#forced labor cw

[luna-andra]

Warning: Spider below

Fuck yard work and fuck Texas 💀

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Your Knight in Shining Armor

Kinktober 2024 Day 1: Whump Yandere Male Royal x Male Reader AND (separately) Yandere Male Dragon Hybrid x Male Reader CW: Painful noncon, blowjobs, minor physical abuse, verbal abuse, homophobia, internalized homophobia, bullying, kidnapping, minor character death, implied minor character murder, non-human genitalia, emotional trauma, angst, hurt with little comfort, humiliation, degradation, shame, a lot of crying, general yandere behavior, possessive yandere, whump, Dead Dove: DO NOT EAT Word Count: 3.5k (I decided to make my own list of kinks/scenarios for kinktober. I am only posting every other day and not everything is a full fic, though there are several full fics in the mix. This has been a labor of love for you my beautiful readers, please enjoy!)

The Prince of Thornhollow, Percival, was pampered and spoiled by his royal upbringing. He seemed to have been almost blessed. Not just by birth but also in ability. In contests with his knights, he was always the victor, and in his hunts, he had always been successful. The skill he possessed only served to grow his sense of superiority.

He also delighted in cruelty. All of this was unleashed upon castle servants. Since you were his personal servant, you suffered the most abuse by far. The prince tripped you, made fun of you, ridiculed you for the smallest things, and smacked you around whenever he was upset.

A few times he forced you to jerk him off and look at him while you licked the cum from his cock. He loved the humiliation in your eyes.

"You should be thanking me for letting you taste the royal seed with your peasant mouth."

It wasn't a suggestion. You had to thank him. He berated you afterward for being a girl and liking dick. It was an open secret that you fancied other men, and it was a favorite subject for Percival to pick at.

Sadly his sexual abuse didn’t end there. One time, when he was drunk on wine and you had been cleaning his chambers, he suddenly pinned you against the wall and kissed you roughly on the mouth. Sloppy and uncoordinated, you could taste the wine.

You flinched from his touch, sure that it was a cruel joke. And even if it wasn't your first kiss, you should have been from someone you loved, not someone you feared.

Percival grabbed your wrists to stop your squirming.

"Stop fighting, slut."

His words were harsh but his voice had a certain softness that you were not accustomed to from him. It was obviously the alcohol.

"You're gay, I'm an attractive man, I know you want this."

You yelped as he spun you around and grinded against your ass. You had no choice but to comply with his every whim... he was royalty. He nuzzled your neck and cooed into your ear.

"You're shaking so much, I bet your trembles will feel so good from inside you."

Percival pulled your pants down, followed by his. He took a gob of precum from his cock and massaged it into your hole.

"I bet you can't believe your luck, having the prince do this to you."

He slid a finger into you, followed by another. You wept silently as he squirmed inside your ass to stretch you out.

"I'm not a gay freak like you, this is just your reward for being such a good servant all these years. You deserve it."

The prince sucked and kissed your neck as he slowly pierced you with his cock.

You gasped for breath as the pain made you speechless. You would have fallen to the ground had Percival not been propping you up with his strong hands. There was a resounding smack as his nuts hit your ass with every thrust. You tried to squirm free, instinct overriding the attempt to obey a superior, but Percival wrapped his arms around you tightly.

"Just try to relax. You'll love it. I know you'll love my cock."

He nibbled on your ear and trailed kisses down your neck.

"Stop crying, you're being really ungrateful... it's starting to annoy me..."

He began going at a crueler pace in his frustration. He felt between your legs and you were barely even hard. He thought you'd love this, there were prevalent rumors that several knights had used you as a convenient cumdump and he was obviously better than they were. Of course, you were a virgin, and the prince was robbing you of your first time in the most brutal fashion.

After filling you with his cum he let you slump to the floor as he sneered.

He was still drunk, but his orgasm brought a bit of clarity, letting his elitism and internalized homophobia bubble back to the surface where it mingled with his disappointment and insecurity at the fact that sex with him wasn't enjoyable for you.

He was too ignorant to know that much better lube and stretching needed to be used while you were more relaxed. Percival wiped himself off with a rag and then threw it at you with a look of disgust.

"Clean yourself up, then get the hell out and don't let anyone know, or I'll cut out your tongue."

You wiped the cum and blood from you quickly and staggered to your feet before hobbling away while sniffling. He didn't do anything like that again, not even force you to suck him, but he did treat you worse for weeks.

His disposition finally went back to his normal level of disdain when he finally got his new set of enchanted armor. It was white and black, with silver and gold filigree. It became your most important set of tasks, fetching, polishing, and putting away his armor as well as helping him into it. Though even when it was perfectly polished, it was not unheard of for you to get a minor thrashing at the hands of the prince.

The life you had was pretty miserable. Even though the prince acted as a tyrant to his personal servant, you, he protected his and the crown’s image. It helped that the royal family's policies and skills at governing resulted in a fairly content lower class. Percival, especially, was beloved by many. The handsome prince with his blood red hair and muscular physique. He was quite charming and had drawn the affection of many noble ladies. This meant you couldn't find an escape or even speak badly about the prince because you would surely be ratted out.

So you went about tending to the prince as best you could and just hoping that he wasn't in a foul mood at any given time. But the prince wasn't the only thing you had to worry about.

There was a dragon-man hybrid, Rinvir, that had been attracted by a certain shiny gleam. He found that it was the valuable armor of the prince.

Of course, it may be good to have someone tend to the armor sometimes. Maybe they could polish other treasures for him. When he watched you shine the armor, he couldn't help but think how nice it would be to have your delicate human hands tend to his "sword" too. And maybe how good it would feel "sheathed" inside of you.

Rinvir wouldn't just mate with a human for such a flimsy reason, so he stalked you and the prince. Whenever he was hunting with you as his assistant, whenever you were in the training fields helping him put on his armor, whenever you were alone and tending to your outdoor duties.

He hated the prince but fell deeply in love with you. You were so kind and soft-spoken, so diligent with your work no matter what the task.

Rinvir wanted you even more than the immensely valuable armor. He still wanted the armor in his hoard, though, too. It would spite the prince nicely.

The dragon-man waited until a lovely clear day when you were just about to help Percival into his armor. He was screaming at you to hurry up as you were struggling with its immense weight. Rinvir swooped down and snatched you right up, armor and all. A flash of shiny blue scales was all the prince saw before you were gone. He stood there dumbfounded for a moment before collecting himself.

"But... that one was... mine..."

He had to have yo-, no, his... armor back. It was so valuable and had been forged partly by magical means. Luckily, his father, the king, agreed. It was an insult to their rule to let such a slight go unpunished.

Dragon-men were strong, but the prince had a good number under his command, his own talents, and the magic of the court wizard backing him up. He'd have his precious peasant back by any means! And this time, he'd not let silly shit like fear of rumors and homophobia stop him from holding you close in bed while rearranging your guts.

Oh, uh... and he'd have his fancy enchanted armor back... that was what he was really worried about... the armor... yeah...

Meanwhile, at the formerly abandoned lakeside temple that Rinvir called home, you were crying. A giant man with shaggy unkempt hair, huge blue wings, horns, and scales up and down his arms and legs had just made off with you. Surely he would eat you or kill you for sport.

"Shhh, calm down, delicate thing."

He took you to his underground treasure room and put the armor on a stand then gave his undivided attention to you.

"You're my new favorite treasure!"

He nuzzled into your neck and licked your cheek, causing you to shudder.

"I-I'm not a treasure... j-just take me back home!"

He laughed. That wasn't happening.

"And go back to that abusive royal? Not a chance. You're gonna be my mate."

At first, you were borderline hostile. Then you were extremely reluctant. But as the days and weeks turned into months, you became more and more amicable to your self-appointed boyfriend. Rinvir did so much for you. He set up a little garden so you could enjoy outside time because you always looked at peace during your brief moments in the palace gardens.

He caught food for you. Though you did have to prepare it, he was no chef. But you had to prepare fresh meat on the prince's hunts all the time. But now you got to cook it how you preferred and Rinvir left you the best bits.

When you were sore, he gave the best massages.

When you slept, he held you tight to provide warmth.

When it came to sex Rinvir was a patient and gentle lover. So far, you had only pleased him with your mouth and hands, and he had returned the favor. His cock was thick and slimy but you actually enjoyed how it felt in your hands and the taste wasn’t bad either. He never pressured you into anything and was content with letting you explore what you liked at your own pace.

He really was your savior. Your dragon in shining scales.

It had been three months. Three agonizing months without his manservant. His beloved. His father had ordered him to give up the search because at this point, it was getting costly, and the prince had matters of state that needed attending. They could always make new armor and still investigate in smaller numbers if there were solid leads about the dragon.

That wasn't acceptable to Percival. His servant was probably dead or, at the very least, being tortured by a beast. It had been so long, and there were no guarantees that you were still alive. Percival had to have closure and revenge. Even if you were alive, he'd need revenge for having to endure without you, and you had surely missed him. If you were still hanging on you probably felt abandoned.

His father wouldn't budge. And when, in desperation, Percival had told him he valued and needed your friendship, his father had laughed him out of the throne room.

Unfortunately for you, his father came down with a sudden case of "died in the middle of the night." It was assumed he had succumbed to his advanced age, though that wasn’t the case.

King Percival redoubled the efforts into finding that thief of a dragon. It took an extra month after his ascension to the throne, but he had discovered rumors of a shimmering blue dragon-man. Percival spared no expense. Took no chances. He surrounded the entire area with well over 100 troops and had hired an additional two mercenary mages to work alongside the court wizard. They had used great magic to keep the approach silent.

It was the middle of the night when they made their move. Rinvir heard them approach and woke you up quickly.

"I think the prince found us! There's a lot of them. I can't believe they got so close without me noticing!"

He held you in his arms and planned to fly off with you through the temple's tower window.

You were too frightened to speak, but you had confidence in Rinvir's ability to get you to safety.

Rinvir spread his wings and leapt from the window. But a beam of light made by the combined magic of the King's sorcerers pulled the two of you to the ground.

Percival's heart leapt at the sight of you. He could scarcely believe you were still alive. This was amazing. He'd take you back, marry you at once, keep you safe, and heal you from whatever trauma this brute subjected you to.

"SLOWLY!!! He has my betrothed!!"

Yes, he was quickly paralyzed with powerful magic, and you were pried from his grasp.

Your knightly king would have you soon. Percival would make up for every bad word he ever uttered to you, for every humiliation, for hurting you the first time the two of you had made love because he had assumed you were more experienced.

He felt silly for having brought a small army when all he had needed were a few powerful magic users. They brought you to him, and he hoisted you into one of the wagons that had been brought to take back the dragon's treasures.

Percival removed his replacement armor and pulled you right into his lap. You had been shocked into silence with everything having moved so fast. One moment, you were snuggled up with Rinvir, your love, and suddenly, you found yourself in the lap of the man who made you hate life. Who's touch made you want to vomit.

You tried to shake him off and escape his hold.

"M-my Rinvir... I got to see Rinvir..."

"Who? That glorified lizard? Has he brainwashed you!? They say the best way to break such magic is with the touch of a loved one."

His hands were all over you as he peppered you with small kisses.

"Forget that monster, you're safe now, I promise."

"Y-you don't understand! I love him! Please let us go!"

He held you tightly with one arm as he began stripping you down with the other.

"I know just the thing to break this bewitchment."

Percival figured even if you weren't under the power of a spell that giving you his cock and making you feel good would still help you get over your overgrown lizard. The king kept you on his lap but turned you to face him. He swallowed up all of your protests with a deep hungry kiss, his tongue rolling around your mouth as it invaded you.

You started thrashing more as his finger grazed your hole. He held you tight as he leaned over and grabbed a vial from a box underneath his seat. He had this wagon prepared for your rescue if it was successful.

“Please don't. J-just let me go back...”

He put the contents on his fingers and massaged them diligently into your hole, slowly adding more digits until you could handle four of them with ease. Then he slicked up his large cock.

"Don't worry. This will be so much better than last time. I'll be the only man you ever think of after this."

His mouth attended to your neck as he slid into you slowly, going at a slow pace and making sure he hit a spot in you with each thrust that made you shudder and keen.

Percival had to admit that it was his fault your first time was awful. But he had consulted books since then. If he had been this attentive the first time, he could have been bedding you for a long time. You wept silently as your body betrayed you entirely, Percival assumed that the pleasure was just too much for you. You came intensely, spurting cum all over his hard abs and chest.

He went faster, still careful to go at a pace that wouldn't hurt you, as he chased his own climax. Being inside you finally and seeing your face as it was so ruined by pleasure sent him over the edge, and he filled your bowels with his semen.

"See!? Isn't that so much better? We can do it all the time now! I forgot to tell you! I'm the king!!!"

He held you close, burying your face in his pecs as he rubbed your back.

"If anyone gives us shit for being gay I'll cut their tongue out."

Percival was worried because you kept shaking and sobbing, but when you cried about wanting to go back to Rinvir, his attitude went icy. He peeled you off of his dick and cleaned you up roughly but then sat you across from him.

He had to remind himself that you had suffered great trauma, and it would likely take time to heal since it clearly wasn't a mere spell that had been laid upon you. He had to remain kind to you because it wasn't your fault, and a king shouldn't treat his betrothed too harshly.

Besides, he still had to make up for all the torture he put you through.

But he was not known for his patience. As the weeks passed, he grew increasingly irritable and could no longer handle your ceaseless whingeing about Rinvir.

Percival arranged for you to meet the piece of trash.

He took you down to the dungeon where you saw Rinvir. He was encased in a solid block of some type of enchanted glass or maybe even magical ice, completely unable to move. You fell to your knees and pressed your hands to the surface of the material as you cried his name. You hadn't seen him since you were ripped from his arms, you hadn't even known whether or not he survived!

"He's still alive, you know?"

Percival leaned down and spoke softly into your ear.

"I was going to have him displayed in the throne room, but that would have been too cruel to you, and I do love you so."

The depraved king applied a special lube to his fingers. One that was guaranteed to make you cum hard.

"He can see and hear everything. Since you cry for him so much in my presence, it is only fair that he hears how I make you moan and cry in pleasure."

You were crying so desperately that Percival's words hardly registered at all. Only when he pulled down your leggings did you realize his intent. You squirmed and writhed as he put the lube in you, feeling a strange heat inside you as he rubbed it in.

He gripped your hips and lined up with your hole, your crying face looking down shamefully to avoid seeing Rinvir as Percival took you.

His cock kissed that spot inside you and instantly you started moaning. It was like he was pumping a surge of ecstasy into you with every thrust. Though tears fell to the cold dungeon floor as he fucked into you, you couldn't help arching your back and moving against every thrust in an effort to feel it more deeply.

It was something you had never done before while Percival "made love" to you.

Percival greatly increased the pace. He wanted Rinvir to hear the smack every single time he drove into you, wanted you to hear the squelch from the precum and lube as he pressed into you, and most of all wanted him to hear all the pretty little gasps and moans HIS fiancé was making that HE had caused.

Percival's throbbing cock spilled rope after rope of semen into you, causing you to practically collapse to the floor in a riot of bliss as you came. You buried your head in your arms in humiliation and guilt. Your loving king angled your head up and forced you to look at Rinvir.

"It probably hurts him a great deal to see you like this, don't you think? From now on, anytime you mention his name, I am going to bring you down here and breed you right in front of him."

Percival sneered evilly at Rinvir. He knew from your defeated expression that he had won. The king kissed and comforted you as he picked you up to take you to bed. You had a long day, and tomorrow there was a wedding to start planning... now that you were over your ex...

