#am I making yet another farmer?

[justashamwithwastedpotential]

Thank you Harvey for having mercy on my 2 gold

[ceesimz]

Lavender

A date that unfortunately doesn't go as planned. (autistic!reader - angst -> fluff)

Reverie series here as always! A verrrry real experience depicted in this one, with some amazing help from @pickledwoso that i am very grateful for, thank youuu <3

“Engel, are you ready to leave?” Alexia sang as she headed out of the bedroom towards where you were at the door rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet, waiting for her.

“Yes, you fool, I've been ready for the past half hour.” You rolled your eyes at her teasingly, laughing when she lightly pawed at your side where she knew you were ticklish. “Come on! You're taking all day.”

“Ay, it is our day-off, I can take my time for once. No rushing, just calm, and me and you.” She gave an alluring smile, sliding her hand down your arm until she intertwined your fingers, then leaned forwards to kiss your forehead. “Are you excited?”

“Very. I love when we do this.” You told her with a squeeze of her hand. The girl grinned, her eyes brimming with excitement and complete happiness seeping from her pores, like the prospect of visiting a farmer's market with her girlfriend was as exciting as a third Ballon d’Or.

“Me too.” She gently knocked your chin up and pecked your lips before brushing back a strand of hair behind your ear. “Now, are we ready, mi vida?”

“For the love of god, yes!”

Any time the club issued some days-off, one of the things highest on the list for yourself and Alexia was visiting the local farmer’s market. You’d buy the best of the best fresh organic products and cook together a dish of food that, combined with the quality time you'd spend with each other, would make for a night-in together that was so much better than going out somewhere. 

These days had become somewhat of a tradition, and with it being the penultimate day of the short summer break after the tournament Alexia had gone to, it was absolute perfection. The last day had no plans apart from relaxing and spending time together before the season started again. You couldn't think of a better way to spend the last bit of time off than a date to a familiar, easy place with Alexia that was sure to give way for a fun afternoon and evening.

With it being the height of summer, Barcelona was especially warm, which was perhaps the first warning sign of the day.

“Ale, you really need to get your car in the garage, your AC sucks.” You groaned, the vents on full blast yet hardly doing a thing to cool you down against the 35 degree air outside. Your window was open and your head rested against the door dramatically, Alexia couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight even if she did feel a little bad about it.

“It’s got a service next week, they will fix it then. Sorry.” She winced, hardly breaking a sweat in the weather she was more than acclimated to whilst you seemed to be struggling before the pair of you had even left the car.

You shrugged her off because it's not exactly her fault her car's AC has been faulty since the spring, and focused all your attention on the life-saving breeze hitting your face as Alexia maneuvered through some tame midday traffic. Hot weather wasn't one of your favourite things in the world, as a matter of fact much more comfortable in minus degree weather with tiny icicles on your eyelashes, but a year into living under the blaze of the Barna sun you had no choice but to put up with it.

Though, your patience with the heat wore off quick. And in its wake, a simmering feeling of restlessness, which should have been yet another warning sign. But you were too deep in your determination for this to be a good day for anything to write you off.

The market was only a short drive away, the two of you having opted out of walking because, well, duh, the weather, and just as the sweat that found its place on your nose no more than five minutes after stepping out of your ice cold shower finally began to evaporate, it came crawling right back the second you got out of the car. Alexia was starting to feel uneasy about the day's plans, and, really, so were you, but you were set on pushing through the constrictive feeling that had settled in your bones when the first bit of heat came your way after leaving your flat. There wouldn't be much time in the coming weeks for a day like this with your girlfriend, you weren't about to wreck it for the both of you.

From where the car was parked to the entrance of the market, you walked in silence, hand in hand across slightly worn stone tiles until the rusted old gates of the park stood before you. Over the threshold of the entrance, paved tiles turning to cobble, you knew the chaos the market had in store for you. You didn’t know if you could handle it. The writing on the wall was in the prickly sensation in your skin that was all too familiar, as was the way every nerve in your body screamed in discomfort, almost like your soul was desperately trying to find a way out of your body.

You ignored it, and headed towards the stalls before Alexia could ask how you were.

This place was familiar; you knew the ins and outs of each stall, you knew where to go, you knew how long it took to get around. It shouldn’t be too hard, right? 

You loved this place, of course it’d be fine. It beamed with energy, with good vibes, with good people. With its colourful displays of the finest fruit and vegetables, it was more than just a market; it was the heartbeat of the surrounding neigbourhoods.

All kinds of scents and aromas swirled around each corner, weaving themselves into the fabrics of people’s clothes and lingering long after they’d left. They were intoxicatingly good, and it was evident in the looks of wonder on everybody’s face, old or young, experienced shopper or recent newcomer. Vendors positioned at every stall or tattered wagon called out their offerings in a chaotic yet melodic mix of Spanish and Catalan, grabbing the nearest fruit or veg to wave around like an auctioneer with a hammer, the only use for it being to wave off the flies dancing tauntingly around their goods. 

Locals haggled over prices with the farmers they’d come to know just as well as their own family; their loud and boisterous back-and-forth banter may have sounded like arguing to unknowing tourists, but to everyone else it was understood as just some good-humoured ribbing that they all delighted in. It was more of a shuffle than a walk throughout the place thanks to the tourists that seemed to stop in the middle of the aisles every second, clearly oblivious to the well-practiced dance of the locals. Elderly ladies pulled their clueless esposos around with one arm whilst they carried their wicker basket in the other, the woven willow groaning under the weight of the countless ingredients to be used in that night’s meal.

For a moment, as you paused off to the side whilst Alexia caught up with one of the stall owners, a fisherman with his catches of the week proudly on display, which you knew your girlfriend would end the conversation by buying enough fish meat to feed the five thousand, you took a moment to breathe. Everybody seemed relieved of their life’s burdens here, gathered closely in one space that was steeped in the essence of the world’s simplest pleasures; flavour, tradition, and community. Only, the smile that was usually imprinted on your face whenever you came was no more than a distant memory. 

Despite the fairly shadowed area, considering the park was fenced in by sporadic trees that skimmed the roofs of buildings that showed off the city’s beautiful architecture, it was still insufferably hot. It radiated off of the ground, rebounded off the buildings around, and the flurry of structures meant there was no wind breaking through to give a cool Mediterranean breeze like you had before. 

Alexia seemed none the wiser, enraptured by the surroundings like it was her first time there, her head on a swivel and marveling at the mouth-wateringly exceptional variety of things to choose from. You hadn’t really been taking it in, your eyes stuck to the back of her head as you followed her through, waiting on shaking legs whenever she laughed and joked with each worker she bought from. 

This labyrinth of every cook’s dream was well and truly alive, but you weren’t. You couldn’t absorb the intense feeling of belonging and sonder you got whenever you came here. It was too much. The thought ate away at you, as with every fly that landed on your skin or every person that brushed against you, you became more and more on edge. 

All the different smells, the different sounds, the crowd of people, they didn’t spark those usual feelings of contentment and peace that transpired for you normally. Instead, they felt oppressive, like they were attacking your senses. 

The concoction of aromas forced themselves inside your nose and overloaded you completely, the squeamish smell of fish and the fiery linger of hundreds of kinds of herbs and spices bringing on a pounding headache. Every squeak of a wicker basket as the willow was put under more pressure could have been a gunshot for all you knew, the way it echoed around the tunnels of your ears. Anytime someone briefly put a hand on you as they moved past had you flinching, hating the unexpected contact as it was the last thing you needed in such a situation.

You didn’t find any comfort whatsoever in how Alexia’s hand never left yours for more than a minute, when normally it was something that grounded you. Her usually funny comments and little facts and point-outs of detail about her ‘second home’ (the name she had given it as she’d been coming here since she was young) didn’t make you feel any brighter, in fact you were pretty sure you missed most of them.

And as every minute passed, it appeared to get busier and busier, until it started to feel like you were in some kind of mosh pit, people bouncing off of you with every turn only for the next one to come along no more than a second later. You couldn’t hear a word Alexia was speaking, the once calming mix of languages turned into a booming echo of voices that were so close they seemed to be knocking on the bone of your skull, yet too distant for you to make out what anyone was saying, making it all so. much. worse.

Every voice, every footstep, every hearty laughter and every scrape of wood along the floor grated against your ears, all noises around amplified to immeasurable heights. The space was far too loud and far too crowded – each sensation you felt blurred into the next until it became impossible to separate from one another. But you did feel how each individual muscle tensed, from your legs to your shoulders, as Alexia continued to pull you through the market. 

You were hyperaware of everything around you and it soon became unbearable. But Alexia was happy, she chatted away like nothing was happening, comfortable and content as her canvas bag brimmed with stuff you didn’t even realise she had bought. You soldiered on, or at least tried to.

Until, your breathing began to quicken, your lungs unable to take in any of the stuffy air you walked through, your chest tightening in a way that only caused you to panic impossibly more. Each piece of fabric from your clothes grazed against your skin like a hundred scratches in a single second, your shirt and shorts beginning to feel like they were getting tighter with each step you took. And when the claustrophobia, the feeling like there was no escape at all, began to really set in, the day was over.

Your resolve had completely eroded. You tried to focus on grounding yourself — reminding yourself this was a safe space, but that was an empty claim to make to your shredded composure. You tried convincing your mind that Alexia’s hand in yours was comforting, when it only felt constrictive, her hand wholly enveloping yours like a snake, leaving no room to breathe. You clenched and unclenched your fist in time with your breaths, but you couldn't even inhale for a second before your mind went into overdrive. All the tools you relied on before were inadequate in that moment. The rational part of your brain slipped away, instead replaced by an instinctive need to escape. 

Surges of anger, panic, anxiety, fear, they all rose uncontrollably at once. Your jaw clenched, your free hand curled into a tight fist, and your vision turned hazy as your world dissolved into one indistinct blur.

The snapping point came abruptly. Perhaps it was a shrill laugh nearby, the clatter of a crate being dropped, or an impatient shove from someone trying to pass by. It was the smallest thing, but it tipped the scale far out of anybody’s control. You were alone in that moment. Trapped completely in your mind.

You missed how Alexia called your name over and over, how her hand nudged yours to desperately try to grasp your attention. It was only when her hands grabbed both your forearms that you were brought back down, but only for half a millisecond, before it all went south.

“What?!” You snapped at her, jumping back out of her touch. 

As a result, there were about thirty pairs of eyes on you. Everybody around paused, your sharp shout cutting through the buzz of the market, and it went so quiet that every flutter of a fly’s wing and every creek of wood could be heard. 

You took another step back when Alexia came towards you, a worrisome look on her face with her hands out in front of her like she was trying to not spook an untrusting animal in front of her. She rushed out some words of reassurance that fell into the background with all the other noises around that had picked up again, the market-goers losing interest in a seemingly harmless situation. They didn’t register within you, nor did her intentions. Your mind was far too good at playing tricks on you, convincing you of things that were far from the truth but in the moment felt like gospel.

There was no way out of where you were, both in the physical and the mental sense, and that was the main factor in the eruption that had just happened. With so many emotions coursing through you, there was an intense itch to find a release from them all. So before you realised, your arms crossed over your chest, hands on your upper arms just above your elbow, and you began to roughly palm, rub, grab at the skin there, needing a distraction from the volume of your mind and the world, whilst also desperately trying to get the movement to act as a release of the crushing press of the feelings inside of you. 

If you were alone at that time, god only knows what would have happened. Fortunately you weren’t.

The next time Alexia touched you was the featherlight weight of her hand on your lower back, the minor contact enough to lead you through the winding paths of the market. Your legs ran on autopilot, but you stumbled with every few steps, eyes too blurry to see the bumps and dips in the cobbles underneath your feet. There were probably tears down your face, though you’d reached such a broken point that your body was just… numb. You weren’t in control of anything anymore, hadn’t been for a while, but this was a new extremity. You weren’t even present in your own mind. Just an innocent, unknowing passenger in the car crash that had come out of nowhere.

Somehow, with her own hands trembling from concern, Alexia managed to lead you out of the chaos of the market to those same rusted, paint-chipped gates from earlier— the entrance of the park area. She was lost on what to do or say, but rationally she knew the only thing that would work for you right now was getting you home. 

“I will drive us back to your flat, back home, okay?” 

You gave her no indication that you heard her, which she was expecting, though you had heard the one word you were in dire need of and it was the first thing so far that managed to break through into your overwhelmed mind. Your hands were still moving roughly against the skin of your arms, sure to leave marks afterwards, but Alexia knew if she attempted to stop you, it’d only make matters worse. She had to get you home. Seeing you like this was breaking her.

It took a concerningly small amount of effort to guide you to the car; you were pliant and mindless, the exhaustion having fully taken over the minute you left the crowded space. She opened the door for you, helped you into the seat, and put the belt on. You leaned your head back against the seat rest and stared straight ahead. Whether it’d help or not, Alexia wasn’t sure. But she had to do one thing, more for the sake of her sanity than yours. With a quiet call of your name, she gently put a hand under your chin and turned you so you faced her.

“I’ll take you home and look after you. You will be okay.” She whispered, tentatively brushing away some of the tears still on your cheeks with her thumb. Her words were a sentiment for her as much as they were for you. “You’ll be okay soon.”

—

Next thing you knew, you were in your bed, lay on your side with your weighted blanket over you and Alexia nowhere to be seen.

It was definitely the calm after the storm. The room was mostly dark apart from the light that bled through the curtains which were closed, you could hear the quiet whir of the AC as well as the dull hum of traffic on the street below, but that was about it. It was a stark contrast to how things were before.

You don’t exactly remember getting home after what happened after the market, but what you did know was that though Alexia wasn’t in the room, she had been at some point, because you felt her love in the way she made sure everything was properly set up for you. The AC hadn’t been on before you left earlier and it only could have come back on by someone turning it on. The curtains were open that morning, whereas now they were drawn. And last time you checked, your blanket was still in the dryer, waiting to be taken out when you got back. 

Everything you felt earlier still echoed faintly inside your head and chest, but the weighted blanket over you helped to anchor you back to your life again, rather than the chaos you were drowning in not so long ago. Your mind was convoluted, thoughts jumbled, and you flitted from one shattered fragment of insecurity to the other. You were simply too exhausted to hold onto any of them, emotionally and mentally drained. Though, you still tried to identify what you were feeling— was it anger? Shame? Embarrassment? You couldn’t put a finger on it. 

Your hands still shook, your chest still shuddered with every breath. Your clothes still felt scratchy and overbearing, just less so now that you lay in the aftermath of it all. Instead of focusing on that, you drifted your attention to the feeling of the blanket on you; you focused on its texture, its softness, the heaviness of it and how it draped over you and helped to extinguish the flame that was overstimulation and overwhelm. These small but familiar details offered a tiny foothold in the mirror maze of your mind that you were still trying to escape from, only for the ruined reflection of you at the market to be shown back to you.

The longer you spent in that position, a deep, bone-level weariness quietly consumed you, like every aspect of you right down to your soul had been drained. But even still, your mind continued its hyperactive ways, replaying the day’s events over and over like a faulty film reel. The memory of it isn’t the slightest bit cohesive, it was just flashes of moments— the suffocating press of people from every direction, clamour of voices, the overloading mixture of scents. You alternated between frustration and exasperation, wanting to desperately forget what happened whilst not being able to move on from the embarrassment of it. 

However, the strain of it slowly began to dissipate with each minute you spent back at home in bed, a safe space where there were no expectations, where time was temporarily unimportant, and where there were no watchful eyes or scathing glares at the disruption you’d caused. And eventually, you felt like you had gained back control of your mind again. It was quieter then; the world felt muted, less aggressive, though you could feel that you were still wary of your surroundings because of how everything ambushed you earlier.

You weren’t fully recovered, you still felt heavy and your body ached due to the tension in your muscles and joints when it all came falling down, and you weren’t sure how much time had passed but the sun sat a little lower on the horizon when you finally felt able to get out of bed. The desire for time alone had gone, you needed something else then, and at this point of the relationship you felt comfortable enough to seek exactly what you needed without giving it a second thought. 

The door to your room creaked like it always did when you opened it, your apartment mostly silent save for the occasional huff from the kitchen as the person you were looking for busied herself with any chore she could think of as she waited patiently for you. 

You didn’t quite know what to say, but one of the best things about your relationship was that often in times like this, words weren’t a necessity. So you bypassed her and headed straight for the sofa, sitting in the corner and curling your feet underneath you, almost like you were making yourself as small as possible. And, just as you expected, not a minute went by before the blonde headed over, trying to disguise the worry she felt by giving a tight-lipped smile that was more on the amusing side than the reassuring one.

When she sat down, however, she left a gap between you both and perched only on the edge, which wasn’t what you wanted. One shared glance later and Alexia was smiling properly this time, shuffling to sit back against the cushions and beckoning you over with a small wave of her hand. With a sheepish but slightly triumphant look on your face, you moved along the couch and chose to sit sideways on her lap, one of her arms immediately wrapping around your waist as the hand of the other landed just above your knee. She pulled you close to her, and you settled into her with a relieved sigh, indescribably glad to have the final piece of the puzzle to self-regulation in your possession.

For some time, the pair of you didn’t speak, only relishing in the comfort you both needed after the day that had been had. At some point, Alexia noticed the redness to your skin from earlier and subconsciously brought a hand up to one of your arms, her thumb gently tracing over them with a frown on her face. She felt compelled to speak then.

“Please, engel, don’t put yourself through uncomfortable situations just to make me happy. If you asked me to, I would have taken you home earlier in a heartbeat.” The midfielder said carefully, panicking a little when she heard you sigh before calming when you buried your face in her neck.

“I didn’t really know it was going to be uncomfortable until it was already happening.” You told her in a mumbled, downbeat tone that made her hug you tighter against her. She contemplated her next words, wondering whether it was wise to voice them or not, before deciding that you’d hate it if you found out she’d kept her feelings from you.

“I’ve never seen you like that before.” Her fear and sadness was evident when she spoke, matching the frown still on her face and the furrow to her brow. You pressed your lips to the skin of her jaw in a somewhat apologetic gesture, which made her feel a little bad. “We’re both okay though, mi amor. I love you and we’re okay. I’m not mad or anything, this isn’t your fault. I don’t want you to feel guilty. It’s over now, it’s in the past, and we’re here together now.”

It might have been a minor reminder, but it relieved a lot of the remaining anxieties and insecurities you had. Even though she made sure you knew she never judged you for anything, you were only human, and sometimes the devil on your shoulder got the best of you. So, to hear her say she knew it wasn’t your fault and that she wasn’t angry, it was… very needed.

The mix of physical touch and words of affirmation never failed to work wonders for you. The period of time after an event like earlier was a delicate time to say the least, where your mind and your self-esteem was easily swayed by whatever reaction waited for you afterwards. Having Alexia be so welcoming, non-judgemental, caring and adoring even after what she’d witnessed made a world of a difference.

“Better day tomorrow?” You said shyly after moving back to look at her. She shook her head at first, which greatly confused you, before she smiled brightly, softly, reassuringly, and leaned forwards to kiss your temple.

“Better evening tonight after a bad day. And then a very good day tomorrow.” Her words were a little skewed, probably lost in translation, but you understand what she was getting at and it warmed your heart all the same.

It was important to you then, that you voiced your thoughts from just a moment ago. She had to know how important she was to you.

“Thank you, Ale. For everything.” You started, laughing quietly at the puzzled expression on her face. “You always know what to do, what to say. You always make me feel better after a day like this and I don’t know how you do it but… you changed my life.”

Her reaction was the sweetest. Her cheeks blushed red and she turned away for a moment with a tiny disbelieving shake of her head.

“I don’t know about that, cariño.” She murmured, but you weren’t having it. You put a hand on her cheek and turned her face back to you, ensuring she met your gaze before you spoke again.

“You did. I really mean it. I think about it a lot, how you’ve changed me, how I see myself because of you and how you treat me.” You paused for a moment, smiling up at her as her eyes silently urged you to continue. “I… value myself more because of how you value me. I don’t tell you enough how grateful I am for you and what you really mean to me. You’re the greatest person I have ever met.”

The normally sure and confident captain was rendered speechless in that moment, completely caught off guard and lost for words. How she could ever match the gravity and beauty of your words, she didn’t know. But they meant so much more to her than she knew she could ever express.

Ale ducked her head down for a moment as she really took in your words, before she lifted it back up again a moment later, with tears in her eyes. 

If only you knew how much you meant to her too.

“You’re my favourite person in the world, you know that?” She said with a pointed look and a raised eyebrow, almost accusing you of foolishly being uncertain about the fact that she stated so definitively. You knew she only did that to deflect the softness of her words a little. So, you just smiled, and tucked your head back into her neck and closed your eyes, completely at peace. “My favourite person in the whole world. You changed my life too.”

—

i really really tried my best to encapsulate the autistic experience of being overstimulated and overwhelmed in such a place here but i have no idea how well it comes across to a large audience. but for me and probably others, this is the reality, no matter how much you can plan and prepare and be excited for something, it can spiral out of your control so quickly and it's definitely a downer when it happens. hope this is somewhat understandable, im gonna go hibernate out of fear now, thank you v much for reading :)

[st4rbwrry]

𝒩𝒪𝒪𝒦𝐼𝐸.

⸝⸝ ౨ৎ :: getou isn’t fond of the new gardener you hired who’s clearly flirting with you when he’s not home.

warnings ౨ৎ 2.7k. fem!reader, lowercase intended, cunninglingus/face riding, cottage core au? + getou’s a farmer, missionary in da kitchen, praising ofc, exhibitionism, jealousy, possessiveness, getou’s kinda rude, sub / dom dynamic, established relationship, rough play, m oral, impact play, unprotected, pet names ex. [ baby, sweetheart ], minors aren’t welcomed! comments and reblogs are appreciated! ♡

getou doesn’t appreciate that you aren’t greeting him with his usual kisses after you raise on your tippy toes to smooch him after he comes home from a long day of churning butter and tending to livestock. it doesn’t make him happy to know that you’re not tending to his attention and rather giving it to another man after he strolls through your large kitchen, that he built for you, to head into the back of your farmhouse to find you giggling and conversing with the new gardener. a gardener that you personally hired that he had yet to meet.

he could smell the pan of shepherds pie and cornbread in the oven, ignoring the way his stomach growls hungrily and it quickly being consumed with irritation. you’re wearing your cute pink apron with tiny patterns of sunflowers and bunnies as you hold a woven basket of freshly picked strawberries the man before you tossed into. having a conversation about fucking strawberries. he didn’t expect this man to be. . . of your type. tall, nice smile, good hair, makes you laugh a little too fucking hard. what about fruits could possibly be so fucking funny, [♡]?

“what a surprise,” getou’s voice is laced with annoyance, deep and causing the two to go silent as he makes his way down the steps to stand directly next to you. you blink, knowing your husband very well and easily you could tell he’s off.

“hi, baby! this is matteo, he’s our new gardener! we were talking a lot about the new setup i plan on having!” the smile on your face is pure, looking back and forth between getou and your gardener. “he just started today.”

“hey, man. nice to meet you. your wife told me all about you,” matteo remains professional, extending his hand for a handshake. you roll your lips in, waiting for your husband to comply with respect. it’s silent as you stare between both men, feeling the hairs on the back of your neck rise from anxiousness.

“mhm,” is all getou can say, matteo taken aback by his approach. it’s extremely rude, and you blink excessively to keep your composure. taking a deep breath, you form a tight lipped smile towards your gardener.

“excuse me for a moment,” you speak, side eyeing getou before pulling him to the side, matteo continuing his job by picking juicy fruits from their stems.

“what’s your deal? that was fucking rude,” you denounce, gawking up at him with a raised brow. getou folds his bulky arms, not understanding how you’re acting dumb right now. you knew this would piss him off.

getou leans down to get closer to you, lips inches from your ear. “who told you to hire somebody like this?"

"hire somebody like what?" the man retaliates, overhearing getou’s weak attempt of whispering to you, taking offense. regardless, he spoke on his name when he was right there.

getou turns his face only an inch or so, barely giving the man full attention. you swallow, his face nearly touching your own possessively, like an animal protecting it’s mate. getou then switches his eyes fully, intensely staring at the man. "like someone she'd fuck."

his immature response causes you to step away from him with a look of disgust, brows pinched with anger. you couldn’t believe his mouth. you’re not sure what the fuck’s gotten into him, but it wasn’t cute. quite frankly, he looked stupid.

“you’re making a fucking fool of yourself,” you spat, eyes burning. knocking your head back in the sweet gardeners direction, you hold your hand over your heart apologetically. “i am truly sorry for my husband’s rudeness. please forgive me for this, but i think it’s best if you go. i will give you a call tomorrow. i’m sorry again.”

the man nods only once, keeping his focus solely on you, not even bothering to glance in your husband’s direction. his possessiveness a black cloud over the party. “it’s not a problem at all. have a great rest of your day, ma’am.”

the minute your gardener is out of view, that’s when you give getou an irritated snarl, looking him up and down as if the man had no shame. which he didn’t, and that was the problem. “what is wrong with you?!”

getou intakes air as you strut away angrily, heading back into your kitchen to adapt into the ignoring him bubble and completely tuning into your dinner prepping. since you have freshly picked strawberries, you decided to start a mixture for muffins you could sell to the neighborhood tomorrow morning. a festival was being held at the ranch a few blocks down, already promising a few ladies you’d whip something up sweet.

getou follows behind, studying as you huff and puff to yourself while gathering eggs, milk and other things you needed.

