moved on. He wished he had a dream of you, of your blue eyes glistening in the sun, of your laugh, He wished it was so vivid that he touched you, that he could control his dream and talk to you, make love to you, but he had nothing, nothing at all. Nothing to remember you by, just a stupid suspicious piece of hair, tears brimmed his eyes, he needs you. There was no one he could pray to if he was the chosen one. No matter how hard he fought, how he tried to distract himself from work, it all lead up to one person, not one other thought, never out of sight out of mind, he knew what he wanted and he fell so deep he felt like he just couldn't grasp it anymore, how was he supposed to live his life without you. Your soft gentle hands grazing his face and answering the stupid and goofy questions he asked. There was no one else and he knew that now, didn't even find anyone else attractive. Lonesome nights, he didn't want to be on his own, ever again. Once he found you he vowed to never let you go, no matter how loud your voice is, no matter if you kicked him down, your in his heart and he just cannot let go, but how long could he search? Huh? How long would it be until he found you? When will he hear your voice again? When will he kiss you again? He didn't even say I love you before you walked off, for all he knew, that was his last goodbye.

On the first day, he acted as if nothing happened, but then he realized you weren't there, he couldn't pick at your dinner plate, he could hear your laughs, he couldn't feel your pity hits after he whispers a dirty joke. He had no one to talk to, no one to ask him if he was okay. Was he...okay? Had he known he was okay? Or has he grown so long to the point where he wasnt and he just didn't know it. He wished he said more, begged you to stay, cried about it, weeped about it, there was so much he could've done and he didn't, he only said a short explanation of how he was waiting for you and now he's on the run, on the search. He was so tired, so tired of looking at the same spice on the ground, carving on the rock of the walls. He wanted to be next to you, holding your head in his shoulder, hear your soft snores as you slept like there wasn't a care in the world. He'd never expect this, a life without you. He sighed and shook the thought out of his head, noticing he was in too deep and he wiped the tears that slowly dropped from his face, letting out a sniffle as he looked ahead. He didn't want to be too deep, of course he missed you, but he wanted to find you with a clear conscience, a healthy mind. He needed something to keep him going. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked to the ground. He placed a palm down and leaned closer to the floor. What is this? This imprint on the floor? Looks familiar.

He looked over it, careful not to move or make any sudden movements. ¨y/n?¨ he muttered. Any normal person would've thought paul as crazy, looking like he's searching for spice on the floor, and then wanting to jump and cheer, because, well, because what?

The necklace

The necklace Paul got for her. It was there! Clear as day. What a time to cheer! He couldn't fight off the smile on his lips. She's alive! She's alive! What a joy, out for two years! Been all around Arrakis, and at such a time he was going to give up, go home, force himself to get comfortable with his new situation, you were out there. Shall he go home? To tell stilgar and have a celebration? Sweet red wine sounded like heaven. He wiped his eyes as finally, finally tears came down. Tears of joy, he waited for this moment, oh so long! He was so happy he could take the dirt and put it in his bag also.

He laughed, he found it funny how he grew so tired of being next to his queen that he went and found you himself after he told you to come back. He grew impatient. He took out his journal and wrote, writing his life away as he thought of you, as the warmness of love and hope crowded his vision and spreaded throughout his body. This is all he wanted, to find you. And he was so close, so, so close.

He hadn't felt like this in a long time. He got up and collected the dirt from the necklace in his hand and watched it fall from his gloves. Looking around and seeing the footsteps, all yours he believed! He looked before following the footsteps, he followed them foot by foot until he was in the sand again. He hunched over, trying to search for the footsteps as they were getting lost from the wind of the sand until he couldn't anymore. He stood and pulled out his compass for the direction that you went. When it pointed he saw and lifted his head in the direction you went. This was it, this was the final piece, this was the end.

You were home.

Taglist 🏷️

@ennycutie @cookiezxx

[sulfursmells]

S is for Smelly

“I won? I WON!!! OMG” That was me about 7 hours ago. I received an email saying that I won the sweepstakes to spend a recording session with one of my fav idols S.Coups from seventeen. I’ve dreamed of having a chance to talk and admire him up close. He’s charming voice, well chiseled face and abs. Not to mention his big, soft melon sized ass. I always wanted to get a closer look and this is that chance. Let’s skip a little to when I arrived at the studio. I was basically shaking with excitement and anxiety about finally meeting my idol.