He left the mess that had pooled out of you right where it had fallen. Rinvir could look at all the cum he had put into you for a while as a reminder of what Percival did to those who would dare take what was his.

[anantaru]

hii <3 do you think that dr ratio or argenti would be into eating you out? like argenti just being so sweet abt it, he’s such a cutiee. and dr ratio doing it like he claims you or smth. idkk they could be anything but i’m interested if these two boys would be into thatt. ( ps your writing is so good… i love it sm 🙏🏻🙏🏻🫶🏻)

including. dr ratio, argenti

cw. oral (fem! receiving), petnames used: doll, angel, fem! reader

— ꒰ VERITAS RATIO ꒱ + rough & sloppy

veritas cannot lie to himself but he finds it adorable how you cannot mutter out a single word right now, and the only thing you were still capable of doing was holding your thighs apart so he could fit his head in between and fill your tummy with consistent pleasure.

"you don't want to show me how you feel, doll?" he utters in that unbearably arrogant tone he adored to use on you whenever he proved you wrong as you shake your head, your sticky cream coating his chin, "hmm... well, i'll just force it out of you then, don't you think that's fair?" a refined mewl spills from you when he licks at your folds again, never breaking the eye contact and not caring if you'd end up making a mess of his entire face with your sweet liquids.

and the way his tongue vibrates on your pussy was turning you head over heels for the man, the coarse laps of his tongue full of affection that your toes curl at each lick, and he only gets rougher with proactive drags of his tongue rolling over your hole and collecting everything you give him.

by now, your core has been drenched by a mixture of your slick and his spit, and your legs shake when he kneads the skin on your thighs as to simultaneously comfort you and hold you deep against his greedy face.

one more, just to taste you once more, and you're finally showing him what he does to you, your labored breathing exhaling with the rapid thumping of your heart as your thighs clench around him to ride his face, his enthralling eyes looking more graceful and dark with no mercy reflecting off of them.

you lift yourself onto your elbows to get a better view of the mess on your lower area, watching him closely as the sensation of his mouth made you lose your mind.

your fingers move swift as to reach down and twist into his soft hair, holding him tightly into your cunt when he flips his tongue left and right, his breath hitting your pussy with every exhale— your folds were just so hot, so wet, and squishy that he needs to suckle on them before filling you with his cum later.

— ꒰ ARGENTI ꒱ + attentive & fast

oh, you sure as hell are starting to see stars when argenti suckles on your folds, with his nose dragging into your cunt the more he forces his head in between your thighs— but you're unable to meet his gaze and it saddens him, despite the fact that it felt so deliciously good, doesn't it?

"argenti.." you moan his name just above a whisper of your labored breathing, your lower lip trembling at how dirty it felt to have him lap around your cunt like a mad man, his hands continuously feeling you up when you arch your back into his mouth.

"yes, angel?" his eyes flicker up with lust, "enjoying yourself for me?"

argenti receives no response, at least not a verbal one, instead you hum dazedly as your eyes flutter shut when his nose rolls between the flesh that protected the little pearl on your cunt, your swollen pussy aching to feel more of the friction it so desperately desires.

"such a good girl," he groans into your pussy, lowering one hand from your thigh to your hole as he gently pushes into it before curling deep to scissor your cunt. fuck, argenti simply cannot tear his eyes off you.

you're just so impossibly perfect to him, and he treats you like an ancient treasure whenever he received the gift of going down on you.

you repeatedly whisper his name imbedded in praises as you left it to your crumbling voice to find his ears— and argenti wasn't sure on who, out of the two of you, would break under the pressure first.

because listen closely now, your pussy was like none he has ever tasted before and he hopes you know it by the way he circles the tip of his pink muscle so precisely into you.

you turned him achingly hard, his tongue pressing upwards and back only to lap slightly faster, ugh, he swears that every time you chant his name or tremble your legs around his head he can feel his cock throb in his pants, pushing harder and harder against his boxers.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Country Honey

 ♡ featuring: ranchhand!toji x richgirl!reader

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

 ♡ wc: 16.5k+ (AHHHHHH)

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

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

“Almost there.” 

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

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

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

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

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

You could die right now. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*Chop* 

You clutch the side of the parted door. 

*Chop* 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pompous ass instigatin’ little-” 

“-Callous disrespectful pig!” 

“-Brat.”  

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit” you mumble.  

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

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

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

“Yea, nobody you know.” 

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

“Jerk.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Slip. Crash! 

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

Brown. It’s on your face.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

That shit-eating grin. 

“No need to thank me, miss piggy.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, and did I mention very annoying? 

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

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

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

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

“HEY!”  

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

“This is my bathroom you idiot!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get yer feet off the wheel.” 

“Mm, nah. It’s not hurting anyone.” 

“’S hurting me.” 

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

“What did I-” 

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

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

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

“Sorry.” 

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

“What are you doing?” 

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

Your ears perk up, “She?” 

“Yup.” 

“Does she have a name?” 

“Nope.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe Rosy? Oh, or Susie.” 

“Think I’ll just call ‘er (Y/N).” 

“Huh? Why my name?” 

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

“Why not an A?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.” 

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

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

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

“…What?”  

“Oh. Uh, nothing.” 

He returns to what he was doing.  

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

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

“Yeah.” 

“So…did he figure it out?” 

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

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

“Can’t. Hands full.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not important” he responds curt. 

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

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

“…like someone cut you” you mutter. 

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

“I-“  

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

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

The space between you widens with each step. 

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

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

“Thank you for the tea.” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Everythin’ alright, sugar?” 

“Think I messed up.” 

“Hm? How so?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“...” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you know where he is?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What kind of horse is it?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yup, since I got to the farm.” 

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

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

“It would be if I never finished school.” 

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

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

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

“Forget it-” 

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

“I want to help people.”   

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

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

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

“That’s not what I meant.” 

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

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

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

“My bad.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you scared now?”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ya have no sense of danger.” 

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

“...I'm glad.” 

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

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

“Ouch.”  

“Careful, hun.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Should I write one for you, too?” 

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

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

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

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

“Wanna go for a ride?” he calls. 

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

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

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

He holds his hand out, “Up.” 

“To where?” 

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

“Might wanna hold on.”  

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

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

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

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

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

“How come?” 

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

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

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

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

“It looks cute on me.” 

“So what?” 

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

“I think you’re a brat.”  

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

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

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

“The feeling’s mutual” you retort. 

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

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

 scoops and sets you down.  

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

“I guess this is it.” 

“Yup” he agrees. 

“Try not to miss me too much.”  

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

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

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

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

“Heh. Yes, ma’am.” 

“So…um.” 

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

“Y-yeah.” 

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

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

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

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

“Like I wanna look at you.” 

“I wouldn’t mind if ya did.” 

“God, you’re so far up your own-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wanna do so much worse.” 

“Then do it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe you’re not doing good enough.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you cry. 

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

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

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

“Y’know just how to get me.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s” 

“Pussy” 

“Is this?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“I wanna sleep” he grumbles. 

“Then you should’ve let me leave” 

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

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

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

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

[peachmilkytea]

cw: smut, unprotected sex / creampie, dirty talk, pet names, all characters are 18+, mdni, not proofread, idk this is just gratuitous porn

it's been a long day, and it's late.

as soon as you stepped into the house two hours ago, you wasted no time in pushing sylus back toward his big bed and asking him to ravish you.

in turn, he had wasted no time in tossing you down onto said bed and bending you in half with your knees up on his shoulders.

which is where you are now, getting fucked impossibly hard, sobbing and writhing, overwhelmed by sylus' huge cock and the way his big body moves over you.

sylus has been thrusting into you with wild abandon for quite some time. and continues to do so now, his muscular frame glistening with sweat as he takes you roughly.

he growls in pleasure at the sound of your sobs and moans. ❝ you're mine, sweetie, ❞ he grunts between labored breaths. ❝ no one else can make you feel like this. ❞

the mirror on the ceiling shows you the angry red marks your nails are leaving all along his sculpted back, but you can't help it. no one has ever made you feel like this — this toe-curling, hair-raising type of pleasure.

you can feel yourself creaming all over his pistoning cock as you pant, ❝ only you, sy. i belong to you ... ❞

he grins at this response, his thrusts growing ever more powerful as he takes you harder and faster. he leans down to capture your lips in a fiery kiss, his tongue insistently lapping into your eager mouth. ❝ that's right, kitten, ❞ he mutters hotly against your lips. ❝ you belong to me now. ❞

his giant cock is stretching you so gloriously, dragging against your walls and making fireworks explode behind your eyes.

you reach down to rub furiously at your swollen clit before sylus knocks your hand away with his much larger one and growls, ❝ let me. ❞

he takes over easily, rubbing your clit with a fierce intensity that sends waves of electricity shooting through your body.

the moan you let out sounds more like a shriek, arching your back as you feel yourself approaching the edge. ❝ yes, sylus! right there. ❞

the rough pads of sylus' fingers abusing your clit like this make you abandon his back and clench your fingers instead in the plush bedsheets. ❝ sy, ❞ you sob pitifully, ❝ 'm getting close ... ❞

sylus grins wickedly, still working your clit, fingers moving deftly over that sensitive little nub. ❝ i can feel it, kitten. you're getting so ... ngh, so tight and wet around me. ❞

you can feel it — how you're tightening, face going red as you realize your greedy cunt is trying to milk sylus for all he's worth before it cums. ❝ s-sy ... that's so embarrassing ... ❞

sylus chuckles darkly in response, watching your face contort and go all rosy. ❝ don't be embarrassed, sweetie. ❞ he gazes down at you, his fingers never stopping that relentless assault on your clit. ❝ you're mine to pleasure and use however i want. and i do love it when you get so ... juicy for me. ❞

you whine, trying to hide your face against the silken sheets, but sylus braces a big, strong hand against your jaw and forces you to look up at him.

he leans in close, breath hot against your face as he speaks. ❝ look at me, kitten, ❞ he commands gently but firmly. ❝ i want to see the pleasure i'm giving you. you're mine and i won't ever let you hide from me. ❞

you make another embarrassing little noise and buck against him, now rubbing your clit against the hard muscles of his lower abdomen as he continues to hammer into you. ❝ oh, daddy ... ❞

you never call him that; in all honesty you normally think the nickname is cringe. but that's just how he's making you feel right now — like he's your daddy, like he's taking care of every inch of you.

sylus' wicked mouth stretches wide at the name, his thrusts growing more fervent, more hurried. ❝ that's right, kitten. i'm your daddy now. and i'm going to take care of you in every way possible. ❞

his hips are now practically slamming into you, forcing all of his thick girth into your gushy, spasming little pussy.

❝ daddydaddydaddy, ❞ you babble senselessly, now running your hands all over his broad shoulders and down his chiseled biceps, which are straining with the effort of holding himself above you. ❝ love calling you that, my daddy, mmmgh ... ❞

a deep groan rumbles through sylus' body above you, his own pleasure clearly mounting if the pulsing of his cock against your sweet, gummy walls is anything to go by. ❝ yes, kitten. ❞ his voice is strained, labored in that way that tells you he's getting close. ❝ say it again. call me daddy again. ❞

seemingly unable to help himself, or to wait for your reply, he leans down to capture your lips in a fierce kiss, his tongue hungrily plundering your mouth as he doubles down in his fucking, thrusts now coming choppily, but even harder than before.

❝ mmmfgh, d'ddy ... ❞ you mumble against his lips. his mouth is so soft, in harsh counterpoint to his hard, sharp thrusts now rocking your body up the bed. ❝ c-can we cum at the same time, daddy? pretty please? ❞

he pulls back from the kiss, staring down at you with an utterly sinful gleam in his crimson eyes. ❝ of course we can, sweetie, ❞ he rasps. ❝ let's cum together. ❞

suddenly, he's pushing your legs further back against your chest, hips slapping off the backs of your thighs as he drives himself home. and that's when you start to cum, wailing desperately as you claw your nails down his arms and your entire body twitches underneath of him.

the remainder of sylus' composure finally snaps as he feels your tightness clenching around him, sending him over the edge. ❝ fuck, kitten. ❞ his hips stutter, rope after rope of his hot seed shooting deep inside of you. ❝ love when you cum with me ... ❞

he continues to thrust, stroking you through it as you both come down, kissing you, touching you, caressing you like a treasure.

you mewl like an actual kitten, toes curling and flexing as you pant hard, red-faced and sensitive with sylus kissing you gently, petting your hair away from your forehead.

❝ oh, daddy, ❞ you gasp breathlessly, chasing his lips for more sweet kisses. ❝ thank you ... ❞

sylus cards those long, thin fingers through your hair. ❝ you're welcome, sweetie. ❞ and then, low and in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine, ❝ i'll always take care of you. ❞

[celuere]

Even MORE HCs of Arlecchino taking care of her pregnant wife.

pairing: Arlecchino x fem!reader

context: nothing, domestic Arlecchino is simply consuming me atm.

cw: pregnancy, SOFT Arle, FLUFF, mentions of throwing up

Somebody sedate me I love her so much.

Starting off with how you would quite literally never wake up on your own when pregnancy nausea forced you out of bed again. Arlecchino would literally be right next to you and gently scoop your hair out of your face the moment you bent over the toilet to empty your stomach. Gently stroking your back, whispering soft words of encouragement, telling you it will be over soon. She’d carefully help you back up and lets you rinse your mouth of the awful taste only to carry you back in her own arms.

If you happen to suffer from Hyperemesis gravidarum (which quite literally means that your nausea lasts for the entirety of the pregnancy and not just the first weeks), she either sits down next to you on the bathroom floors offering her lap as bed or she‘ll have a bucket placed next to your bed. But even then she would always be awake when your stomach is acting up.

I don’t think she‘s the type to talk to your belly but she’d definitely lean against it or gently rest her head on top, watching the soft kicks coming from the inside and tracing the spots with her fingers without uttering a single words. She is simply too mesmerized.

DO NOT! and I repeat DO NOT complain about your weight gain EVER to her, that’s Nr. 1 thing she doesn’t play around with. She literally couldn’t give less fucks about how much you gain or how else your body is changing throughout pregnancy. It almost feels insulting to her when you have the nerve to make a comment about stretch marks and she literally CANNOT contain herself and starts to explicitly explain to you why you’re getting stretchmarks, why they’re so visible and why she finds them so attractive. There isn’t a more beautiful and perfect sight to her than her pregnant wife.

Massages you wherever and whenever you need one, no questions asked. She absolutely loves helping you lay back and relax especially after a difficult day of growing another living being inside your body. She‘d run you a bath, even help you shampoo your hair and the rest of you if you’re too exhausted to do it on your own. She is completely and utterly at your disposal.

Will literal buy everything on the market for her babygirl while setting up the nursery because only in hell will she let her baby miss out on anything like she did when growing up in the House of the Hearth. Even tho you start questioning her when she one day comes home with a heat lamp for the changing table „in case she gets cold“ (Sandrone still owed her a favor)

Literally don’t try to strike up a conversation with her ass when you two happen to be in the same room as her. Her only answer will be few curt nods, an approving but absentminded „mhm“, and if she is feelings generous even a „Interesting… carry on…“, all the while her eyes are plastered on you. Talking and laughing occasionally as you get winded up in yet another discussion, your hand caressing the more than visible baby belly, wedding ring glistening in the chandelier light. Plus points of you‘re wearing something that highlights your body. It’s so over for Arle.

But so help her if one day the first contractions set in. You are immediately surrounded by your husband and a few midwives, checking up on you like you just fell down a bunch of stairs until you reassured everyone that you‘re fine and not went into labor. Still, Arlecchino refuses to leave your side for the rest of day and even earns herself a little scolding from you when she tried to talk you into bed again. You know how much you can handle better than her after all, right?