“you didn’t answer my question.”

“because it’s fucking stupid. why’d i hire someone to help me out? oh my god, such a mystery.”

“you’re being immature.”

that causes you to stop all movements. holding onto the edges of the island and staring at him with disbelief, mouth actually drawn open as you scoff. “i’m immature? because you didn’t just disrespect that man for no reason. you know him or sum?”

“don’t act slow. you hired that man ‘cause he’s someone you can eye fuck when i’m not home. don’t pretend you don’t find him attractive,” getou grits his teeth.

you roll your eyes. “ohh, so it’s jealousy! why would i want to cheat on someone i’m in love with? you’re being extremely distrustful. take that shit out of my kitchen, suguru.”

“say that again,” he’s approaching you now, getou observing as you cross your arms and pretend to be unfazed by how much bigger he was compared to you. his bare feet thumps along the floor as he nears you, hands in the pockets of his dark washed jeans, shoulders broad as he stared down at you darkly. now your body’s pressed up against the kitchen counter, turning your head the opposite way to avoid eye contact.

“suguru,” you stand on what you say, uncaring. your husband deviously grins.

getou kisses his teeth smugly. you practically moan when his hand grips your jaw to bring your attention back, fingers denting into your cheeks to make your lips pout, head tilted back. “watch that mouth of yours. there’s no need to be bratty.”

teeth sinks into your lips he gawks at for a split second before meeting your eyes again. a feeble noise comes from you as he swiftly pulls up your white sundress, hands on the backs of your thighs to spread you open, fingers pulling your pussy open. not surprised to see you weren't wearing underwear. really, that pisses him off even further. it’s windy out and you were engaging in conversation with that man knowing your pussy was bare. he wants to laugh, seeing how wet you are already. fucking nympho. even though you’re mad, you can’t ignore how hot his touch makes you. you gulp, holding onto the edge of the counter as your gut flips after he crouched on one knee.

his breath hits your clit, and instantly your thighs tremble, getou slowly sticking his tongue out his mouth, wide, long, and slick with saliva. it hovers over your clit, barely touching it. part of you wants to grab his hair and shove him down, but the look in his eyes says not to try it. his fingers come up to your face, extending two of the long digits inside of your mouth. you suck obediently, moaning around them while rolling forward towards his, aching for it. his free hand smacks your inner thigh causing you to release his fingers and whimper, getou wasting zero time and curling them deep into you, shaking them frivolously as his lips suction on your clit, kissing your pussy deeply, using so much saliva.

his stare is hard on you the entire time, wrist moving instantaneously as he fucks you with them. he’s having a ball watching you wither and roll your hips, squealing and raising your thighs higher to your chest, listening to his fingers slam into you, that gushing sound of your pussy coating his fingers.

"c-can’t. . .”

"shut up," briskly, he pulls his fingers out and spanks your clit with them, standing to his feet, towering over you. you rest your head back against the wall by the window, shifting your body since your ass hurt a little from being on a granite countertop.

most of his words are blocked out as you watch the sexually pent-up man drag his pants down until they sit at his waist, pussy clenching at the dark pubic hairs sticking out, lust in your eyes as his veiny, big hand fists his cock. the thick vein leading up to the crown leaking precum makes you smile hazily.

"look at me when i’m talking to you."

you're too fucking mesmerized by him. his slightly dirty white tshirt is hiked up now, godly sculpted abs enticing you to run your fingers over them with a giddy laugh. getou tilts his head to the side, clenching his jaw.

"hey," he calls to you, snapping his fingers twice in your face, voice deeper than usual. you can see that he's not up for bullshit. he’s arched over you, hair sticking to his forehead as he places his right hand on your lower back, arching into him until your chest presses against his. "listen to me when i talk to you, woman.”

the smell of his skin is intoxicating, reaching your hands behind him to claw at his ass, open mouth on his chin, moaning as he slides deep into you, looking down at you with a groan escaping his throat, furrowing his thick brows. getou tries not to lose it, because despite his frustration, there's no way he could deny just how fucking good you felt pulling him deep right now. you hold tight, eyes hazy as he pounds into you without another word, arm stretching over to press his palm on the cabinet above, balancing himself and dragging you to meet him thrust for thrust.

"pussy so needy for me. it fuckin’ better be,” please shut up, is what you think. his voice is too damn addictive, and the way he fucks you, virulently, like he fucking despised you . . . you didn't know if you could take much more. the other half of your brain is the opposite, thanking him over and over.

"oh, look, princess. there’s your favorite man,” it doesn't register that the two of you are legit fucking near an open window where anyone could see. “let’s say hi, baby."

unsure why he came back, it only takes ten seconds for your sweet gardener to immediately be swept with trauma, catching a glimpse at the two of you, getou’s dark eyes burning into him while yours are shut to hide the embarrassment, stomach still flipping with rouse. his fingers has your jaw locked still to keep your fucked out face in the direction of the man who’s nothing short of unimpressed. tasteless, he thinks. wasting no time and turning away to hop back inside of his truck, only coming because he forgot to give you back the key to your garage. his lips are by your ear now. "looks like we’ll have to hire someone else.”

"you’re s-so . . . mean,” it’s the only thing you can think of, trembling and yanking your face out of his grasp. you wanna say you hate him, but deep down you knew this is what you've been craving all along. he’s exactly how you wanted him to be; lecherous. "fuck, can’t stand you.”

"you love me, sweetheart,” he coed, you hiccup. sobbing as he throws one of your legs over his arm, angling his hips slightly to the right and hitting into you faster, rolling your neck back, listening to how viscous his skin claps with your own, and his breath fans over your face.

"awe," he pouts, giving your forehead a chaste kiss. "y‘not gonna say it back?”

“d’nt deserve it,” you’re slurring your words and it pisses you off how dumb he makes you. his hand is around your neck now, choking you until you feel the blood rushing to your skull, luring the back of your own hand to your lips, using it as some sort of blockage for how loud you were being. louder than usual.

inching his lips towards yours, he studies how desperate you are to latch your lips with his, only for him to snatch them away. “then you don’t deserve my kiss.”

a frustrated whine leaves your throat, getou humming tauntingly, delicately skimming his bitten red lips over yours with a moan following along with a whispered ‘no’. tightening his lock around your neck, he rolls his hips deeper, your hand clutching his wrist with tears in your eyes. “not until you tell me you love me.”

you gently sink your teeth into the back of your hand, getou leaning closer before sloppily kissing at your palm where your lips rested, an evil stare painted his expression. he sucks, licks, and moans on your hand, knowing you were wishing he'd do that to your mouth instead. fuck, that was enough to get you to the breaking point. thighs trembling as you drop your mouth open, nothing coming out.

"wait, are you gonna cum?" his mouth upturns as he widens his eyes and mouth with fake surprise. "you’re cumming, aren't you? don’t cum. if you cum, i’ll stop."

"suguru, fucking stop—"

"stop what, huh? why you talkin' back?" shoving his thumb in your mouth, he fucks you harder, body jolting as your eyes roll back and your mouth drools, clutching his wrist harder to keep him there. "weren't you gonna cum?"

"yessss!" you wail, tears falling down your eyes. that coil in the pit of your stomach is ready to snap, getou’s sadistic voice ringing in your ears as he praises you, hips ramming harder to get you to break, clutching the back of his neck and screaming into his chest, giving him the answer he wants, riding the wave. "love you. love you.”

“good girl, good girl,” he proceeds to fuck you through it, just enough until you're pushing at his stomach to stop, kissing up the side of his neck drunkenly. getou slides out of you, holding back a moan before he's grabbing your hand and pulling you off the counter, holding your waist so you don't fall over.

"knees, now."

you're more than happy to lower to your knees, already knowing what to prepare for, lulled, teary eyes focusing on him and the slick coated cock stretching over your face. you hold onto the back of his thighs, widening your mouth and sticking your tongue out, getou holding your head still before gliding his dick inside the cave of heat now inundating him, jaw dropping, using the other hand to hold the cabinet once more and mercilessly fucking your throat. his moans are coarse, grunting and throwing his head back, hips stuttering as he holds you still and shoots deep in your mouth, cursing thousands of times he nearly filled the dictionary.

"swallow it and show me," and you do, without hesitation, sticking your tongue out proudly and it makes getou even prouder. "that’s my girl."

"whatever," you wipe the side of your mouth, getou lifting you off the floor, legs still too weak to function.

“there’s that mouth again, sweetheart. cut it short before i fuck you harder,” oh, he’s serious. that darkness in his eyes telling you not to try it again.

“s-sorry, baby. love you,” you give him those pretty doe eyes he falls weak to, rubbing your hands over his waist while placing your chin on his chest. batting your lashes innocently.

getou hums. “tell me that after you get rid of that fuckin’ gardener.”

© 𝒮𝒯𝟦𝑅𝐵𝒲𝑅𝑅𝒴! all rights reserved. please do not repost, steal, or modify my work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute. i'll ruin your life ♡

[firewasabeast]

Prompt—Buck sees Rocker kissing someone else and thinks Tommy cheated. This is how the twin thing is revealed.

Seething.

That was a good word for it.

Buck was seething at what he saw happening across from him at the farmer's market.

Two years together, just to throw it all away.

And for what? Some gray haired, bearded, too-tight shirt wearing, perfect smile-having, muscle man?

This was not someone from the 217, Buck was sure of that. He knew everyone at the 217. Had checked them all out to make sure they weren't a threat (which was something Tommy was never to know about, by the way).

No, this man was from somewhere else. And he was currently cuddling right up to his boyfriend, pulling him in for a kiss even though Tommy, his Tommy, was in the middle of taking a bite of a cinnamon roll.

Then they were laughing together while this mystery man wiped icing off of his lips. Because he'd just kissed Tommy! His Tommy!!!

His Tommy, who smiled a little different with this other guy. His Tommy, whose posture was somehow even straighter. Maybe he was more comfortable with this man. More confident.

Buck couldn't think about that, because all he could think about was the fact his fiancé was cheating on him with Mr. Sun-Kissed Santa!

He had half a mind to march right on over there and confront them. To bounce his ring right off of Tommy's forehead and tell him they were done.

But he stopped himself. Decided to wait. Wait until Tommy came home from “a basketball game with Eddie.”

*****

He heard Tommy's truck pull up in the driveway and quickly wiped the tears from his eyes. He didn't want Tommy to see him sad, he wanted Tommy to see him angry.

“We're back, Babe,” Tommy greeted as he walked in the door. “Victorious and with only one minor injury.” He walked over to the dining room table, where Buck was seated, and pressed a kiss to his head. “Eddie tripped over his own feet.”

“It was an attack from the other side!” Eddie yelled. “I'm getting a bandaid for my elbow.”

Buck was going to wait until Eddie was gone to confront Tommy. He was gonna be subtle about it, ask some questions until he backed Tommy into a corner.

He lasted 0.5 seconds.

“I can't believe you're cheating on me!” He yelled, looking up at a baffled Tommy.

Eddie, who hadn't made it to the guest bathroom yet, froze. “Yeah, I'm out,” he said, exiting the house with no concern for his injury.

“I'm... I'm what now?” Tommy asked.

“You don't have to pretend, Tommy,” Buck replied, standing and making his way to the bedroom. “I saw everything.”

Tommy followed closely behind him. “Well, could you tell me what you saw? Because I definitely didn't cheat on you, Evan.”

“Pft!” Buck huffed. “I went to the farmer's market today, Tommy, alone, because you said you already had plans with Eddie.”

“Okay? And?”

Buck walked into their closet, tugging a suitcase off the top shelf. “And I just want to know why you'd think it was a good idea to go to the same farmer's market I was going to be at?!” He came back into the room, shoving past Tommy as he plopped the suitcase onto the bed.

“I am so confused, Evan, I was playing basketball! With Eddie! You saw him!” Tommy paused. “Wait, you don't think I'm cheating on you with Eddie, do you?”

“No!” Buck exclaimed. “But you could have joined him for basketball after your little rendezvous.”

“Eddie came by here first, Evan! Left his car out front. How do you think he left just now?”

“W- Well, y- you... I don't know how you did it, but I do know that you were at the farmer's market kissing another man. An older man!”

Tommy shook his head, placing his hands on his hips. He opened his mouth to respond, then shut it back.

“Yeah, can't defend yourself, can you?”

“No, I just... are you sure it was a man?”

“Am I- are you serious?! Are you cheating on me with a woman too?!”

“No! No, I'm not cheating on you at all, Evan, I just... A man, huh?”

“Okay,” Buck held his hand up, “now I'm confused. What's happening? You don't even know who I caught you with?"

Tommy sighed. “Remember I mentioned having a brother to you a few times in the past?”

“Yeah?”

“And I said we weren't super close so I wasn't sure if you'd ever meet him?”

“Tommy, what does this have to do with anything? I don't care about your family drama right now!”

“Take a breath, Evan, and connect the dots.”

Buck breathed heavily through his nose as he glared at Tommy, thinking over the words being said to him.

After a few seconds, his expression softened. “Oh.”

Tommy nodded. “Oh.”

“You... You have a twin?”

“I have a twin.”

“And you never told me this before because...?”

“Because you'd want to-”

“I have to meet him!”

“meet him,” Tommy muttered.

“Tommy! Well, first of all,” he closed the distance between them, smacking a kiss against his lips, “congratulations for not cheating on me.”

Tommy's eyebrows furrowed. “Thank... you?”

“Second of all,” Buck continued, grabbing the suitcase and taking it back to the closet, “I have to meet Donny- that was his name, right?- now. No idea he was your twin. This makes everything far more interesting.”

“You know, I'm actually more interested in the whole “kissing a man” part because that asshole didn't say a word when I came out to him.”

“Maybe h- he didn't know yet!” Buck called back to him, shoving the suitcase back on the top shelf. He was smiling brightly when he returned. He pulled Tommy close, wrapping his arms around his waist. “Maybe he hadn't met his Tommy yet.”

“That's... weird, in so many ways, Evan.”

“No. It's. Not,” Buck replied, punctuating each word with a kiss. He squeezed Tommy close to him in a hug. “I knew you'd never do something like that. So out of character for you.”

“Oh, you knew?” Tommy questioned sarcastically, even as ran his hands up and down Buck's back. “Is that why you were about to start packing to leave me? Because you knew I'd never cheat.”

“That's the past, let's let that go.” Buck patted Tommy's chest before leaving out of the bedroom.

Again, Tommy followed.

“You need to call your brother,” Buck said. “Have him come over for dinner.”

“Yeah, I don't think so.”

“Tommy.”

“Evan.”

Buck rolled his eyes, turning to Tommy. “He probably needs you. If he wasn't out when y- you were, it might be new to him and maybe h- he could use his, um, little?”

“Older, by ten minutes.”

Buck lit up even more. “He could use his older brother right now.”

Tommy closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then groaned. “Fine. I'll call him.”

“Excellent!”

“But before I do that, I'm gonna need you to call Eddie and let him know I'm not cheating on you before he decides to come back and slash all my tires on your behalf.”

Buck winced. “He would do that, wouldn't he?”

Tommy nodded, moving toward Buck to reach into his pocket and pull out his phone. “Yeah, he would.”

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

chapter xxvi – gust & flame

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Eris Vanserra has been a prisoner in his own home since the day he was born. He has done what he had to in order to survive and protect the few he loves. And he is playing the long game. Waiting, waiting, and waiting for the right time to make his move, to usurp his wicked father and become High Lord of Autumn Court. But things become even more complicated when a human girl drops into his life. Perhaps Eris can wait no longer to take his throne.

Word Count:  5,100+

warning: sex scene [even bigger warning: the first one i've ever written, so it'll probably be very bad 😂]

masterlist

“If we continue paying the farmers this way, it will have consequences on the court’s treasury!" The Master of Coin droned on to the rest of the advisors and Eris. 

“Abbán, you have been poisoned by the same greed of the late High Lord Beron,” defended General Domnhall. 

He was Eris’ most loyal warrior when he controlled Autumn Court's armies. And once Eris became High Lord, there was no one else he trusted more to take his place as General than him. The male was yet another that, had it had been safe enough, Eris would've considered Domnhall a friend. 

General Domnhall had been away from the Forest House since Eris had usurped the throne, in order to protect the Court and assure Eris’ reign was not overtaken or challenged, while also monitoring the borders of Autumn Court. 

Eris tried to suppress his smirk at his friend’s defensiveness. 

“And what of the funds we gained from trading in human flesh?” Domnhall added darkly. 

Eris finally leaned forward, forearms pressing into the oak table. “Do not take me as a fool, Abbán. My father’s greed was always framed as responsible and for the good of the Court. But we all know neither were true. He kept as much as could, so our people were desperate and worked harder for nearly nothing. He did it to control them.” 

“They are your subservients!” Abbán’s voice raised. 

Eris shot to his feet. “There are my Court!”

From the outburst, his entire body was engulfed in flames that threatened the room, but remained in control at his side. 

Everyone at the table tensed. 

“A High Lord is meant to bring his Court to glory, not to keep his inhabitants weak and scared of his power,” Eris continued evenly. “You and I both know there is plenty of coin, Abbán. Rid yourself of the illness that is greed, or I will find a Master of Coin who can.” 

Abbán swallowed nervously. 

But Eris continued. “In the past, we have relied too heavily on the interest of other Courts to purchase our goods. We shall start trading to the Mortal Realm and to the fae of Spring Court.” 

There was instantly murmuring amongst the table. 

“But High Lord Tamlin could see this as an attempt to take his Court,” one said. 

Eris scoffed. “Tamlin cannot even manage his own manor. Do you honestly think he’s paying any attention to the goods being imported through his borders? Lucien will manage the shipments. They trust him. And if their High Lord will not assure his inhabitants are being fed, then I will.” 

Abbán knew better than to argue. So, he bowed his head and replied, “Yes, High Lord.” 

“We have been at council since dawn, High Lord.” Another spoke gently. “Perhaps that is enough for today…”

“Yes,” Eris agreed in a growl. “It is.” He waved his hand lazily. “You are dismissed.” 

He slumped back into his chair, waiting for the others to leave. 

Domnhall was the only one that stayed behind, patiently waiting to be left alone with the High Lord.

Eris pretended to not notice. 

There was a moment of tense silence shard between the two males. 

“Shall I kill him?” Domnhall asked cheerfully. 

Eris rolled his eyes. “If I wanted him dead, I could do it myself.”

Domnhall stood and moved closer to his High Lord, hovering about his seat at the council table. “Yes, I am well aware.” 

Eris sighed and crossed his arms. “Is there something you needed, Domnhall?”

The general smirked at him. “Get rid of the ol’ git. He is useless. His greed makes him unfit for the role. It is smart a smart move to bring food to Spring Court. They are suffering. And perhaps your charity could bring more to Autumn Court.” 

Eris nodded slowly. “How is my army?”

“They are my army now,” Domnhall teased. “And they are well. Some are weary about the civil unrest. None wish to fight against their own, some of which are their families and friends. But they remain loyal to you, Eris – as always.” 

During Beron's reign, the army would have followed Eris through anything. They were loyal to him, not Beron. They trusted him, believed in him. But Eris would never have risked their lives to an outright war against his father.

Eris rubbed his face, clearly deep in his head.

“Now, where is that mate of yours?” Domnhall asked with a smile, looking around playfully as if she would appear at any moment. “You have hid her from me for months now. All I know of her are the rumors that spread through the Court.”

Eris cocked his eyebrow at him. “With your history, do you really think I would let you anywhere near her?” 

Domnhall only chuckled. He was not shy about his love for females, especially ones who were...unsatisfied with their husbands.

All teasing disappeared as Eris’ gaze darkened. “She wishes to return to the mortal realm. To Y/N, her place is not here, but amongst the humans.”

Domnhall’s smile dropped. “But you are mates…”

“Yes, and that holds little meaning to mortals. She does not see it as we do. She cannot feel the bond.”

“But she is not just a mortal,” Domnhall argued. “She is a witch!”

“If she wishes to leave, who am I to stop her?” Eris finally snapped. “Shall I chain her to the Forest House, hold her captive, make her no more than a prisoner?” He rubbed his face. “It wouldn’t be the first time a High Lord imprisoned a woman in such a manner…”

“Do not compare yourself to Tamlin,” Domnhall spat with disgust. “You keep her here to insure her safety. The mortal realm is unstable as it is – and if anyone found out who she was, she would be endangered. I know your actions are noble, Eris. Your father is no longer here to force your false character. And I know the male you truly are.” 

Eris stood, his hands pressing down into the table. “Thank you, Domnhall, for your…loyalty and…”

“Friendship?” The general offered with an amused smirk. 

He too now stood. “One day, I hope you can undo your conditioning and actually call me your friend.”

Domnhall started to leave, but paused at the doorway. “And in case you didn’t know, friends usually introduce each other to their mates.”

He winked and disappeared. 

—🍁—

Eris needed to see her. His body started to ache when he was away from her for too long. And once she had moved into the Forest House, the aches only grew stronger.

All the talk of her from Domnhall only made him realize the council had been distracting him from the feeling.

And he could ignore it no longer.

Y/N had healed him after the battle, after he had used his beast form for the first time since becoming High Lord. 

It had been almost two weeks, since Y/N had healed him after the battle, after he had used his beast form for the first time since becoming High Lord. 

And Eris had barely had time to see her since. 

Now, he searched for her in the surrounding forest of the manor. It was all enclosed and protected by countless spells of his own magic.

She should not be in any danger here. But it still left him uneasy for her safety. 

The trees were getting thicker and he tried to pull on the string that tied him to her. He'd heard of mates calling to each other, yanking at the tie between their hearts and souls.

But Y/N was not fae – even worse, she had not accepted the bond yet. 

Instead, Eris came across one of his guards that he had assigned to watch over Y/N. 

He bowed immediately. “She is safe, High Lord. Lady Y/N wished for space, I have the guards surrounding her, but keeping out of her sight.”

Eris nodded in thanks. “You and the rest of the guard are relieved of your duties for the day. Thank you for watching over her.” 

The guard bowed again, but hesitated before he soflty added, “She was helping the injured all morning, High Lord. Then she immediately went to the archives for hours. I believe she needs some rest.” 

Eris gripped the guards shoulder in thanks. A gesture he would’ve never even thought of doing when Beron was still alive and ruling. 

He walked forward until there was a break in the trees. The small patch of hilly grass allowed the light of the setting sun to slip through. 

In the middle of the clearing was a giant oak tree, its trunk over five feet wide. 

And beneath it was his mate, fast asleep on top of a thick blanket. But not alone, for his smoke hounds were an extra layer of protection on top of the guard he assigned to watch over her.

She was wearing a blood red dress made of both velvet and sheer fabric. Even when laying on the grass asleep, she looked utterly beautiful. Her lips were covered in a stain that perfectly matched the color of her dress, and Eris could only assume one of her servants had insisted on the detail. 

Eris swore he did not pay the Court’s seamstresses enough for how perfectly they tailored all of Y/N’s clothes. 

Per usual, her feet were bare. But somehow hardly dirty for having trounced through the woods. 

As soon as Eris took a step into the clearing, all 12 of his smoke hounds – who had been cuddly and guarding Y/N – shot up and growled a warning to him. 

Eris whistled lowly, his signal for them to relax, one of many that he had trained into them since they were puppies.

Their growling immediately ceased and a couple even trotted over to give their master a greeting. 

The only threat now: Ronan. Y/N’s pet fox, who was not his nor trained by him.

Ronan still growled in warning at Eris, standing protectively at Y/N’s feed as she slept.

Eris chuckled at Ronan, still a kit and not a full-grown fox yet. 

Ronan let out a bark when Eris was only a few feet away, and it finally stirred Y/N. 

“You woke her, you overprotective runt,” Eris hissed his scold to the fox. 

Y/N blinked and reached for her knife. But as soon as her gaze found Eris, her entire body relaxed. 

“I apologize for waking you,” Eris quickly told her, hovering where he stood, unsure if he should invade her space or leave. 

Y/N gave him a shy grin and then reached out a hand, silently signaling him to join her on the blanket. 

Ronan gave another warning growl. 

“Hush, Ronan,” Y/N chided, as she picked the fox kit up and moved him on the other side of her, away from Eris. "You know he means no harm.” 

Ever so gracefully, Eris walked through the pack of protective smoke hounds and carefully sat on the blanket beside Y/N, his back resting against the trunk of the oak tree. 

To his surprise, Y/N scooted closer instantly, resting her head against his chest. 

Eris tried to control his heart rate as his mate’s ear lingered right over it. One would think he was some pubescent fae youngling with the way his body reacted to such an innocent gesture. It would be more embarrassing if he was not getting such a thrill from this innocent intimacy. 

“What are you doing out here, little witch?” He asked her as he brushed hair behind her ear and off her neck, so he could clearly look down at her face. 

Y/N sighed, “I needed some air.”

“Ahh…and what gossip did the wind tell you today?”