After walking in I met his manager who asked me to sign an NDA. Which I didn’t question sing any music and conversation should stay within the room though I did see a strange word in there that I didn’t really think about. “Did that say gas?” I asked myself after signing my name and walking towards the studio. I look through the doors window to see S.Coup sitting in a chair wearing a white shirt and tight white pants, glistening with sweat as if he just stepped off the stage. I hastily open the door and walk in introducing myself. “Hi I’m ..” he quickly interrupts me and says, “come here and let’s get started.” I start walking towards him , when I turn my attention to the door that I just walked through lock behind me. In an instant his calm, constructed idol personal fell revealing something I wasn’t expecting.

“Get down here right now” is all I hear before my world goes dark. I feel the embrace of his Jean covered ass envelope my entire face not leaving any space for anything but air. His ass carrying the scent of musk and sweat dripping onto my face as if he just finished a workout, which he might have by the smell of it. “I get complaints from the staff about my musk and gas. They say I leave the room almost uninhabitable after an editing session” he says as he starts to grind my face deeper into the seat. “So until I’m done you’re going to be my little seat protector, isn’t that exciting” he says as he starts to giggle.

Is this why I was brought here? To be nothing mod than the seat of my favorite idol? This is …….. hot. What kind of fan would I be if I didn’t help my fav keep up his reputation. With that decision made S.Coups raises his butt up a bit letting me see again as he removes his pants then boxers. His fat vulumptous cheeks pouring out of his tight boxers, as sweat drips onto my face. “Ahhhhhh I have to sir it out you know?”he says. I can’t see his face but I know he has a smirk on while saying all of this.Staring up and taking in the scenery, as his melon sized cheeks start to make their descent. “Be a good fan and try not to make too much noise, I still have some work to do. Thanks in advance” was the last words I heard. His ass easily enclosed my entire head only the heavy smell of musk that could rival 4 bony builders after a workout was left.

Then I heard it the gurgle of his stomach as he leans a bit to the left. A torrent of hot gas as bad as a dumpster fire hit me in the face going straight up my noose. I start to gag and cough, flailing about underneath S.Coups. “Can you quiet down, this is a job only my number one fan can do. If you do it well I’ll give you a little present at the end” he says. A present I wonder what it could be, “Do you understand?” S.Coups asks. I respond with a muffled yes and steel myself for what comes next.

“Fair warning, I get pretty gassy after practice so prepare yourself” then he sits full weight on my face. Then came the constant blasts, each one ranging from long silent hissing to loud bassy trumpets, actually it could rival a trumpet with how loud it was. Each one so hot adding my own sweat on top of the sweat the would drip off his cheek. After about a two hours he finally got up, giving me the first sight of light and fresh air in a while. When I got up I coughed and took a deep breath thinking I survived just to breathe in the scent that was dense in the room. “Damn I hoped that you would sniff them all up, I’m going to get in trouble again. Guess you have to be punished for not doing your job!” With that S.Coups pushes my body against the door pinning my face between the door and his ass. “ I would say I’m sorry but I’d be lying, say goodnight!!” I heard a grunt and then a fart that lasted way longer than any of his previous blasts fogging up the window on the door, rivaling the smell of a skunk and a garbage truck combined. Everything goes black.

I wake up and check around the room, S.Coup is nowhere to be found but his smell still stains the room even with the door open. I check my watch and four hours since my experience with him. I go walk towards my bag and find a sign cd from him and was elated that at least I got something from this experience, though I fire I didn’t entirely hate it. I rush home to play the cd, avoiding streets with a lot of people since the stench of his ass and gas was scorched onto my clothes. I rush into my room and pop the cd into my laptop and hear S.Coup start talking, “thank you to my number one fan for a fun experience” I start to blush thinking that the entire experience was worth it. Then I hear one of his notorious blasts come through the speaker of my laptop and my coughing in the background. “HE RECORDED THE WHOLE THING”, I sit back in embarrassment and then catch a whiff of my hoodie which he imprinted his scent onto. I start to sniff the hoodie and listen to his blast at the same time reliving my wonderfully smelly S.Coup Experience.

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.66)

(Sneek peak)(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Your track record with trying to survive is a checkered one. This is a red spot among the black and white.