(A/N: I can’t write labor scenarios for the love of it so I just skip this part-) And the moment she finally gets to hold her love in her arms? It’s scary. Usually the Knave is never scared of anything. But when you hold out the little bundle of joy to her with an exhausted smile and tears staining your sweaty face- something inside of her is doubting herself. What if she accidentally hurts her? What if- lord and behold- she lets her fall down on accident? She is so tiny and fragile, it takes a few encouraging words from your side before Arle finally musters up the courage and very slowly and carefully lifts her babygirl up into her own arms. And she might never want to put her down ever again. She fits so perfectly into her embrace and it also feels like it to her. Like a missing puzzle piece being put into a place as she can’t help but gently stroke her finger over her daughters cheek, completely mesmerized by how soft she feels against her touch.

She starts thanking you. One time. Two times three times. Four times. Over and over as she showers your face in kisses until sleep eventually drags you into its depths. Goodness how could someone as cursed as her be blessed with this wonderful gift? What did she do to deserve this precious little girl in her arms- and her wonderful wife? It has to be some kind of apology from Celestia themself. It has to be.

So help this woman when her daughter opens her eyes for the first time and she stares into a direct replica of her own. Only with your eye color. Her breath catches in her throat for a short moment as she looks down at the beautiful color grazing the x‘s in her eyes, the little white hairs on the top of her head- but yet she still looks so similar to you. So similar it makes her heart ache. How is it possible for something this small to reduce the fourth Fatui Harbinger to nothing but a besotted idiot? This bundle in her arms- this life in her cursed arms. A testimony of how deep your love for each other actually went- it only belongs to the two of you. And she‘ll do anything in her power to protect it. No matter the cost.

SOOOOOOOOB I LOVE PAPA ARLE SM I CANT I ALENAIBEBE EEUGEUGHEUHH I WANNA CRY

[peachdues]

AGING HEADCANONS — SANEMI SHINAZUGAWA

just a lighthearted drabble about Sanemi dealing with the effects of age on his body.

CW: 600 words • MDNI • suggestive/implied sexual content • comfort • fluff

Sanemi Shinazugawa strikes me as the type to retain a great deal of his strength as he ages. He takes pride in his muscles, and even after the Corps is disbanded, he keeps up his physique. After all, while the threat of demons has been purged from the earth, humans are still a fickle enemy. Best to be prepared to defend himself — and his family — at all times.

But what Sanemi is not prepared for is the impact his rigorous training has on his body as he gets older. Sure, he’s strong; always has been, always will be. Unfortunately for the former Wind Hashira, however, Sanemi is learning that reaching his forties has its consequences.

His joints, for example, are just the latest casualty.

“The fuck do you mean I threw a hip out?” He grumbles you help him settle into your sofa with a grunt. “I’ve done these exercises every day for more than twenty damn years —“

“Not as flexible as you were in your twenties, are you?” You half-scold, half tease, wiping your hand across your damp forehead.

When you’d awoken that morning, you hadn’t expected the labor of lugging your husband back inside his mansion before he’d completed his morning training.

You’d been in the middle of preparing tea for you to share once he’d finished — a well-settled part of your routine, one you knew he looked forward to as much as you did, even now, twenty years after you’d married. Never before had this sacred ritual been disrupted until this morning, when Sanemi’s strangled yell sent the birds scattering into the sky, and the tea kettle nearly out of your hands.

You’d hurried out into your gardens, where Sanemi maintained his sparring ring, complete with thick, wooden posts and an orderly litter of training weapons. There, sprawled across the ground, had been your husband, spitting every filthy word in his lexicon into the dirt, his hand gingerly braced atop his right hip.

In your retirement from the Demon Slayer Corps, Sanemi had been the more active one between the two of you. You regretted not keeping up with training, however, when you’d been forced to shove your shoulder under your husband’s and half-heave, half-drag him back inside your shared estate.

Once settled, you help guide Sanemi’s right leg up onto the cushion, keeping his hip elevated. “I’ll ring for Kanao or one of her girls, later.”

The Kamado family lived well over an hour away in the mountains. Had Sanemi been injured even a decade earlier, you would’ve panicked. While you were certain the doctors in the nearby prefecture were perfectly competent, there were none you trusted more than Kanao or her daughters. Thankfully, you no longer had to rely on crows or even mail services to reach them, Sanemi having purchased a telephone a few years earlier.

To your surprise, Sanemi doesn’t argue, instead turning his attention to the way you rub at the small of your back.“You okay?”

“Better than you,” you retort easily, forcing yourself to walk away, spine straight, into the kitchen to fetch the tea you’d prepared. Like you’d let him see how age was beginning to affect you, too. Heaven knows the kind of trouble you’d be in if both of you were down for the count, and you don’t think you could survive the embarrassment of sending after one of your children for assistance.

You return a moment later with the tea tray, laden with the delicate china Sanemi had gifted to you on your wedding day. He grunts his thanks when you hand him his cup, filled halfway with his tea of choice — green — sharp and bitter, the way he liked.

You busy yourself with pouring tea for yourself. “Maybe this is your sign to ease up. It’s perfectly normal that you can’t do the same things you once could, you know.”

He deflects with a cocky, smug grin. “Don’t have any trouble keepin’ up with you, darlin’. At least, you haven’t had any complaints.”

Humming, you settle into one of the great armchairs across from him. “If memory serves me right, your knee popped rather loudly the other night.”

He’d been thrusting hard up into you while you braced your hands against the headboard when a loud pop! had disrupted the steady rhythm of your hips. And, try as he might, your husband’s furtive attempt at covering the sound with a loud moan hadn’t been successful.

Sanemi’s cheeks redden, and he drops his gaze back to his tea, muttering under his breath. You smirk. Y/N, one; Sanemi, zero.

“Gettin’ old sucks,” he sighs, blowing on the steaming liquid. “Bet fuckin’ Uzui doesn’t have to deal with this shit. Tomioka and I are the only ones who still train consistently.”

“Yes, well, Uzui has his plate full.”

It was true; between three wives and four children, you reckon the former Sound Hashira got more than his fair share of physical activity.

You glance to your husband, then, chewing lightly on your lip. “I’m happy you have these issues, you know. These aches and pains — I think they’re a good thing.”

Sanemi snorts, though his eyes warm when he meets your gaze across the sitting room. “You just like seein’ me knocked down a few pegs.”

“Not at all,” you set your tea cup on the lacquered table between you and smooth your hands over your skirt. “I like knowing you’re here to age.”

Solemnity passes over his face then, softening the irritated set of his mouth. You know, as well as he, how lucky the two of you are to be sitting here, bemoaning the woes of aging, when so many of your comrades hadn’t the same fortune.

Every morning you see is a blessing; every new line appearing by your eyes or the corners of your mouths, a luxury far too many never got to indulge. No matter how inconvenient your stiffening joints or limited mobility became, you would never not be grateful.

When Sanemi finds his voice, it is hoarse with emotion. “Get over here. I wanna kiss you.”

Oh, you would love nothing more, but now that you’ve sat down, you find the concept of standing up almost an impossible feat. Perhaps the two of you really are doomed.

Busted, you grin, sheepish. “Can’t. My back is a little more sore than I let on.”

Sanemi groans and you laugh. “Then I stand by what I said. Gettin’ old fuckin’ sucks.”

[k3n-dyll]

Taking Turns [Ellie W. + Abby A.]

||Men, minors, and ageless DNI

CW: Overstim, dom!Ellabs, sub!reader, fingering(r!receiving), cunnilingus(r!receiving) edging,  strap usage(r!receiving), dacryphillia(?), reader has hair, POC friendly cus duh, AFAB reader,strap on referred to as a cock, porn with no plot, no y/n usage

Word Count: 1,032 Masterlist. Divider Creds

A/N: I haven't written in so long so please give me some grace if this is ass

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷“Watch her fuck you, baby…there you go ” Ellie coos, a gentle hand playing with your hair, her soft lips occasionally pressing little kisses to the top of your head as you rest against her. She’s relaxed, slouched up against the headboard as she holds you to her stomach, free hand gently tugging at your hardened nipple, pinching the sensitive bud between her fingers. 

Your mind is completely blank by now, jaw slack, tears rolling down your cheeks as Abby’s thick fingers pump mercilessly in and out of you. Her face is buried snug between your legs, her sharp blue eyes staring up at you, watching the way your face contorts in pleasure as she laps at your overly sensitive clit. 

The contrast is overwhelming. 

Ellie mumbling sweet praises in your ear that you can barely process as she holds you, her grip firm yet gentle as she practically forces you to watch as the freckled blonde ravages you with her mouth and fingers. You can’t quite remember how many minutes it’s been since this started, but it feels like it's been hours, the two women having switched places three- no four times by now. 

“Look at you, already fuckin’ crying and we haven’t even started with you yet” Ellie remarks, her long fingers untangling from your hair to wipe at your tear-stained cheeks. It’s not like you can help it at this point. Ever since the last switch, Abby has been deliberate in the way she handles your body, getting you right up to the edge of your orgasm over and over again before pulling away, leaving you breathless and desperate, clenching around the phantom of her fingers. Like right now. Abby feels you begin to pulse around her digits, your whimpers and cries of pleasure becoming louder by the second, and just like that her pace slows to a stop.

"A-Abs, please-" You start as Abby pulls away from your cunt completely, a string of her saliva and your juices breaking between her lips and your glistening folds as she sits up.

"Don't you want this baby?" Abby asks, the "this" in question being the ribbed, purple silicone strap resting on her hips. As she speaks, she positions her body between your legs, wrapping her large hand around the toy and gently tapping it against your swollen clit, making you twitch. You feel like you could cum from that alone. You nod your head vigorously in response to Abby's question, and the blonde just fucking laughs.

"Use your words, pretty girl." she says, her voice firm. While Abby and Ellie don't often agree on a lot of things, one thing they can agree on is the fact that your voice sounds like heaven. Especially when you're like this. It feels good to know that, but at the same time, it's difficult not to become irritated when they're constantly expecting you to speak to them clearly through ragged breaths and fucked out whines.

You can't help but let out an impatient, drawn-out groan at Abby's demand but you try your best anyways, begging for her to "just fuck you already" through labored breathing. Normally that wouldn't work, Abby would prefer to hear you ask nicely but she can practically feel your desperation, and she's just as needy so she lets it slide this once. Your breath catches in your throat when Abby's movements transition from gently rubbing the mushroom-like tip of her cock against your drooling pussy to pushing it inside. Ellie's voice overlaps over the high-pitched whine that escapes your throat at the feeling.

"Shh, shh, shh, it's okay. You can take it" Ellie murmurs, her hands still gently groping and tugging at your tits, her green eyes staring intently at the way Abby is sliding into you.

Abby pushes the silicone deep, all the way to its base before letting out a low groan as if she could actually feel your warm walls surrounding it. Her thrusts are gentle at first, but it doesn't last long before the sound of skin on skin begins filling the room, along with your breathless cries. The blonde is ruthless, but she takes her time, pulling her cock almost all the way out of you before slamming it back in at full force. Her strong hands grip onto your thighs so hard that her fingernails dig into your skin, soft grunts and moans forcing their way out of her each time the base of the strap bumps against her throbbing bundle of nerves.

"A-Abby I'm gonna- fuck" Your legs are shaking uncontrollably, the mere thought of her stopping right now almost makes you let out a sob, but she doesn't. Abby is way too focused on how fucking good you look and sound right now to even think about teasing you anymore, not to mention her own inner thighs becoming moist with her wetness with each thrust, close to cumming herself.

"I know, I know baby- Jesus Christ" Abby mutters between gritted teeth, her eyebrows knitted together as her thrusts become more erratic. "Cum for me, c'mon."

If you didn't know any better, you would think the muscular blonde had some kind of remote control to your body because you cum almost immediately after she says it, your body convulsing as your orgasm rips through you, the feeling almost too much after being denied it so many times. Abby reaches her climax quickly after, her hips involuntarily snapping forward a few more times as her body twitches from the pleasure before she leans over you to catch her breath.

When she comes down from her high, Abby pushes off of you, the silicone sliding out slowly and sending a shiver through your body. Your legs go limp against the bed when she moves, a thin layer of sweat covering your body, eyes threatening to close. Before you get the chance though, you feel a hand tapping against your cheek. It's Ellie. Looking down at you with a shit-eating grin on her face.

"We didn't say you were finished, doll" she says, gently moving you off of her so that she can stand, switching places with Abby. Again.

"I still haven't had my turn, yet"

A/N pt. 2: Thanks for reading! I barely proofread this so I'm sorry if it reads a little odd. Constructive feedback is appreciated!

[moonstruckme]

hey lovely! if you're feelin it, could you maybe do a poly!emt!marauders drabble, where the reader is chronically ill/disabled and usually has pains and problems and sickness, but one day it's really bad and reader asks to go to urgent care, which shocks/worries the others bc they usually are very adamant about not needing to go? no matter how ill i am i always refuse to go to the hospital unless i think i'm like actually dying 😭

Thanks for requesting ml <3

cw: chronic illness, descriptions of pain and mention of nausea, trembling

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 650 words

Your home is always a bit tense when you’re having a flare-up. It’s not your fault, not anyone’s, but your boyfriends feel for you when you’re hurting and they hate not having anything they can do to help. 

Remus can tell it’s a bad one. Ordinarily you try to act as though you aren’t in pain even when you are, tidying and running errands and forcing your way into the kitchen to help with dinner, but for hours now you’ve not wanted to do anything other than sit and breathe. Slow, deep breaths, like you’re trying to reside in your mind and not your body. Your hair is still wet from the warm bath James cajoled you into. Sirius is combing his fingers through it, gently working tangles out of the ends. 

“Still feeling sick, angel?” James asks you. 

You hum in quiet affirmation. Your eyes are closed, so you can’t see the pained helplessness that takes your boyfriend’s expression, but Remus does. He takes James’ hand between his own, rubbing over his knuckles. 

Sirius loosens a knot in your hair. “Do you think a distraction might help? We could read something.”

You mumble, as if even speech is too much, “I don’t think I could concentrate on anything. Sorry.” 

“You don’t have to be sorry, babydove,” Remus says gently. “Where is the pain the worst?” 

Again, your voice sounds labored. “In my face.” 

James makes a quiet, heartbroken sound. Though they all know that the location of your pain doesn’t indicate its intensity, Remus has to agree that the way you’ve described it in your face before sounds especially harrowing to him. Burns and aches behind your eyes, throbbing you can feel in your teeth. 

“What’s your level?” he asks. 

You continue taking deep breaths. None of the boys push you. Sometimes it takes you a while to find a rating for your pain, to force it into the context of all the flare-ups you’ve had before and assign it a number between one and ten. You tend to undershoot it anyway, so Remus knows that when you rate something a four it’s more likely a six, and a six is more likely a seven or an eight. 

“I think…” you say after a minute. “I think I want to go to A&E.” 

Behind you, Remus sees Sirius’ hands still in your hair, his eyes widening. He feels much the same. You never want to go to A&E. Your boyfriends have even mostly stopped suggesting it, your refusal is so guaranteed. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” James reaches for you, crestfallen, his hand clasping around your own. “It’s really bad, huh?”

Your quiet hum breaks Remus’ heart. “Can we?” you ask. 

Remus knows it has to be awful for you to ask. You don’t like to go to A&E, and you like even less than that the hassle of going, having to divulge your symptoms to your boyfriends and sit in waiting rooms and talk to doctors. There’s no possibility that this is a decision you came to lightly. 

So Remus tries not to make you regret it. 

“Yeah, lovely.” He gestures for James to go get the car keys, and Sirius starts easing a hand behind your back, helping you up. “Of course we can. Do you want your hot pack for the wait?” 