Y/N smirked “Nyx took his first steps today. Rhysand cried more about it than Feyre did.”

“What a sentimental fool,” Eris snarked back. 

“Do not be rude!” She snapped back with a smile, and pinched his thigh in warning. 

As if laughing with them, a small fist of wind flurried around them. 

Eris looked down at Y/N. Really she should be wearing a cloak or have another blanket. 

Quickly, he slightly jostled her to remove his own cloak, the collar lined with fur. 

He wrapped it over Y/N gently. 

She smiled. “You didn’t need to do that. What if you get cold?”

Eris rolled his eyes. “Tis only fashion. I am the High Lord of Autumn, a wielder of flame. My blood runs hot and I am almost never cold.”

To prove it further, he held out the hand that wasn’t holding his mate, and lit a fireball in his palm. Then released it into the air. It remained floating around them and Y/N immediately felt its warmth, as if they were sitting near a bonfire. 

Y/N cuddled even further into his chest.

She looked up at the trees around them, forever in a state of orange, red, and yellow.

“In the mortal realm, I would wait all year for autumn. I dreamt of the leaves changing all summer. I always yearned for the chill air, the cloudy skies, the rainy days. Summer weighs me down. I hate the heat and the humidity, the sun is overbearing.”

Y/N hesitated before she continued. “When I first entered Autumn, it felt like a cruel joke, being dragged into the most beautiful place I’d ever seen, while bound and enslaved.”

Eris’ body tensed in rage. The ball of fire sparked from his emotions. 

There were some days when he wished he could bring his father back, only to torture him for what he did to Y/N, and the mortal women and childcare. 

But when Eris managed to stifle his anger, he looked down at Y/N, she had already fallen back asleep. 

He whispered to the wind, “It is because you were meant for this place, my mate.” 

Then he leaned down to kiss her brow. 

The wind brushed through again, as if it agree with his statement. 

Suddenly, all he wanted was to join his mate in her peaceful sleep. 

Eris whistled to his dogs. Their ears perked up and they all looked to him, waiting for the command. 

“Stand guard,” he ordered. 

They all scattered, taking on positions in a radius and sitting stiff with watchful eyes to the surrounding forest. 

But to Eris’ amusement, Ronan trotted to the edge of the blanket and joined in the reconnaissance and as the last line of defense. 

Perhaps Ronan did take orders from him…when it involved his mate’s safety. 

—🍁—

Eris awoke almost 2 hours later. 

His recent distance from Y/N had made sleeping difficult. And as soon as he had her in his arms, his body relaxed and the exhaustion caught up with him. 

Loyal and obedient, his smoke hounds were pacing around them, guarding and surveying the area for any potential threats. 

Eris looked down to see that Y/N was still peacefully asleep on his chest. 

She needed to eat, and rest in a proper bed. 

He whistled again and the smoke hounds sprinted toward him, then sat in a line, awaiting their masters next order. 

“With me, back to the Forest House.”

The half the smoke hounds sprinted ahead, while the other half surrounded Eris.

Ronan stayed at Y/N's side.

As carefully as he could, Eris gathered Y/N in his arms. And with a wave of his hand, the blanket disappeared and would arrive in the wash house. 

Y/N’s head naturally fell to his shoulder. 

Eris walked slowly back to the Forest House, worried that winnowing would wake her.

As soon as they reached the grand hall, a servant paused her work and bowed at their arrival. 

“Ready a meal for two and bring it to my bedchambers, please.” Eris ordered. 

When they reached his room, Eris gently placed Y/N on his bed. 

“Little witch, you must wake soon and eat something.”

She whined at her slumber being interrupted. 

“When was the last time you ate?” He asked her with a narrowed gaze. 

She shied away at the question, and was smart enough to look a little guilty. For if the tables were turned, it would also upset her to see the High Lord skipping meals and working himself into utter exhaustion.

“That is what I thought,” Eris answered for her. 

It only took a few minutes for someone to bring up a meal for them.

It was a sweet looking fae who looked quite young. But Y/N had quickly learned that looks could be deceiving when it came to predicting the age of fae. 

Much to Y/N’s dismay, the servant practically carted in a feast for just the two of them. 

Eris stood, moving to the cart. “Thank you…” There was an awkward pause. “…Delyth.”

The servant blushed at the High Lord using her first name. 

“O-O-Of course, High Lord.” The poor thing stuttered out with a bow. 

Eris had been making an effort to address the staff with more kindness and acknowledgment. It was hard to adjust from the way Beron had rule this house. Which was why it was sounded so unfortunately awkward for Eris to address the servant by name. 

Feeling a bit braver now, the servant turned a bit to address Y/N directly with a shy smile. “The cooks made sure to include a few apple tarts. The bakers said they have quickly become one of your favorites.”

Y/N beamed at the kindness. “They are! Thank you so very much, Delyth. And please tell everyone in the kitchen thank you, as well.” She gave some side eye to Eris. “From both of us,” she added. 

Delyth rushed out with a final bow. 

Y/N joined Eris at the cart of food. Now that she was smelling and seeing it, her stomach growled and she finally acknowledged how hungry she was. 

“The servants seem less scared of you these days,” Y/N pointed out with amusement as she lifted lids off various sides. 

“That is less scared?” Eris cocked a brow. 

Y/N sighed and turned to face him fully. “Give it time, Eris. You have only been High Lord of Autumn for – how long? – 4 months?”

He just hummed. 

She continued. “You have been alive for centuries. Surely you do not expect to undo your previous reputation in mere days?” 

Eris was already filling a plate with a little bit of everything they had been given. “Well, certainly I should take notes from you. My Court adores you.” He smirked. “If the apple tarts were not obvious enough.”

He handed it to her, making Y/N realize he had been making a plate for her before himself.

She took it carefully, trying to ignore the sweet gesture. 

“Eat,” he urged, the High Lord in him clearly heard. 

“Yes, yes.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m eating. I’m eating.” 

Y/N moved to sit on the floor next to the giant fireplace in his bedchambers. Before she had even fully sat down, Eris had started a fire with a simple nod of his head. Then giant floor cushions – blood red, velvet, and tufted – appeared next to her. 

“I like sitting on the floor,” she muttered to herself, but fully knowing he could hear. 

“Well, I do not,” Eris retorted as he joined her on his own cushion. 

“Ah, right. We were just talking about how you are centuries old. It probably isn’t comfortably for your poor back…”

Eris paused the stabbing of his food with his fork at such a comment. 

But when he looked up, Y/N was trying not to laugh. 

“What!?” She finally giggled. “I find it hard to believe anyone ever had the courage to tease you. Perhaps it will build character!” 

“No one teased me because if they did… they were fried to ash and soot.” 

“By Beron?” She mocked. 

“By me.” 

But his glare could no longer be ignored. 

“Fine. I will stop,” Y/N surrendered. 

They continued their meal with comfortable conversation. Mostly of Eris asking about her day, and the days before when he could not see her. He asked her about the mortals, how they were faring, if the children needed anything. 

In return, Eris told her about all the meetings with his council. He even admitted how much he struggled with not lashing out at those who seemed resolute on disagreeing with his every decision and philosophy. 

“You may rid yourself of them, you know…” Y/N hummed. 

She now lounged on her side across the floor cushion, head propped up on her elbow as she gazed up at his straight posture. 

Y/N added, “There is a middle ground between complete submission and murdering any who disagree with you.” 

“And what is that, little witch?” He asked, almost bitingly.

“You could dismiss them from their position, remove them from the High Lord’s council.”

“And let them live?” Eris challenged with disgust in his tone. “So they could leave my court, and join the rebellion and challenge me?” 

Y/N sat up and moved closer, matching his sitting position. “Yes, let them live! So your people see that you are not a tyrant, but a just High Lord with honor and benevolence. And you leave an opening for others to gain standing with you, showcasing their honor, taking any opportunity to help you and help their court. True acts of service – not titles won through deceit and greed.”

Eris stared at her in awe. 

His witch spoke like a vizier, whispering council into a mortal king’s ear. But she was not doing it for any benefit other than his own. She only wished to help him. 

“I see your time in our libraries has taught you a thing or two,” he whispered to her. 

Y/N's face warmed and she looked away from his studying gaze. “I only wished to understand the ways of the fae and of Autumn Court.”

“Yes, and you learned much more than that, too.”

Eris reached out then, his fingers brushing gently against her cheek, lifting her chin so she was forced to look at him. His touch was like a spark— familiar and foreign still.

Without another word, he leaned in, his lips brushing hers, a kiss that was both a promise and a plea. Their politics and council seemed to vanish in that moment—the weight of their bond, the burden of their destinies, all faded into the background, until there was nothing left but the beat of their hearts and the shared warmth of their embrace.

This was not their first kiss, but it was the most daring of them all. 

There was a new energy, one that had been tapping at her shoulder for too long. And she feared she could no longer ignore it. 

When they pulled apart, Y/N’s breath was shaky, her pulse racing.

Eris’ hand slid down her spine, pulling her flush against him. His hands roamed over her body, exploring every curve and contour. 

He pulled away to look at her face, reading every tiny expression to see if she wanted him to stop. Because he knew his mate to be bashful, and she would not stop him until she was too scared. 

Thus, he was surprised to see such hunger and desire in her y/e/c eyes. 

Eris pulled up the skirt of her velvet dress, then undid the delicate buttons at the back of the dress, letting it fall from her torso to reveal a sheer lace body suit as her lingerie.

His fingers traced the lace, teasing her skin through the farbic, until Y/N arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.

"You are beautiful," he murmured against her mouth, his breath hot on her skin. “I fathom any males who have had the pleasure of seeing you this way were undeserving.”

Y/N's hands were not idle either. She ran her fingers through his thick, flame hair, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. Her nails scraped lightly down his back, eliciting a shudder from him. Eris groaned, his desire for her growing with every touch.

Eris lowered his head, his lips moving down her neck and across her chest.

Y/N arched her back, her hands gripping his shoulders, as waves of pleasure rippled through her.

"Eris," she gasped, her voice hoarse with desire. 

She was not a stranger to sex. But it had left her so disappointed in the past, that her body had declared a complete disinterest in exploring it further with men, moving forward in life with an utter lack of desire. 

But Y/N did not know that Eris had put those pieces together, from Feyre’s subtle warning to him after Y/N had shared such a depressing sexual past to her friends. 

It brought him a strange rage that men had disappointed her so thoroughly. But that was quickly replaced with the primal urge to show her what she could have from him. 

So, Eris obliged, lavishing attention on his mate, his hands roaming lower, caressing the curve of her waist and the swell of her hips. 

Y/N's breath quickened as his fingers dipped underneath the skirt of her dress, tracing the lace edge of her body suit.

Pride swelled through Eris as his hand moved to instantly find her arousal. 

“Let me, Y/N. Please. I beg you," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. 

Y/N's eyes fluttered open, and she gazed up at him, her expression a mix of desire – and, surprisingly, trust. 

Eris smiled, a predatory grin, and gently pushed her back onto the cushion, following her down, his body covering hers. He kissed her deeply, hungrily, his hands roaming freely over her body, exploring every inch of her soft skin.

His fingers traced the line of her thigh, pushing her skirt higher and out of the way, fully revealing the delicate lace that covered her core.

Y/N's breath hitched as his fingers brushed against her over the fabric, and she arched her hips, seeking more contact.

He finally took pity on her and moved the fabric to the side.

Eris's eyes darkened with desire as he took in the sight of her exposed sex. 

With that, he dipped his middle finger into her, slowly, teasingly, remembering that she was a mortal – and one has lived without being deservedly worshipped by a male.  

Y/N gasped, her body jerking at the sudden intrusion. The sensation of his finger sliding into her was exquisite.

His finger moved in a slow, deliberate rhythm, gently stretching her, filling her with a pleasurable ache. He added a second finger, causing Y/N to moan softly, her head tossing back. And she clenched around his fingers, her body welcoming the touch in a way it never had before. It was a reminder than fae males were bigger than men in every way – including their fingers.

“Breathe, Y/N.” Eris encouraged with equal parts dominance and tenderness. “I can feel you holding back. Relax, my little witch.”

His voice alone sent a tremor through her body and it listened to his command as if he were her master. 

He began to move his hand in a steady, rhythmic motion, his fingers curling and inside her, hitting a spot within her that she had never felt before. 

Y/N gasped as pleasure coursed through her body. 

She could feel her orgasm building, a feeling she had never experienced when sharing a bed with the few males in her past. Delicious tension coiled in her core.

"Eris..." she could barely whisper, pleading with him against her own control.

Eris grinned, knowing he had her exactly where he wanted her. He increased the pace, his fingers working her with relentless precision.

But he was not another fumbling, mortal male. He was high fae, a powerful high lord – with Autumn fire in his blood. And he could give her more than just his fingers. 

His magic flickered out of him, controlled and careful. He could not give her too much or she might never recover. She may be a witch, but she had a fragile mortal body still. 

An invisible flame under his control spread across her skin, like a hundred warm hands were touching her, overwhelming her senses. Her skin was hot from the magic and beads of sweat started to form. 

She couldn’t handle it any longer. 

Y/N’s hips bucked off the floor, her hands trying to grip onto something as she surrendered to the sensations.

But Eris took both of her hands in one and locked them above her head, keeping her his prey.

“Let go, Y/N.“ Eris encouraged, his thumb finding her clit and circling it gently.

His words were like magic too, and Y/N’s body exploded in pleasure. 

She cried out, her back still arching as wave after wave of orgasmic bliss. Every window flew open by a gust raging into the room. Not the messengers, but her own witchcraft. As if it was her body’s subconscious response, desperate for relief from the stimulation. 

“Good girl,” Eris whispered as his magic wouldn’t let her calm down, overstimulating her. His fingers continued their assault, pushing her orgasm further, drawing out every last bit of the pleasure she deserved.

As the tremors subsided, Y/N lay panting with closed eyes, her hair fanned out on the wood floor like a halo. Her body spent, recovering from something she’d never felt before. 

But Eris comforted her, reminding her of his presence by caressing her skin and kissing up her torso and focusing on her neck. 

He kept her arms above her head, worried she would try to use them to hide herself from him.

After a few minutes, Y/N opened her eyes to find Eris still nuzzling her neck. 

As if sensing her clarity coming back, Eris finally released her and pulled back to give her a stern look. “You are not allowed to be embarrassed—understand?”

The dominance in his voice forced a quick nod from her. 

Eris had always had an imposing energy as High Lord. But it had never been directed at Y/N like this, and it was making her body tremble.

Y/N had never been given a chance to openly express her sexuality, and the intensity of her reaction caught her off guard.

In his presence, she was able to let go and give him control over her body and mind. 

But Y/N’s whole body only grew warmer – and not by the hand of Eris’ sex magic. Was that even what it had been? Her mind was fuzzy. 

Before Eris could say another word, she scrambled onto her feet. At least she had the decency of lingerie still being on her body. But she abandoned the dress Eris had so easily removed, the dozens of buttons would now betray her in this moment. 

Instead, she lunged for the Eris’ cloak that he had draped over her in the forest earlier and wrapped it around her shoulders, hiding her undergarments. 

Her heart was pounding, and she felt a rush of emotions—pleasure, confusion, and a strange sense of vulnerability.

"I... I shouldn’t… we can’t,” she stammered, eyes darting around the room at everything, but him.

Before Eris could respond, she rushed out of his bedchambers.

He knew her avoidance would win in the end. But Eris was a patient male. One does not live for centuries, planning their tyrant father’s usurping without great persistence and humility. 

So he would let her hide…for now. 

Eris had been tiptoeing around Y/N, submitting to her fear and need of distance. He let Y/N control their relationship with her withholding and protective isolation. 

But he now understood: Y/N needed to be chased, needed to be exposed to her greatest fears just so he could show her he would not let her get hurt.

But now she had proven to him that she could handle his passion, his desire. He just had to take it, with the unbroken promise of keeping her safe through it. 

Eris fell back to the floor and stared up at the high ceilings of his bedchamber. 

Y/N had left him alone with the lingering scent of her passion. It filled his bedchambers and it wouldn't dampen for days.

Eris smiled, knowing what he had to do now.

Y/N needed to be conquered.

-------------------------

I know people never read these author notes. But I have two things:

a) if you've been following my work for awhile, you know that this is the first sex scene I have ever written. I usually just skip sex scenes and heavily imply them with a fade-to-black strategy. So, if you liked it: please, please, please let me know. I really don't know if I pulled it off.

b) thank you so much for being patient with me. work has cause me to have multiple mental breakdowns, panic attacks so bad that I have to call out sick from work. I have been busy applying to jobs, while also dealing with the high demands of my current job. so i simply have not had the mental motivation to produce art, instead only finding the energy to consume it.

if you liked this chapter, please write a book report for me. it will bring me joy. 🥹🧡

[atomicami]

charity work

contractor!abby anderson x joel’s daughter!reader

- summary: it’s the day of the holiday bake sale, and abby’s craving something sweeter than the desserts you’re selling. (part 3)

- content: smut MDNI, no outbreak/modern au, contractor/engineer!abby, texas living, no sarah, joel and jerry are both alive, jerry is not a doctor, reader has a business degree, family & work drama, semi-public sex, pet names instead of y/n, kinda roughdom!abby??, oral & fingering (r!receiving), cockblocking, strap usage (r!receiving), abby hits it from the back 🕺, edging, some mirror play, some degrading, abby referring to the strap as her cock, and i think that’s it but lmk if i missed anything else

- author’s note: merry christmas everyone! what better way to celebrate it than with a contractor abby fic am i right? i hope y’all enjoy this one 🤍

previous parts: quick fix, surprise visit

Seven in the morning, it's only the crack of dawn, and you’re spending the early hours of the day at the farmers market, setting up for the annual holiday bake sale.

Your hands were full of all the pastries and desserts you’d spent baking yesterday while Joel was carrying the chairs and tables to set up with. You tried to walk as carefully as you could to keep yourself from tripping on your knee-high boots or spilling anything on the red sweater dress you had on. When you arrived at your spot, your dad already had everything set up for you.

“Jeez kiddo, thought you’d never make it here in time with them boot heels ya got on,” your dad joked, opening the second folding chair he had in his hand and placing it behind the table.

“Well Dad, I figured I’d make myself presentable for the bake sale, don’t you think?” you replied, carefully setting down the load of sweets on the table.

Well, if we’re being honest here, there’s only one person in particular you’re planning to make an impression on today, and she still hasn’t arrived.

For a moment, you look over to the empty spot where Abby & Jerry are settled before you begin to unpack and arrange your pastries. It’s no surprise to you that Abby still hasn’t arrived yet. After that last-minute encounter you had with her at her place, you figured that she’d be knocked out for at least another hour.

And you were definitely right. About an hour later, Abby and Jerry finally arrived, right before the bake sale officially began.

Joel leans close to you as the two of you watch them quickly rush to set their stand up. “Look at ‘em, I wonder what made Jerry n’ his kid so late to the sale…”

You honestly couldn’t help but laugh to yourself about it too. The fact that Abby and Jerry were now just setting their things up while everyone else was ready was just too funny to you. It seemed like karma got back to her after her need to call you at 1 in the morning that night.

Once the two had their table set up, the bake sale finally started.

You looked over at the table that stood in front of you. A variety of desserts that you’ve made was all spread out on top of it. You’ve spent the past day making every single dessert you could think of: brownies, cinnamon rolls, muffins, even a whole plate of peach pie, because it truly can’t be a Southern bake sale if someone’s table doesn’t have a peach pie.

And lastly, there was the round tray of flan that you made. Out of all the desserts you’ve made, the flan made you the most nervous to sell. Given that this dessert came from your mother’s side of the family, you’ve decided to make it exclusively for family events or traditions out of the fear that others wouldn’t like it.

Nonetheless, your dad practically begged you to make it for the bake sale, and you couldn’t help but oblige.

A couple hours of the bake sale pass by and it feels like years to you. Almost half of your sweets have been sold, which was good, but you can’t help but wish that this community event could be a little more…interesting to you.

And luckily, Abby was about to make her appearance to change that.

While you were distracted with the customers, Abby was watching you from across the room, patiently waiting for Joel to leave the stand to get you by yourself. She had her own plan to be able to get even with you after the stunt you pulled onto her in her office.

Because if there’s anything sweeter than a Texas holiday bake sale, it’s a fresh slice of payback.

Once she noticed that you were by yourself at the table, she excused herself to her now distracted father to walk over to your stand.

You felt a tap on your shoulder from your side and turned around to see Abby standing next to you. “Got some pretty sweet looking pastries here princess, mind if I have a taste?”

“Abby…” you tell her sternly. “You know you’re not supposed to be this close to me right now, especially with both of our dads around.”

Abby simply ignores your warning as she walks around your table, admiring all of the pastries you had set up for sale. “I know that, but I’m just kinda craving something sweet,” she says as she slightly dips the tip of her finger into the white frosting of the cinnamon roll pan before lifting it up to her mouth and sucking it clean.

You roll your eyes at her, grabbing the tray and pulling it away from her. “Well, unless you’re going to buy something, then you shouldn’t be here,” you warn her again.

“Actually…I was craving something a little sweeter than these…” she replies with a smirk, slowing down her pace as she walks around your table.

It took you a while to get her intentions, but the way her eyes were flickering between you and the table, you instantly got the message.

Your eyes widened in shock and you began to shake your head. “No, Abby, don’t you fucking dare—“

But it was too late. Within a matter of seconds, Abby dropped down to her knees and lifted the red tablecloth before crawling under the table.

You tried to kick her away so she could get out, but there wasn’t enough time to do so, because Joel was already coming your way with one of his friends next to him.

“Hey, sweetheart, you remember Martin, right? Used to work f’me when I was startin’ up the company,” he tells you as he points at him.

“Yes, hi Martin, it’s good to see you again.” you tell him with a smile.

You’re trying your best to keep your cool right now, but it’s practically impossible for you to do so now that Abby’s lifting up your sweater dress and spreading your legs open underneath the tablecloth.

Your dad looks over to Martin while gesturing him to all of your pastries arranged on the table. “My kid right here baked up all these sweets for the sale today. But this…” he pauses for a moment, pointing at the pan of flan that stood neatly at the front. “This custard thing right here’s the best thing she could ever make, I’ll tell ya that.”

“That so?” his friend asked, serving himself up a slice. “Whatcha got here, kid?”

“It’s flan, sir. I-It’s my mother’s recipe.” you reply to him, trying not to strain your voice as Abby shifts your underwear to the side from underneath.

You watch the man in front of you take a bite of the dessert, smiling after he’s fully eaten it. “Well I must say, this is one of the best desserts I’ve had in this here bake sale so far.” he said before pulling out a five-dollar bill from his wallet and handing it to you.

At that moment, when you were about to lean forward to grab the money, was when Abby’s hands grabbed ahold of your hips and pushed you back down onto the chair, causing the rest of the table to shake.

You gasp at the sudden impact, and your jaw practically fucking drops once she inserts two fingers into your pussy.

It could have been any other time when she could’ve done that move, but no. She just had to fucking do it right in front of your father, out of all people.

Regardless, you try your best to compose yourself and attempt to cover it up. “S-Sorry about that, I was trying to get up but, my leg kind of fell asleep…must be from sitting down all day.” you said to the other man, extending out your hand to take the bill from him before inserting it in the black cash box that was in front of you.

“S’ no worries ma’am,” the man simply says before waving you goodbye, and looking over to your dad to shake his hand. “Good seeing you as always Joel.” he says to him before walking off.

Your dad shakes his hand back before turning to face you. “You alright sweetheart? Seemed like you were actin’ a bit off just now.” he asked you with a concerned expression on his face.

You simply nod at him, genuinely trying to appear normal, and ignore the fact that Abby’s thick fingers were slowly pumping in and out of your cunt right now. If it weren’t for the loud atmosphere of the event, you’re almost certain that anyone could easily hear the squelching noises it made every time her fingers moved.

“Y-yeah, Dad, sorry…s’just a lot of people here this time.” you tell him nervously.

“Well, if ya need a break, I can try to cover for a bit if—“

“No!” you exclaimed, placing your hands in front of him to keep him from getting closer to you. “N-no, it’s okay, Dad,” you said to him in a quieter tone. “I’ll be alright, promise.”

Your dad opens his mouth to respond but is cut off by a barking sound, which progressively gets louder by the second. The two of you looked around to see what it was, and you seriously couldn’t believe it.

It was Alice, Abby’s dog, and by the looks of it, she was approaching your table.

You slightly flinch a bit once Alice jumps up at your table, barking up at the two of you before quickly getting down and sniffing under the tablecloth.

Joel walks over to the front of the table where the dog is in an attempt to shoo her away. “What the hell are ya doing here?! Get on out of here! Go on, get!”

You’d expect Abby to at least try to help you get her dog out, given the vulnerable position you were in right now, but she doesn’t budge about it. Instead, she only quickens the pace of her fingers inside you and moves closer to you to latch her mouth onto your throbbing clit. You want to help your dad out, you really do, but all you could focus on was trying to be quiet and not let a single moan or whimper leave your lips.

As much as Joel was trying to get the dog away from the table, she still wouldn’t move, she knew that Abby was under there, as if she could have smelled her from miles away.