Tags: Blood, Guns, violence, near death experiences, everyone lives nobody dies...but someone does die this chapter, horror, non-lethal injury, talks of death and dying, a bit of body horror, forced murder? Trans! tae, Tae is briefly dead named in this, implied/referenced intimate partner violence, flashbacks, brief suicidality.

W/c: 8.0k

A/N: ahhhhhh <3 we're finally ready for this part of the story <3 i wonder what your guys reactions will be, i'm really glad i decided to split this chapter into two peices! it's much cleaner this way. don't be 🥲 too mad at me.

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

Chapter 66: Go for the Throat

You hold your breath. Still peering around the corner, watching and waiting for the man to spot you.

But he doesn't, after a breath where his soft footsteps echo, you wait, but nothing happens. You peak back around the corner. 

You absorb and catalog the details as fast as you can; the black ski mask, covered by one of those traditional masks, wooden with red lacquer. This one is a little different than the one that Jimin had; this one is white with red splotch on the cheeks, not twisted with thick eyebrows in a snarl. Like a ghost sent down from above to rob you of your humanity.

The bulletproof vest stops at the collarbones. The gun itself is black and a generic model. The long end is extra bulbous with something that might be an attached silencer. Hands covered in black nitrile gloves, leathery at first glance. There is a knife at his waist along with a barrage of other small things. Rope and a knife, duct tape and handcuffs. His heavy boots look steel toed and reinforced.

The man (because it is a man you realize; tall, maybe taller than Namjoon) trains his gun at the landing on the top of the stairs. Pointing it in the direction of Hobi, Tae, and Jin’s hushed voices.

Hobi giggles and it sounds so bright. Echoing off the walls and filling the house.

There is a phone cord tangled in your hands, long and white. You grip it tight.

This man might be silent but you’re quieter as you slide your bare feet across the smooth floors. Your strides are so quiet, you take one step and then another until you're behind the man, mirroring him.

You remember when Yoongi redid the floors, it was one of the few things that he did right away- before the pack came to live here (to love here). It took him weeks and weeks of sanding before he got them to his liking. Days more of brown dark stain that colored his hands ruddy until the soft matte finish stuck. Every pass with the belt sander and dirty rag a movement of love, a meditation for it.

Yoongi made every inch of this house with the same loving intent; to make it a home for all of you. You won’t let it become a grave. You won’t let this person stay here and ruin it.

Most people get it wrong; In order to kill, it is not a matter of elegance or effort. There is no such thing as a perfect kill, emotionless and analytic. it being justified only gets you halfway. There is no way to do it perfectly or cleanly. People die just as they live, messy and hopeful and dirty.

Murder isn't a matter or wanting or wishing, It’s a matter of rage.

It’s always been this way. Rage has been chewing a hole through you from the moment that you pulled the trigger with Geumjae. From the moment you said ‘I do’. Rage that these violent things have been done to you, that they continue to happen, that you can’t just get away from all the hurt and trauma.

Rage has eaten you clean through to the bone. Only now you're the hungry one. Right now, only three words run through your head;

How dare she.

How dare she send this man into your house. How dare she point a gun at the upstairs, in the general direction of your nest and your packmates. The altar at which you so desperately cling to, for sweet dreams and sweet worship. How dare she even think about hurting the people you love.

There is no courage, no bravery, no thought in your head about how stupid it might be as you step closer behind the man. You are not a trained assassin. You’re just an omega.

The adrenaline rush is an old friend, you know how to use it. You grip the phone cord in your hands and take a quiet steadying breath. He doesn't see you, he doesn't hear you, he doesn't know that you're behind him.

Wolves always go for the throat, whether they’re cornered or hunting.

The assassin’s foot ascends the bottom step. You don’t let him get to the second before you’re moving, hurtling forward. Footsteps light as a butterfly’s wings. Your hands go over the man’s shoulders. The cord no more than a white flash across his vision before you draw it tight across his neck.