“Yes, please.” 

“I’ve got it!” James calls from the kitchen. You all hear the microwave turn on. 

“Thanks for telling us, sweetness.” Sirius kisses the side of your head. He’s supporting most of your weight, the tremor back in your leg now that you’re standing and your balance unsteady. 

“Thanks for helping,” you murmur. 

Sirius makes a quiet scoffing sound, levity feigned for your benefit. “Don’t thank us for that, we love helping you. We’re gonna get you some good help at the hospital too, okay?” 

Remus is going to make sure that’s true.

[aronarchy]

There is horrific unchecked child torture and isolation rampant in public school. What the fuck is wrong with you? How can you be so fucking callous that you’ll just straight-up fucking dismiss the school abuse survivors who were BEGGING people to fucking listen on that post? It IS NOT about public school just “not being perfect” (way to downplay it and implicitly strawman their points as unreasonable and frivolous) but SYSTEMATICALLY AND SEVERELY ABUSIVE AND VIOLENT IN LEGALIZED WAYS.

Do you not realize that thinking one’s abuse wasn’t “as bad” or “bad enough” and that other survivors must hate you for trying to speak up for yourself IS ONE OF THE MOST COMMON FEELINGS ABUSE SURVIVORS EXPERIENCE? How the fuck do you think it is in any way okay to try to actively make such feelings WORSE by ADVOCATING THAT THOSE ABUSERS’ POINTS OF VIEW WERE RIGHT.

I cannot imagine being this utterly fucking callous.

Good for you you weren’t abused in public school, acknowledge that you’re lucky. Now shut up.

public(/outside private) school apologists are always SO FUCKING TRIGGERING. when it comes from within youthlib spaces it feels like such a fucking betrayal. even if you experienced trauma from homeschooling THAT MEANS YOU SHOULD ABOLISH THE FAMILY TOO, NOT DO APOLOGIA FOR FORMALIZED/INSTITUTIONAL EDUCATION as if the grass is automatically greener on the other side (it’s not!). and so many adults treating it like it’s somehow radical now to say public schools are good and great and leftist institutions? what in the actual fuck?

it just sounds like people don’t fucking care about our years of trauma from abuse, coercion, indoctrination, and forced labor. especially those of us who are disabled. or how schooling usually acts as an additional vector for parents to abuse us.

absolutely disgusting. pro-public-school rhetoric absolutely should not fly in any youth liberationist spaces. if you are a child abuse apologist, of ANY variety, go away.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 6

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, smut (piv, biting, marking, mild choking) DD:DNE, violence/death, panic/anxiety attacks, mentions of pregnancy/labor, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: ayo my high valyrian is probably wrong so if you know it is just roll with it. girl this fic doesnt want to end wtf i- if you like my work, please consider leaving a comment or reblog as I really look forward to them | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat

You fall asleep in Daemon's arms as he walks back to the Keep. He cannot help himself. His lilac eyes go back and forth between your face and where he was going. There seemed to be nothing else. It was just him, the moon, and your breathing against his neck.

When he reached the door to his marriage chambers, and he was taken aback by the sudden galloping of a Cargyll twin. The knight opens the door then makes way. Daemon turns over his shoulder and realizes both brothers had been following him.

There is an angry annoyance that forces up his throat, but when you release an audible sigh, and he remembers it was he who had instructed them to retrieve you. He says two words before entering the room and kicking the door closed, "thank you."

Daemon lays you down and gulps at the sight of your body. Your brown hair falls over your face as you shuffle and reach out for nothing. He realizes then, as the urge to push your tresses away intensifies, that he's never witnessed you sleep before.

He removes your shoes, placing them at the foot of your bed.

And he never will.

Daemon walks off. He's five steps from making an exit when he hears the noise you make. He stills and waits a few seconds. You make the noise again.

With a line between his brows, he returns to you, peering over your body. Indeed, you were still asleep, but from the way your lips and forehead curled, you were dreaming of something unpleasant. He sighs, clasping his hands, "amīvindigon sesīr isse ēdrugon." Tormented even in sleep.

There is a discomfort that spreads in his ribs as tears leave your closed eyes. He shakes his head "mundagon riña." Miserable girl.

He sits beside you, staring for a moment before finally brushing your hair back, doing the same with your tears. While caressing your soft skin, he finds his thumb itching to smoothen out the creases on your face that seem to only deepen. Under his breath, he speaks to you the way he would Caraxes when he's overcome with emotion. He forfeits the commanding tone however and whispers each word.

At some point, both his hands find your cheeks. He is so caught up in tracing your lips, he doesn't even realize you were no longer in distress, nor does he know of your consciousness until you lean into his touch.

He is frozen when his eyes meet yours. He starts slightly when you sit up, heart racing when you embrace him. His pulse thunders so loud that you pull away and examine his face in worry. Daemon's breath hitches when your hands clutch his cheeks. Your eyes rove across his face and again, your forehead curls. You speak in the softest of voices, "what's wrong?"

He thinks for a moment. He stares at you. You just had a nightmare, yet you ask him what is wrong? He shifts and rests his hand at the small of your back. He shakes his head as his expression falls. He whispers, "mirre iksis sȳrī, jorrāeliarza." All is well, beloved.

You do not understand him.

He repeats, "all is well."

Your features slowly relax.

His harden as he tests the word he omitted in translation, "beloved."

His belly flutters at the faint chuckle you release. His eyes begin to widen when you slowly lean closer.

Daemon pulls his head back, intent on watching what you, but he freezes when you kiss his cheek, again and again. You kiss his jaw, his jowl, his lips. Suddenly, he can smell you so clearly. Suddenly, he pulls you in.

You gather your skirts as you climb onto his lap. You sigh as you deepen your kiss him. He makes a strangled sound against your mouth when you grind on his crotch. He digs his fingers into your hips before pushing your dress out of the way to claw at your thighs.

He sighs when your hands brush his chest. His breathing grows heavy at your attempt to free him of his top. He helps you get him out of his garbs, and soon he is getting you out of yours. Once you're both naked, he pulls you in, pressing his skin against yours, unwilling to part from your body. Simultaneously, he has a strong urge to examine you, to commit to memory the hue of your skin and the curves of your flesh. Daemon, in all his greed, tries to do both at once.

With you still sitting on him, he squeezes your bum, securing you on his lap as he drinks in your visage. He shamelessly moans and pants as you continue to grind on him, and now he can feel your wetness on his hardening member. As you undo the tie of his hair and comb the silver strands back, he remembers the first time you'd ever fucked.

He is hypnotized by your confidence, by how unbridled and overt your desire for him is. Nothing remains of the timid little girl he claimed on the beach. You were lust incarnate, the goddess of sex. You scratch your nails up his nape and besiege him with open mouthed kiss. He returns your fervor, scratching his nails up down back, garnering out a shaky moan from your lips

He breaks away only to ogle at your breasts and he knead them. His breath grows heavier at your continued grinding and hitches upon catching your dazed reaction. He spews out a string of High Valyrian curses before capturing your ribcage. He sinks his face into your chest and you mewl at the feel of his hot mouth on your breast, feeling restless and needy.

"Daemon," you tug at the roots of his hair, "I need you."

You are uninclined to wait for him as you lean into his shoulder while your other hand grabs his cock. Your breast in his mouth muffles the noise that leaves him as sink down on him. You yelp when he nips your sternum, but it does not deter you from beginning to maneuver your hips up and down.

"Fuck, fuck," Daemon huffs against your chest. He looks up at you, going mad at the sight of your closed-eyed concentration. He licks a stripe of sweat building on the side of your neck and thrusts up in sync to your movements.

"N-ñuha dārilaros," my prince falls from your lips.

He moans at that. He straightens and traps you tightly in both his arms, "where did you fucking learn that?"

You squeak as his thrusts grow more vigorous, "I- mmm- in- uh- book."

Daemon licks your lower lip before biting it, "desperate hussy," he moans against your mouth, "iksan jāre naejot pryjagon ao." I am going to destroy you.

You gasp as he pushes you back like you were nothing. Your legs immediately lock around his hips as he comes atop you and your voice trembles when his hips thrust slower but deeper as he adjusts you to the center of the bed. He nuzzles into your neck, licking your jaw. He then pushes himself up and rubs your the curve of your ass.

You yield to him as he pushes your thighs back, bringing your legs over his shoulders. Using his weight to keep you down, he takes your wrists and pins them above you while the other tightens around your throat.

He fucks you thoroughly in this position and you can do nothing but whimper, arch your back, and feel your arousal drip onto the bed.

His hand brushes up your neck and soon he's tracing your parted lips with his thumb. You take him in and bite his finger. It stokes a flame in his belly, thus why he pulls away to push hand into the back of your knees.

You are helpless as he plows into you. Daemon, in his delirium, reverts back into his mother tongue. He sings your body praises in High Valyrian. He calls you dirty names as he slaps his hips into yours with a wet squelch. Your fucked-out expression pulls out an honest confession of how pretty he think you'd look stuffed with his seed.

Of course, you cannot understand a word he's saying, nor do you know how much calling him name is egging him on.

He watches you, his darling doe. The dragon in him relishes your screwed eyes and opened mouth. You throw your head back as you chase your building pleasure, meanwhile Daemon feels his stomach tighten as his own nears.

Fuck, you were beautiful. It would be a shame to waste his seed.

A deep line forms between his brows as he imagines the child you would bear him. Fuck. He does not want it.

He grabs your jaw and pushes your head to the side. It's enough to push you over the edge. He curses as he feels you tighten around him. You're so hot and wet and divine, he grits his teeth to build his resolve. Quickly, he quickly pulls out, gliding his cock back and forth your slick folds, sequentially finishing on your pulsing cunt and belly, just as he always does.

The image is nothing new, but it drives him no less wild. Behold, the Lord Hand's dearest daughter, all dirty with his molten come. It's a wicked, wet dream made reality. It was all his.

But there was something different. Daemon doesn't just pull away and roll over. He stares at you for a while, watching you catch your breath as he does the same. He stares at the mess he's made of you, and yes, you were filthy but you were also glimmering. He gulps, before grabbing his discarded clothes to clean you up.

He wets his dress shirt with water then wipes you down. He does the same to himself and catches you staring.

His instinct is to ruin the moment, to berate you for looking so dumbstruck and to praise the prowess of his cock, but he cannot find it in him to do so with how utterly enchanting you look in the afterglow of your love m— fucking.

You reach out to him.

His heart races.

"Stay," you whisper.

If there's one thing he hates, it's people telling him what to do.

... why then was such a simple word so compelling?

You fix the pillows on the bed as your husband crawls beside you. Daemon feels his throat constrict as you throw yourself on him. He is unable to move as you press your chests together and snake your leg over his hips. He does not know why he's become petrified by your touch. You trace your thumb across his face, "you're so beautiful."

Daemon does not reply. He cannot.

His brows furrow when he thinks he notices your eyes water. They furrow deeper when you smile and laugh out, "I wish you were real."

You feel sick after saying that.

He feels sick after hearing that.

Your prince shakes his hand and takes the hand you had on his face, "I am real."

You nod and laugh again. "I believe you."

Why then do your tears fall?

Daemon lets you curl into him. You latch onto him so tightly, he feels you would not be able to push you away even if he wanted. He doesn't want to though.

You fall asleep in his arms.

You wake up all alone.

You groan at the sound your servants telling you to rise. You brush your brown hair off your shoulder and knit your brows at the feel of your night gown. A pit instantly forms in your belly. Of course it had been a dream.

Hot tears that instantly rush down your cheeks. You hide underneath your blankets and manage to croak, "leave me alone."

You weep into your pillows for you did not know any better. You did not know Daemon had slept with you. You did not know when he awoke, he watched you sleep until the last minute. You did not know he put you into the clothes you wore because you shivered without his heat.

You hear your servants fuss over you. They ask if you're ill and in need of a maester. The only response you give are sniffles and groans. They ask if you will be able to attend today's tourney.

You moan, "what?"

"It will be starting soon, milady," one of the servants say, "do you not want to see your husband joust? He is quite good."

You know she says it to entice you, but it only makes you feel sick. After all, you did not know Daemon roused early, only because he needed to prepare for the tourney. You never will.

The same servant says, "and your brother? Isn't it his last day in King's Landing?"

You push your blankets down and stare at your two servants.

"Milady," the other says softly, "it would be good to attend."

"I do not want to behold my brother in such violence," you snuggle into bed.

The servants turn to each other, and one offers, "you can close your eyes upon collision, princess."

You sigh and shake your head. You think of Daemon. You think of how he'll surely hurt Gwayne if they face each other. Your think of how he'd done so in a tourney once before. You shake your head, "I do not want to go."

So you do not.

When the tourney commences, Daemon is most eager to make his entrance. One by one, the players are called, and upon his turn, he trots on his horse with a look of pride. He basks in the cheers as his eyes fall to the main balcony, where he quickly spots the king. His expression further brightens at the sight of his brother's smile and his niece's grin. When he spots your sister and your ugly father, he looks the crowd once over, looking for you. His lips flatten when he realizes you're not there. He awaits your arrival, forfeiting the first pick to witness your entrance, then he realizes, you wouldn't be coming. Suddenly, it was as though he never woke up in a good mood.

Meanwhile, you were aimlessly roaming the castle with one Cargyll twin trailing behind you. You do not know who it is, as you cannot find it in you to speak to him. You knew if you did, you'd end up asking him what happened after him and his brother found you in the temple. You did not want to be disappointed by the reality you'd dreamed up Daemon, so you hold your tongue.

You are torn from your lonesome trance when you hear wailing across the hall. You find yourself drawing near to the source, and you realize it was coming from Queen's chambers. Your feet falter when it dawns on you she was now in labor.

One of the servants spots you and curtsies, "princess. Have you come to visit the queen?"

You release a shaky breath, "I-"

"Who is it?!" Aemma snaps loudly then sighs.

You step back, heart racing. You gasp when you knock into Cargyll's chest plate. Another gasp comes when you turn forward and find the face of the queen. She looks distraught and yet she laughs, "your husband visited me just this morning."

You watch as she groans and rubs her belly, "he requires your attention more th-" she winces, "than I."

You cannot help but take her arm, "s-should you not be in bed, my queen?"

Aemma sighs, squeezing your arm in return, "walking can help speed-" she does not continue as her face curls in discomfort.

You feel your breath hitch as she squeezes you tighter, "sh-shall we walk to-together?"

She looks at you, a deep line between her brows, "Daemon was very excited for today's tourney. You should be there cheering for him."

"But-"

Aemma lurches forward as a particularly painful contraction hits her.

She is taken by the midwives and lead back into her chambers. You are so stunned by the encounter, your ward has to reel you back and shake you.

"My princess," he takes your shoulders.

You look at him, unable to speak. Your eyes become glassy but you manage to take deep breaths to calm yourself.

"Do not distress," he says, rubbing your arms, "the queen has everyone she needs at her disposal."

Your lips wobble, "her p-pain must be unbearable."

He cannot help the twist of his face nor how his face reaches out for your cheek, "you need not think about anyone else's pain. You have far too much of your own."

You do not respond to him until you find yourself in the gardens. You are grateful he did not think to lead you into the maester's ward, and guilty that you still do not know who it was accompanying you.

"Erryk?"

"Yes, my princess?"

You turn from the flower bushes to him, "did I get it right?"

He knits his brows and nods, "yes, my princess."

"Apologies for not speaking to you earlier. I... was not in good spirits."

"You needn't apologize for doing what is best for you."

You lower your head, "you are too kind to me."

"I really ought to be kinder," he says, taking your hand in both of his.