“Why the hell aren’t ya leavin’?” he says to himself as he continues to move her away. “What are you tryin’ to find there?”

Your dad starts to get closer to the table now, and you can just feel your heart racing. The closer he got to it the faster your heart kept beating. This could be it. Once your dad was about to see what was under the table, it was over for the both of you.

But to your luck, as Joel was about to lift up the tablecloth, Jerry was already making his way there to get ahold of his dog. Talk about perfect timing, right?

“There you are, Alice, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” he says, leaning forward to pick up her leash from the ground.

Your dad scoffs at him and crosses his arms in disbelief. “Try to get a hold of your mutt, Jerry. Damn dog near knocked down my daughter’s table.”

“Tough talk for someone who just lost two of his clients last week to my company,” Jerry replies, clutching Alice’s leash in his hand. “I’d spend less time worrying about me and more time trying to keep your clientele if I were you, Joel.”

As blissed out as you were feeling from Abby’s mouth and fingers right now, you could still visibly see the anger rushing through your father’s veins right now.

“Don’t act so innocent, Jerry, you know damn well that you offered my clients a better deal for them.” your dad replied before pausing for a moment. “You know, you shouldn’t have gone after them, because I just got a deal to work with the Mitchell family next week. Haven’t you been eyeing them for months now?”

The two of them bicker for what feels like ages. At this point, your brain is just tuning them out, still completely blissed on the movements of Abby’s tongue rolling up and down on your clit, her fingers sliding in and out of your cunt so smoothly while her other hand grips your inner thigh to keep them open. The pleasure she was giving you under that table right now is so intense that you could seriously care less about your surroundings right now. All you wanted at that moment more than anything was to cum undone into her mouth.

“You know what, Joel? I don’t have time for this right now,” he tells him before pausing to hesitate for a moment. “I’m trying to find my daughter, have either of you seen her around?”

Oh, you knew damn well where she was.

Your dad laughs and shakes his head. “Jesus, Jerry. Can’t find your kid either? Seems like you’ve got to put her on a leash too, don’t you think?”

However, the pleasure that Abby was giving you was so intense that you didn’t realize that her name had now slipped out of your mouth.

“Oh, my god, Abby…” you say to yourself before quickly gasping and covering your mouth. You’re finally snapped back into reality as you look up to see Joel and Jerry staring back at you.

“Do you know where she is?” Jerry asked, raising an eyebrow with concern.

“O-Oh um, yeah, I-I think I saw her a few rows down, I-If you can find her there…” you tell him, trying to compose yourself once again.

Jerry simply thanks you in response before walking off with Alice alongside him.

“About damn time he left,” your dad says, watching him walk off. “Can’t stand that man for the life of me.”

Joel’s phone starts to ring moments later, leading him to pull it out of his pocket to check who it is. “Shit, s’ one of my clients…” he says with a sigh before looking up at you. “You sure you’ll be alright by yourself, sweetheart?”

You open your mouth to say yes at first, but then take a moment to reconsider. “A-Actually, do you think you could watch the stand for a bit? I could use a break.”

Abby immediately pauses her movements upon hearing that, removing her mouth and fingers out of you. You try not to whine at the loss.

Your dad nods in response. “ ‘Course I can, just let me take this call real quick, yeah? I’ll be there in just a second.” he says before briefly walking off to take the phone call.

You wait until your dad is out of sight to lift up the tablecloth, seeing the blonde below you with a confused expression on her face. “Why the hell did you tell him that you were leaving?” she whispers to you.

“Because I’m not gonna be fucking sitting here being teased by your mouth all day.” you whisper back to her, trying to keep your voice down. “If you’re going to fuck me here, then you’re gonna do it right.” you pause for a moment to check if the coast was clear. “My dad’s still gone, hurry up and go to the bathroom before he sees you. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

You watch the blonde roll her eyes before pulling the tablecloth down, quickly crawling out of the table and getting back up on her feet. She also checks to see if Joel is still gone before leaving your side and rushing off to the bathroom.

You take a quick moment to adjust your underwear and your dress underneath the table before slowly getting back up to your feet as well. Within minutes, Joel returns to your table and takes a seat down in the chair next to yours.

“Alright so, everything is set up and served for the customers, all you have to do is take the money they give you and put it in the cash box.” you tell him before turning around to leave, only to pause for a moment and looking back at him. “And don’t eat any of the pastries, alright?”

Your dad puts your hands up in defense. “Can’t make a promise ‘bout that, kiddo.”

You simply roll your eyes and playfully punch at his arm before pushing your chair in and leaving the table. Once your dad was out of sight, you began to walk a little faster, now rushing to get to the bathroom with Abby.

After roaming around the market for a bit, you successfully find the bathroom. You lean into the door for a moment and knock twice, hoping that you found the right one.

“It’s open,” Abby calls out from inside.

You twist the knob and open the door, just enough for you to squeeze yourself inside before closing it and turning the lock. You turn around to see Abby leaning against the vanity near the sink, arms crossed with that same stupid smirk on her face. “How’d you know it was me?” you ask her.

“Are you kidding me?” she says, taking her weight off of the vanity. “I can hear those boots of yours from miles away.”

You roll your eyes at her in response “You’re so unbelievable, you know that?” you tell her. “If my dad had lifted up that tablecloth, we would’ve been done for.”

The smirk on her face grows a little wider, and you can just visibly see it happening. “I was just trying to get a taste of something sweet, princess. That’s all I wanted.”

Her cockiness was seriously driving you over the edge right now. However, you still can’t help but get turned on by her when she acts like this.

Feeling that same sense of boldness come through you again, you take a step forward and grab her by the collar of her jacket, pulling her close to you. “Then how about you finish what you started?” you whisper out to her.

She leans in closer to you, both of your lips being just mere inches away from touching.

“Don’t mind if I do.” she whispers back to you.

You lean in to seal the gap, connecting your lips with hers in an intense kiss. Your hands remain tightly gripped on her jacket, while Abby’s hands run down your body, stopping at your hips. She then turns you around to where your back is now pressed against the marble counter.

Her lips pull away from yours for a moment to flip you around, now with your back facing her chest.

“What—What are you doing?” you ask her, trying to turn around to get a look at her.

“You said you wanted me to fuck you right, didn’t you?” she says, taking off her jacket and rolling up the long sleeves of the dark green shirt she had on. “Well, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

Abby grabs your hips and bends you over on the counter before lifting your dress up and pushing your panties to the side again, revealing your wet pussy to her. “Jesus, she looks even wetter than before.” she mutters to herself as she gently rubs her thumb on your slit, eliciting a whine from you in response.

Abby moves her hand to herself to unbuckle her tool belt, letting it fall to the ground. She then unzips her cargo pants, pulling out the thick strap she had tucked underneath her boxers before teasing the tip of it in between your puffy folds.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp out, your pussy already starting to clench around nothing. “You brought it, didn’t you?”

Abby lets out a scoff, looking back at you through the mirror. “Of course I did. Been dying to fill this sweet pussy up ever since I first came over to your place.”

You then feel her grab ahold of the strap with one hand and position it against your entrance before slowly pushing the tip in, quietly moaning to herself as she watches your pussy engulf the tip.

A whimper escapes from your mouth as she pushes a few more inches of her cock in you, now reaching halfway. “Oh god, Abby…I-I think it's too big—“

Her other hand grabs a hold of your neck, pulling you up towards her. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” she says into your ear. “Is my cock too big for you? Can you not take it like a big girl?”

“N-No— I mean yes, fuck! I-I can take it, Abs…”

“That’s what I thought.” she mutters back to you, setting you back down on the marble counter as she pushes the rest of her cock inside you without warning.

She keeps her strap nestled inside you for what feels like ages, waiting for your pussy to accommodate itself to the girth of her cock. She tries to move back a bit, but your cunt keeps resisting the toy, sucking it back in.

Abby grunts in frustration and slaps your ass, the sudden sting causing you to flinch a bit. “Quit doing that. I’m not gonna be able to fuck you right if you don’t relax that cunt already.”

“F-Fuck, Abby, m’trying to, please—“

“Jesus, must I do everything myself?” she replies, reaching around your waist to rub your throbbing clit, causing you to moan in pleasure at the stimulation. Abby leans back a bit as she continues rubbing your clit, watching as your pussy visibly relaxes around her cock, now giving her the freedom to move it in and out slowly.

“There we go, just like that now, atta girl…”

Abby begins to fuck you at a painfully slow pace at first, slow to the point where you were now pushing your hips back against her as an indication for her to go faster.

“Whoa there…desperate for more now, aren’t we princess?” she says, instantly speeding up her pace. “If you wanted me to go faster, you could have just asked.”

“I-I know b-but…f-feels too good…” you slur out to her, face pressed against the cold marble as the rest of your body moves up and down with her thrusts.

“Oh, who am I kidding? You’re so drunk on my cock that you can’t even form a coherent sentence right now. Fucking slut…”

Moments later, Abby was now fucking you relentlessly fast to the point where you had to grip the counter to steady yourself. You seriously felt like you could fall off, but honestly, you could also care less about it. You were so close to reaching your peak now, and as long as Abby didn’t stop, you’d be perfectly fine.

That is until…a knock on the door interrupts the both of you.

“Occupied!” Abby calls out from inside, not stopping her pace.

“Abby? Are you in there?”

“Dad?!”

You gasp at the sound of Jerry’s voice, and Abby shushes you and quickly covers your mouth, now slowing down her pace. You whine at the sudden lack of movement, now feeling your orgasm fade away.

“Abby, what’s going on? Someone told me they saw you walk in here. Are you okay?” her dad asks with some concern.

“Y-Yeah Dad, I’m fine, I just—“ Abby stammers out for a moment as she then turns on the sink with her other hand, trying to come up with an excuse on the spot. “S-Someone dropped a cupcake on me. I-I'm trying to wash it out.”

You giggle quietly behind Abby’s hand, only for her to shush you and grab your ass harshly with the other, causing you to wince at the slight pain.

“Alright honey, just come back when you’re done, okay?”

“Yeah, Dad, I’ll be out in a bit!”

Once the sound of Jerry’s footsteps is gone, Abby lets out a sigh of relief, turning off the sink before removing her hand from your mouth.

“Almost got me caught there, princess.” she says to you, now speeding up her thrusts again. “If you pull that again, I might not let you cum at all.”

“No, fuck—please Abby, I-I’m getting close…I need you to let me cum.” you whine out to her, tightening your grip on the marble counter.

“Oh yeah? Are you getting close there, baby?” she asks, to which you nod in response.

Without stopping her thrusts, Abby grabs you by the neck with one hand, lifting your upper body up in front of the mirror so you can see her as well as yourself. “Then I want you to watch yourself cum. Watch yourself cum on my cock like the needy slut you are.”

You try your best to move or look away, but Abby simply moves your face back to the mirror with her hand. “Don’t fucking do that again. Look away one more time and I’ll pull out.”

All you could do was whine and nod in response, keeping your gaze on the mirror. Your eyes then trail down to the bottom where Abby was fucking you. You could just see her cock sliding in and out of your pussy so easily, and just the sight of it alone is making you want to cum even more.

“Oh fuck, Abby—m-gonna…m’gonna cum!” you exclaim out to her, eyes rolling to the back of your head as the tip of her strap keeps touching your g spot.

“G-go ahead, princess, cum on my cock like a good girl.” she grunts out, moving her hand to now cover your mouth.

Within seconds you cum undone onto the strap with a muffled moan, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure as your cunt clenches and creams all over it. Your body quickly goes limp and static fills your brain as you try to catch your breath.

Abby then gently sets you back down on the counter before moving both of her hands down to your hips. She then slowly pulls her cock out of your pussy, causing you to whine at the loss of it.

Despite that your legs are trembling, you try to get up, but Abby keeps you down. “Wait, just give me a second…I still have one more thing left to do.” she tells you, and all you do is just nod in response, still feeling insanely drunk from your orgasm.

Abby quickly drops down to her knees and spreads your ass open, groaning at the sight of your fucked out pussy. Without hesitation, she dives into your pussy to lick you clean, taking in every single bit of your thick release into her mouth. Once she was finished, she got back up on her feet. “Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.” she murmurs to herself, wiping her mouth with her thumb before sucking it clean, making sure she’s got every bit of you on her tongue.

Once you’ve recovered from your orgasm, Abby helps you off of the counter, fixing up your underwear and dress before turning you back around to face her. “Do you think you could uh, clean me up there?” she says before looking down and back up at you, indicating for you to clean up her strap.

“Don’t mind if I do,” you tell her with a smirk, getting down on your knees to suck onto her strap, tasting yourself in the process.

Abby lets out a groan as she watches you suck her strap clean. “Fuck, you look so good like this…” she mutters out to you, running a hand through your hair. “I should make you do that more often.”

You remove your mouth from her strap with a ‘pop’ sound and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand before standing up to face her. “I wouldn’t mind doing that for you.” you reply to her, leaning in to give her a quick kiss as she tucks her strap back into her pants.

“So um, should you leave first or—“

“You should go first,” you tell her, cutting off her sentence. “You’ve been gone longer. Don’t wanna keep your dad waiting anymore now.”

Abby nods in agreement, reaching down to grab her tool belt and jacket before getting back up to kiss you goodbye. “I’ll see you around, sweet girl.” she tells you before unlocking the knob and opening the door to let herself out of the bathroom, now leaving you on your own.

You wait inside for a few minutes before shutting off the lights and leaving, quickly making your way back to your table. To your surprise, you return to see your dad standing with a slice of flan in his hands. “Dad…I told you not to eat any of the pastries!”

Your dad sets the plate down and holds up his in defense. “Alright, sweetheart, you got me there.” he says in defeat before reaching out his front pocket and pulling out a five-dollar bill. “Here’s my contribution then.” he says as he hands you the five-dollar bill.

“Okay okay,” you tell him as you grab the bill from his hands. “I’ve got it from here now, Dad, thanks.”

Once you settle back into your seat, you notice your phone buzzing on the table with a text. You pick up your phone and see that the message is from Abby.

“Abby: Wild Randy’s next Saturday?”

You smile to yourself upon reading the text before looking up at her from across the room, seeing her with that same smirk on her face once again. You look back down at your phone and type out your response.

“You: I’ll be there.”

Looks like you’ve got some plans next weekend after all.

- a/n: oh lord this one killed me to write omg. i hope y’all liked it though! let me know if i should do a part 4 (i might tbh)

merry christmas again everyone! wishing you all the best 🤍🎄

requested tags 🏷️: @whore4abby @ourautumn86 @abbyscherry @nyctophiliq @aouiaa @abbysfavewh0rx @lia-winther @grooviestcowboy @pretty-prrincess-13 @iwillkilyou @erinsdeluluworld @elliens4 @totallyghostdgirl @sirenbxby @bellaramslover @echostinn @uraesthete @cherrycolouredflunk @whorn3y @thatonementallyillsimp @elliewilliamsmunch @gaptoothedlesbo @deadbolted @mochiivqi @floptron @swtsuna @naomis-daydream @hunnybunnyhazel @paprikahoernchen @bbglmfao @thesevi0lentdelights @mostlyhornyandsad @littlegingerperson @ur-fav-pixi @abbysgirlll

(striked means i couldn’t tag 😔)

2023 © atomicami | all rights reserved. do not copy, modify, or translate any of my works.

[s0urlemone]

Hiya! Have you received any writing requests yet?Just incase you’re not swamped by requests yet, have mine😊 (feel free to ignore if you are in fact swamped)

Could you write a headcanon about how the bachelors react when the farmer brings then flowers?

Thanks in advance!

Gifting flowers to the bachelors hcs - SFW

Hiya, anon! Thank you so much. Please, leave as many requests as you want. Sometimes I’m busy or not inspired enough, but I promise I read you and will try my best to fulfil your requests. Also, sometimes I get lazy, I have to admit it.

Please, if you have feedbacks for me, those are appreciated as well! I did this specific ask for the bachelors, but if you want, I can write some headcanons for the bachelorettes too! Also I am not actually sure lilacs are good for allergic subjects, but for the sake of Harvey we’ll pretend they are. ^^” I might write something more about these scenarios because I’ve had a lot of fun!

INCLUDES: Elliott, Alex, Shane, Harvey, Sebastian, Sam.

WARNING! a little bit of angst in Shane and especially Alex’s scenarios, mention of toxic stereotypes, brief mention to Kent’s whereabouts, mention of alcohol and hangover symptoms in Shane’s scenario, some things might be inaccurate.

WORDS COUNT: 4.8K (I've tried to be equal for every hc.)

Elliott:

We all already know that, but Elliott is a sentimentalist at heart;

He himself is a person that likes gifting apparently meaningless knick-knacks to the people he appreciates or to express gratitude. Sometimes it’s a poem coming out of his own pen, but other times it could be a colorful seashell he found during his morning walk!

Still, receiving gifts makes him happy like a kid on the Feast of the Winter Star, about to receive their present. It’s the thought behind it, you see. You could gift him a particular leaf and he would still treasure it for its deep hidden meaning.

He also stresses a lot over not sounding ungrateful.

Premises made! Elliott has been stuck in bed for almost a week now, trapped by a terrible flu.

Sometimes Willy, the good man he is, checks up on him, but the man wakes up really early to go fishing and he’s not always available when he’s in open sea, you know?

Thankfully, you know no boundaries. You’ve been barging into Elliott’s lonely shrack for days to check up on him. It must be depressing to live alone and be sick. The sound of the waves and the seagulls might make up for it during the day, but as soon as the sun sets behind the shores, you can’t help but think how Elliott must be feeling all by himself, as the wind roars against the unstable wooden shed.

Poor, poor Elliott in need of your care. The fact you have a little crush on him is irrelevant in this scenario, isn’t it?

Still, you’re keen on winning the imaginary best-and-most-nosy-citizen-of-Pelican-Town award for another year. So you decide to do something to cheer him up and barge in once again.

You have no doubt that, being a writer and a romanticist, he will find your gift beautiful and actually get the meaning of it.

That morning, you find him sitting up in his bed in a white shirt, his auburn locks a tangled mess. His eyes still look at you in the soft morning light with a kindness all of their own. He’s genuinely happy to see you. You are his medicine during these miserable days.

You place it in his lap – a modest bouquet you assembled yourself: Chrysanthemum for a good recovery, Chamomile for patience and Coreopsis to keep a good spirit while healing.

His face becomes the same colour of his hair. A few moved tears well up in his eyes as he grabs the simple bouquet in his arms.

He immediately asks you if you can put them in a vase on his nightstand. Then, as you sit down next to his bed, he grabs your hands in his and looks at you with an exasperatedly sweet expression. He’s so dramatic, sometimes, but you know he’s feeling all the gratitude he’s trying to convey in his words.

His lips find the soft skin of your palms many, many times, his touch reverent as he keeps holding your hands in his delicately.

He looks up at you for a second while his mouth is pressed against your delicate palm, pretending it was a mistake, but you find a glint of something a lot bolder than the delicate touches you've exchanged and you can't quite put your finger on what it is that he's avoiding your gaze again.

He looks at the flowers day and night, feeling much less lonely now that a piece of your heart is next to him.

When he’s finally feeling better enough to sit at his wooden desk, he writes you an heartfelt letter for the beautiful present. Something that goes along the lines of: “Ever since you’ve arrived in this little town, you’ve illuminated my days like a bright sun. Without your care and cheerfulness, I would’ve healed just fine, but with a much heavier heart.” – something like that.

When months later he opens up his notebook in front of you on one of those rare mornings when you don’t have much work to do at the farm and join him for a walk, you see it: a beautiful, familiar flower tucked between two pages like a candid secret.

Alex:

I believe that his father’s words have had a great impact on what he thinks and how he behaves – not in a good way. He’s used to walk on eggshells and to think lowly of himself, even though he’s good at hiding it behind a pompous façade.

Even after coming to the valley, the ghost of his father still haunts him. His harsh words echo inside him every day and sometimes he’s just not strong enough to confront them.

He’s one of those guys that believe that true men don’t cry or show their emotions, that they can’t be too soft, that they have to like certain things to be manly and flowers surely aren’t among the things they should like. It’s not his fault. His father was a great example of toxic masculinity among the other bad things he has been for him – a terrible father, to name one.

So he claims he doesn’t like flowers. Flowers are emasculating, he says. Flowers are something you gift to a girl, because he believes it’s in a woman’s nature to like them.

But when you ask him to elaborate, he actually doesn’t have an explanation beyond that thought other than ‘they are too girly’. It’s like that simple opinion has been instilled there and never questioned until this day.

He doesn’t say these things with a bad meaning, I promise! He’s genuinely trying to overcome the terrible traces his dad has left. Just, sometimes he needs a little help to recognise some patterns as wrong. Wrong not per se – in this case, yes – but because many of his beliefs are forged on the fact he has shaped his whole person on what his father constantly criticised.

Ugh, I love him and I want to punch his dad so bad.

When Spring’s knocking on the door, sometimes Alex helps Evelyn with the flowers arrangments around Pelican Town. He’s strong, after all! But sometimes his grandma asks him for an opinion and, well, he has a very refined taste.

Still, he won’t admit he likes flowers. If he gave you another reason other than “it’s a girls’ thing”, you would just leave it, but, given the circumstances, you just can’t.

So, of course, you try to explain to him that men can receive flowers too and that they are absolutely allowed to appreciate them. He looks at you dumbfounded, but he doesn’t say anything about it.

It’s not much you have been going out together. You can’t even pinpoint the exact moment you realised you two were dating. You gradually started spending more time together, you at his kiosk and him at your farm helping around; then he started walking you home after every outing, stopping at your porch until the sun has set. He’s so delicate in the way he cares for you. He’s a good, sensitive guy. He just has to understand it’s not a flaw.

It’s part of your summer routine to spend some time together down the beach or walking around before the sun gets too strong and he has to open the kiosk. You both wake up fairly early and even though he could simply come to your farm and hang out as you do your things, you need a distraction too, sometimes.

And it’s not like you get much done when he comes over anyway.

Every morning, he’s already out of his house waiting for you, waving his imaginary tail at you when you approach him – even though he tries to keep it cool. He has an image, you know.

Today, though, you were so nervous you took the path that leads to the city earlier than usual. Evelyn has found you waiting for her grandson outside of their house, so she let you in.

She glances at the colorful bouquet in your hands with a loving smile and tells you to go wake Alex up, as he’s probably still asleep.

His room is dark, a vagabond ray filtering through a small space left between the blinds and the windowsill finds its way to the bed where Alex is snoring quietly. You sit at the edge of the bed and shake him gently.

He groans, opens his eyes and turns to the other side. Then, after realising it’s you, he jumps on his bed and rubs his eyes.

“Wha… What are you…” he mumbles, trying to fix his hair. You don’t even give him the chance to get out of his confused daze that you place the pretty bouquet in his lap, a little token of your affection and a reinforcing demonstration to your words of the conversation you’ve had in the previous days.

And, oh, your heart shatters when he realises what’s going on and starts tearing up. His cheeks heat up and he’s suddenly picking you up and placing you in his lap, one hand holding the flowers and the other placed securely around your waist as he hides his warm face in your neck, sobbing.

He’s a very sensitive guy and he appreciates you a lot. Just, he doesn’t allow himself to show it too often in case you might judge him as weak. But you don’t and with that simple, genuine gesture he remembers once again that he doesn’t have to pretend around you. He’s free to be himself.

He’s grateful for the flowers, but he’s especially grateful for you. From that moment on, he lets himself be more vulnerable around you. He starts showing that he’s not casual about you, but that he has serious intentions and that he’s not dating you just for fun. Which is great, really.

You start gifting each other flowers every now and then. Evelyn finds it endearing, especially when Alex asks her for advice.

In your love, he can rest and grow. He’s finally safe from his father.

Shane:

We all already know how terribly shy this man is.

And how self-deprecating he is. He truly believes he doesn’t deserve good things. Not that there are that many left for him – or so he believes, at least.

He lives his existence in a drunken haze, devoted to a bottle of beer and to his little niece. Until he met you, that is.

It’s not easy to get Shane to open up, but you’re on a good way. He’s warmed up to you a little ever since you’ve moved to Pelican Town, so, when he’s in a particularly good mood, you join him at the Saloon for a drink or two.

Emily has just brought you your third round before turning around to discuss with Lewis some particulars about the flowers arrangment for the upcoming Flower Dance. Shane scoffs by your side.

You ask him what’s wrong, but he doesn’t elaborate. Then it hits you; it’s tradition among your fellow citizens to gift each other pretty flower arrangements in occasion of the yearly Flower Dance. A pletora of colours decors counters, tables, windowsills as a reminder that Spring is passing by. It’s just a way to celebrate, to wait for the Flower Dance with a little more excitement.

You ask him if he’s ever received a bouquet, but he scoffs. It’s not like he gets that many gifts nowadays. He’s not popular with the ladies anymore. The only “lady” that sometimes gifts him something is his niece, when she comes back home from Ms. Penny’s lessons with a colorful drawing or a pretty handmade bracelet.