Coming Saturday February 3rd at 5pm EST (Time Zone Adjustments Below)

[writerblue275]

PLEAAAASE! I read both heartsteel becoming dad's and my heart AUGHHHH please continue the series!!! Maybe girl-dad Yone?! Who knows. Might be a lot though considering Yone's brother's with Yasuo who's in his own music group. (True damage needs a comeback fr.) BUT AAAAAA

(Guess who’s back. Back again!) I had such a lovely time writing Sett’s and Kayn’s Headcanons for this series, I’m absolutely thrilled to continue it! I’m so glad you enjoyed them both, Anon! Also HEAVY agree on True Damage needing a comeback!!! 💙 (Ok now that I got the calm response out of the way hehehe). AHHHHHH You definitely don’t have to ask me twice!!! Again, I don’t even want kids IRL, but holy hell I’d have this man’s children SO FAST if I was his partner. He gives me dad(dy) energy and I think he’d be a phenomenal father.

Heartsteel!Yone becoming a dad (/with a pregnant!reader)

Previous Members: Sett, Kayn

Inspiration: Requested but again have we seen Yone???? Pure husband/dad material right there. When I started the series he was one of the ones who inspired me to do it (along with Sett).

Genre: Headcanons

Type: FLUFF

Gender: Technically gender neutral but there is of course discussion of a pregnant reader and carrying a pregnancy.

Tw: Discussion of pregnancies and any difficulties associated with pregnancies. Slight mention of fertility issues at the beginning. Swearing.

There’s always a risk of unexpected pregnancy if you are sexually active and the circumstances are there for pregnancy, but out of all members, Yone is definitely the one who is the most careful. Now that doesn’t mean you and him wouldn’t enjoy yourselves before getting to the point of starting a family, please don’t misunderstand. Yone is not a selfish man. 😏

But otherwise he’s extremely careful and so are you. Having a child is such an extreme life change and he’s of the mindset that being as “prepared” as possible (emotionally, financially, physically) isn’t a bad thing.

Once he’s sure that you and him are in a solid place to start a family, he’d talk to you about it. Now of course before this moment he’d know whether or not you even want to have kids. So this conversation is just more of a “I think we’re finally in a really good spot to start a family. What do you think?” sort of thing.

And once the two of you do start trying, Yone’d be the biggest supporter if things are a little rough and it’s taking longer than you hope to get pregnant. He’d never let you blame yourself or your body, just as you don’t let him blame himself or his body. Things happen and pregnant or not, he loves you so damn much.

Regardless of how long it took to get pregnant, once you are pregnant, he’d be absolutely thrilled.

You can get so creative in how you tell him your pregnant, too. And you know who’d love to help you tell him in a way he relates to? Aphelios. Phel would gladly help you make a little song for Yone to surprise him.

Yone just seems like he’d be such a phenomenal partner to you while you’re pregnant. Something about him just seems so grounded and secure, and he absolutely wants to be a rock for you to lean on. It’s probably the age/maturity (A/N: Yes I know he’s only in his early-mid thirties. He’s not much older than I am. But still. People can change significantly as they go through their twenties into their thirties. I’m a significantly different person at 27 than I was in/directly after college.)

Yone already was your rock before pregnancy but he is even more so now. He realizes while things are changing for him, it’s almost 10x crazier for you since you’re carrying the baby.

Because of that, he’s remarkably calm during your hormone swings, etc. He just calmly figures out what might help and does it (with your consent ofc).

It did take him a little bit to get used to your cravings. He’d heard pregnancy cravings could be weird, but flaming hot Cheetos dipped in vanilla ice cream??? Yeah that threw him for a bit of a loop. (He still got you the Cheetos and ice cream though because he loves you.)

When the two of you tell the rest of Heartsteel, they’re not super shocked. They’re so happy for both of you, but yeah they saw the writing on the walls. They could tell Yone was ready to settle down with you very early on in your relationship.

Now of course Yone spends a lot of time in his studio. He has to, as a producer. But during your pregnancy, he creates a great home studio so he can work from home more often and be closer to you. He really makes the effort to be available to you as much as possible. He’ll take you to all appointments, help you with any physical side-effects of pregnancy, and just be there to help you process the wild emotions you’re feeling (those damn hormones). Whatever you need, he wants to help.

You know who else is surprisingly helpful? Yasuo! The True Damage DJ/Producer is so excited to become an uncle?? Like holy shit. (Lmao Yone lowkey threatens Yasuo not to spoil any of your kids too much….[Let’s be so for real though, Yasuo definitely still would.] TD Yasuo would be such a cool uncle.)

And Yasuo serves as a valued confidant for Yone whenever he needs to vent out his nervousness at becoming a dad. (Of course he’s nervous. Becoming a parent for the first time must be a nerve-wracking experience, even if you’ve “planned” for it.)