You look at him as he rubs your knuckles. You smile and cover his hands with yours.

"I would tell you to watch the tourney if I were kinder," Erryk says.

You laugh, "it is precisely because you are kind that you do not tell me to do such things."

Erryk thinks how inappropriate it was of him to act this way, to hold your hand, to impose his opinions upon you. If he was kinder, he would not be so apparent with his fondness. He mutters, "I am dutiful, my princess, but I am not kind."

You knit your brows at that.

He does not clarify and pulls away, "perhaps you would like to go out and pick flowers again?"

You smile at the thought, but remember your brother, "I do not want to miss my brother. He will leave today before sunset no matter what."

He nods. If he were kinder, he'd offer to take you to the tourney to see your brother while he is still here, but he also does not want to bring you to your husband.

You think of the tourney nonetheless, as well as the queen's words. You sigh and shake your head, "would it be inappropriate to watch the games at this hour?"

Erryk is surprised by your question.

"I do not want to appear as though I meant to make an entrance."

"I assure you," he shakes his head, "no one would think it. It is not your nature."

You chuckle to yourself, turning to your feet, "you're right. They'd probably assume I was subject to the horrors. As it is my nature."

"That is not what I mean-"

"A jest," you smile, "a mere jest."

When you arrive at the tourney, your father immediately assumes exactly what you said, and looks you over in concern. You simply agree with what he assumes to save yourself the trouble but reassure him you were better. You then assume the seat beside Alicent.

It's harder to reassure her, as her worry is more frantic than your father's. She secures her hand in yours throughout the event, and tells you which players she thinks will do poorly so you are not so shocked if they end up on the ground.

You are glad of it, but in truth you pay little attention to the violence. You let your mind wander, counting how many birds fly overhead. You daydream about flying on Caraxes. You daydream about embracing Daemon from behind.

You are only pulled back into reality when you hear your brother's name announced.

Alternatively, Daemon rolls his eyes as he dawdles around his tent, waiting for his turn to bash someone in with his lance.

You perk from your seat, watching the man with the Hightower sigil gallop across the stadium, all the way to you. Gwayne removes his helmet and smiles. He calls out, "I am glad to see you, sister. I was concerned you would not come."

Daemon stills when he hears this and looks out his tent.

"Cast away your concerns. Focus on staying on your horse," you call back.

Gwayne offers his lance, "perhaps your favor will keep me upright, princess."

You roll your eyes at your brother's teasing regard. Still, you stand and throw him a wreath, "do not dare fall off your horse, ser."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he puts his helmet back on.

As the Hightower twins were speaking, Daemon exited his tent and mounted his horse. Without even looking at the man who meant to go against Gwayne, the prince announce he have his turn and gallops off, leaving everyone nothing else to do but follow.

Daemon replaces your brother, huffing as he halts before you. He looks up at you and your parted lips, your braided brown hair, your terribly modest dress. Suddenly, his chipper mood returns to him. He licks his lips and grins, calling out your name.

Alicent turns to you, gripping your hand. Rhaenyra turns to you, chuckling under her breath. Otto turns to you, clenching his jaw. Viserys turns to you, smiling softly. You turn to Daemon, voice breaking, "husb-and."

Your husband releases a breathy laugh. His stomach feels fuzzy, "I am gladdened by your appearance."

Your throat tightens yet your jaw slacks. He is?

Daemon watches you. He waits for your response but receives none. It makes his brows furrow, but his smile remains. He points his lance, "give me your favor."

"I-"

"He's already given her favor, uncle," Rhaenyra says, leaning forward.

Daemon's eyes remain on you, "then she'll give another."

The princess laughs, "she cannot favor two knights. Especially not two knights jousting against each other."

Daemon finally turns to his niece. She smiles at him as he huffs, "fine," but the prince turns to Alicent, "if I cannot have my wife's favor, her sister's suffice."

Rhaenyra turns to Alicent. Alicent turns to you. Your eyes do not leave Daemon. Your sister pulls away and takes the wreath, dropping it on his lance, "I do hope fortune finds you, my prince."

Daemon nods at her.

Alicent sits back down, turning between her friend and her sister. The former looks sulky while the latter looks agitated. Your heart pounds as Daemon smiles at you once he is positioned opposite Gwayne. You misinterpret his expression. Alicent takes your hand, and this time you squeeze her tightly as you turn to your twin, "he will hurt Gwayne."

Your sister watches you gulp and rubs your hand, "it's a tourney."

You turn to Alicent with wide eyes, "precisely," you rapidly shake your head, "I should not have come."

Alicent lowers her head to offer you a solemn expression, "our brother is not made of glass. He is knight and a formidable player in his own regard."

You smile at your sister and nod, trying to find comfort in her words. You look back at Daemon, finding him already looking at you. His grin is renewed and you feel your stomach churn. You shift on your chair and avert your gaze to your brother. Gwayne is already faced forward with his helmet on. You mutter a prayer of protection under your breath.

Daemon's brows knit when you do not turn back to him. He tries to will you to look with his mind, but you do not, not even when the horses begin to run.

Gwayne manages to hit him, the cunt's lance colliding with his chest where his own misses. A point is called and the crowds cheer. Daemon turns to you and finds a look of relief on your face. It causes his lips to tighten. He barks as he charges the second time.

Gwayne hits him again, this time, nearly dismounting. Daemon skids on the railing but manages to get himself upright.

The prince huffs, eyeing his opponent darkly. His eyes trail back to you, finding you looking out to him in concern. Part of his anger dissipates, but then you turn to your brother, gesturing vaguely. Your twin gestures back and you roll your eyes at him. Daemon doesn't understand what it means, but it irritates him all the same.

He huffs and decides to be done with this bother. The prince is silent until the horses start running again. His lance expertly makes the hit, causing the horse to topple forward, effectively sending the ginger cunt flying off. The heavy crashing and loud gasps are music to his ears. Daemon looks back at his opponent and laughs. He chucks his splintered weapon to the side and entices cheers with his victory scream.

The only reason his celebration stops is because he hears shrill scream from the balcony. He turns and finds you standing by the railing, calling out to your brother. Your father and sister are stood behind you, trying to calm you down. You thrash against them and manage to slip away. Daemon watches you leave the balcony and the Cunt Hand gives an apologetic look to the king.

Erryk follows you as you make your way down the arena to Gwayne's tent. He is uneasy by how distressed you were, and though he knew your distress would not wane until you see the condition of your twin, he did not like the idea of you coming to him, lest it inspire the rage of your husband, who was rather happy to watch your brother crumple to the ground.

You find Gwayne laid on a cot, attended by some squires. His helmet is removed and his pained expression makes you run to him.

"Brother," you come to his side, finding relief in the maester that enters his tent.

You tense when your brother calls your name and worriedly wipe the blood that trickled down his philtrum with a towel.

He groans and you pull away, allowing the maester to inspect him. His bent breastplate is removed and you see bruises on his pale chest. The measter presses his ear against his chest and turns to you, "Lord Gwayne is strong. He will be fine."

You breathe a sigh of relief and nods, "thank you. Thank the gods."

"You should not be here," Gwayne groans as he sits up.

You glare at him, gripping your skirt.

"Get her out of here, Carygll," he motions vaguely. Erryk comes to your side on cue.

You scoff, "hypocrite. If you were in my place, would you leave if I asked you?"

"Please," he looks up at you with tired blue eyes, "I do not wish to quarrel."

"Then do not wish me away!" you shake your head, "I-"

Your attention is stolen when your name is called again. You, as does everyone else, turn to the man who walks into the tent. Daemon knits his brows, gaze lingering on your twin before turning to you. He brings his hands behind him and sighs, "See. I did not kill him. You needn't be so worried, darling."

The pet name makes you feel sick. Erryk clenches his jaw.

"Come," he reaches a hand out to you, "your heart will only heavy with worry if you stay here. There's plenty of space in my tent."

Anger builds in you at his callousness. Gwayne recognizes it and curses under his breath. He watches you intently, noticing the twitch of your face twitches and the very moment you resign yourself to your husband's whim. He stares at his lap, unwilling to witness the bitter tears he knew would come after you take his hand.

Daemon shoots Gwayne a shit-eating grin as he walks out of the tent, but the cunt does not even see it. Still, he is pleased as he brings you to his tent and immediately pours you a cup of wine. The prince freezes when he realizes you had been silently sobbing. You stand there aloof as tears wet your face.

The prince drops the cup he meant to offer you and captures your cheeks. He gazes at you in concern and repeats what he had already said, "I did not kill him."

Your eyes focus as he swipes your cheeks. The coldness in your gaze unnerves him, "you did not have to be so cruel."

He pulls his head back, "cruel?"

You say nothing.

Daemon chuckles dryly, releasing you, "we were both in a tourney," he chuckles again, "girl."

You flinch when he calls you that. Your father's face appears in your head.

The prince is riled up by your silence. His stomach is uneasy by the steady flow of your tears. He scoffs, "your brother lost, but your husband-" he enunciates, "won."

You sniffle and wipe your cheeks, "yes," you offer him a smile, "apologies. Congratulations, my prince."

He stills at your words. He finds no satisfaction in it. His jaw feathers and he scoffs again, "do not congratulate me. I've still others to defeat."

You nod and step forward, "yes," you place your hand on his shoulders, "you are not injured at all, are you?"

It's as though your hands were heating his armour. He flinches when you touch his face. You pull your hands away ready to apologize for the intrusion but then he barks, "I am not feeble like you and your twin."

His anger is familiar. It is no worse than that of your fathers, thus how you sustain your stillness.

Somehow it is worse that you do not react.

Daemon clenches his fists at your blankness, "say something, damn it."

You are taken off-guard by the desperation you discern, "w-what do you want me to say?"

"..."

"..."

"Do you have nothing more to tell me than I am cruel?"

The softness of his voice strikes a fear in you that you have not yet known. Your hands begin to tremble.

In a second, his softness is gone, and he snaps, "if you love that cunt so dearly, you should have married him instead."

You are stoic as Daemon storms off. The prince glares at Erryk, who had been waiting outside his tent the whole time, "get that bitch out of here."

Your ward's face contorts in contempt as your husband walks away. When Erryk makes his way towards you, he is unnerved by your stillness. He reaches for your arm, "princess?"

You turn to him and suddenly, you're laughing.

Goosebumps form underneath Erryk's armor.

"He said I should have married Gwayne instead," you turn to him.

He is tense at your eerily jovial expression. He mutters, "I heard."

"I do not ascribe to the unorthodox ways of his house," you shake your head. You laugh again but tears begin to flow after, "he thinks I'm stupid, doesn't he?"

The man gulps at your words and frowns, "even if he thought your skin was green, it would not make it so."

You laugh, but it is not so unsettling this time.

Erryk leads you out of the tent, "where to, my princess?"

"I... would like to go for a swim."

He takes a moment to think but then nods, "there is a stream that not many know of. We could go there. It is no very far."

As the tourney progresses, Daemon takes out his anger on his opponents. The is no satisfaction in any of his wins however, as each time, the looks over his shoulder to search for your face, and each time he is reminded you are not there.

At some point, he's so distracted that one vermin opponent manages to dismount him. He rages and screams for his sword. His foe grabs a flail. In the end, the prince is overpowered and forced to yield. It takes everything in him not to lunge at the stupid fuck as he walks towards the princess and her friend.

He storms to his tent, unwilling to be attended by anyone. He barks as a trembling squire, "I want my wife."

"S-she left with ser Car-"

Daemon kicks his table down.

"I-I— I will go call for her-"

He groans in pure vexation as he removes his armor. He looks down at himself, finding dirt, bruises, and small cuts on his body. His eyes water, but not in pain. You would clearly spare him no sympathy for his injuries. He did not even win. His breathing grows heavy in anger. It doesn't take long until he is overcome with emotion. Instead of drinking the cup of wine he poured himself, he slams it to the ground then proceeds to raze the other furniture in his tent.

[mrmeowski]

Hello~ I just read ur work "Can I" and aughhhh im falling in love with my biases more XD If it alright, could i make 2 requests and you can choose either one or both of em? the characters are fr dan heng, aventurine, dr ratio, jiaoqiu, jing yuan and ae!sunday 1. Them with a s/o who is sensitive to the cold but they refuse to complain to him thinking it may bother them. like how'd they

2. Them with a s/o who wants to exchange bites of food or sweets with them (they have one food and the boi has another that they wanna try basically so they askin fr a nibble). Tempted to see the fluffy behaviours or maybe teasing ones whichever u assume And just in case, I apologise if its too much wrk XP

.🍮♠💙

˚✧𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐄𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞✧˚

Synopsis: You’ve always caught colds quicker than others, and even when you’re uncomfortable, you struggle to speak up, prioritizing others over yourself. But what happens when you meet someone who makes your well-being theirt utmost priority?

CW: Coughing blood [Jing Yuan], injured soldiers [Jiaoqiu], slight character backstory spoilers [Aventurine, Jiaoqiu], slight suggestive

A/N: Hey Anon!! I'm really glad you liked my work and I'll be making both of your requests becuase they look sooo fun to make☺️ And since I'm dried up of HSR ideas

Word Count: 6.5k

Characters: 🧡༻✧ Aventurine [1.4k] 💜༻✧ Dan Heng [872] 🧡༻✧ Dr. Ratio [827] 💜༻✧ Jiaoqiu [985] 🧡༻✧ Jing Yuan [1.1k] 💜༻✧ Sunday [1.4k]

⋇⊰AVENTURINE⊱⋇

Sigonia-IV was a harsh world, its sun scorching during the day and its nights plunging into a cold that felt as though it could freeze your very bones. The people here learned to adapt, to survive under the relentless heat by day and the bitter chill by night.

But for you, the balance was difficult, especially during the cold nights when your body felt as if it were being shredded by the freezing temperatures. You could barely get any sleep, constantly waking in discomfort, wrapped in whatever rags you could find to keep yourself warm.

Your friend, Kakavasha was always the one to notice when you’d start wearing down, never letting you hide it for too long.

"Man, [Name]... you look awful." He pinched your cheek one morning as you rubbed your eyes, groaning as you tried to shake off the exhaustion.

"Shut up," you hissed, swatting his hand away.

You rolled your eyes, feeling the weight of the bags under them. You'd been running on fumes for days, the sleepless nights piling up on you.

His laughter following you as you walked through the dusty streets.

“You know, [Name]... we should skip the labor for the day. Your birthday’s coming up, riiight?”

You yawned and rubbed your eyes again, trying to ignore how tired you really were.

“...You know we can’t,” you muttered, not bothering to look at him.

You knew how it would go. The labor was constant here. There was no such thing as a break unless you could afford it—and you couldn’t. Not on Sigonia-IV.

"Augh, come on, look at you!" He nudged your shoulder with his elbow, forcing you to look at him. His grin was cheeky, a playful glint in his eyes. "You look like a corpse! Just.. one day. I know a spot!"

His persistence made you sigh in defeat. You’d been too exhausted to argue, and deep down, you knew he wasn’t going to let you say no.

“Fine,” you said, giving in with a resigned shrug. "But only this time." His eyes sparkled with excitement, and before you could brace yourself, he’d grabbed your arm, pulling you along as he charged forward.

“Wait—” you stammered, struggling to match his pace as you stumbled over the uneven ground, nearly tripping on rocks and loose debris. “V-Vasha, hold up!” But he either didn’t hear you or chose to ignore your plea, his laughter ringing out as he weaved through the sparse crowd.

Soon, the noise and remnants of the town faded, and you found yourself surrounded by open, barren land. The sun blazed overhead, intense enough that you had to pull your hood up to shield yourself from its harsh rays, but heseemed unfazed by the heat, charging ahead with an energy that felt endless.