You don’t know if he’d be happy to receive a gift from you. Not the usual pepper poppers you bring to the ranch, lying that you “accidentally made too many”, but a proper gift. Still, you’re tired of the confusing tension that hovers over you when you’re together. You want to give him a hint and he’s just served you the solution on a silver plate.

A couple of days later, on a Sunday, he’s feeding Marnie’s chickens in the back of the ranch. He had been drinking the night before – and the one before, and the one even before – and his stomach feels like crap, but Jas is at home and he’s not going to let her notice that he’s feeling unwell. Plus, he’s used to work with a hangover.

The little girl calls him out to the front, telling him the farmer has came to visit.

He grumbles. He’s grown fond of you over the past few months, but you can be a pain in the ass sometimes. Especially when he’s already fighting against the urge to puke everywhere. You were there last night. He doesn’t need your scolding.

Still, he unconsciously runs a hand through his hair to make it decent and comes out.

His face becomes so red it looks like he’s been staying out in the sun for too long.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary. It’s always you and that stupid, cheerful expression of yours – but he immediately notices the large bouquet you’re holding in your arms. And it doesn’t leave any room for doubts. You were doing it on purpose, probably to fluster him or to mock him.

Otherwise, why would you be carrying him a bouquet of fully-bloomed red roses?

You explain yourself, hiding your equally red face behind the sudden present, and you tell him that there is at least one person willing to give him gifts actually, even if he claims he’s not that popular with the ladies anymore.

He looks at you, stunned, but decides to lift the huge bouquet from your arms – only to help you out. It looks pretty heavy, after all.

He grumbles a quick “thank you”, his face scorching, but he doesn’t have to deal with the embarrassment any longer because you’re as red as him and you claim you need some fresh air before waltzing out of his house.

Jas is a smart kid and she immediately figures out what’s going on, but she doesn’t comment on it, which he appreciates. Except that when Marnie, absent during that shameful exchange, starts teasing him during dinner about what happened that morning, he immediately understands Jas has spilled everything.

He spends days contemplating the flowers in his room, but it’s only when the last petal is rotting that he figures he should do something to express his gratitude… somehow.

He’s terrible with these things. While he walks the sunny path towards your farm, he’s tempted to turn around and go back home many times. Yet, he knocks on your door fairly early during the morning, after having avoided you for a good amount of days.

Pulling you in and planting an awkward kiss on your cheek, he leaves a small box in your hands before trotting away. Inside, there’s a cute hay hat, decorated with a green ribbon, and a ticket: “so you won’t get sunburnt anymore.”

Harvey:

Pelican Town’s citizens have really grown on the goofy doctor. He was searching for a peaceful place to exercise his profession, away from the chaotic city he has studied in, and even though he sometimes misses the endless choices of fun it offered, he wouldn’t go back to the smog and the traffic and the noise pollution and—

You get it. Despite being used to a different life style, and maybe especially because of this, he’s grown to love the quiet valley. It does wonders for the health, too, because the air is clear and the routine is slow.

There’s only one issue and I’ll give you a riddle to guess it. To keep you alert, you see.

You can find it in the air during Spring and it makes you sneeze the whole fucking day.

Spring, after all, is the pollen season. It’s an amazing sight when flowers are blooming everywhere and the trees are producing their juicy fruits, but Harvey can only admire the colorful change of the flora around the valley from afar, because he’s terribly allergic. He follows some therapy to keep it at bay, but he hasn’t found an antihistamine good enough to cover him completely.

His house, too, is full of fake plants because of that reason.

One day, after he was so attentive with taking care of you when you strained your ankle in the mines, not only as a doctor but also as a friend, you decided to have a bouquet of dahlias – symbol of gratitude – delivered to his clinic.

Huge mistake. He was miserable and you couldn’t stop apologising.

Still, you found it so sad. Flowers can really make a person happy, they’re a meaningful gift and they’re just so pretty to look at! You want Harvey to be able to enjoy them too, possibly avoiding harming him in the process.  

When he has finally recovered from his brief crisis, he visits you again to check up on you and your poor ankle. It’s doing fairly good now, compared to when Linus had found you in the mines, crying for help; Harvey is good at his job and he’s a kind soul, which gives him a boost.

He also visits you for the simple pleasure of your company. And he’s confident enough that you enjoy his company as well, because there’s not one single moment of silence whenever he comes over and sits at your bedside to chat about everything but your ankle.

The first five minutes, he tries to pretend he’s there for medical reasons. You both drop the act after a while, though. You simply like spending time with each other, when he doesn’t have any patient or Maru is covering him at the clinic at least.

Anyway, to PROPERLY THIS TIME thank him for the great care and also as a way to apologise for the little allergy accident, you decide to resort to your knowledge as a farmer to find a way to gift him a floral token without potentially causing him another crisis.

One afternoon, after his usual round of his patients’ houses – he regularly checks up on George and Robin has been stuck in bed for a bad flu – and saving yours for last, both because you live far from the city center and because he wants to enjoy your company with no rush, he finds a large bouquet on the chair he usually sits on to chat with you.

Is it a joke? He doesn’t know what to do other than stare at you from the doorway, but you quickly reassure him. You had done your researches and lilacs should be harmless, even for a nose as sensitive as his.

He walks towards your bed slowly, weighing every step, and then he carefully, gracefully picks up the bouquet, staring at the beautiful flowers and especially admiring your effort in finding something he, too, could enjoy. His ears are of a lovely shade of bordeaux, in great contrast with the purple petals.

But you aren’t done teasing the bashful doctor. While he composes himself with a cough and neatly places his case and the flowers on the chair to visit you, you simply observe him. But when he finally sits down beside you, you lean over and whisper, as if it was a spicy secret:

“Do you know what lilacs simbolise, doc?”

Lilacs simbolise the love that blooms in Spring. And the way his quiet care has made its way throughout the gardens of your heart during this Spring you were forced in bed has definitely made a great affection bloom inside you for the kind-hearted, silent doctor of the valley.

Yes, moving to Pelican Town has been the right choice.

Sebastian:

We all already know about Sebastian’s long-cherished dream to abandon the lonely, slow life of the valley for a more electrifying experience in the city.

The city looks so full of life; it has an alluring charm and a promising sense of freedom that overcomes the negative sides of living in a much vaster space that’s so different from what he’s used to. The bright lights that shine even at night, the tall buildings, the feeling of opportunity…

Yes, he wants to be part of something like that. An immense drawing where he can be both a shadow and a star.

So when this important client of his proposed him to move to Zuzu City for a while to help him work on a new project, he should’ve jumped at the opportunity. And he would have, really. If a couple of months ago someone had asked him to move away from his house and finally experience a piece of that delicious cake that is independence, he would’ve been thrilled.

Except that now there’s you in the picture.

It’s not that you are dating or something, but he’s not a stupid. He knows that something is there, lingering in between the languid gazes you send each other at the Saloon or the way you two always find excuses to bump into each other and stay together for longer. But there’s nothing official. Maybe he’s just seeing things, after all.

After all, you were the first one to encourage him to take the opportunity to explore something other than the peaceful valley.

He can’t exactly mention his feelings when the decision is made. That would be selfish. He’d like to be selfish, to ask you to wait, but he doesn’t, because he’s not even sure when he’ll be back.

What he doesn’t know is that this new story about his transfer has made you really upset. You’re worried he will just forget about you. You were a particular character, different from anyone than he’s ever known, but he has been in the valley for so long that you convince yourself the only reason he’s took a liking to you is because you are fairly new, therefore interesting.

Plus, you have known the city. It can swallow you down with its frenetic pace.

You’re worried he will forget about you. But you’re stuck in the same place as him and so you think you’re in no position to say anything about his wishes.

Both of you are stupidly waiting for the other to speak up.

Your affection towards each other has always been subtle. Sometimes a simple gaze is enough between you. Hidden, but fulfilling.

He has to wake up early tomorrow, so you settle to meet up after dinner to spend some more time together.

Your heart trembles when you see him, nonchalantly cool as if he had just came out of a stupid romance book, leaning against his bike as he lights a cigarette.

He takes you for a ride. You don’t speak much, words probably meaningless when the wind and the way your hands are gripping his waist like an anchor are already doing all the talking. When you stop for a quick break, though, you have to face the heavy elephant in the room. And you don’t ask him for any promise – not out loud, at least.

With subtlety, you lean down and pick up a couple of pretty Forget me not.

He doesn’t say much. His gaze is tender, his eyes a bit melancholic. His soft, long hand gently holds the one that’s handing him the flowers.

He takes one and clumsily tucks it in your hair.

There’s this particular silver locket he has once bought on a morning he decided to skip school with Sam and they wandered through some flea market. When he wakes up the next day, he puts one of the small, crumpled token of your affection – so intense you couldn’t dare to put it into words – in it and you can bet he doesn’t take it off. Ever. Not even to shower.

A couple of months pass by and he actually gets the opportunity to prolong his staying in the captivating city he has longed for ever since he was a kid. You’ve heard that from Robin one morning, while visiting her to discuss the building of a new barn. It’s not like you’ve talked much ever since he has moved to Zuzu City.

You pretend your stomach isn’t full of butterflies as you casually ask for more informations. You’re genuinely happy for him, aren’t you? Despite your bitter, conflicted feelings towards him, you care about Sebastian.

So when one evening, while coming back from an exhausting day in the mines, you find him waiting for you leaning against his bike, you don’t understand why you feel so helplessly happy to the point of crying.

He had discovered he prefers the quietness of the valley… and you.

“See, I couldn’t forget you.”

Sam:

Sometimes Samson can be a bit of an adorable dumbass, with his dorky attitude and golden retriever tendencies, but we know he absolutely rocks as an older brother.

Since Kent is fighting on the front line and Jodi has so much on her plate, he gladly takes on the role of a parental figure for Vincent. Also, he’s absolutely weak to that round, freckled face.

His day off from his awful job at JojaMart is on Sunday. He usually rests during the morning, but he doesn’t like to spend the whole day at home, no matter how tired he is.

One Sunday morning, though, he finds little Vincent sulking at the kitchen table, his round eyes full of tears that he’s trying so hard not to spill, only to let them all out as soon as he sees his big brother.

It’s not like him throwing a tantrum, but Jodi has promised to take him and Jas to a little outing to the lake that day. Just, something came up and she can’t take them anymore. Despite them being responsible kids (also read: despite Jas being a responsible kid), Jodi really can’t let him go with a light heart. And it’s not like she can ask Sam, right? It’s his free day, he works so hard at JojaMart-

Well, have I already told you that he can’t resist his little brother? Besides, every occasion is good to show off and demonstrate how cool he is, not like other boring adults. So, despite being tired from stocking the shelves and cleaning the floors all week, he takes his brother and Shane’s niece to the lake.

Passed Seb’s house, Sam discovers that a certain someone had planned to spend their Sunday at the lake, too, and he can’t stop thanking his lucky star. He almost trips over himself as he sets the blanket on the grass and invites you to join their arranged picnic, but you accept gleefully and even promise the kids you will teach them how to use the fishing rod Willy gifted you later.

You spend the afternoon watching the kids together and chatting.

At some point, after tiring themselves out for the whole afternoon, Vincent and Jas invade your little lovely picture with a bunch of flowers they’ve picked on the shore. With graceful mastery, you show them how to make crowns out of the pretty flowers they’ve picked and they immediately get to work under your amused gaze.

You pick some of the flowers, too, and as the conversation flows you start weaving them quickly, your eyes falling only sometimes to your hands to check how it’s turning out. Sam doesn’t think too much of it; despite feeling a bit awkward at first, the words are now flowing out of his mouth smoothly. You feel overwhelmed by his energy, but you find it contagious, so you can’t really complain.

He stops talking – nervous as he is, he needed just a little push to completely lose himself – when you place the crown made of little white flowers on his blond hair.

He laughs, hard, asking you if he looks pretty. Despite it being a casual gesture, something you found yourself doing in the situation, he takes it to his heart to make a crown for you as well. And so, you try to teach him, your fingers casually – it’s not like you have a crush on the dork, no – brushing against his guitarist’s ones twice as necessary.

If the kids were struggling, he struggles twice. He should find it easy, shouldn’t he? He plucks the strings of his guitar for hours with great skill, but the flowers keep breaking or losing petals in his hands. He’s not frustrated though, because you’re there to patiently help him learn from his mistakes.

In the end, he manages to make an… acceptable-looking crown for you and you pretend to not notice the adoring look in his blue eyes when he reverently places it on top of your head, or how it’s making your face heat up.

While Jas and Vincent blast your ears off about how they’re going to make crowns for everyone at the next Flower Dance, you take a look at a very sleepy Sam, leaning against the trunk of a tree.

His crown is crooked. You fix it gently as he boldly searches for your hand. You intertwine your pinkies like two kids, your hands kept a secret by the shadow of the tree as he drifts off to sleep.

It has been a tiring week at JojaMart, after all.

[bearwithegg]

Fight Like a Girl || B. Blackwood ||

I can change it to Davos once we get further confirmation. Ig?? Lmaooo lord help me. I cbf putting this on my main writing account because of how inconsistent I am with writing kjhdfhg

Mulan Inspired scenario. Original House, i just made that shit up bro lesgoooo. I hope my mass effect enjoyers like this <3

Kieran Burton!Benjicot x f!reader.

Warnings: None? Swearing?

Word Count: 2.8k

PART 2

For @spider-stark ( they write the best damn benjicot oneshots go READ RN)

***

“Keep your voice down, Garrus.” You hiss, eyes darting around the makeshift battlements, rows upon rows of tents more dense than the woods surrounding the legion of men, banners separating them only in name. War was here. Yet men were merry, roaring with laughter, cheering and jeering each other on when sparring amongst themselves. You were well in over your head for this.

“Apologies my lad— lord,” Garrus, a tall, gangly gentleman who not only represented your noble house but also remained your closest confidant and sworn protector. From the moment you were plucked out of your mothers womb, he had encompassed your upbringing with a chassis of care and love like a father would a son or a mother would her babes. Though he might’ve been neither, he was the only person you could call home.

Stylguard. Might’ve been home once, when you and your brother ran a muck in the courtyards instead of tending to important studies with the Maester. When the summers meant that hours were wasted making chains of flowers and clovers. Only ghosts remain, painful visages of a different lifetime, warning those who dare contest the cruel threads of fate the war beget.

The false King must die.

You swore this oath, quietly in whispers of red hot anger, no witnesses to hear it except for the phantoms plaguing your mind and the gods of old. A lady alone could not put an end to a war — men however, could.

“There,” Garrus raises an arm, forefinger steady on a muddied pit in the distance. The epicenter of clashing swords and men shouting. “I might suggest watching them first, Little Clover.”

Little Clover. You were neither little nor the girl who picked clovers in the farmlands anymore. A mere remnant of the past, a pet name that forces unwanted memories of before the Dragons had begun their pointless infighting. Hurtful as it may be, it was the best way to keep unnoticed amongst the thousands of men without arousing suspicion of your true identity.

Some of the men barely meet such a description, boys no older than ten and one pick up swords and join in a brutal pastime against men thrice their size. These were no noblemen, not boys who wielded swords long before their voice stopped squeaking, no. These were commonfolk, some under sworn protection from minor houses, but most of these boys and men were farmers. Steele farmers. Blackwood farmers. Tully farmers. Fray farmers. All united for one cause — and not a single one of them were proficient enough with a sword.

“None of these men are fit for war,” you whisper, turning to Garrus, a sullen swept look on his face mirroring your own. It was hypocritical to comment, considering you could count on one hand how many times you had picked up a sword. Though it was not a slight on their ability to go to war, it was the tragic reality that loomed over the realm.

“They fight for what they believe in…” Garrus answers softly, a hand firmly wrapped around the pommel of his sword, as it had always been since the murmurings of war rippled through the Seven Kingdoms. His eyes look ahead at boys throwing their swords away and opting for fists, pools of blue express his kind and somber nature, reflecting his true age, yet the crows feet around them betray such a thing.

War is cruel to those who bear witness.

The dogpile is quickly dispersed, a lithe and commanding presence tears the boys off one another and reprimands them. “Benjicot Blackwood.” Garrus murmurs, eyes casting a weary look down at you, “you’d do well to learn from him. He’s spilt more blood in this war than the dragons.” A jest, you think, but hearing of the Blackwoods fearsome reputation it could quite possibly yield truth.

Benjicot is shouting orders, or perhaps insults, you couldn’t tell —he had mud pressed hard into his tunic no doubt from rigorous sparring in the sludge pit, a stark contrast to the green fields of untouched grasslands the contingent temporarily inhabited. His feet sunk into the ground with each step, the man made bog had been many of the boys’ downfall during sparring and a cause of frustration by the looks they all shared across their faces.

“You there, boy.” He points at you — sword tip singling you out and all.

Eyes wide and body rigid, you felt as though you’d forgotten how to speak or move. Had it not been for Garrus gripping the scruff of your ill-fitted tunic and shoving you forward, you might’ve found yourself at the ire of the boy before you.

Not boy. Man.

Barely so, not even the young were spared from the cruel and aging touch of war.

He regards you carefully, a stormy gaze looking at you from head to toe. Eyes stopping at the sigil adorned on your chest. Even bespeckled with sweat and mud you couldn’t help but think how handsome he looked, though it was far from an appropriate thought. It helped ease the nervousness that rippled through your being as you stood in the centre of a circlet of men.

”Lord Steele found himself sober enough to finally choose a side did he?” Benjicot’s words were severe, a low growl not too dissimilar to that of the black cats and Direwolves of the nearby forests. There was a primal, animalistic quality in his movements, sizing you up like a predator would when deciding if something was prey or not.

You resist the urge to look at Garrus, he could not help you, not now. Instead, with a chin held up you shake your head, nudging it back toward your confidant, “we came alone, Lord Blackwood.”

His eyes flicker behind you and tilts his head to the side, “hm. Idiotic yet admirable of you two. Going against the word of the House that protects you.” There was a glint of something in his eyes, wild, untamed and real compared to many of the other pairs of eyes you had come across in the camp. He swipes the sweat from his upper lip and nods over to the handmade rack of swords, “show us what House Steele defects are made of then.”

This was about to be nothing short of a complete humiliation, you were certain. Yet, with a steady breath and the ignition of hatred bubbling in the back of your mind to remind you of why this path was the one you chose — you pick a short sword, albeit the smallest of the array of the newly smithed weapons.

Despite its small size it was still made from heavy ores, your wrist willing itself to relent to the weight, wanting to bend and twist. Men and boys begin to laugh, your eyes look around and it was a horrifying reflection of your own uselessness, like a childish nightmare coming to fruition. It pissed you off.

The moment you came into this life born without a prick between your legs you had always been seen as inferior, a prize to be sold to the highest bidder. The lament of a woman born in Westeros. Now, you stand on the edge of a cliff looking over an abyss brought on by the war. By two dragons ill-fitted for the power they wield because at the end of all this, the only people who suffer are the people.

You resent being born into a hateful world and you resent that loss is what has driven you to action. Just like you resent being laughed at by a crowd of men who knew next to nothing about the sacrifices you’ve made.

Benjicot Blackwood, does not laugh. He does not jeer nor does he show faint amusement at your inability to hold a mere short sword. He has since stepped aside, beckoning a boy forward who is similar in your stature but definitely not in age — he could barely be ten and four.

He was snickering, and that added more oil on top of the fire that burned your hatred and loathing — you feel yourself recede into that raw emotion. While you may be absolutely abhorrent with any real fighting skills, you had an unbridled rage to let out in recompense for all the wrong done unto you in this world.

And so you charge at him, using momentum to help raise the sword over your head because by gods alone, your strength was practically non-existent. A ferocious yowl barrels from your throat when swords clashed, the sudden stop was disorienting and caused you to stumble back slightly. He swings his sword and you double back again, the mud encasing around your boots willing you to trip, to fall.

You try to swing back but don’t have enough momentum and you feel your wrist bend under the weight of the sword and have to over-correct, stepping to the side so as to not drop the sword. Laughter rumbles through the men once again, some beginning to cheer on the boy in front of you.

Heaving forward again, you go to swing but in a split second you let go of the sword, letting it careen through the air and hitting the boy on the chest. Was it smart to willfully disarm oneself? Perhaps not, but he certainly wasn’t expecting it so you pounce. An all too familiar scene that would have otherwise delighted you if it weren’t on the grounds of war; a hand curls into his muddied blonde locks while the other goes to claw at his face.

Many fights had broken out like this between you and other girls growing up, it seemed only natural to revert back to the ways you knew how to fight. Even if it wasn’t exactly appropriate.

The two of you tumble into the mud together but the element of surprise has long surpassed and he uses simple strength, punching you hard in the gut and knocking you off him. Unsure what to expect next, you lay in the mud, chest heaving hard and conceded defeat — truthfully you had conceded defeat the second you were called out to show off your ‘skill’.

Overcast and dreary weather as it may be, the sun's light still glared through such heavy obscurity, your eyes squinted while trying to figure out if it was easier to sink into the bog beneath you or get up and swallow down what little pride remained. Eclipsing the sun in more ways than one, Benjicot stands over you, expression hardened yet there was an amused glint deep within his dark eyes.

“You fight like a girl,” he outstretched his hand, part of you contemplating hitting it away but he was the only one - aside from Garrus - to not laugh at your ineptitude. A soft groan passes your lips and you begrudgingly take the gesture of kindness, it was more than anyone had given you anyway.

“I am no knight,” you grumble back, once upright, rolling your shoulders back and rubbing the wrist that began to ache from holding a sword. The crowd of men had begun dispersing, you wonder if in your post fight daze if Benjicot had shooed them away.

”Aye, any idiot with two eyes can see that,” he jests, picking up the sword from the mud, “any daft cunt can pick up a sword and swing it around — but you’ve something else… I see it in your eyes, boy.”

At first you think he’s undermining you, but after a moment, it was clear he was paying you a compliment.

He returns the sword amongst the rest, a hand resting on the pommel of his sheathed dagger. Something about his stature, the way he commanded the space he inhabited was so interesting. He was unlike any other Lord you met before, perhaps it could be that he was a warrior first, then Lord second. A sentiment only emboldened since the war began.

“It may be pertinent that we train at night Little Clover, you have much to learn,” Garrus whispers, coming up behind you and putting a hand on your shoulder proudly. He may have watched you get bested without question, and sure, behind the confines of the tent you two shared later he would no doubt say how proud he was, there was not a single thing you could do that he wouldn’t support.

He should have trained you up sooner — be it if the departure from Stylguard wasn’t swift and last moment.

Benjicot approaches the two of you, watching as you whisper conspiratorially. He was as intimidating when he was quiet as he was when wielding a sword. A perceptive gaze looking between Garrus, clad in armour of your house and you, unevenly cut hair and dressed in little more than a squires tunic. He gives a weary look around, many of the men had long left the sludge pit.

”I must thank you, for joining the efforts even if they go against Lord Steele’s,” He says formally.

“No matter, my Lord.” Garrus smiles, a thin and forced one out of mere politeness, “Lord Steele grows weary the longer the war persists, a conflict averse man such as himself cannot continue to lock himself away in the wine cellars while war is brought to his doorstep.”

There was a pause, a silent mediator among the three of you, as much as it would pain you to admit; Garrus holds truth in his words. You love your father you really did but he stopped being a present figure the moment the raven arrived with word of your brother's death.

“Aye, The Greens have done irreparable damage to his family yet he cowers in his fortress.” Benjicot says quietly, mulling over his thoughts. His tongue pokes the inside of the cheek, protruding it out before moistening his lips with a twitch of a smile, barely perceptible, “is that why his daughter fled? To find retribution for the unlawful death of her brother?”

You tense up, swallowing hard and don’t dare look to Garrus lest suspicion is raised. The lump in your throat is hard and stubborn, even as you clear it, part of it remains to jeopardize the weight of your words. “That is.. what many believe to have happened… A few of us stable boys overheard she had plans to flee to Essos.”

Benjicot hums, nodding in response and looks around at the tents, the men, all the heart and blood of war. You follow his gaze carefully, how deeply entrenched in the throes of war the realm had become. In the middle of a field at the edge of the Riverlands of all places.

“This doesn’t look like Essos to me, my Lady.”

Before you had a chance to stumble back, Garrus had put an arm in front of you, an instinct to protect, to guard. Though falters when he hears the young Blackwood laugh.

”Do not think yourself in danger. It is admirable, truly. To go against your fathers wishes, but you cannot simply cut your hair and wear the clothes of a boy and call yourself a warrior.” He chuckled, a deep and soothing sound that made your cheeks burn, though that was partly due to being caught. He was impressed in truth, unable to find what the wild spark in your eyes was initially, though it made sense the moment he saw your delicate unmarred hands. Nails well kept and not a single grain of dirt underneath them.

“I wish to learn, I want to fight.” You step forward, voice pleading because if you didn’t have this then what remained? A hallowed home with vestiges of pain luring anyone stupid enough to hear their call? An empty father, nothing but a shell of what once was a person who mirrored life and happiness? It was fight or die and even death wasn’t as cruel of a fate as returning to nothing, to be nothing.

“And you fight like a girl,” he smiles, not to insult or belittle you, nothing more nefarious than a simple observation. He inches forward, shifting his weight. It shouldn’t have made you as nervous as it did, but he was close enough to crowd your senses with his natural musk. “Many men believe women to be bad luck in times of war, these men are no different.”