But anytime Yone can’t be with you for something (which is exceedingly rare, he really tries to free up as much time for you as possible) Yasuo is happy to step in and serve in the chauffeur or “door-dash” driver role for you!

But again, Yone will move hell and high water to be there for your appointments. Which is great because any exciting news he can get in real time. Including….:

Yone holds your hand and squeezes it soothingly as the sonographer moves the wand over your ever-so-slightly swollen belly.

“Is it cold, my love? The gel?” He asks softly, chuckling as you scrunch your nose and make a little face up at him.

“Yes it is! But hey, it’s the first time we can really see the baby since the dating ultrasound, so it’s worth it,” you respond.

“There they are!” The sonographer says, intently watching the screen.

Both your head and Yone’s head whip towards the screen, the joy between the two of you palpable as you see the dark area filled with what looks like a large-looking head. It’s hard to tell exactly what you’re looking at though.

“So that’s them? That’s our baby?” Yone asks, his voice containing a note of excitement which is very unlike his usual calm demeanor.

The tech looks at both of you and smiles. “Babies, actually.”

Your grip on Yone’s hand gets instantly tighter and you gasp as you register what she said. “W-wait did you just say babies??? With an s?? As in multiple??” Your question is a little breathless as you look up at Yone, whose eyes are wide and jaw is dropped in shock.

The sonographer chuckles softly and nods. “Two, actually. Twins. We must have missed the second one in the initial ultrasound since they were so small. Look here, you can see the differentiation of the placentas. And here are the two heads!” She shows you and Yone what she’s referring to on the large monitor as she speaks.

You look up at Yone who still looks a little dazed and has been quietly staring at the monitor. You’re almost a little nervous he’s gone into shock. “Yone, are you alright?” You ask gently as you briefly cup his cheek and turn his chin so he’s looking at you.

That small action seems to snap him out of whatever daze he was in and he quickly gathers you into a tight hug. “Holy shit we’re having twins, my love! Oh my god.”

You nod and whisper, “It seems we are. H-how do you feel? I’m both excited and a little terrified..” your voice fades off in a chuckle.

Yone kisses your forehead before pecking your lips. “(Y/N), I’m thrilled. Shocked, for sure, but I’m absolutely over the moon,” he murmurs reassuringly, already helping to soothe the spike of emotions you’re having at the news.

Absolute pandemonium ensues when you tell the the rest of Heartsteel that you and Yone are having twins. (With particular excitement from Aphelios and Alune.)

As for gender preferences? He doesn’t really care. He just wants healthy babies and as easy of a pregnancy/delivery as possible for you.

And you know what, maybe that no gender preference is a good thing because….

(*drumroll pleeeeeease*) You’re having a boy and a girl! (Again the news inspires particular excitement for Phel and Alune [who secretly have a bet on which baby will be older]).

Something cute Yone does is create music for the babies. While you’re sitting in his home studio and relaxing with your bump, he’s just playing/mixing some gentle instrumentals, writing one-of-a-kind lullabies for the babies. He really expresses the bulk of his feelings about becoming a dad through his music. And he makes sure to save anything he writes so they can be played later once the babies are actually here.

The Lamaze king. There’s no one better to help you remember and practice your Lamaze technicques. Again he just has such an unwavering/grounding presence.

And that calm and steady presence only cracks once during your pregnancy….when the babies decide to make their entrance into the world a little early (as multiples tend to do).

You waddle your way to his home studio door, knocking softly, but urgently.

“Come in!” You hear Yone’s voice call back.

Instead you just open the door, staying off of the carpeted floor of his studio and standing in the doorway. “Honey? Sorry to disturb you but it’s a little important.”

Yone turns and immediately catches onto the alarm in your expression, his eyes widening. “What happened? Are you alright?” He immediately rushes over to you.

You look up at him. “Y-Yone, my water just broke…”

You watch as he actually goes a little pale as his brain registers what you just said. “W-what?? N-now?! But you’re only 34 weeks along!”

You grip his arm. “I-I don’t think babies really care about sticking to a schedule, Yone. They come into the world when they decide to come into the world.”

You can see Yone’s brain immediately go into overdrive, so you gently grip his hand. “Yone…it’ll be ok, but let’s just get to the hospital, yeah? We have the car packed, right?