“Are we close?” You panted, but he only grinned, slowing down just enough to keep the mystery alive.

You trailed him along a path winding up the side of a rocky slope. The terrain was uneven but soon you found yourself climbing higher until the view stretched out into something unexpected.

You were speechless, mouth slightly open as you gazed at the sight before you.

The endless expanse of desert and mountains glowed under the skies painted in a deep hues of red, purple, and a soft, golden orange that radiated from the sun. Feathery clouds streaked across the sky in hues of crimson and violet, blending into an almost surreal canvas.

"It's… beautiful," you whispered, transfixed by the stunning view, your eyes locked on the horizon.

“I know.” He murmured softly, but his gaze wasn’t on the horizon—it was on you, taking in the awe in your expression, the way your eyes reflected the colors of the sky. “It’s truly beautiful... Come on, no time for sightseeing! We're still not there," He called out, his hand suddenly grasping yours, giving it a gentle tug to bring you closer.

“Wait… this isn’t the spot?”

“It’s... a part of it, but the real gem is just ahead." He moved ahead, his hand still holding yours as he led you toward a cave entrance, hidden behind a curtain of beads.

The beads shimmered in the dying light of the day, the sound of them clinking lightly against one another as he pushed them aside, revealing the interior of the cave.

You gasped, stepping inside. The walls were lined with old trinkets—fragments of forgotten times, relics from some long-past era.

The flickering remnants of a campfire sat cold in the center, and around it were pillows and blankets, their fabric faded and worn.

“Do you like it?” His voice carrying a hint of nervousness as he watched you take in the small cave.

“Yes! So, you found all of this?” You reached out, tracing a finger over one of the metal pieces scattered about, fascinated by each strange object.

He grinned, looking pleased.

“Yeah! There are tons of these out here, though I couldn’t tell you where half of them came from,” he laughed, watching you examine one in particular with intrigue. Recognizing it, he moved closer. “Wait—give me that one for a second. I wanna show you something cool.”

From the on, the two of you spent hours talking, laughing, and experimenting with each trinket. But eventually, the light began to fade.

The sky outside the cave transformed into rich shades of red and purple as the sun dipped low, casting shadows across the cave walls. You blinked, realizing how late it had gotten.

“The sun’s going down…” you murmured, a hint of worry creeping into your voice. “I-I don’t think we’ll be able to get back in time.” He only gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“That’s fine,” he said, squatting down to gather some rocks. “I’ve spent the night here plenty of times. I’ll get a fire going. We’ll be warm.” You tried to smile, but the idea of spending a night in this cold made you tense.

For him, it might be comfortable enough, but for you…

The fire crackled softly, you asked him about his favorite piece, his eyes lighting up as he shared the memories.

Eventually, as the sun dimmed and the stories faded, the chill in the air grew sharper, but you tried not to let it show. You faked a smile as he settled down across from you, rolling onto his side with a yawn.

"Goodnight, [Name]..." he murmured, half-asleep already.

“Goodnight, Vasha,” you replied, burrowing into your thin blanket and tucking your legs into your hoodie.

As soon as his eyes were closed, your smile faded. You could feel the cold seeping into your bones, making you shiver despite your best efforts.

No matter how tightly you wrapped yourself, the fire offered little relief, and your fingers and toes started to go numb. Glancing over, you noticed that even he seemed affected; he shifted occasionally, his face scrunched up as he tried to stay warm in his sleep.

A thought flickered through your mind—perhaps you could just inch closer to him, share a little warmth. But then again, he was sound asleep now, his chest rising and falling steadily. You didn’t want to disturb him.

Instead, you pulled off your own thin blanket and quietly moved over to him, draping it around his shoulders. For a moment, you watched as he unconsciously snuggled into the extra warmth, a slight smile softening. You hoped it would help him rest a little better.

With your blanket now gone, you returned to the fire, trying to warm your hands over the low flames.

The chill was so intense that your entire body trembled, and you pulled your legs tighter to your chest. It was then that you heard a low, sleepy voice break the silence.

"[Name]...?" His voice heavy with sleep. "You're still awake?"

You froze, trying not to let on how miserable you felt. His gaze narrowing as he took in your shivering form. He noticed then, your thin blanket draped over him instead of you, and his expression shifted from confusion to concern.

He sat up slowly, his gaze lingering on your hunched figure for a moment before he crawled toward you without saying a word. He closed the distance, his brows furrowed.

Without warning, he pressed his side against yours, wrapping one of the blankets around both of you. You felt the warmth of his body as he pulled you close, his arm sliding around your shoulders to hold you firmly against him.

"Why didn’t you say anything, huh?" He murmured,

"I… I didn’t want to wake you," you admitted, cheeks flushing at his closeness.

He huffed softly, almost amused, as if the very idea was ridiculous.

"I’d rather be woken up than see you trying to freeze yourself like this. Giving up your only blanket like a self-sacrificing hero..." he teased, nudging his head on the crook of your neck.

"Guess you’re lucky I’m here to take over that role."

⋇⊰DAN HENG⊱⋇

Man, it sure is chilly here. You despised the cold—it crept into your bones, made your fingers stiff and your thoughts sluggish. Yet, somehow, you found yourself sitting in Dan Heng’s room, enduring what felt like the iciest atmosphere on the Astral Express.

How did this happen? Well, you had volunteered to help him with his research on a particular planet and its people. It had seemed like a good idea at the time—spending time with him, delving into his meticulous work, maybe even impressing him a little with your insights.

But you hadn’t considered one key detail: He liked his room cold, arctic even. And now, with the cooler set to its lowest possible temperature, you were fighting the urge to shiver.

You glanced at him, sitting calmly at his desk, completely unaffected by the temperature. He had always been composed, almost detached in his demeanor.

Asking him to turn down the cooler felt... intrusive, like you’d be disrupting his sense of balance. This was his space, after all, and you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable in his own room.

“Hey, [Name], take a look at this." His calm voice pulled you from your thoughts.

He turned slightly, his teal gaze meeting yours, the faint glow of his device reflecting in his eyes. You pushed yourself up from where you were sitting.

Every step was a fight to suppress the shiver running through your body, your fingers numb despite being stuffed in your pockets.

“What is it?” Keeping your voice steady as you moved closer to him.

He gestured toward the display, a map of a distant planet spinning in holographic detail. “This planet—Denvalis-IV—caught my attention. Its climate is… unique.”

You leaned in to get a better look, but instead of focusing, your mind was drawn to the faint warmth radiating from his form. It was subtle, like a beacon against the icy atmosphere of his room.

For a moment, you let yourself indulge, thinking maybe, just maybe, you could edge a little closer without him noticing—

“[Name], are you even listening?”

The sharp question jolted you from your reverie, your eyes darting back to the screen.

“O-Of course!” You said quickly, trying to play it cool.

He raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but he didn’t push.

“Hmph...” He turned his attention back to the screen. “What did you learn of this place?"

"Let me show you.” With a few tap, images of its habbitants displayed on the screen. "The inhabitants—look at them." You pointly but the moment you relieazed your hand was shaking you instantly put it down. "They’re… incredible."

The projection showed a group of Denvalis-IV's residents—tall, sinewy figures with thick, layered exoskeletons that shimmered faintly, almost like armor.

"Despite the violent storms, extreme temperatures further amplified by the Stellaron, they've been able to adapt," you continued. "And it’s not just physical. Look at these structures—they’ve developed entire cities that are mobile, designed to migrate with the weather patterns."

“It’s fascinating,” he murmured, leaning closer to study the images. “They’ve managed to build entire civilizations in this planet... even after the Stellaron erupted." His gaze flicked to you, something unreadable in his expression. “You’re knowledgeable,” he said, his voice soft. “And you’re also…”

You froze, sensing his next words before he spoke them.

“…cold.”

He then raised his hand, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. The warmth of his touch made you involuntarily lean toward him, seeking it like a moth to a flame.

His warmth was comforting, but it also amplified how much the freezing temperature of the room had bitten into you. Eyes softened slightly as he observed you.

“Your cheeks are puff..." He glance down, noticing your tembling hands, "and you’re shivering.” His lips pressed into a thin line, and with a sigh, he turned away to adjust the cooler.

The hum of the air system shifted, and the temperature in the room began to rise.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” He asked, his back still to you.

You tried to shrug it off, shoving your hands into your pockets to conceal their shaking.

“You’re… quite observant.”

He turned back to you, his gaze piercing yet patient.

“Deflecting the question won’t help you," he said, his tone soft but firm.

You hesitated but finally, you admitted, "Well, I just… I-It’s your room. I didn’t want to bother you. I figured you like the cold, so—”

“So, you prioritize others’ comfort above your own?” He interrupted, stepping closer.

The sudden proximity made your breath hitch. He was so close now, his quiet intensity pulling all your focus. His warm breath brushed against your chilled skin, and for a moment, all you could do was stare.

He tilted his head slightly, observing you as though trying to read the thoughts you weren’t voicing. “Hmm...” he murmured, his voice lower now, almost teasing.

His arm moved, slow but deliberate, slipping around your waist and pulling you closer to him. Your pulse quickened as the heat of his body cut through the lingering chill in the room.

His expression remained composed, but the faint blush dusting his pale cheeks didn’t escape your notice.

“...I do enjoy being this close to you. You wouldn't mind, would you?"

⋇⊰DR. RATIO⊱⋇

The library was your sanctuary, a place where the air hummed softly with silence, inviting you to dive into your work. Today, it beckoned like a far-off paradise, you'd love to go there if the winter wind isn't creeping through the walls, chilling you to the bone.

Bundled up in your thickest jacket, you made a quick hot cocoa in the small kitchenette, hoping it’d warm you just enough to keep working. Your dormmate, Ratio Veritas, was engrossed in a dense-looking tome, his gaze fixed in a way that made him look almost statuesque, detached from the cold entirely.

You sighed, slipping back into your room, hoping to hide your shivering mess from him. You knew he disliked interruptions, and you didn’t want to hear him complain about you 'ruining his concentration' with your uncontrollable shivers.

You sat at your desk, fingers trembling as you flipped open your books, each word on the page starting to blur. But you refused to tell him and do something that can help.

It's no use anyway, he'd only huff, make some pointed comment about your lack of preparation, or worse, pretend to ignore you altogether. Besides, you didn’t want to burden him, especially when he was absorbed in his work.

Time passed, or so it felt. Your focus drifted, every fiber of your being caught in an cold-induced fatigue. You thought about getting up, maybe crawling under the covers of your bed, but as you pushed yourself to stand, the world swirled and faded into black.

When your eyes opened, you realized you were no longer at your room but on someone’s lap. Warmth wrapped around you, unfamiliar and yet... oddly comforting.

A gentle hand brushed through your hair, moving rhythmically, soothing you back to wakefulness. Blinking, you looked up, eyes trailing from a complicated book cover down to his familiar profile

“Veritas...?” You murmured, still disoriented.

He glanced down, face as unamused as always.

“Ah. You’re finally awake.” His voice held its usual cold tone, but his hand didn’t stop its careful stroking through your hair.

It felt far gentler than his gaze would ever imply.

“W-What happened?” Stammering, trying to shift, but he placed a hand on your shoulder to keep you still.

“You passed out,” he replied, his voice a low mutter as he went back to his book.

Your eyes widened. You... passed out? Now that he mentioned it, you could feel a faint throbbing in your head and a dull ache in your abdomen from the fall. Heat crept into your cheeks, embarrassed and unsure.

You hadn’t meant to make a scene, and you hadn’t meant for him to get involved.

“I’m… I-I’m sorry." The words rolled out your tounge before you even realized it.

He raised a brow, tilting his book slightly to inspect you as though you were an anomaly in need of explanation.

“Has the fall scrambled your brain?” He asked, his tone dry, even a bit amused. “What could you possibly be sorry for?” He closed his book completely, leaning in a bit, scrutinizing you with a detached but focused intensity. “Hmm... perhaps there’s an internal bleeding and affected your speech?” He mused.

Your cheeks flushed as you averted your gaze.

“No, no… It’s just… you were busy, and I didn’t want to bother you, so—”

“So, you chose to hide that your suffering?” He chuckled, a sound both mocking and strangely warm. “I would never undermine the value of academic focus, but you’ve taken it to the extreme. This involves you life, not just a mere distraction.” Leaning back, he reopened his book, though his eyes lingered on you, assessing. “In any case, I can study while you… stay here,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“What?” You shifted slightly, instinctively finding a more comfortable position, only to feel the firmness of his thigh tense under your head.

His fingers paused, but only for a moment, before he resumed the gentle circles on your scalp, thumb tracing patterns.

“I said, get some rest,” he replied, a slight edge in his voice, though the warmth in his touch betrayed any irritation.

For a man with such cutting words and an aloof demeanor, his touch was remarkably gentle, grounding you in a way that no words ever could explain.

Minutes passed in silence, the stillness of the room broken only by the faint rustle of the pages. Then, almost reluctantly, he bit back his pride and spoke, his voice softer, quieter.

“Hey... [Name],” he murmured, feeling you hum in response, shifting slightly in his lap. A shiver ran through him, though he quickly masked it.

Hidden behind his book, his cheeks flushed red, and he brought the book up to his face, hoping it concealed his expression.

“If... if you ever need anything or… if you want help with something,” he continued, voice barely a whisper. He swallowed, speaking through his own restraint. “Just… tell me, alright?”

⋇⊰JIAOQIU⊱⋇

You looked up at the artificial skies of Xianzhou Yaoqing, watching as what could only be described as raindrops fell from the simulated heavens. Though the rain was artificial, the chill it carried was all too real.

You shivered as the cold breeze brushed against your skin, and instinctively, you pulled your coat tighter, wishing it would do more to ward off the biting wind. The camp had just won a major battle, but the aftermath was far from over. The injured were many, and every hand was needed.

You couldn’t afford to slack off now, not when the medics were busy patching up soldiers and treating the wounded. The chill in the air was nothing compared to the urgency of the situation.

You swallowed your discomfort and turned toward the tents where the injured were being treated, your footsteps quickening as you walked deeper into the makeshift infirmary.

And then, you saw him—Jiaoqiu, focused as always, sitting beside a bed where a man lay, his hands deftly bandaging the soldier’s wounds.

The moment he heard your footsteps, his ears twitched, and he looked up, flashing you that signature, bright smile. His tail wagged, the motion almost too endearing.

"[Name]!" His voice was cheery, but there was a slight hesitation in it as his eyes lingered on your flushed cheeks. "You’re looking a little… flushed. Are you alright?"

You quickly masked your discomfort with a smile, trying to sound nonchalant despite the cold creeping into your bones. No, you couldn’t tell him. Not now, not when everyone needed all the help they could get.

"I'm fine," you said, though your voice lacked conviction. "Just.. a little tired. I-I’ll get going—there are still a lot of hands needed." You flashed him a quick smile, trying to appear unaffected. "See you later during your break."

With that, you hastily walked away, eager to get to work. What you didn’t notice was the way his eyes followed you.

Your movements had become sluggish as the day wore on. Your fingers were a bit stiff, the chill in your bones seeping into every part of your body, and you found yourself sniffling more than you cared to admit.

No, you couldn't—You couldn't let the Foxian or anyone see you like this. You were the one who was supposed to take care of the injured, not the other way around! You couldn't afford to show weakness.

"Dr. [Name]...?" A voice interrupted your thoughts. You blinked, looking down at the soldier in front of you. His face was pale, his breath shallow. "A-Are you alright?"

"Yes, of course," you answered too quickly, trying to brush off the unease you felt creeping up on you.