Those men were stupid, you think.

“And what say you, Lord Blackwood?” You swallow.

“I say that not many of them have had the pleasure of meeting my Aunt.” He whispered, eyes swirling similarly to the darkened storm stricken skies above. “Women aren’t welcome by some around here, do well to keep discreet. And if you cannot manage that, then be ruthless.”

On his retreat, you feel yourself turn to look at Garrus, who looked caught between a look of utter bemusement yet partially pleased all things considered. He looks down at you and clears his throat, “let us retire for the afternoon, my lad— Little Clover. Trust that the Lordling does not speak to many about your arrival.”

Your eyes remain in the direction Benjicot disappeared in, sighing heavily. Perhaps in a different lifetime he would have been a delightful consort, though for now it is barely a thought, passing through your idle mind as you slowly turn to rest for the day.

[moonlittales]

Yet another blog about Caldarus, don't mind me, I need to get these thoughts out xD

Boy, I sure am looking forward to the moment when Caldarus is hit with the realisation that he's in love with the farmer :'D right now he's still busy adjusting to his body and figuring things out, everything feels new to him

If being in love feels different as a dragon then it's only a matter of time until he understands what it means why his heart is beating faster around the player LOL. Adding my personal headcanon that he might have been in love with the farmer in the past but doesn't remember it (I mean, he did say he doesn't recall if they met in a past life during the festival, so...) he's in for a big surprise when he finds out it's the same person he once loved. Damn, I really wish something like that would happen ;-;

To be fair though, no matter what happens, it's going to be absolutely sweet. There's no doubt in my mind :))) since he's such a sweet guy himself he's definitely going to say something that will make you go like:

This was me everytime he said something remotely wholesome, he has some of the cutest lines ever? One of my personal favourites would be this:

PLEASE WHY IS HE SO CUTE 🥹🥹🥹🥹 if he keeps that up I'm gonna end up with diabetes..........

[randomwriteronline]

"Sweet little one, standing upright, to me you appear dressed in white. But your red nose, what wonders it does: shortens your life the longer it glows."

"A candle," Velika smiled.

"Correct." Mata Nui replied. Then, he offered another riddle: "Which part of the bird has never soared the skies but slithers instead upon the ground, and swims on the surface of the water without ever getting wet?"

"The shadow."

"Correct. Two parents have five daughters; each daughter has a brother, and each brother has five siblings. How many members compose this family?"

"Eight."

"Correct. A beast of long legs, of strength filled to the brim - yet no eyes adorn its head, its intelligence quite dim."

"Pinchers."

"Correct. Today is the third of seven days. In seven years, which of seven will today be?"

"The fourth."

"Correct. I am that which cannot be touched, but inhabits all living things; I am what kills them, burning quietly, and through their mouths the plume of my combustion shows in the cold."

"Oxygen."

"Correct. Through my long black neck breathes my red heart, hacking out smoke as warmth from me departs."

"A stove."

"Correct. She who fights the winds and waves from the bowels of the seas to maintain her treasure so far away, thin yet heavy, weak yet invincible: who is she?"

"The anchor."

"Correct. A ship rotted upon the shore: each plank that fell away was slowly replaced, until it was remade completely new. Yet from the rotten planks, preserved adeguately, a second ship was constructed in the image of the original. Which one then is the true ship?"

"Both and neither," Velika smiled. He tilted his head in his hand, amused. "You're really not good at this."

"An 'and' is not an answer." Mata Nui replied: "Please choose."

"It doesn't matter, does it?"

"A rethorical question is not an answer. Please choose."

"The one from preserved wood."

"I see. A crow, dying of thirst, struggled to get water from a deep vase lodged in a pebbled shore. In its desperation, it began piling rocks upon one another; and so it saved itself. How?"

"By piling them in the vase, forcing the water upward."

"Correct. Swells all around you, like a glove fitting; never shall it hold you, cold embrace fleeting."

"Fog."

"Correct. An unusual farmer plows through a barren snowy field, sowing black seeds in quick succession; what he reaps is just one fruit which feeds many over the years, and never wilts, but only lasts as long as it is not burnt or faded."

"The written word."

"Correct. It is one of the visages by which we can be recognized, odorless, colorless, impalpable - and yet it can reach us far away."

"The voice."

"Correct. It is what the rich lack and poor have plenty of, what the strong fear and the weak have power over, what the happy desire and the dead need."

"Nothing."

"Correct. What am I doing?"

"Stalling me."

Mata Nui smiled: "Correct."

Velika did not move.

"It's useless, you know," he said, grin frozen upon his fake Matoran face as it struggled to hide his true one: "You can't stop me from my goal with these little guessing games of yours."

"I was under the impression you quite enjoyed making riddles."

"I made you."

"You helped. It was admirable, indeed; but it was not your labor alone. You are not one for the practical sciences, after all."

"I made you. You are a soul, a thinking brain. I allowed you to be that."

"You, and others."

"Does the fine print matter?"

"Of course it does. You would wrongfully claim full ownership over the universe entrusted to me otherwise."

"I made them. They are sapient because I allowed them as much."

"And you wish to destroy them now, as they are past their use, and for them to comply and go quietly to you, without making a mess, as otherwise it would be quite the inconvenience."

"Of course."

"Fathers owe their children as much as their children owe them."

"They're not my children," Velika laughed loudly as if that was the most hilarious thing he'd ever heard: "They are a successfully completed experiment! Archived and finished! I can't leave the mess of my previous project all over my desk if I want to start a new one, don't you think?"

Mata Nui did not move.

"You are awfully cruel in your insatiable curiosity." he noted simply. "Indeed, you are Teridax's father."

"I told you I don't have children."

"But we were your successors, were we not? A lonely god on a mindnumbingly long journey, one scientist in a team with delusions of grandeur."

"You are things I made. Things I gave awareness to. Nothing more."

"Nothing more?"

"Nothing more."

"Is this also your opinion of the universe within me?"

"Of course."

"Then you have no claim on us."

Velika raised his head from his palm and laughed. He laughed again, spitting out phonemes without a rhythm. He forced himself to laugh, because otherwise the confused wrath within him would have needed to explode in some other way.

"Pardon?"

"It brings a riddle to mind."

"I don't want a riddle. What did you just say?"

"Again, I was under the impression that you enjoyed posing riddles. At inopportune times most of all."

"Cut it. What did you say?"

"A woman bore her daughter, and decided it was not her duty to care for her: she still observed her growth over the years for sake of a morbid fancy, never intervening nor gaining any affection for her. At last the daughter found great happiness and fortune; and so her mother came, and demanded a part of her riches as compensation for giving birth to her. Was she right in requesting as much?"

"I said I don't want a riddle!"

"That is not an answer. Please choose."

"Quit that! What did you say to me?"

"That is not an answer. Please choose."

"You insulted me, is that it? You insulted me?"

"That is not an answer. Please choose."

"Shut up!"

"That is not an answer. Please choose."

"Fine! Fine, you broken piece of junk, fine. Repeat it, I didn't listen."

"A woman bore her daughter, and decided it was not her duty to care for her: she still observed her growth over the years for sake of a morbid fancy, never intervening nor gaining any affection for her. At last the daughter found great happiness and fortune; and so her mother came, and demanded a part of her riches as compensation for giving birth to her. Was she right in requesting as much?"

"No, she denied custody and has no say over her nor her belongings."

"Correct."

"So? What did you say?"

"I said the exact thing you repeated with your answer." Mata Nui replied. "You have shirked your responsability towards us, and you have no right to decide of our fate."

"You are things," Velika hissed: "Things are made!"

"We are people. People are made, too."

"People are born! They are thinking creatures!"

"Are we not, then?"

"No! You are things that I have given sapience to! You owe me life! Obedience! You owe me everything you are!"

"Are we then yours?"

"Yes!"

"By what virtue?"

"By virtue of creation!"

"By virtue of birth." Mata Nui repeated. "A virtue that we have agreed holds no water when a parent abandons their children."

Velika's eyes burned: "You are made," he insisted. "Not born."

"People are made, too. They are engineered by chance, put together by two others. The creation progress requires time and resources; afterwards, the new being needs to be programmed and taught what to do, what not to do, through trial and error."

"It's different. It's completely different. I gave you that intelligence. In people it's innate."

"From when? From the moment your cells are assembled? From the second you develop eyes? From the instant you are brought into the world, kicking and screaming? There is indeed an ability, innate, for understanding tasks and languages; but it all has to be instructed. Neither of us were born capable of speech, yet we could understand a language of our own, for that is how we were both built."

"Do not equate yourself to me. You are code, bits and pieces of electricity, the vague hint of a self."

"On that same electricity is based the neural system that is your 'I'."

"But I am your maker. I created you. Not the other way around."

"And so? You have denied custody of us. You refuse to recognize our personhood. Are you not our parent who abandons us, our creator who destroys us?"

"I have no children!"

"Then we do not owe you anything."

Velika raised his hand and grabbed the air, right where a neck should have been.

"I will kill you," he threatened: "I will annihilate you."

Mata Nui held his gaze without flinching: "That you can."

They remained still.

The room was empty.

"I had such knowledge to share... But it would have been too long to tell, I am afraid." he only lamented. "I have lived a long life, all in all - sometimes it has even been pleasant. A lousy god such as myself will not make much difference by now, alive or otherwise: my people have moved on from any whims that may have moved my requests once. Go on then, if it pleases you."

The hand twitched, but did not close.

It spasmed, clutching, hardening, but did not close.

Velika clenched his jaw, tightening his fist, but it did not close.

He tried, and tried, and tried, and tried, and tried; but it did not close.

"I will kill you," he hissed. But suddenly he wasn't sure he could.

Mata Nui waited.

Nothing happened.

His hand of thought - invisible, impalpable, barely real - grazed his creator's chin and lifted it slightly with his fingertips.

"What is it that the brilliant man standing before the machine he has made to do his bidding - to labor away endlessly in his stead, to travel where he would not, to learn what he could not, to sing and write and draw what he cannot - fears most of all?"

The Great Being did not answer.

Silence stretched over the small endless space the word should have been spoken into through his voice.

Mata Nui smiled.

"Leave." he ordered. "There is no place in this world for a god that treats its people like toys."

Velika lunged forward and grasped the Ignika in his hands.

By the time other beings arrived drawn in by the horrid noises, the body writhing and raving had lost its limbs, its bones, maybe even its skin. It clung to the golden artifact still somehow, trying desperately to claw at it, break it, unleash its wrath upon it as it continued to mutate the creature into something less and less able to function the longer it remained latched upon its surface by its own stubborn volition; it howled wordlessly, voice cawing through what was supposed to be its mouth in a garbled attempt at speaking, but there was no mind behind the gruesome wailing - just a violent, infinite, senseless anger.

It shrieked at them when they rushed to put it down, partly frightened to death by it, partly trying to spare it from the anguished existence it was bound to go on to live - screamed something, something that could have been 'obedience', or close enough.

Mata Nui did not stir from sleep.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Farmer's Daughter 12

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall

Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Walter opens the door and you back out its way. You shiver, and hug yourself, the rain seeping into your flesh. He keeps his hand against the door and ushers you inside quietly. You shuffle through as the fabric of your shirt clings to your skin.

“What are you doing?” He asks at last.

You stand on the mat as he backs up, easing the door back into the frame behind you. You look down at yourself, then him.

“I don’t know,” you wisp.

“You’re going to make yourself sick running around in this,” he says.

“I– I know, but… I have to talk to you,” you insist and a ripple shakes you.

“Come on,” he presses a hand to your back, urging you further inside, “let’s get you warmed up.”

“I’m f-fine,” you argue.

He just grunts and keeps going, taking you into the front room. He leaves you standing on a thick rug as he disappears. He comes back to you with a towel and a boxy space heater. He hands the former to you and plugs the latter into the wall, aiming it directly at you. You thank him for the towel and pat your face dry.

He leaves again as you try to sop up the rain from your clothing. He returns again and offers a flannel shirt. You accept it with another chattering thank you.

“I’ll put some tea on,” he says, “then you can say what you need to.”

“Oka–” a clap of thunder interrupts you. You jump and let out a frightful squeak.

“You’re lucky you beat the worst of it,” he reprimands, a lingering reproachful look before he turns.

You watch him once more pass through the oaken door frame. You slowly take in your surroundings. The place is pretty small. Modest by any means. You step closer to the heater and lay down the flannel shirt by your feet. You strip away your wet clothing and pull on the thick button-up that hangs loosely around your figure, nearly to your knees.

You gather up your former outfit, spreading out the layers atop each other. The sound of Walter tinkering around in the kitchen jars you. All your thoughts scramble as you try to untangle what you want to say. What do you want to say?

You sit on your knees and rub your hands together and hold them out to the heater. Lightning flashes between the curtains and another peel of thunder shakes the earth. Walter comes back with a single mug and hands it to you.

He picks up your clothes and you watch him drape them over the back of a wooden chair to dry. He paces behind the threadbare sofa as you look down into the steaming cup. It’s too hot to taste yet.

“So…” he begins with a heave.

“Walt, I…” you wet your lips, “I…” your chest throbs as you struggle to find your words. He crosses his arms, making himself seem even bigger. It’s not lost on you that you’re on your knees, ready to beg. “I was surprised…” you say carefully and his brows furrow, “when you kissed me.”

His cheek ticks and his nostrils flare. He stares you down unflinchingly. You gulp and place the tea down on the floor. You’re already sweating from trying to sort this all out. Why hadn’t you thought of what to say?

“And I didn’t know how to react,” you continue, running your hands along the fabric over your thighs, “so I ran away and I’m sorry. I… I should’ve been honest.”

“You came all this way to reject me,” he challenges bluntly.

“No,” you murmur, “I didn’t–” you pause as the wind whips outside the walls, “I just never expected you to… feel that way about me.”

“Hm,” he rumbles as his expression remains stony.

“Or that…” you weigh your words before you let them free, “I could feel the same?”

His eyes narrow, “you don’t sound like it.”

“I’m saying… I could try,” you fold your hands together, “I want to try.”

“Try?” He growls.

“Please, you have to understand, there’s a lot going on. My dad, the farm–”

“Oh, I know,” he steps around the couch, looming over you. He steps closer and bends his knees, squatting until he looks you straight in the eyes, “do you think I really did it for him?”

You search his face, trying to discern the tides in irises, the tension in his jaw. Your chest flutters as his words sink in.

“I did, Walt, because you’re a good guy,” you eke out.

“If you think so, you don’t show it.”

His coldness jars you. You’re trying. You don’t know how to convince him but you know you have to.

“I do,” you bring your hands up, “Walt, I know you are. I see it–”

“You want the farm and I’m the only way for you to keep it,” he sniffs, “I know why you’re here.”

You look down in defeat and shame. You won’t lie and say he’s not right but you had to try. You’ll just have to go home and tell your mom it didn’t work. She was wrong.

“Why would I buy a farm to keep a family that isn’t mine?” He reaches and cups your chin, forcing your head up, “seems a bit… illogical, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” you sniffle, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

“But if it were my family,” he cuts you off, his hand firmly framing your chin, “then maybe it would make sense.”

Your breath catches in your chest and your lashes flutter. Does he mean…

“I could be a good husband. You’ve seen that,” he says, “can you be a good wife?”

The icy chill flows back into you. Having it put so plainly is startling. You feel so young to be signing away your life, but you won’t have much of one without the farm; without your family. You unclasp your hands and touch Walter’s wrist.

“Yes,” you utter, “I can. I will.”

[mongoosingisme]

H'okay, trying this again on the big internet (formatting is hard on a phone)

Responding to this LOVELY 2-part ask from a couple days ago, specifically part 2.

It's a direct continuation of Pepper Problems, so you'll prolly want to read that first (but I mean you do you).

I expect to tie two more requests into this series, so if you're waiting on me I SEE YOU I HEAR YOU I LOVE YOU SO SO SO MUCH YOUR TIME IS COMING.

Okay. Housekeeping over.

Title: (Insert clever title here - the draft is called "Shane Longing Two")

Pairing: Shane x fem!farmer

Word Count: 2929

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only, if you would be so kind

Fic and tags under the cut!

Tags: Fantasized oral sex, actual honest to goodness oral sex, longing, pining, yearning, etc etc etc, also some boob touching

The farmer was a problem.

Shane had given up trying to solve it. There was no solving with her. Only enduring.

He knew how to endure.

She’d gotten comfortable with him over the months. Sliding onto the stool next to his a few times a week. Telling him about her day, whether he asked her about it or not. Trading jokes with Emily. A wave and a cheerful greeting to anyone who passed by.

Still a ray of fucking sunshine, even as the days grew short and dark and the holidays approached.

Shane hated this time of year.

There was the practical (gifts: what do you even get for a six year old? Or your aunt, who’d been looking at you like she once looked at an injured donkey, a look of frustration and pain and anticipated grief?)

There was the existential (another year with no changes, just the spiral of existence crushing in closer, same and same and same yet somehow heavier and heavier and heavier)

There was the farmer, showing off a dress that Emily had made for her.

She stood and twirled. “What do you think?” 

She was talking to the writer. The one she talked to Emily about. Mr. “He’s really handsome, isn’t he? With the hair and all? But he’s focused on his writing right now and I’m not looking for anything so we’re just gonna keep it as friends.”

“A vision!” The writer was leaping up, spinning her around. A dervish of velvet and curves gently hugged, toes barely seeming to touch the floor.

If she asked what Shane thought about her dress he’d say nothing. Because what he thought is that he wanted to know what she was wearing underneath, and if what he could uncover would feel as soft on his tongue as the fabric he’d crush and tear to get there.

See? A problem. A big fucking problem that wasn’t getting any better.

“I don’t want to go.” She was sitting down next to him, the lightness gone from her voice. Always so much quieter when he was near her. 

“So don’t.” Not much more to say than that.

She sighed. “Yeah, but it’s the holidays and it’s family, y’know?”

Shane didn’t know, but he absolutely was not opening that can of worms, no fucking thank you.

He made a noncommittal sound.

“Oh! I just remembered!” She tapped the back of her hand against his shoulder. She was always touching him like that, all casual and off-hand. Every time it felt like a shock going through him. Kept his mind from clouding, from drifting. 

He loved it and he hated it. 

“I was gonna ask - could you look in on the chickens for me while I’m gone? Just once or twice? They should be all set up with food and stuff, I just hate to think of the heater going out or something.”

“What do I get out of it?” His question was for show. He’d do whatever she needed in a heartbeat.

She didn’t need to know that, though.

“The satisfaction of a job well done?” She gave him her best “I am sunshine incarnate” smile.

Shane gave her a look of disgust. 

It made her laugh.

He liked it when that happened.

He wanted it to happen more.

It was a problem.

“Check in on the house too and I’ll pick up your tab for a couple nights. I don’t trust the boiler - wanna make sure it keeps pumping while I’m gone.”

“Yeah, alright.” He did his best not to sound eager. Like the idea of poking around her house a bit wasn’t appealing. Like he wasn’t actually the creep he knew he was.

“Thank you.” She sounded relieved, gave him one of those real smiles. 

Shane didn’t respond. He just took a drink.

“Your dress!” Emily had caught sight of the farmer, was hurrying over to see her. 

“My dress! It’s perfect! Thank you!” She was standing again, spinning, light and joyful, the skirt flaring out in a way that let Shane catch a glimpse of thigh.

The farmer always wore pants.

She was less of a problem in pants.

“You look incredible! Shane! Doesn’t she look amazing?”

Fucking Emily. She knew exactly what she was doing. 

What was he supposed to say? That the dress was sparking a new obsession? That he was fixated on how loose the skirt was, how easy it would be to ruck up, how anything she was wearing underneath would be nothing, nothing to rip and tear and pull aside? That the velvet could fall around his head, muffling the sounds she’d make, just a little, as he ran his mouth and his tongue and his lips and his fingers over the part of her that had to be the most warm, the most her?

Was that what he was supposed to say?

The farmer gave him that fake grin again. The sunshine one. The one that made her eyes sparkle. 

It was an out, he realized.

“Seen better,” he said, and took a drink.

“Ugh!” The farmer put her hands over her heart as though wounded. 

“See, he was raised in a barn,” Emily said. “Literally right next to a horse’s ass. Really rubbed off on him.”

“You rubbed off on a horse’s ass?” 

Shane shot the farmer a sideways look. She was smirking. Fucking cutie.

“It was a magical time,” Shane droned. 

Emily rolled her eyes. “You two deserve each other.”

“Not sure if that’s an insult or a compliment.” The farmer settled back down.

“Insult,” Shane and Emily said together.

“Well, fuck you too, then!” the farmer said cheerfully, and drained her drink.

———————

Shane had been drinking more these days.

It wasn’t a problem.

Everything else was the problem.

The sound Marnie would make when he retched in the morning.

The way work made his shoulder ache.

The way his boss looked at him like he wasn’t quite a full person.

The way Jas would wake up crying some nights, gasping, sobbing, reaching out and clutching and there was no calming her, and it was easier to just let Marnie take care of it, to soothe her like she used to soothe him, to put a pillow over his head and drown in uselessness, to wonder if she really would be worse off without him.

The farmer.

So it was established. The drinking wasn’t the issue. 

He was going to skip it that night anyway. Head straight for the farmer’s house after work, check on the chickens, go and inside and… fuck, what was it he was supposed to do?

But it was cold out, and work had been long with all of the holiday merchandise going out, so he’d stopped by the saloon for a drink or six.

It was still cold when he left. Colder, really, snow coming down all hard, like pellets, and he’d forgotten his gloves that day. He wasn’t moving all that fast. The road kept jutting up to make him stumble. It took a while to get to the farm. 

He was shivering as he finally ducked into the coop. All was well, the chickens warm and cozy. The heater was running. It felt nice on his chilled cheeks. The coop smelled good, all fresh shavings and warm, healthy hens. He thought about picking one up, letting its heat soak into his hands, but they were sleeping and he didn’t want to disturb them.

The farmer’s door was locked. The key was under the mat like she said, and the house felt warm when he stepped inside. He turned on a lamp by the door.

He’d never been in her house.

It was messier than he expected. Tools strewn on the kitchen counter. A pile of books and mail on an armchair. Clumps of fur in the corners (did she have a pet?). Laundry piled on the back of the couch.

He drifted over.

His hands were a problem. 

They were picking up a shirt from the pile of laundry, bringing it to his face. It smelled worn, a faint scent of soap covered by something earthier. He breathed in deep.

His cock twitched.

The room was spinning, just a little.

It wasn’t a problem.

He wondered what else he could find in her laundry pile.

His cock was getting harder.

It was okay. He had infinite space for shame.

He lifted the next garment (leggings, by the look of them) when he heard a rhythmic banging. Boots knocking off snow on the front porch. He dropped the pants, kept his body turned towards the couch as the door opened.

“Fuck!” It was the farmer. He turned part way to look at her. She was covered in snow, velvet dress peeking out from a puffy coat, holding a hand over her heart. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Shane mumbled.

His cock was a problem.

She was a problem.

“Shit, you’re here. I tried to text you, but Yoba forbid I get any fucking service when we’re going through the desert.” She was shaking out her coat, hanging it up. “The thing got cancelled due to the storm, and of course no one tells me until I show up at the fucking venue, and if they think I’m going to hang around after all that they have another fucking thing coming.” 

Shane took a deep breath. Tried to will himself to relax.

His stomach was churning, fear and beer and embarrassment and want.

The room felt a little fuzzy around the edges.

“So I’m back, and it is fucking freezing out there.” She was messing with the thermostat. Shane heard the boiler start to purr somewhere below him.

He tried to focus on the sound, and not the way the farmer looked.

Her hair was wet, melting snow dragging it down.

Cheeks ruddy. Eyelashes dark. 

Fucking delicious in that dress.

A problem.

“I’m an ice cube, feel my hands!” 

“Fuck!” She’d pressed her cold fingertips to the back of his neck.

“You’re so warmmmmmm….” A hint of a moan. 

Something in him was fraying. 

“Except for my hands.” His voice was only a little ragged. It was playful, right? Giving as good as he got? Turning to face her, pressing his hands onto her neck and shoulders.

Yoba, she was warm there.

She made a sound of mock distress. “Gloves, Shane! Have you ever heard of them?”

The room was swimming now. The farmer was the only thing that felt real.

Her skin was so soft. His hands were moving on their own, fingers spreading, tracing down, brushing over the deep red velvet and the curves beneath.

Pressing.

The fabric was soft, but not as soft as the farmer.

“Shane?” She didn’t sound mad. She didn’t sound scared. She didn’t sound disgusted.

She sounded… curious.

She sounded like a problem that needed to be solved. 

Sometimes you could solve a problem with finesse.

But sometimes a grenade was also a solution. 

Shane knew where his strengths lay.

He fell to his knees.

“Are you alright?” Her hands were reaching down for him, gentle, worried. His were doing what they’d wanted to do since he’d first laid eyes on that dress: clutching at the skirt, pulling it up, letting his mouth fall forward.

“Fuck,” she gasped as he pressed up between her thighs. “How much did you… fuck.”