He snaps out of his daze and takes a deep breath, his features settling back into his usual calm expression, realizing panic will not help in this situation. “We do.” He smiles gently at you as he leads you to the car. “On our way, can you time how long it is between contractions, love? I’m sure they’ll want to know once we get to the hospital.”

Just an absolute fucking god send of a birthing partner. He works you through your anxiety (even though he’s experiencing some of his own) and is just so reassuring to you while you progress through labor.

Seeing you in pain is something he hates more than anything. So he’s ready to do whatever you need him to do in order to lessen your pain. He makes sure you go through all the various Lamaze techniques you learned, distracts you with some music, and murmurs reassurances in your ear as you squeeze the fuck out of his hand.

And the second you decide you want an epidural, he makes sure that’s properly communicated to the medical team, grateful you’ll be in much less pain.

Yone is checking in with you throughout the entire process, making sure you’re alright. Because while he’s excited about welcoming the babies, your well-being is even more important to him.

And once the babies actually arrive, and you’re doing alright, well just one look over at him and you can tell he’s already so in love with being a dad and that he loves your kids so much, even after just meeting them.

Similar to Phel and Alune, the boy twin is the older one, though only by about 10 minutes. (You catch a chagrined Alune slap a 50 note into a grinning Phel’s outstretched hand after you reveal which twin is older.)

And when he gets the chance to hold the babies, you can immediately tell how fiercely protective he’s going to be (but not in a way that makes your kids sheltered if that makes sense).

(A/N: YONE HOLDING A NEWBORN/TWO NEWBORNS ENDMXIDNFHSMX WHAT A THOUGHT.)

He’s just got such a dad vibe already and he’d be such a good father and co-parent with you.

Other extra tidbits: (post-birth)

His sleep schedule is already so fucked up that honestly, having newborn twins doesn’t impact him that much (he’s already used to running on very little sleep and an insane amount of cold brew). It really helps you because he’s able to go check on the babies super easily, meaning you don’t have to wake up as often.

(This is for when the twins are a little older. Like 3-4.) One of your favorite photos on your phone is from when you walked into your daughter’s room to grab something and found your 6’ 2” husband squeezed onto a tiny chair at a tiny table (like his knees are against his chest), wearing a green feather boa, a sparkly pink tiara, and - wait…is that sparkly eye shadow, blush, and pink lipstick he has on??? - having a very exclusive tea party with your daughter and her favorite stuffies. You managed to keep a straight face as you apologized for intruding, but you quickly grabbed what you needed after taking the photo and rushed back to your room, going into your closet and laughing. (And laughing even harder when Yone later came into your room and asked for your help getting the makeup off. He got you back for laughing though by covering your face in messy pink kiss prints before you could take the lipstick off him.)

Another favorite photo of yours is Yone with your 1.5-year old son sitting on his lap as he works in his home studio. He even gave your son his own pair of headphones to listen through, though of course he majorly limited the volume output to protect his little ears. As he worked he kept asking your son for his opinion, interpreting his little babbles and coos as musical advice. (The photo is of a moment where Yone asked your son what he thought about a verse.)

Ex: “You’re right, bud! There is a bit too much bass here! Good ear.”

And multiple times you’ve walked into his home studio after running errands to see Yone in one chair, Yasuo and/or Aphelios in another, 2/3 of them holding one of the twins on their laps as they seriously discuss music production. And you can’t help but smile at the lovely feeling of family your kids have surrounding them.

Thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed!! I apologize for the delay in posting. May was really nuts and for me and June is shaping up the same way. But things will hopefully start to calm down soon and it feels good to finally have the urge to write again!! I definitely have some other things in the works so keep your eyes out for that! 💙

[smoochhyuka]

omg can you do soobin nsfw alphabet? im in love with your taehyun work

AHHHHHH!! Thank you so much!! My first commissions, I am so excited I immediately started writing because I took the time to write rn anyway lol. I definitely plan on writing an NSFW alphabet for the other three as well, in the future, but I have three Riize drafts and one Tyun draft rn TT. Feel free to request the next member for the alphabet, or other stuff (prompts, MTL, etc...) for Riize and Tubatu, and I'll get to it as soon as I am able to!