In reality, it was hard to focus on your work when you felt like your body was betraying you. Before you could go back to your task, you heard that voice again. It was familiar, and now, it sent a shiver down your spine—not from the cold, but from the sudden concern you knew it carried.

"As a medical student, I expect you to care of yourself, [Name]." His tone was lighter than usual, but you could still detect the hint of worry in it.

You turned to see him standing there, arms crossed, his smile gone, replaced by a frown.

"Ah, but I’m fine," you protested weakly, chuckling to dismiss the concern.

But when he closed the distance between you, his hand gently rested against your forehead, and the warmth from his touch made your heart skip a beat.

He hummed softly, the sound both soothing and commanding. "You have a cold, [Name]. It’s better to rest than push yourself." His voice was firm yet caring, and it made it impossible for you to argue.

"But—"

"No buts," he interrupted, his tone soft but resolute. Before you could react, he slipped his arms around your waist, effortlessly pulling you toward him. "Let's get you some rest, hm?" His smile returned, and it was warm and gentle, a stark contrast to his usual playful teasing.

You could feel your resolve crumbling as he drew you closer to his side. It felt like he was enjoying this a bit too much, if the sly smile playing on his lips as he led you away wasn't obvious enough.

"I could do it myself, Jiaoqiu! You need to go treat the soldiers!" You sighed in defeat, but you knew deep down that resistance was futile.

The moment he set his mind to something, you knew you’d lose.

"I’m on my break," he simply said, as if that explanation was enough to make you stop worrying. "I have nothing to do." Just as you were about to shoot another complaint, he raised his hand, signaling to one of the nearby medics.

"Need a hand over here!" He called out, his voice calm and commanding, directing the medic to help with the soldier you’d been treating earlier.

Turning back to you, he flashed you an innocent smile. "See? No need to worry about anything!" Every part of him practically pressed against you.

His arm was firmly wrapped around your waist, holding you close, and you could feel the soft, comforting weight of his tail winding gently around your leg.

Sure, it was a bit of a struggle to walk with him so near, but the heat from his body made it easy to ignore the chill that had settled deep within you.

You could feel the vibration of his chest as he chuckled, a soft sound that filled the air. His gaze lowered to meet yours, your eyes neatly closed and mouth slightly parted as though you were feeling heaven.

"I suppose I'm your medicine?" He mused, his finger tracing down the curve of your cheek with a gentle touch. He paused, his grin widening as he leaned closer. "Not that I mind... I could be all the warmth you'd ever need."

⋇⊰JING YUAN⊱⋇

You stared out from the fleet, watching as the snow-covered planet loomed into view, a world blanketed in endless ice. Even from behind the glass, you could feel a chill settling into your bones.

How did you end up here? Well, it had all started with a single slip of the tongue—admitting, without much thought, that you'd never once seen snow.

He’d looked at you curiously, his golden gaze sharp but gentle.

"Never seen snow?" He asked, surprised, his usual calm demeanor giving way to a hint of wonder.

You’d shrugged, brushing it off, mentioning briefly that your mother had never let you go anywhere with winter’s bite, then tried to change the subject.

But Jing Yuan had clearly taken it to heart. The General, in his subtle, thoughtful way, had decided he’d remedy that, and when the opportunity came—a mission to a world wrapped in eternal winter—he’d practically dragged you along.

Seeing his excitement, you hadn’t the heart to tell him the truth, that your mother hadn’t been overprotective without reason. She had known, as you did, that you were sensitive to the cold. But how could you ruin the General’s rare, genuine smile?

The doors slid open, and a harsh gust of icy wind hit you instantly, slicing through even the thick jacket he had insisted you wear.

You braced yourself, steeling against the cold. It wasn’t too bad—yet. Surely, you could hold out for a little while, right? Just enough to take in this strange, pristine winter world he’d wanted to show you.

"Isn't it magnificent?" He raised his gloved hand, catching a snowflake as it fluttered down.

He watched it melt into his palm, an almost childlike wonder on his face. The sight shook you from your thoughts, and, for the first time, you really looked around. Winter, in your mind, had always seemed bland—just a blur of whites and grays, cold and endless.

But standing here now, you could see the glistening world laid out before you. Snow blanketed the landscape, softening every angle, making everything look divine, untouched, as though you’d set foot into a world beyond reality.

You stepped out, your foot sinking deep into the snow. A sharp gasp escaped you at the sudden cold, and you whipped around, catching him chuckling behind you.

Embarrassment flared in your cheeks, warming them a bit as you muttered, “It’s not funny…” You turned your gaze back to the vast, shimmering landscape, hoping he wouldn’t notice the blush creeping up your cheeks. “But… it is beautiful.” You took a few more steps, each one slightly awkward as your feet sank into the soft, powdery snow.

The crunch underfoot was strangely satisfying, each step sending a tiny thrill through you. Just as you were getting used to it, you felt something hit your back with a soft, cold thud. Whirling around, you found the General standing there, a mischievous grin plastered on his face, a snowball in hand.

“A general, starting snowball fights?” You said, raising a brow, trying to keep a straight face.

He shrugged with a smirk, as if throwing snowballs were a part of some important tactical training.

“Come now, did you think I’d let you enjoy this in peace?”

You bent down to gather some snow, forming a snowball of your own.

“In that case, General." Smiling as you took aim, “Prepare for battle!” The snowball left your hand, hurtling toward him, but he dodged it effortlessly, flashing you a playful smirk as he prepared to throw his next one.

And so began a wild, impromptu snowball fight between you and the general, each of you laughing and teasing as snow flew back and forth. In the thrill of the moment, the biting cold around you seemed distant, almost... forgotten. But there was a dangerous oversight.

You had underestimated winter’s toll on you. Between handfuls of icy snow and the chilled wind cutting across your exposed face, your body quickly began to feel the effects. Reality crashed down on you suddenly; your knees wobbled, then buckled, sending you crumpling to the ground.

“[Name]? [Name]!” His voice broke through the haze, distant and muffled, as you felt yourself slipping.

Everything grew fuzzy and dim, until all you could see was the stark white ground tinged with an alarming splash of red. He knelt before you, his voice laced with a rare edge of worry.

“[Name]?” He called again, urgency straining his usually steady tone.

His strong hands tilted your face up, but you barely registered it as the void overtook your vision.

In what felt like seconds—or perhaps hours—you blinked your eyes open, squinting against the dim light. There was a gentle weight on you, the tickle of soft hair brushing against your neck.

Groggily, you let out a faint groan, your hand sluggishly rising to push away what felt like a very heavy, unyielding presence on top of you. Whoever it was clearly had no sense of their own weight.

A low rumble vibrated against your chest as if this someone was grumbling, “Awake, are we?” His usual calmness was there, but you could hear a faint tremor of relief as he lifted his head to meet your gaze. His face softened, though his brow remained furrowed with concern. “You worried me back there.”

He lifted his head to meet your eyes, his face softening, though his brow remained knitted with concern.

“I’m sorry…” The apology left you in a near-whisper, and he made a quiet, thoughtful hum as he continued observing your features with that intense, almost unrelenting gaze.

“Perhaps this is why you’ve never seen snow?” His voice laced with a gentle tease touched by a genuine worry. “The medics said you got cold so quickly… your fingertips were already turning purple, you know. It wasn’t something to brush off.” You swallowed, cheeks warming, not quite able to meet his eyes.

“Y-Yeah... I’ve always been sensitive quite to the cold,” you admitted.

His hand rose to your cheek, his thumb brushing gently along your skin, warm against the lingering cold.

“But you did enjoy it, right?” He murmured.

Caught off guard, you hesitated, the warmth of his touch melting away the lingering chill that had clung to you since you’d first stepped onto the snowy planet.

You gave a small, reluctant nod.

“Of course I did..."

He chuckled, the sound low and soothing, “Good." his hand lingering on your cheek for a moment longer before slipping down to rest on your shoulder, pulling you closer.

“Then perhaps next time, you’ll tell me if you’re cold, hm? I'd never forgive myself if I hurt you with my actions...”

⋇⊰SUNDAY⊱⋇

The halls and rooms of the Astral Express felt colder than usual. You couldn't quite pinpoint why. Maybe you were coming down with something, or maybe it was the emptiness of the train itself.

Most of the crew was out on a mission, leaving only you, the ever-adorable conductor Pom-Pom, and the Halovian from Penacony, the newest addition to the crew.

You still weren’t sure how to feel about Sunday after everything that happened on Penacony. His calm demeanor and polite words seemed genuine enough, but there was still a sliver of doubt lingering in the back of your mind. Yet, as time passed, part of you wanted to believe his sincerity.

Sniffling softly, you tapped your fingers on the table, waiting for the coffee maker to finish brewing. The silence of the Express was unnerving. You’d grown accustomed to the lively presence of the Trailblazer and March 7th, always filling the place with their laughter and chatter. Now, the quiet was heavy.

A faint sound—the flip of a page—caught your attention. You glanced over, your eyes landing on him, seated on a nearby sofa. He was engrossed in a book, his wings tucked neatly behind him. Those small, puffy wings at the side of his head caught your eye.

Halovians had three pairs of wings, you'd heard. How warm did they feel? You couldn’t help but wonder, and the thought of running your fingers through those feathers danced at the edge of your mind. Would they be soft? Would they radiate warmth? And where are his other two?

You shook your head slightly. That would be way too forward, especially since you barely knew him. It was a silly thought anyway, but the cold made your mind wander.

You tore your gaze from his wings, only to meet his calm, steady eyes watching you intently. For a moment, you froze, unsure if it was from the lingering cold or simply the intensity of his gaze.

“[Name]?”

Blinking, you scrambled to regain your composure, attempting to smile as you buried your shaking hands deeper into your pockets.

“Wha… What is it?” you asked sheepishly.

“Your coffee’s finished.” He tilted his head ever so slightly, watching you with that unflinching gaze.

Your breath caught, feeling embarrassed under his stare. You must have looked like a wierdo.

“A-Ah! Right… thank you.” You tried to play it off, reaching quickly for the mug’s handle.

But your fingers, numb from the cold, barely managed to grip it before the weight slipped from your grasp. Everything happened in a blur.

The mug began to tilt, and in a desperate attempt, you reached with your other hand to catch it, only to feel the sharp sting of its hot surface searing your palm. With a reflexive jerk, you dropped it, the mug shattering against the floor.

"Shit..." You muttered under your breath, frustration bubbling over as you crouched to survey the damage.

From the distance, a high-pitched screech shattered the silence. “[Name]!” Pom-Pom’s unmistakable voice rang through the room, their little paws on their cheeks in cartoonish shock. “What have you done??”

You turned to face the adorable conductor, their tiny body practically vibrating with indignation. “Hmph! Clean your mess this instant!” They declared, paws now firmly planted on their hips.

You swore smoke is puffing out of their ears from frustration.

“I-I’m sorry, Pom-Pom! I’ll clean it up right away!” You stammered, scurrying off to fetch a dustpan and broom.

The air felt even colder when you returned, and as you knelt to sweep up the broken shards, you couldn’t help but notice how your hands trembled uncontrollably, each movement sending shivers through your already frozen body. Your teeth chattered despite your attempts to keep them still.

Focused on the mess before you, you didn’t realize someone was standing behind you until you bumped into them. Startled, you flinched and spun around, nearly dropping the broom in your hands. There, mere centimeters away, stood he, his piercing gaze fixed on you.

“May I assist you?” The Halovian tilted his head ever so slightly. “You appear to be shaking like a deer.”

“I’m fine,” you replied quickly, perhaps a little too quickly, as you gripped the broom tighter in your trembling hands.

His brows knitted together, frowning.

“You’re clearly not fine. Your hands are trembling, and you’ve been shivering since earlier.” He crouched down to your level, his expression still composed but his gaze is a lot softer now.

“I said I’m fine,” you insisted, your tone firmer this time as you swept up a pile of shards, though your movements were clumsy and uneven.

His frown deepened, his golden eyes narrowing as they took in your trembling form.

"Enough." Before you could react, his gloved hands gently but firmly taking the dustpan and broom from your grasp.

You opened your mouth to protest, but the pointed look he shot you silenced you immediately.

"Get some rest, [Name]." His tone was calm yet commanding, leaving no room for argument. "If you'd like, I can brew you another coffee."

You stared at him, dumbfounded. The former head of the Oak Family, was kneeling on the floor to clean up a mess you had made? The thought alone was mortifying. More than that, you'd interrupted his reading—something you had tried so hard to avoid.

“I’m sorry...” You murmured, your voice barely audible as you quickly turned away and scurried down the hallway.

Once inside your room, you collapsed onto the bed with a sigh. The heater was on, but the cold seemed to seep through every crack and crevice, wrapping itself around you like an unwelcome guest. You tugged a blanket over your shoulders, but it did little to stop the shivers.

Moments later, a soft knock echoed through the door.

"May I come in?" His voice was smooth and quiet, like honey drizzling over a frozen lake.

You hesitated, clutching the blanket tighter.

"Y-Yeah." The door slid open, and he stepped inside, holding a steaming cup of coffee in one hand.

His elegant composure hadn’t faltered even for a bit. He set the cup down on the small table by your bedside before sitting beside you.

“Are you alright?” He asked, his golden gaze sweeping over you with a hint of concern.

“I’m fine,” you lied, averting your eyes. “Just... a little chilly, that’s all.”

He reached for the coffee and handed it to you, his fingers brushing yours briefly. The warmth of the mug felt like a lifeline in your frozen grip.

“Drink,” he said simply, leaning back against the headboard.

You looked at him then at the steaming mug before taking a cautious sip, the heat spreading through your chest and chasing away some of the cold.

You didn’t notice him moving until you felt the weight of his coat drape over your shoulders.

“Sunday—”

“Shhh..." He instantly hushed you down.

As the coat fell more snugly around you, you caught sight of something dark behind him. Two faintly shimmering pairs of wings stretched just beyond his back, their colors deeper and more shadowed than the smaller set behind his ears. They shifted slightly before folding back.

Your eyes lingered on them longer than you intended, and his lips quirked into the faintest smirk.

“Curious?” He asked, his voice teasing yet calm.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. “I wasn’t staring—”

“Oh? Then my eyes must be mistaken becuase you were,” he said, cutting you off again, though there was no malice in his tone.

“Oh? Then my eyes must be deceiving me, because you were,” he chuckled softly, a sound rich and melodic, like the first note of a forgotten song. "It’s fine, my dear," he murmured, though his voice faltered just slightly.

His gaze shifted momentarily, and for the briefest of moments, a shadow of vulnerability flickered across his features. His wings, darker and more imposing than usual, twitched faintly behind him, betraying his uneasiness.

But you paid no mind to his hesitation, far too enveloped in the unexpected warmth of his coat and presence. The heavy fabric wrapped around you like a cocoon, shielding you from the bitter cold that had clung to you all day.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable but instead soothing, like the calm after a storm. It was he who broke the serenity.

His voice low and steady as he spoke, “Next time, [Name], don’t shy away from me.”

Sweet Bites» [WIP] Request» Masterlist»

[merbear25]

Zoro, Ace, and Shanks failing the pull-out game?😭 like they accidentally cum inside of you

Hello, hello! Oh boy, oh boy this is quite the scenario to consider. Thank you for giving me something to think about late at night. I hope you like what I’ve written for you. 💜💜

p.s. This is the first thing I’ve ever written for Shanks, so I hope it suits him.

CW: NSFW, MDNI, creampie, fem!reader in mind but nothing specific mentioned, headcanons/scenarios

When their pull-out game is weak (Zoro, Ace, Shanks)

Zoro

He was always careful and on point when it came to his timing, but the way you were writhing under him on top of those whimpers and moans brought his orgasm on more quickly than anticipated.