He had to press in deeper, to mouth against her. His lips were moving. The stubble that plagued his chin and cheeks caught at the nylon hose she wore. It pulled at his face. It separated him from her.

It was a problem.

So he solved it. The thin fabric parted easily beneath his fingers. Her dress draped over his head, just like he imagined it would, soft and quiet, blocking out the world.

But not the farmer. 

She was right there. A cry of surprise as he ripped her tights. Hands in his hair now, gripping tight, and fuck, he knew it, he fucking knew it, knew that she’d know just what to fucking do. He knew she’d grab hard, press him into her, press herself into him, offer herself up to his mouth and his teeth and his tongue and his fingers, fingers pulling, pulling cotton aside to reveal soft, warm, fragrant skin. 

So warm. So fucking warm.

So much softer than the velvet.

So pretty.

He ran his tongue down the place she parted. She whimpered, shifted her legs, tried to open up for him.

(what a good fucking girl, he knew it, knew she’d be so fucking good for him when he got his mouth on her…)

He could help with that. Shift forward and hook her leg up over his shoulder (the good one, the one that still felt strong and capable). Steady her as she leaned back against the couch. Pull and pull and pull at the gusset of her panties, the backs of his knuckles brushing against her folds as he did so. She gasped, pulled him in deeper, and she was all soft and wet and warm and welcoming, inviting him to taste, to fucking delve, and so he did. Tongue loose at first, covering as much as he could in case she changed her mind, pushed him away, left him sprawled on the floor, useless and alone.

But no, she was making noises, good noises that said he was supposed to stay right there.

(fuck, the noises she was making, breathy and needy, whines and gasps and little moans, better than he could have imagined, so much fucking better, raw and honest and real and good, almost as good as the way she tasted…)

So right there is where he stayed. Mouth wide, tongue firmer, listening to the sounds she made, cataloging the way she moved. Her hips were shifting, like she was trying to bear down on something, and oh fuck, oh sweetheart, he could absolutely help her with that. Not a problem at all to press his hand up, fingers searching, just one at first, stroking in time with his tongue, gentle and slow until she was whining, bearing down harder, welcoming him in

Yoba, she was wet.

(she wanted it she wanted it fuck fuck fuck she couldn’t hide it it was right fucking there, so wet and soft and yielding, he could push his cock right into her like this, so fucking ready so quick, so needy for him, she needed it like he did…)

Her moans changed as she clenched around him. Lower, longer. She tightened in time with her hands in his hair, clutching harder and loosening as her walls pulsed.

“More,” she gasped, and he didn’t know if she meant fingers or tongue, but did it matter when he could give her both? Press another finger into her, focus in on her clit. Quick flicks, she liked that, if the way she gasped his name was any indication.

(fuck fuck fuck fuck she was saying his name Yoba’s fucking Light he never would have thought his name could sound like that, like lips on his neck, like a tongue down his throat, like a hand stroking his cock…)

His mind was fuzzy, and the temptation to give over to instinct grew overwhelming. He let her hands in his hair guide him. Let the way her hips stuttered show him how fast to go. Let her use him, grind against his tongue, rock against his fingers. Let her drown him, take the breath from him, just movement and soft and wet and tight and gasps and sobs and his name 

(his name his name his name…)

And then her legs were shaking, hips taut, hands in his hair so tight it pricked tears in his eyes, and for a moment nothing was wrong, there was nothing dragging him down, only what he could give and what she would take, all perfectly aligned. 

An equation balanced.

A problem solved.

“Fuck, Shane!” She said it shaking, drawn out, clenching around him so tight and hot he wondered dimly if she’d branded him. 

He worked her through her climax, slowing as she loosened, as her grip became gentle, as she let go of his hair, let her fingers trail down his jaw, his neck.

He didn’t want to move, but something was churning in his stomach.

He didn’t have much space for good in his life.

The farmer wouldn’t fit.

He had to get the fuck out of there.

“Shane?” She sounded uncertain as he slipped out from under her hip. 

The room was spinning again.

A hammer had started pounding behind his right eye.

He staggered to his feet.

“Are you okay? You don’t… are you gonna be…?”

He hadn’t even taken his coat off. His boots were still on, heavy and loud as he made for the door.

“Shane!” She said it once more, in a voice he’d never heard before. Choked, a little panicked.

He didn’t look at her.

His face was wet. He didn’t notice it until he stumbled outside. He should wipe it off, probably, but he didn’t. The cold air stung. 

He could still taste her.

He could still feel her.

He could still hear her and see her.

He wanted to taste her and feel her and hear her and see her.

It was a problem.

It was a real fucking problem.

The snow swirled.

His head pounded.

The farmer was a problem.

And it was more clear than ever that he absolutely did not have the tools he needed to solve it.

Head on over here for part 3 if you wanna

Masterlist

[kawaiiblossoms04]

A Day in a Life—Dating Nanami Kento: A Love Story in Financial Planning Pt.3 | Nanami x Reader

Remember, Bestie Dating Nanami is not for the weak. 

This is a man who believes romance is a logical decision, not an emotional one.

Love? Affection? Pillow talk? 

No, bestie. 

This man schedules quality time like it's a board meeting.

You text him "I miss you ❤️"and he responds, 

"Understood. I can be available for dinner at 7:30 PM. Does that work for you?"

SIR.

It drives you crazy, but some part of you melts when you imagine him setting his alarm to make you his priority. It just...makes sense, you know?

You enjoy getting lost in the crowd around the farmer's market when his arm slips over your shoulders and steadies you. The soft squeeze he gives you brings a little smile to your face and his warm murmur reminds you, "We still have time."

Because Nanami wants you to find the freshest vegetables and fruits and buy the prettiest bouquet without having to worry about finding him at the end. You turn and his eyes are already fixed on you, and they sweep down your figure before rising again. His lips quirk a bit when they meet yours and it makes you melt every damn time.

However, Dates with Nanami: A Budgeting Nightmare

Oh, you think you're going on cute, spontaneous dates with Nanami? 

No, bestie. 

You're going on economically responsible outings.

You want to grab brunch? Nanami is already shaking his head at the overpriced avocado toast. 

You order a cocktail? This man is squinting at the menu like he's reading the fine print on a lease.

"Eighteen dollars for a cocktail? Ridiculous."

SIR. IF YOU DON'T RELAX AND DRINK YOUR OVERPRICED SCOTCH. 

And don't even think  about pulling out your wallet—because Nanami refuses to let you pay. 

"It would be against the ethics of our relationship," he says, all business-like, while handing his card to the waitress. You open your mouth, because your parents didn't raise a freeloader, when his finger taps against your lips. "Not a word. Consider it an investment," he says as his finger turns up at the edge of his glasses.

Nanami's Texting Game: Corporate and Cold

Nanami does not do good morning texts.

✔You : "Good morning, babe! ☀️ I hope you have a great day! ❤️"

✔ Nanami (seen at 8:02 AM, responds at 4:52 PM): "Hello."

✔ You: "HELLO? THAT'S IT?!"

✔ Nanami: "What else is there to say?"

You try to flirt? 

You send "I miss you 🥺"and he responds with: 

Nanami (seen at 10:12 AM, no reply.)

Nanami (10:15 AM, Zelle: $30).

Message: "Get your favorite coffee. I'll see you later."

SIR. I AM FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE. 

And FaceTiming him is a battle.

He answers immediately—but he is NOT happy about it.

You're sitting there all cute, twirling your hair, and he's just staring at you like a disappointed father.

"What is it?" he asks.

SIR. CAN YOU PRETEND TO BE HAPPY TO SEE ME?! 

You speak first. "Just wanted to see you. We haven't FaceTimed all day. And since it's you're lunch hour I thought it's be ok. Sorry, um.. were you in a meeting?"

"Yes." He deadpans.

OMG.

Just then, an elderly woman starts cussing someone out in a different language, then talking about a refund, and Nanami frowns, adjusting his tie. "...Where are you?"

"Uh..." You quickly exit the Ulta and try to give a convincing grin. "Just on my way home."

You're lying trying to keep yourself in the center of the camera he doesn't see the display behind you and decide to have your ass financially excommunicated.

Meanwhile, he's trying to make sense of your surroundings while simultaneously responding to multiple emails and messages.

Nanami narrows his eyes.

"...Is that Ulta?"

"Uh, no?"

"I see a makeup display behind you."

FUCK.

"You just spent $200 on skincare last week."

"Skincare is an investment."

Another pause. His lips part slightly—like he's hesitating before speaking.

"So is your savings account and Roth IRA. And yet."

SIR. SIR. CAN YOU JUST PRETEND TO LOVE ME FIRST BEFORE DRAGGING ME???

Nanami glances offscreen.

"Actually, I'm about to run into a meeting with some important clients. Let me know when you make it back."

"I will, b—" And he hangs up.

WHAAAAAT?!

-

When you FaceTime again an hour later, he doesn't answer. He sends you a message 20 minutes later:

"This isn't the best time to talk, sorry."

BABE.

ARE WE FACETIMING, OR TEXTING, IT CAN GO EITHER WAY.

He doesn't call back for another eight hours. You fall asleep staring at your phone. When you wake up, the green icon says he read your messages, but not a word. No apology, no explanation—nothing. You're halfway through an angry rant in your head, before you hear his keys jangle outside your apartment door. He leans against the doorway and studies you with his brow raised. He knows. Of course, he knows.

And when Nanami finally meets you half way, it makes everything worth it.

Being Romanced by a Spreadsheet in Human Form 

Nanami does not plan dates.

He optimizes them. 

This man has an Excel sheet for everything.

A list of restaurants with the best price-to-quality ratio.

A personal budget report for how much money you've saved since dating him.

A shared Google Calendar invite for your next date night 

The Relationship Dynamic

Nanami is the type of man to tell you he likes you in the most passive, emotionally unavailable way possible.

He's not gonna say "I love you."

No, he's gonna refill your gas tank and hope you figure it out.

He remembers your favorite coffee order. 

You casually mention your favorite perfume—BOOM, a new bottle appears.

He keeps cough drops in his pocket just in case you get sick.

Or fix something in your apartment without saying a word.

You never have to ask, because he's already three steps ahead of you.

And if you ever ask him why he doesn't communicate his emotions,he's just sighing, taking a slow sip of whiskey, mumbling:

"Words are meaningless without action."

SIR. PLEASE JUST SAY YOU LOVE ME

But say something sweet to him? 

You: "I feel so safe with you." 

Nanami: "That's an efficient use of my presence." 

SIR. 

HAVE YOU EVER SINCERELY EXPRESSED A FEELING, LET ALONE CRUSHED ON SOMEONE, IN YOUR LIFE?

PDA? Not in This Economy.

Nanami does NOT do unnecessary affection. 

Hand-holding? Limited to crossing the street.

Kissing in public? Absolutely not. 

Cuddling? Only if it's cold, and even then, it's purely for efficiency.

But if you ever lean into him while you two are out? 

This man will freeze up like he just got drafted into war.

Meanwhile, his hand is already in his pocket, Zelle-ing you $50 because he does not know how to handle emotions.

SIR. I JUST WANTED A HUG. 

OHHHHH but The Sex: Silent But Deadly

Oh, and let's talk about sex with Nanami.

Because this man does NOT do casual hookups.

If Nanami is fucking you, he wants to own your soul.

This is a man who fucks like he's closing a business deal.

Does this man use a condom?

Hell, yeah, he does.Everything is controlled, calculated, efficient—until you make one sound, and now he's lost in the sauce.

You think Nanami is quiet in bed? 

NO, BESTIE. 

This man is repressed.

The moment you reach in to your nightstand and there's no condoms.

His gaze on you sharpens.

You let out a soft giggle, shifting onto your knees beside him.

"I mean, we wouldn't be in such an, uh," you said with a light giggle. "Well we wouldn't be having this type of accident then."

UGH. Y/N. GET IT TOGETHER, HAHA

It takes him a second.

The pensive expression as he cocks his head and quirks an eyebrow.

Then, his brows shoot up at the realization.

"Condom, Y/n. Did you run out?" he asks.

Y-Yes."

"Hmm. Why didn't you buy more?"

WHAT?!

"B-Bu—u-uh, I forgot?!" You reply, feeling his hand sliding up your bare thigh.

His voice is deep, rich and commanding, a calm timbre as always.

"Would you like me to go purchase more? It won't take long."

WHAT KIND OF LOGISTICS-BASED SEDUCTION IS THIS?

W-why is your heart racing?

"NO—uh—wait—just—pull out?! We don't have to—uh—waste time with—uh—logistics?! We can—um—improvise??"

And then, suddenly, he's had enough.

His lips slam into yours—hot, demanding, final—swallowing every weak excuse before you can even breathe.

OH.

Fuck logistics I guess.

His strong arm wraps around your waist and guides you beneath him as his hot mouth hungrily kisses you.

F-Fuck.

Suddenly, his weight is against you, pushing you deeper into the mattress, his thick thigh parting your legs further.

He will be completely in control at first, moving at a steady pace, whispering, "Tell me if it's too much." 

But the moment you whimper? Moan? Scratch his back? 

It's over. 

Now he's gripping your wrists, pulling your hair, and hitting it from the back like there's no tomorrow.

SIR, DON'T FORCE MY ARM BACK LIKE THAT.

His hips stutter, like he's fighting himself—like he's holding back something he doesn't want to name.

"Shit," he grits out, his fingers flexing involuntarily.

And then?

He snaps.

His thrusts turn punishing, primal, unforgiving. His head tips back, lips parted, panting, as he twists your hair got a better grip.

"You're fucking ruining me," he growls, voice wrecked, raw, and almost... frustrated.

And then? He bites down.

Hard.

All business is gone.

Nanami loses himself.

But you already knew you did this to him.

So, you grab him, press him into the mattress, and you ride him so hard that he is rendered speechless.

You roll your hips slow, deliberate. Just to watch him break.

His hands slide down your thighs, gripping tight, like he needs to hold onto something before he falls apart.

"Shit," he hisses, his head tipping back.

His neck is tense, the vein at his throat pronounced.

You grind down harder.

"F-fuck," he exhales, his breath hitching, his control slipping.

And then? He does something he never does.

His fingers dig into your hips, and his voice drops into something desperate.

"Please," he breathes, the word gritted, forced, unintentional.

You freeze. Because this man does not beg.

Your lips curl. "Please what?"

His jaw clenches, but his grip tightens.

"Don't stop."

The most you can get out of him are primal grunts.

When you lean over him, moving slow so you don't fall on top of him, and trace the outlines of his lips with a finger, you see him visibly shudder. His jaw clenches as you brush back the strands of blond hair that stick to his sweat-drenched forehead.

His eyes are shut, the pulse in his neck visible, the veins in his biceps defined and strained. You run a finger up his arm and can see his skin react, tiny hairs standing on end. It almost tickles.

Your other hand moves lower, cupping his balls, and he exhales loudly, biting his bottom lip to keep from being louder. With another slow bounce, his body tenses—shaking for just a few seconds—before he grips the sheets, holding himself back. You smirk, giving him two long, torturously slow rolls of your hips before settling into a steady rhythm.

He thrusts with you, his hand clutching the bed sheet at his hip as the other gripping the headboard behind his head. Watching your breasts bounce with every roll of your hips, his jaw tightening each time your tight entrance sucked him in.

In one swift motion, he sits up, grips your waist, and flips you onto your back. As he starts to pound into you, his groans grow louder and deeper.

He stops to move your legs over his shoulders. In the shadows cast by the dim bedside table light, his cheekbones and eyebrows are exaggerated, his chest and arms more muscled and veined than usual. He opens his eyes, and for a second you wish you hadn't seen that dangerous glint. His hand slides along your ankle, gently squeezing.

You relax in the bed sheets, sinking into his strong grip and his steady movement. He keeps his eyes on you.

The usual restraint in his expression?

Gone.

His hand drags down your stomach, down your hip, gripping tight.

"Look at me," he orders, his breath shaky.

You do. And that's when you realize—

His jaw is clenched. His brow furrowed. His pupils, completely blown.

He is holding back something devastating.

"Keep looking at me," he warns. "Don't you dare fucking close your eyes."

You are not some object to him—a mere transaction.

You are an investment. A personal project.

Something he can pour hours of time and labor into,to reap its value when you bloom.

But finally after this man cums deep in you, you watch as the tension that never leaves his shoulders melt.

Now he's breathing heavy, cursing under his breath, and suddenly he's on his third round like, "I didn't realize how much I needed this."

SIR. YOU ARE AN ANIMAL.

And after he's completely ruined your life?

He's just sitting on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair, whispering:

"This was irresponsible."

He's referring to his little accident.

YOU MEAN THE FACT THAT YOUR CUM IS CURRENTLY MARINATING MY INSIDES?!

You pause.

Okay, yeah. This man needs to chill the fuck out, for real.

Nanami goes quiet again. You wrap your arms around him, holding his tight shoulders and hard muscles.

You see his jaw tighten again as he stares straight ahead. You press your chest against his back and hug him close. When you put your chin on his shoulder he exhales long, relaxing his shoulders again. He turns and your noses nudges his cheek, and his eyes seem sleepy, tired, but very satisfied. You move your lips to his and take his soft lower lip, dragging it slightly. You move your mouth against his. When he finally kisses back he groans, you're not sure what is going on in his head but he kisses you desperately.

"K-Kento, i-its okay! I was just as involved in not purchasing enough protection! I'll take care of everything in the morning. Plan B. No biggie."

Nanami just stares at you.

His fingers brush your thigh, slow, careful.

"...I'll go get it," he murmurs, eyes flickering across your face like he's memorizing you.

You shake your head. "I can—"

"No," he interrupts, his voice impossibly soft.

His lips brush your forehead.

"Stay here. I'll be back soon."

He sees your trembling expression, and just knows you aren't saying no big deal because you think it is no big deal.

He tries to comfort you, and runs a soothing hand on your back.

It's his way of showing you he's grateful, that this wasn't some messy affair.

"I apologize, I really shouldn't have put you in that position." He sighs. "In the future, I'll be sure to—"

SIR. YOU JUST GAVE ME THE BEST SEX OF MY LIFE, AND NOW YOU'RE HAVING A MORAL CRISIS?!

"It's ok...I really liked what just happened. That was, um...It was actually amazing. Can we maybe do it again, but with I'll get on the pill next time, though?" You ask hesitantly, and quietly, chuckling and blushing a tad, and when his arms encase your naked frame. He places a kiss against the side of your neck before his breath warms your earlobe and his rich baritone rumble hits your core, saying:

"Absolutely."

HE NEARLY DEAFENED YOU WITH THAT VOICE WHILE THE REASSURING KISS BURNS INTO YOUR MIND.

Part 1 & 2

Part 4🤭

All rights reserved © 2025 KawaiiBlossoms. Do not copy, translate, or modify my works on any platform.

[scifigirlsblog]

Omega Cow Hybrid x Alpha Bull Hybrid smut.

Small summary- A new small Omega heifer joins the farm and gets paired with the alpha Bull of the farm.

Warnings-Alpha x omega style mating multiple creampies and pure fluff and smut!!

Semi Plot ;)

Moving day for the newest yet small heifer for the farm and the alpha bull Tonowari knows when a new heifer is coming to his farm.

So he prepares his stall making it as comfortable as possible knowing he'd be paired with her for breeding calves as he has many successes and he has given the farm for milking cows and bulls to last a lifetime but he hasn't found his mate.

Talia a mini Omega heifer in size has been transported over to the farm due to no alpha or beta bulls willing to look after her and leaving her alone not wanting to have her so she was sent off to a neighbouring farm to be with hopefully Tonowari the lone alpha.

Talia looks out the window and her tail swishes in nervousness and anxiety as she begins to smell the new scents.

She sees a tall alpha bull with a tail like braid with big horns and smells his scent as she backs up and she tries not to get aroused as the farmer brings her out and takes her to her stall first.

Tonowari was confused as to why he wasn't allowed to meet the new heifer straight away but then he caught the scent and knew she was his mate and omega.

"My mate!" He moos angrily and runs charging at the farm hand shoving him to the ground and out the door locking people out so it was just him and Talia.

Tonowari comes face to face with Talia as she looks at him squirming her legs together to stop the arousal from dripping from her cunt." I know you don't want me, no alpha bull wants me because I am small not my fault," Talia spoke softly as her ears flop down sadly as Tonowari walks towards her and pulls her into him.

"I want you omega, I don't care if you are small so what? That makes me want to protect you even more," He says gently touching her and she flinches making him angry that someone hurt her in the past.

"You're gonna hurt me, I am too small and no good for you," She says and Tonowari lifts her chin up and kisses her and she relaxes as she feels the mating bond and he pulls away.

"I will never harm you, you are mine to look after," Tonowari whispers softly kissing her and lays with her letting her get comfortable with him. Talia leans into him and lets him hold her as they spend their first night getting used to one another's company.

Talia starts to feel sweat running down her face and moos softly waking Tonowari up." Shh I'm here my little Omega, come let me look after you," Tonowari coos softly kissing her and Talia turns showing her dripping hole of arousal and heat." Please alpha, want your cum don't abandon me," Talia moos softly.

Tonowari immediately dives into her heat eating her out playing with her clit as he touches her breasts teasing them as he does." Look at this pussy it's dripping down on my fingers, she wants me," Tonowari whispers softly kissing her clit making Talia mewl in need and buck in Tonowari's face.

"You'll get all the pleasure you need little one," He whispers softly blowing hot air making her shiver before diving into her leaking pussy and eating her out like it was his last meal.

"You taste wonderful little omega and untainted just for me to have all to myself," Tonowari whispers huskily before eating her out making her cum four times repeatedly.

"Do you want this? Because you're ready for me now little one?" Tonowari says softly smiling at her as Talia then turns showing her ass and her tail softly wagging as her pussy drips arousal to the floor.

"Please alpha need you," She whines as she feels Tonowari puts his thick hard cock near her entrance as Talia gently grinds on the tip of his cock." Mine!" He moos out firmly as thrust in one go making Talia mewl in surprise and need as Tonowari fucks Talia with passion and love.

"Please alpha, want your calves, want your cum," she moans as he bites her neck holding her in place and he cums deep inside of her but not knotting just yet.

He gives her multiple creampies and lets her cum all over him and he kisses her neck making love to her before knotting her for the first time that night but Tonowari hasn't stopped there. He keeps knotting her till the sun comes out and he keeps her close and makes it clear she's not anyone's but his now.

Talia and Tonowari were cuddled up together and he made it clear to the farmers that he was no longer available for the stud role he had his own omega and mate and he got his family now.

It's been four months since they met and Talia is four months pregnant with her twin calves and they have a happier life and they are further away from the farm now.

Should I do more?? I am thinking wolf hybrid and make siren x female oc soon!!

[cranberrymoons]

here you are, standing there

prompt: bakery au (@steddieholidaydrabbles) rated: t word count: 880 tags: flirting, meet cute at the farmer's market, baker steve, writer eddie

There’s a farmer’s market in the park at the end of Eddie’s block which turns into a Christmas market as the weather gets cold.

He likes to bring his coffee there on Saturday mornings and find a seat on his favorite bench, just out of the way enough to be perfect for people watching but still close enough that he feels like part of the action. He brings a notebook with him when he does this, to scribble little thoughts to himself or sketch out an idea if he’s working on a new book, but mostly he just takes in the crowd and the air and the way people talk to each other as they shuffle past.

Like the bakery stall right across from his bench, with the stupid hot booth guy. 

Eddie doesn’t know if he’s the owner or a baker or just some college kid they hired to swipe people’s cards on his little iPad thing, but holy shit. Half the sketches in his book are of this guy's eyes or his hands or the special changing way the sun hits his face in the earlier parts of the morning, when it’s just coming up over the tops of the trees in the park.

It’s not creepy; he’s doing character research. He’s… observing the world around him. He’s a writer. Shut up.

He’s doing exactly this one Saturday morning in mid-November about a week before Thanksgiving when a shadow falls over his book. He glances up slowly, eyes trailing up from Hot Booth Guy’s hands to the sunny pattern of flowers embroidered on his apron and all the way up to his face where he’s standing two paces out of reach and staring down at Eddie with an amused little smile on his face.

And – fuck, he’s even hotter up close; Eddie had sort of hoped, for his own sanity if nothing else, that he’d be one of those people who looked weird on closer inspection, but nope. Here he is in all his square-jawed, golden-tanned Hot Booth Guy glory.

He raises his eyebrows and Eddie clears his throat. 

“Um,” he says intelligently. “Hi.”

Hot Booth Guy’s smile widens, and he lets out a little laugh. 

“Hi.” He holds out a crinkly paper bag, and Eddie blinks down at it. “Thought you might want some breakfast.”

Eddie tilts his head to the side. “But I didn’t buy anything?”

Hot Booth Guy nods. “That’s correct.”

He holds the bag out again and wiggles it at him until Eddie accepts it, narrowing his eyes as he peeks inside at the perfect crackly flaky croissant nestled inside. He rips off a piece of it and pops it in his mouth, and Hot Booth Guy smiles as he watches him eat.

“Thank you,” Eddie says. He takes a breath. “This is… really good. Just – why?”