Soobin NSFW alphabet

Baby baby baby baby boy

-> Yeonjun Beomgyu Taehyun Hueningkai

○o。content warnings! NSFW, fem!reader, mention of hair pulling, oral m! and f! receiving, lingerie, edging, perv!Soobin, sex toys, mention of anal (m! and f! receiving), mention of marriage, pussy hair, mention of bondage, very brief mention of derogatory language, edited for spelling

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Immediately asleep, knocks out like a light bulb. He barely manages to pull out and climb off of you, and he's done for. The issue is that you couldn't clean up, either, because he pulls you into a tight hug you can't escape from. More often than not, is condom falls off in the middle of the night because he left it on.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

For himself, he really likes his hair, he thinks fluffy and a little longer hair compliments him so much. Another perk is how obsessed you are with it. The way you sometimes braid his hair while cuddling, how you ruffle it when you call him cute, the way you pull it when he eats you out...

The Soobie Boobie Toobie agenda strikes hard. He loves your boobs, doesn't matter if they're small or big, or if they may sag a little, he doesn't care, as long as you're pushing them up in a cute lace bra every time he takes you out for dinner, for him to look at. <3

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

His cum is very watery, almost completely transparent. He comes kinda... discretely? You never notice he is about to cum unless he tells you. Except for a little leg shake, his composure doesn't change, his breathing doesn't pick up, his pace doesn't increase, his groans don't get louder... He just busts, and you're left there, surprised, cum on your titties...

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He watched too many dirty animes and watched a few too many thirst traps during 2020 unfortunately... nothing turns him on more than the thought of you in a maid dress, bringing him tea and biscuits and sucking him off under the table, addressing him as Soobin-sama. Will take this dirty secret to his grave!!! (or you just go get drunk with him and ask him about his dirty secrets, will spill anything, guaranteed)

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

No because maybe unpopular opinion but I think he had a girlfriend or two before you. It was never very serious, though, it was just a hormonal teen relationship to get away with fooling around a little bit. Therefore, there are a lot of things he hasn't tried yet.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He likes every position in which he can see a.) your tits and b.) your face. Missionary and cowgirl are the two top ones, doggy in front of a mirror is also fine and dandy.

G = Goofy (are they more serious at the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

He tends to be on the more serious side, letting his hot guy persona show. If you're someone who cracks jokes, he will laugh at them, but don't expect any comments in return. He might tease you in a way that could potentially make you laugh, but it's not intentionally a joke. He tends to get more emotional, telling you sweet things or confessing his deeper feelings to you.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Tends to not care about shaving. He just lets it grow until it's too much for his liking, then he would shave it off completely in one go so he can, again, not care for a few weeks. After a few months of dating he will ask you, very shyly and very embarrassed, how you like it and will adapt from then on.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

In all honesty, I don't see him to be intentionally romantic. He's not someone who lights candles or prepares a bubble bath every time you guys do it. He is unintentionally romantic, though, as already mentioned he turns quite sappy, being romantic in the way he talks to you or handles you. Always asks for consent when trying something new, checking up on you if you get quiet. <3

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

LOVES masturbating together, you two just sit in your bed, fully nude and watch the other. It feels so dirty to him, so intimate in a way regular sex just doesn't feel like. It's also a great way to edge as foreplay, the feeling of sinking into your drenching, sensitive pussy after half an hour of this is as close to entering heaven as it could possibly get.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

I think Soobin is kind of a closeted perv, he'd be into any sort of sex toy, be it for you or for him. If it's late at night, he's barely awake, but you're begging to have sex with him, he won't shy away from using a womanizer on you. The following is husband!Soobin territory right now, but he'd definitely enjoy having a vibrating plug up his ass while fucking you, or being tied up and being edged with a vibrator.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

It's not that he necessarily has an exhibitionism kink, or a specific preference for a place that is not the confinements of your bedroom, it's just that he doesn't care a lot? If he wants it, and you want it, and you're somewhere else, it's not going to stop him really.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Likes it if you're being bold with him. You can either ask him straight up (doesn't need to be phrased sexily, a simple "Let's fuck" is enough to grind his gears) or just walk around in something sexy or just fully nude, he'll follow you like a puppy. Just in general, gets horny when you're horny, and if you're not in the mood, he loses his motivation as well.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

As already mentioned, he won't want to do it if you don't want to, he is not the type to try to change your mind or try to get you horny.