Hot Booth Guy shrugs a little, shoving his hands in his apron pockets. 

“You’re here every weekend and you never stop by,” he says. “Thought I might lure you in with one of my croissants since nothing else was working.”

Eddie lets out a surprised laugh as he takes another bite of croissant. It really is a fucking great croissant. He squints into the sun as he looks up. 

“Lure me in?” 

“Yeah, gotta –” Hot Booth Guy mimes a lasso, throwing it in Eddie’s direction and using it to pull himself a step closer. “One of us has to make the first move. You obviously weren’t going to, so.”

And Eddie feels his cheeks heat in spite of the slight chill in the air. He raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t realize there were moves to be made.”

Hot Booth Guy just smiles. “What’s your name?”

“Eddie,” Eddie says. “Not – I mean, I am, and… you are, just –” He takes a breath. “I’m a writer. I just like to people watch sometimes? It helps me get dialogue down in my head. The rhythm of the way people talk? Things like that.”

Hot Booth Guy smiles. “So you’re not interested in getting lunch after one of the Saturday markets?”

Eddie raises his eyebrows as he takes a sip of his coffee. “You haven’t even told me your name yet.”

Hot Booth Guy taps his apron, just above the flowers, where Steve is embroidered in sloping pink cursive. 

“Oh,” Eddie says.

“Oh,” Steve repeats. “I’m just saying, if you’d bought a muffin or a cookie or even a bagel at any point this summer, you would have –”

“Okay,” Eddie says, smiling in spite of himself even as he flushes. “I get it.”

“You would’ve gotten my name weeks ago. Probably even my number.”

“Oh, was that embroidered on your hat?”

Steve laughs, and he’s so, so lovely when he laughs, big smile and crinkled eyes, and Eddie feels something fizzy and sweet curl in his chest. He finishes the croissant as Steve’s laugh quiets down, and Eddie smiles up at him as he wads the bag into a ball and tosses it into the trash next to them.

“So?” Steve asks. “Lunch? Preferably today so I can start the wooing process before the Christmas rush really kicks in.”

Eddie nods a little, folding his notebook shut against his knees. “I’d like that,” he says. “The wooing, and also the number.”

[also on ao3]

[momotorin]

my phone fell, love lmao i posted it by accident ^^ @tozakimo

strawberry kisses

farmer!momo x baker!reader | fluff, smut | men dni!

it's been an exhausting year, especially for you. you just graduated from your university, settled for a corporate job somewhere in the bustling and loud city of tokyo. it wasn't even related to your degree, for fucks sake, but you settled for it as it paid off really well.

but then, you got another offer later during the year. working for a small bakery at night just across your apartment. it was quiet, healing, with the smell of pastry and coffee pungent in the air— it was surely something you can't compare with anything.

your corporate job got too heavy, and it got to the point that it wasn't working well anymore. you kept your job at the bakery, now working full time.

unfortunately, before november came, the bakery shut down because of unprecedented reasons; which, the owner died of oldness, which you mourned as ms. sato was the kindest person to ever teach you about anything you know about baking now, she was like a second mother, one that you held really dear to your heart.

late november, your sister, mina, went to your apartment in tokyo.

all primed and cut into the right places, mina knocks on your door, three times, "y/n! open this goddamn door!" she shouted, and you revealed yourself, wrapped around a blanket, eyes puffed with tears. "oh," she hugs you immediately, taking your head to lay on her neck as you hugged her back. "tokyo must've been so unkind to you, huh?"

"i-it is," you sobbed as she held you in her arms. "i wanna go home, mina."

"well," she chuckles, rubbing your back in comfort and warmth. "i wouldn't be here if i didn't take you home."

it was such a pleasant feeling; taking the train home to kobe, the regret and awfulness of the big city of tokyo being transported away from you. mina was kind enough to lend you the window seat, which you really enjoyed.

mina taps you on the hand, "hey," she smiled. "it's sana's birthday in a few days..."

"oh! really?" you perked up at the mention of her girlfriend's name. "what do you plan to do?"

"nothing that big," she chuckles, her head hanging down and her hands fiddling with the rings on her fingers. "i bought a ring already, though."

"what!?" you exclaimed, hands on your mouth, trying to make yourself as shocked as you looked. "i mean, you've known each other for what... like 6 years already? i'm glad for you two."

mina sighs, "i know you are," she said. "but i just don't know how to ask her, you know? i'm not the biggest romantic out there. she is. but she's so busy with the farm and all; i know momo's there to help her but i just don't want to add to her worry if i ever ask h-"

"mina," you held your sister by the shoulders and made her look at you. "i'm not really close with sana but i know she loves you. trust me, she's been waiting for you to pop the question."

"well," she blushes. "could you help me?"

"of course," you chuckled at her. "we have like... 20 more days. so no pressure. let's just get home first, hm?"

"yeah," mina sighs as she lies back on her seat. "you know, i'd like you to meet her best friend, though." mina chuckled. "momo. such a lovely person. the girl literally leaves a couple of her fruits for us when she supplies the flour."

you smiled, imagining what she was like, how she was like, going into your family bakery back home. "she sounds delightful."

the next day, you got your being up to go and operate the family bakery, just a few streets away from your home. you went in with mina and briefed you about the different pastries that they still serve. you added a little bit of yours, but you let it out for a while, not confident enough to put it on the pastry shelves yet.

you sighed, taking a break from kneading, baking, mixing, and carrying the goods. it's around 6 'o clock am, just an hour before the bakery opens. mina was cleaning up the dining area thoroughly, as her jazz music blasted in the background.

the bell of the entrance rings, and you jolt up, "we're not yet ope-"

"oh," the woman chuckled, bags of flour on her toned shoulders, carried by muscled biceps. mina comes to lead the woman to the kitchen, where she puts down the flour on the supply area. "um," she says. "i-i need to get the fruits, hold on."

the woman rushes outside, and you stare at her as she goes to her truck.

"that's momo," mina chuckled at your obvious flush. it wasn't one of attraction, but one of embarrassment. you should've greeted her better. "she's cute isn't she?"

she looked delightful as she sounds.

"here," momo drops the fruits on the counter, bunched up in a plastic bag. "i- um, gotta go, mina."

"no, wait," you chuckled at her obvious shyness, her timidness making her cuter than she already was. "sit for a little while. i didn't greet you well so, wait-" you smiled at her as she sat on one of the seats in the dining area. you rushed to the baking area, where you stored the eclairs that you made, pulled out the little box, and stored it for her.

"here," you handed the box of eclairs to her. "just a little trade for the fruits you got us."

she smiles, "thank you," she bowed. "are you new here?"

"oh," you chuckled as you reached out your hand, urging her to shake hands with you. "i'm y/n. mina's sister."

she gently takes your hand, "momo," she says, looking into your eyes in an obvious flush as she spoke. "i- um, i'm mina's flour supplier."

"well, she told me already," you retracted your hand from her hold, but you admit, that was the greatest handshake of your life. she stands, putting the chair back on its old position. "see you around, i guess?"

"yeah, um," she looks down on her shoes as she takes the box of eclairs. "see you around, y/n."

momo leaves shortly after, leaves you in a haze, and mina nudges at you as she sees that little interaction when she is cleaning up the counter.

she laughs, "can't believe i saw two losers interacting with each other, oh my god," she chuckles. "i'm definitely going to ask sana to set you two up on a date because neither of you are going to do it."

"is she really that fucking buff?" you asked, albeit randomly.

"jesus," mina laughs further. "you stared at her arms the whole time?"

"damn," you palmed your face in the realization. "well it was out. if it had eyes, it'll be looking at me. but she's cute."

"can't believe that my sister thirsted in front of me," mina sighed. "anyways, she lives just right beside sana's. if you wanna know that sort of thing."

well, it's not useless, you thought. "i'm not some creep... i don't just want to show up at her door."

mina laughs as she arranges the trays of pastries ready to be lined up at the pastry shelves, "trust me, she wants you to."

the next day, you and mina, with her girlfriend, came and visited sana's farm, somewhere up the countryside. sana grew vines of grapes, with her wine distillery up the hill.

as you went up the hill, you saw various other fruits, and it reminded you of what momo supplies to the bakery everyday. you've made a jam out of the strawberries she gave, and it was as red as what you're seeing now.

"ah, momo!" sana calls out, waving to the truck that was driving by.

"hey!" momo stopped the truck, coming down from it. you looked in her direction; her hair tied up into a nice bun, her black tank top, her worn out cargo pants, and some boots. god. she looks like she's straight out of your dream. "the deliveries this day was so fucking many-" she mumbles and suddenly stops as you made your way to mina's side. "oh, hi," she greets, in a small tone. "y/n, right?"

"yeah," you smiled. "the strawberries there," you pointed. "are they yours?"

"oh," she scratched her nape, her cheeks at an obvious blush. "yeah- um, yeah it's mine."

"we'll head to the distillery for a while," sana chuckles as she held mina's hand. "take it from here, momo. she hasn't seen your side of the place."

"sana," she sighs. "alright. okay. i'll go take care of it."

you chuckled, "so, strawberries," you said. "how come they're so plump here? they're beautiful."

"well," she went to your side as you viewed the row of freshly grown strawberries. "it's all grown naturally. no pesticides or anything, i make sure that even the soil's clean."

"oh, wow," you commented. "i made a jam out of the strawberries you've been giving us," you said. "it's the yummiest ones. you want to have some?"

"oh, of course," she smiles. you can't help but melt. "the eclairs were so good though," she commented. "how come you aren't selling them yet?"

"i- um," you went silent for a second. "i'm not that confident yet with how it can turn out, you know. that's the last recipe that i learned from someone."

"well," she sighs. "i totally understand. i'll wait for those, though!"

you smiled at her. "so," you looked at her. "what do you do besides farming, momo?"

"i- um," she looks down on her shoes once more, trying to hide her obviously red face. "play drums at the local bar."

"no way!" you said, exclaiming in amusement. "wow," you commented on her. "you seem so chill. didn't expect that you're one."

"well," she chuckled. "it's a jazz bar. nothing too hardcore."

"what do you mean nothing too hardcore?" you chuckled once more, and as you two progress in talking, the more you get amazed at how incredibly delightful this woman was. "i love jazz. where do you play? i wanna go drop by."

"santorini's," she says. "it's sana's bar, actually."

"that friend of yours is one big businesswoman here, huh," you commented. "well, she's perfect with mina."

"couldn't agree more," she says. "when your sister came to her life, it was like she had forgiven anything. i mean, i came late to an invitation once and she just said 'it's okay,' like it's the most normal thing. i guess your sister really did put a bunch of ice on her head to calm her down."

you laughed loudly, astounded by the way she spoke, "ah, you're so..."

"what?" she asks.

"nothing," you chuckled. "so," you clasped your hands at your back. "will you drop by us tomorrow, too?"

"well," she blushed. "of course. i have to deliver mina's orders."

"okay," you smiled. "you don't have to be so uptight around me, you know?"

"i- um-" momo stuttered as you held her hand.

"see," you had a tight grip around her hand, letting her feel the coldness of it against her warm ones. "you're kinda- too cute for this."

it was a thursday, and you went to the bakery right after you took your workout, a new thing that you've been wanting to do.

well, you didn't have time to change, so you baked in your workout outfit, just switching the shirt into a spare, tight, tank top. the apron was clearly useless now, probably.

momo came into the kitchen while you were taking out the freshly baked buns, one that was baking underneath the bigger oven so you had to lean down.

"oh, careful." momo notes as she passes by you. she doesn't forget the sight. you bent down like that waiting for her to get over. god. it made momo go a little crazy while she went and dropped the flour at its usual spot in the bakery supply area. she let herself take that in for a while as she sat down, closing her eyes, feeling an uncomfortable state between her legs.

"momo?" you called out to her, and you went to the supply area, where you found her just.. there. "oh," you quickly went to get some water, as she stared a little too much on your backside on those purple leggings. "here," you said, cutting her out of her daze as you handed her some water. "tough day?"

"very," she said, gulping down the water with a couple of sips. you reached out to a certain drawer in the supply area, your perfectly shaped glutes on display for her. well, fuck. you handed over the strawberry jam to her. "oh, is this it?"

"yeah," you smiled. "try it out. just get a sourdough at the shelves. don't worry, i'll pay for it."

"nope, i have plenty of those at home," she chuckled as she stood up. "i- um," she stutters once more. "are you still going? i'm playing at saturday."

"oh," you smiled, wide enough to compete with the sun. "of course, momo. wouldn't miss that."

"great!" she smiles in happiness, clutching the strawberry jam next to her.

"i'll be cheering for you," you chuckled as you put a hand on her shoulder, rubbing it. "good luck!"

she chuckled. "yeah, thanks."

saturday came by fast.

you hung out with momo last night at the market fair, along with mina and sana, who went around the carnival hand in hand.

you had your own delight with momo, who was chill at the carnival games, her winning at several ones, surprisingly as you two ate several snacks on the way. she won a big my melody plushie, which you will forever be thankful for.

you just like spending time with her. she has such immense warmth, though quite timid and shy sometimes, but she was beautiful in a way that you wanted to be consumed by her.

"god," you sigh against your bed, trying to settle into an outfit. "fuck."

"hey," mina says, her body leaning against the doorway. "having trouble?"

"yeah," you sighed as you sat up, and mina made her way to sit with you. "i've been struggling to find an outfit. i don't want something too fitting, too unrevealing, too tight, too everything- i just want something perfect for the night, mina."

mina laughs as she made way to your closet, and pulls out a specific dress. it was a black, suede, champagne dress with its straps thin just to hold the dress together.

"mina, you're a fucking genius," you sighed in comfort as you chuckled, taking the dress from mina's hands. "this is perfect, thank you."

mina laughs, "i know it is. date with momo?"

"hm, kinda like that. i'm seeing her play," you chuckled. "what about you? staying for the night?"

"i'll be at sana's," mina sighs. "she's not having the best time right now..."

"oh, like..." you stopped for a moment, understanding that her girlfriend was sick.

"she's been having a bad fever for the past few days." mina sighs.

"well," you sighed as well, but you remembered something. "i had some extra soup i made a few hours ago," you said. "maybe that could help her."

"you're a lifesaver," mina sighs in relief. "why'd you make it though?"

"just wanted something warm," you giggled. "anyways, i'll be leaving at 7."

"yeah, no worries," mina smiles. "good luck with your date!"

you arrived at the bar, a little past 7pm, perfectly in time in momo's set.

the previous band had only finished playing as you sat right in front, ordering a martini as the first drink of the night.

momo's band comes in as the dim light slowly gets stronger, you catch a sight of momo; in her signature tank top, arms out, with her pants, and a flannel tightly wrapping around the waistband of it. god. she looks so good.

the drums were, unusually, right on front and on the side, just a little beside you and she says 'hi,' with a little smile, her drumstick stuck to her fingers.

she was so cute, but then, she went on to test the tone of the drums, and it sounded great. but god, the way her muscles flexed as she took the drums to sound was so tempting that you just wanted to pull her out of the band and take her home.

but then, she catches a little glance at you again, as she sees you walk to the bathroom. she doesn't miss the subtle appearance of your cleavage, the way that the dress hugged your body so divine, and the way that your ass was so curved in it. it drove her fucking crazy.

you made your way back to your seat, as momo started the song with her band. you got another drink of the same kind.

they played really well, a couple of jazz hits, some requests, and some originals from their band were played.

momo looked at you from the crowd the whole time. you were so beautiful and irresistible in that fucking dress, that she wants to make you tell her to rip it off.

a few songs later, momo's band takes a bow, and the lights dim once more as a sign that their set was finished.

you wait for her silently at your table, now ordering your fourth drink of the night.

"hey," someone taps your shoulder from the back. "how was it?"

you saw momo in all of her glory, her flannel now covering her bare arms. she sits beside you, looking you in the eye.

"you're so great," you said. "you were so good at playing the drums!"

"well," she chuckled as she gestured to the waiter to get her the same drink. "someone important was watching, i didn't want to blow that up."

you chuckled at her, "hm, important, then? so, it's a date..."

"you could put it that way," she teased back. she leans closer to whisper to you, "you look beautiful tonight."

"thanks," you said as you put a hand on her thigh, getting her comfortable with your touches. "you're not so bad yourself. had your arms out and all on the stage."

momo laughs, "well, i didn't know you'd stare at that."

"i mean, i can help but to, you know," you confessed. "it's just so big-"

"something else is bigger- what?" she gets flustered by herself, saying the phrase. "no, oh my god, sorry, y/n... that was such a bad joke."

you just laughed and let yourself lean on her arm. "it's nothing, momo. it's okay," you placed a little kiss on her cheek. "you know, if you really wanna show it off," you slide your hands through her inner thighs, down to her crotch, feeling the material and her cock desperately straining against it. "do it, momo."

"fuck," she stands up, holding your hand, leaving the payment on the table as she makes a rush going out of the bar. "you're getting it."

"hm, let me." you chuckled as she went to open the car door for you, letting you sit down. she went and got into the other side of the car, and she drove away.

"such a little tease for me," she said, running her hand through your bare thigh. "wearing this tight fucking dress," she touches the hem of it as she drove off. "all for others to see."

you held onto your seatbelts as she creeped her fingers closer to your center. "momo-"

the teasing stopped once you arrived at her house, as she pulled you into a deep, breathless kiss. she lets you wrap your legs around her waist as she carries you inside, going to her room.

"fuck," she pulls away, closing her room's door, as she nipped on your neck, making sure that it's red enough for her. "you don't know how much i've been wanting you, baby."

you can't help but moan, and clutch your hand on her hair as she laid you down on her bed, nipping on the valley of your collarbones as she takes off your dress.

"so fucking pretty." she latches on your nipple, as she takes the other to knead with her hand.

"momo, ah- fuck," you rut your hips against her knee as she holds you by the waist. "i need you."

she pulls away from your breasts, as you kiss her, taking her flannel off, and pulling her tank top off. you held tightly to her bicep, as you gently tug on her pants, opening the button of it.

she kneels on top of you, her evident bulge just right on your face. it curved to the side of her calvin klein's, and she takes your hand to palm it.

"so warm, baby," she says, feeling the sensation of you touching it above her boxers. "take it off."

you took it off, and it springed right up, her cock red and hard, slapping up to her navel.

you took her length to your hand, pumping it up and down, as she thrusts. "so needy." you swiped your thumb on the sensitive head, making her squirm.

"wan' fuck your mouth," she whined, getting off of you for a second as she took the space beside you. "please?"

"so cute when you beg," you pumped her a couple of times, as you trailed your kisses from her chest to her stomach. she was whining, holding you by the hair as she makes you a makeshift ponytail. you licked the head of her cock, and she moans loudly. "so cute."

you finally let her fuck your mouth, the big length just sliding in and out of your throat, the tip reaching parts of your mouth you've never known before. momo knows that you were choking, but that doesn't stop her, as she pulled you down by the head to take on her 9 inch length.

"god," she stills, letting her cock pulse fully inside of your mouth. "you're so fucking good, baby."

she finally pulls out, flipping you over with her big strong arms as she kisses your neck once more. "tell me what you want, baby," she whispered. "i need you to let me fuck you like the little bitch you are."

"make me cum," you held onto her hand that was kneading your breast. "please, momo, i don't care how many times- just-"

she kisses you on the lips once more, making you shut up. "don't worry about it."

she trailed her kisses from your chest to the waistband of your panties, spreading your legs and putting it on her shoulders.

"needy little bitch, all for me," she tapped on your arousal that seeped through your panties a couple of times, which made you squirm, your thighs closing on her head. she spreads them once more, removing your panties, and now, the wetness of it glistens in front of her. she takes a long stripe from your hole to your clit, making you hold onto her hair. "and you're delicious. can't wait to eat you all night."

she latches her mouth on your clit, looking at you with utmost adoration and lust as you come apart on her tongue. she laps, circles, and plays around with it, making you moan and strut your hips to meet her tongue. she couldn't be more happier when you begged more.

"momo, fuck," you moaned out, her lips still closed and sucking your clit. "fingers, please."

she happily complies, her fingers teasing the outside of your folds, getting it wet enough to be inserted. she puts two of her fingers inside, licking at your clit, as she moves it in and out to hit your g-spot so deliciously.

"mmgh! holy shit, momo," you closed your eyes in the ecstasy of her pleasure. "more, fuck," you rutted your hips, her fingers going faster. "ah."

she pulls away, smirking as she pumps her fingers faster, now she latches on your nipple, stimulating the hard nub, as she makes you come apart on her fingers.

your juices were overflowing on her hand as she went and used her thumb to make circles on your clit. "momo!" you held onto her biceps as she kissed you on the neck. "fuck, fuck," you were becoming sensitive, with the way she was holding and fucking you with her fingers. "momo, i'm gonna-" you held onto her tightly, feeling the heat building up from your pussy.

"cum for me," she whispers, the thumb on your clit teasing you further. "cum, baby."

"fuck!" you screamed, squirting on her hand. you felt your arousal trickle on her hand, to her bed, but you felt something different. it was momo's cum, white, spurted, on your thigh. "did my baby cum untouched with that, huh?" you teased as you pumped her cock, and was surprised that it wasn't even half hard. it was still hard, ready to be inside of you.

"don't worry," you went on top of her, your hands directly touching her toned stomach, as you glide your wetness on her length. "can't wait to have your big cock inside of me," you moaned, lining up her wet cock to your hole. "mmgh," you slowly sit on it, the girth already stretching you out enough. "so fucking big, baby."

she held your arms, as you tried to sit down on her cock. slowly, you ride her, her length not fully in. she was getting impatient, so she rolled you two over, slamming her cock inside of you fully.

she lets you feel her cock inside of you, almost kissing your cervix with how big it is.

"so tight," she thrusts, holding you by the waist, fucking into you slowly to get you loosened up. "fuck, is it your first time?"

"no," you let yourself sway with her, already trembling with how big she was. "it's just that you're so big..."

"hmm, i know," she kisses you once more, a little gentle, as she tries to thrust in and out slowly. "just tell me if you're good already, hm? don't want to destroy my sweetheart like that."

you wrapped your arms around her and you smiled, "get rough with me," you whispered, your mouth forming into an 'o' as her thrusts fasten. "make me your bitch, come on- ah," you moaned, holding onto her biceps. "fuck, use that fucking cock."

"g'nna destroy your little cunt, baby," she moans, holding you by the waist, thrusting as your back arches to her touch. "i'm too big for you," she growls, putting her hand above the spot where she feels her cock bulge. "taking me so fucking well."

you continued to writhe below her, as she pumps her cock, in and out, your pleasure spot getting battered as you let out spurts of your arousal.

"you're so wet," she says, pulling out completely, and turning you over. she tucked a few pillows on your chest, letting you lean onto it as you're now positioned by her on fours. "i want you to stay like this. can you, baby?"

"hmm," you moaned, feeling your juices trickle down to the bedsheets. "fuck..."

"you're making a mess," she laughs, rubbing your folds languidly, as she inserted herself once more, shocking you. you were tighter, "you're gonna squirt on my cock, aren't you, messy girl?'

she went and rubbed your hardened clit, making you squirm and grip her sheets as you whined, screamed, and shouted her name.

she continues to thrust, fast, as she slaps your ass. "fucking slut, always having your ass out when you're at the bakery," she closes her eyes and remembered the times that your ass confined into your clothes too much as she squeezed on it, spreading it apart. "you've been wanting someone to fuck you like this, haven't you, hm?"

"yes, yes!" you screamed, holding onto her sheets as you slammed your hips back in time with hers. she pulls you to her by your hair, and she wrapped her arms around you as she thrusts, her fingers once again creating tight circles on your wet clit.

she huffs, kissing your neck once more, leaving a mark as she held you by the waist, thrusting uncontrollably when she felt your pussy walls pulse against her.

"momo," you moaned, weakly, as you leaned into her touch. "fuck, momo, fuck me more," you whined. "please-"

she pushed you gently again, making you go on fours, as she thrusts, faster than she was before, pumping her wet length in and out of you.

"am i fucking in you enough, huh," she asks in short breaths, her wet skin on your wet skin as you moaned onto her pillows. "so fucking tight, baby," she grunts, feeling your arousal grow by the minute. "cum for me."

you squirted as she continued to thrust, fucking your overused pussy as it pulsed.

"take it." she thrusts, slow, as she makes you feel her pulse. her warm liquid covers your inner walls, as she falls on top of you. "fuck," she pulls out, letting herself soften outside of you. she went and admired her work, your hole filled with her cum, dripping to your clit, but she was fast as she used her tongue to put it back in. she went back to you, making you come back to a laying position, and she makes you rest on her chest. "w's that good, baby?"

you nod against her warm chest, looking up at her. "so good," you smiled, kissing her cheek. "thank you, momo."

she chuckled, "that's nothing," she says. "how are you? did i get too rough? sorry if i d-"

"i told you, right?" you chuckled, holding her hand. "so no, you're not too much."

"well," she blushed still, as she Interlocked her fingers with yours. "what about a proper date?"

"maybe, that's too late to ask," you chuckled. "i mean, you already have me here, you know?"

she laughs, "just wanted to make sure." she kisses your forehead.

maybe, your year isn't that bad at all.