There are barely any no-gos with him, a perv like him will try most things if you're into them (he might even discover new kinks through you). It needs to be something seriously disgusting or illegal to be an instant no.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Prefers receiving by a tinie tiny bit, mainly because he can see your face and boobs while you give him head.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He is fairly rough, fast and deep thrusts are the standard with him, especially at the beginning of your relationship. If you prefer it slower, you can tell him and he will adapt. It's just that he's excited, you feel so good, he can't help himself. <3 Even if you don't mention anything, he will get more slow and sensual overtime, especially as his feeling for you deepen.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

no.1 fan, the quickie invented itself for him, actually. Tied to what I mentioned during L, if you're both in the mood you'll do it, regardless of location OR your time limit. He's not afraid to be a little bit late to something to be able to pound into your pussy, so be it! Long sex is usually reserved for after dates or special situations, like an anniversary or if one of you is going through a tough time.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Definitely a risk-taker, tied to my very personal perv!Soobin agenda. The worst thing that can happen is a moment of embarrassment and if the sex was good he'd gladly pay that price. The only thing he won't risk though is your relationship, e.g. he won't have a threesome with someone you are close to, or someone he knows has a crush on you. Or something that could hurt you physically (not talking about little bruises, an injury that could drive a wedge between you and him).

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Doesn't have a lot of stamina! If he cums once, it's usually light out with this guy. Sometimes you can squeeze a second one out of him if you're determined, but that's it. He always makes sure that you cum lots, and that you have a good time before he does, because he knows he has bad stamina.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Already mentioned this during K, but yeah, you own every toy in the book. If a new one is currently trending or even completely new on the market, he'll get it ASAP. Of course, you have your favorites that earned their spot in your nightstand, but the rest aren't necessarily collecting dust either.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

A little bit of a tease, might use some lightly derogatory language if you're into that, or denies you an orgasm (or two) but he's not mean in bed, he loves you too much and wants you both to enjoy it. (Besides, he prefers it if you tease him...)

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Groaner! Grunter! Might even whine if you do it right, or if you have been edging for a while. He very rarely moans (aka only with a toy up his ass), therefore he isn't very loud. This beneficial since you fuck in the weirdest places.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Has a thing for pussy hair and thinks it's cute if you shave it in specific patterns or styles. His favorite was the heart you deliberately shaved for Valentine's Day. He also has a certain admiration for a full bush.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Big. Monstrous. Humungus. I have a more detailed explanation here. Lots of foreskin and small balls in comparison.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Fairly high, but he easily adapts to you. He isn't going to pass away if you go a week or two without it, but prefers to do it regularily and tends to miss it easily.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

immediately, snorring like zzzzz. He won't let you leave either, if you need to pee, hold it in!

[barrenclan]

Still kinda shocked we only had three cat deaths during the Defiance stuff, but hey!! We made it out!!

NOOO THE BOY IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT!! YOU SAVED THEM WITH THE POWER OF NOTHING REMEMBER???? AGH

had to take a biiig pause at the rainhaze slugpelt panels. geez. the emotions make them stop

NOO BLACKNOSE DOESN’T KNOW?? DON’T MAKE DAFFY THE ONE TO TELL NOOOOOOOO

strange way for them to reconnect, but hopefully plum and bee can take this time to work together and get over their differences!!

GOOOD THE EGRETTAIL STUFF. glad we could get closure on them, i loved the little stuff we got from their relationship, and egrettail seeing her like another kit she took in?? aaaa… egrettail ily

LET’S GOOOO REDSTAR TIME!!!! FUCKING GET COOTSTORM!!!!! byebye loser time for us to book it!

oMG NIGHTBERRY KNEW??? AHHHHHH. that makes me wonder.. did cypressfoot die and just.. close her eyes, accept it?

i’ve broken into a million pieces and glued myself together. so many emotions all in one package. ty

Believe me, if I could've spared more of those cats, they would've been on the chopping block.

Unfortunately Pinepaw now has some big Survivor's Guilt and PTSD splashes to deal with, which sadly won't be going away for a very long time. Poor boy.

Well, Blacknose does know, in a sense. But dementia often causes people to forget about deaths of a loved one, especially after such a traumatic event.

We're gonna get into a lot of Nightberry lore in the next issue. But while Cypressfoot did try to fight the foxes, she wasn't surprised when felt teeth around her throat. Only pain, and fear, and sadness.

I'm glad you liked the issue, hehe.