There was an attempt at focusing his thoughts on something else, though it was all in vain when he gazed down at your arched form and was graced with the pleasure soaked mewls dripping from your quivering lips. A sharp inhale coupled with a “Fuck!” snapped you out of the moment. With his face burning red, he pulled out and averted his gaze.

You took a moment to come to before consoling him, “Don’t worry about it. These things happen.” You placed soft pecks down his sun kissed chest while reveling in the way his chest rose and fell.

With each kiss, you further fanned the flames deep within him which was made apparent by the slight twitching of his cock. “You know, you never got to finish properly,” his voice was already heavy with newfound desire.

Smirking at him, you revealed the still trickling cum between your legs. “Are you going to double stuff me this time?” You teased before he roughly pulled you closer for round two.

Ace

One of the things both of you enjoyed most about your relationship was the spontaneity: finding little corners and rooms to bang a quicky out or having a disagreement turn into a lengthy, steamy session.

Typically you used condoms to avoid any accidental slip-ups, but this time around you were unprepared and desperate for each other. Hoisting you up on the counter in the bathroom, his kiss was searing. As he roughly tugged your underwear off and bit gently at your lower lip, you were begging for him to put it in.

After just the first few thrusts, you were unraveling on him—a complete and utter mess from the sensation of him pounding into you.

He tended to be pretty good at pacing himself, ensuring you had got your fill well before he followed suit, but the way your body tightened around him was testing his self-restraint. When he started pulling back to collect himself, your legs wrapped around him, which forced him deeper.

Your desperation for him, your nails raking down his back, and the way you squeezed him for everything he was worth: it was all too much for him. With one last buck of his hips and a guttural moan, he spilled every last drop of cum inside you. He murmured an apology against your neck before pulling out to witness the mess you two made.

Shanks

You both enjoyed taking your time when it came to the bedroom. Having that sensual build-up leading to the main event made everything feel that much more intense. With light touches and deep kisses, it was easy to get carried away every now and then.

He wasn’t really the best at timing—typically waiting until the last second to pull out. However, it didn’t bother you all that much because he still managed to shoot his load outside of you, preferably on your stomach or ass.

The real challenge for him was when you were on top. The hypnotic way you bounced up and down on him, the sensual groping of your own body, and those moans that trailed past your sweet lips: they were a recipe for disaster.

You really knew how to put on a show for him, putting every fiber of his being to the test with your tempting display. With his breaths becoming labored and his grip on your hip tightening, you could tell he was close, but you were still waiting for him to tell you when it was too much.

As you picked up the pace to focus on your own release, as well, you heard him groan, “Oh, shit!” before tossing you to the side. He gripped his cock to finish off his climax but had already leaked a fair amount into you first. He apologized and you both realized you may be better off sticking to condoms.

[kkvqwrites]

Bedside Manner

Reader goes into labor while Simon's away and calls the first person she can think of. The task force (and some other friends in high places) rally around the couple on the most important day of their lives.

Word Count: 2,587

Characters (in order of appearance): fem!Reader (no use of y/n), Capt. John Price, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, Kate Laswell

CW: childbirth, hospital setting, medical procedures

A/N: Am I a Ghost girlie? Absolutely. Am I also a sucker for the found family trope? Til I die. This idea wouldn't leave me alone and I'm so glad I stuck with it. I love the way this came out and hope you like it!

"Dear? Everything okay?"

The captain's voice on the other end of the line sounded worried. Both he and Simon had drilled it into you to never hesitate to call Price if you needed anything while your husband was away, but you couldn't help feeling a bit guilty.

"Um, I think so," you began, willing your voice to stay level and upbeat. "I think I just - oof.." Another contraction hit, stealing the air from your lungs. They were coming more consistently now, and hard enough to stop you in your tracks.

This could not be happening.

"What's wrong? Are you alright? Are you hurt?" You could hear movement in the background, him gathering his things to be out the door and on his way to you.

"I'm fine, John. I just didn't know who else to call. I think the baby might be coming?" The words came out pinched as you worked through the tail end of the contraction. The captain swore loudly.

"Stay put, love. I'm on the way - everything will be alright. Want me to stay on the phone with you?"

"No, no, that's fine. Stay safe and I'll see you when you get here." You hung up before he could argue and fuss like a mother hen.

______________________________________________________________

The knock at the door startled you. You looked at the clock - surely that couldn't be John already. The man lived across town. Not trusting yourself to make it to the door, you called out.

"It's open!"

Turns out it wasn't Price, but Gaz, who stepped into your living room and began taking in the scene. It was a sight to be sure: you, doubled over sitting on your yoga ball, rocking back and forth to try to alleviate some of the pressure in your hips, towel around your neck because you were sweating like a pig, ambient white noise filtering through the bluetooth speaker to keep you calm. For all his usual swagger and poise, Gaz looked a bit frightened.

"Kyle, did John call you? I'm so sorry - I'm sure you were busy-"

"Not at all, I rushed over as soon as I got word." The sergeant came to your side and knelt until he was eye level. "The captain's on his way but I was closer. We didn't want you to be alone any longer than necessary."

"You and your task force are worse than a quilting circle." The jab came with a joking smile, but the smile was cut short by the stab of another contraction. At the sight of your face screwing up in pain, Kyle's eyes got big.

"Can I do something? Do you need anything?" He wrung his hands as he fussed, seemingly unsure whether to touch you or whether you'd bite him if he tried. Admittedly, you weren't too sure yourself.

"Need you to reset - the timer." The words came out through clenched teeth as your muscles tensed and screamed. "Contractions - need to time them."

"The timer - right." He sprung into action, undoubtedly happy to have a defined task to accomplish. As he was fiddling with the device, Price stormed through the door, his demeanor all-business.

"Gaz? What's the situation?" The sergeant hopped to attention as if he was at roll call.

"Got here not long ago myself, Cap. Just reset the timer for contractions."

"Where are we at?"

"Thirteen minutes, sir."

The captain turned to you, assessing you from top to bottom. His expression and his voice softened considerably as he spoke.

"Ready to get to the hospital, love?"

"Can't - they told me to wait until they're five minutes apart." The man looked bewildered.

"And just let you sit here and suffer? Not on my watch. Gaz, grab my keys - "

"John," you interrupted. "I already called. They won't admit me yet. We just need to wait it out."

"Nonsense, love. You wait til I get someone's ear over there. Five minutes my arse." He moved to help you stand, but stopped in his tracks as he took in your face, your lip trembling. "Is there something else?" As if on cue, a fat tear rolled down your cheek, the first of its kind since the pains began.

"This isn't supposed to be happening," you squeaked out. "Not for a few more weeks. Simon's supposed to be here."

The men shared a glance, looking stricken. Price leaned down next to you, a broad hand gently squeezing your shoulder. His voice was soft when he spoke, a renewed slowness replacing his prior rushed pace.

"I know, love. I know it's not ideal, and I know you're scared. I know Simon would give anything to be here, that he'd split heaven and earth to be with you right now. But I also know he'd want you and your little one taken care of, yeah? He wouldn't want you to wait."

You nodded, despite more tears threatening. "Doesn't change the fact they won't admit me yet."

The captain's mouth quirked defiantly. "You let me worry about that. Gaz, help her up. I'll drive."

______________________________________________________________

Simon was tired down to his bones, feeling like a wrung out rag after the most recent mission. Despite that, the man was a ball of energy as he hopped off the plane, desperate to get back to you.

"Someone's antsy," Soap drawled, taking a more leisurely pace. He slid his sunglasses on as Simon switched on his cell phone anxiously. "Got somewhere to be, LT?"

"'Matter of fact I do - home." Simon impatiently hiked his duffel bag higher on his shoulder. "See my wife, eat a real meal. Finally build that godforsaken changing table. Who knew a baby needs so much furniture?"

Soap barked a laugh, but Simon tuned him out as he put his phone to his ear. He'd gotten a voicemail from you, and everything else ceased to matter.

"Hey babe, it's me. I'm not sure when you'll get this, and I hate to worry you. I'm sure it's fine. It's just... I've been feeling some contractions-"

Simon didn't hear the rest, nearly dropping his phone as he broke into a run.

______________________________________________________________

True to his word, Price argued with the hospital staff until you were taken up to a room. You were sure he must have pulled rank, threatened to call people, but he refused to let you worry about it.

The ride had been smooth, despite John driving like a bat out of hell. Gaz stayed in the back seat with you, clinging to your hand and fussing. Later, you'd think it was funny how he seemed to need more encouragement and support than he offered, but at that moment very little was funny.

You had been able to stay in denial for an admirably long time. The past few days, you were able to tell yourself it was just Braxton-Hicks contractions, not the real thing. That even when it became evident the real thing was starting, that it wouldn't progress quickly. That even though it was progressing, that Simon would walk in the door just at the right moment and sweep you into the car and off to the hospital and all would be well. Even when your gut told you to pick up the phone and call the captain, you had managed to make yourself believe that you were wrong, that it was a false alarm, that you still had more time.

Now, here you were, connected to monitors and being poked and prodded by nurses. Medical history, allergies, birth plan, you felt like you were in interrogation rather than a patient receiving care. And if it wasn't the nurses it was the two men standing off to the side, one wringing his hands in worry and one watching the nurses like a hawk and barking questions. The contractions were closer to eight minutes apart now, progressing quickly. Now the situation was very real, and as thankful as you were from the support from Price and Gaz, your heart threatened to shatter at the absence of the one person who mattered most.

______________________________________________________________

"Bloody fuckin' hell, no one will answer their phone!" Ghost barked, ready to throw his out the window. He'd had radio silence other than a second voicemail, this one from the Captain:

"Simon, Price here. Just got word from the missus that the baby's on the way. I'm headed there now. I don't want you to worry about a thing, I won't leave her side. I'll update you as I'm able."

"She knew to call the captain; he's probably with her now," Soap offered from the driver's seat. He'd practically had to arm wrestle Simon for the keys, but ended up convincing him that he'd be able to call for updates if he wasn't worried about driving. Silently, he thanked the saints Simon had agreed; who knows what carnage he'd unleash on the roads as worked up as he was.

"He better be, or I'll - not now, Laswell!" Simon rejected the third call from the station chief since landing and tried Price again. He was sure he'd hear about it for skipping debrief and jumping in the car, but right now he couldn't bring himself to give a shit. When Price's phone again went to voicemail, he was about to go nuclear when the car's Bluetooth lit up with Laswell's number.

"Shite; let me answer it LT." Soap pushed the button. "Laswell, it's Soap. Here with Ghost."

"I know," she said impatiently, her voice filling the space. "I've been trying to call all afternoon. I know what's happening and I'm here to help."

"What? How do you know?"

"Price called me as soon as he got word, asked me to find you. Anyway, you're wasting time heading in that direction; there's a lane closure ahead and you're about to be neck deep in traffic. I've mapped an alternate route for you. Take the next left."

The two men looked at each other in confusion before both starting to speak at the same time.

"Left? That takes us the wrong way-" "How do you know where we're at?"

"Boys! Boys, listen," she continued, exasperated. "Don't worry about how I know, just do as I say. We're gonna get you there as fast as possible. Now turn left!"

Soap cut the car to the left, ignoring the indignant honks of other drivers as he began to cut through the city under Laswell's watchful eye.

______________________________________________________________

"The doctor says you'll be ready to start pushing soon. How are you feeling?" The nurse was genuinely trying to be nice, so you bit back on your retort of how the fuck does it look like I'm feeling? My insides are exploding! and instead chose a weak smile and a head nod.

Once the nurse whisked away, Price was back at your side. You could tell by his expression he wanted to give you a pep talk like you were one of his soldiers about to head into battle, but he was searching for the right thing to say. You broke the silence first.

"I'm scared." Your voice sounded small, the words escaping almost of their own volition. The captain took your hand, blessedly avoiding sugarcoating the situation.

"I know. But you're doing great - a real trooper. Even with the needle in the back! Simon's gonna be so proud of you, love. And Gaz and I are gonna be right here. Right Gaz?"

"Right, Cap." The sergeant slid back into the room, cup of ice in hand. While the captain had taken point and begun advocating for you with the hospital staff and asking a million questions, Gaz had been dutifully making sure you were comfortable. Anything from getting you an extra pillow for your back, to helping you tie your hair back, to getting you ice chips since you couldn't have food or drink during labor, he was on it. If either man was uneasy about what was about to happen, they dutifully kept it under wraps and maintained their game faces.

One by one, the care team took up positions around you to get started. Price and Gaz got next to you, each taking one of your hands, ready to offer what support they could. You shamed yourself, one last time, for being ungrateful for their presence. A lot of people give birth with less, you tried to tell yourself. He’d be here if he could. 

 The doctor walked in, donning gloves and getting a quick status update from one of the nurses before meeting your eyes. “Evening, ma’am. We’re going to-” 

Her words were cut off by a commotion in the hall, a door slamming and what sounded like some raised voices. Everyone in the room exchanged confused glances, and Price motioned for Gaz to go investigate. He poked his head out into the hall for only a moment before returning with a big grin.

“You’re not gonna believe who’s here."

Then your husband was in the doorway, and then he was at your side, and suddenly those honey brown eyes drowned out every ounce of pain and fear you’d been holding onto, and that warm, calloused hand took yours, and you were ready.

______________________________________________________________

You would have thought it would be difficult to fall asleep under fluorescent lights, with monitors beeping and staff bustling around. But you had never known tiredness like this, and wanted to take the nurse’s advice and rest while the pain meds were still working their magic. The delivery had been uneventful once the show was on the road, and Simon never left your side, his steady presence grounding and his voice in your ear keeping you calm. Then there she was, a baby girl, the most precious tiny thing you’d ever laid eyes on. You’d stared at her and cried for hours, stroking her tiny hand and welcoming her to the world until you could barely keep your eyes open. And so, with a squeeze of your hand and a kiss on your forehead from Simon, you found yourself drifting off. You were aware, as you floated off, of his slow pacing back and forth with your newborn daughter in his arms, of his whispers to her that were too low for you to hear. Of the guys popping in, as unobtrusively as possible lest the lieutenant tear them limb from limb for disturbing you and the baby, bringing him food and coffee and admiring the bundle of joy.

“Doesn’t look a thing like you, Simon,” said Soap.

“Thank God for that,” he replied.

“You should have seen it, Simon really - needle this long, right in the spine!” Price remarked, not for the first time. “She didn’t even flinch.”

“I’m just glad you made it for the gross stuff,” mumbled Gaz.

“Kyle, you’re in the military. You’ve seen arms and legs blown off.”

“Completely different, Johnny. Not the same at all.”

On and on they bantered, brothers in arms stepping into their role as uncles for your baby girl with delight. One of the last things you heard was Simon, his voice thick with emotion.

“Thank you, all of you, for being here. For today.”

“Oh come off it Simon,” replied the Captain. “These girls mean something to you, so they mean something to us. That’s what a family is. Now quit hogging her and let Uncle John have a turn.”

You wouldn’t remember this conversation when you woke up, wouldn’t be able to articulate where it came from, but you’d carry with you the bone-deep feeling of connection with this little makeshift family forever.

[stargirlrchive]

simon riley x female reader

cw: throat training, oral (m), finger sucking, facial, d/s dynamic, cum eating, breath-play, (slight) dacryphilia, praise, hair pulling ; pet names used : good girl, baby, sweet girl

NSFT ✩ MINORS DNI

GENERAL MASTERLIST

“gonna be a good girl f’r me?”

you nodded as you looked up at simon. tongue sticking out as he pushed the pad of his thumb into your mouth.

your eyes glossed over as he pushed down on the muscle. your mouth watering as you tried to swirl your tongue.

“gonna start you off slow, yeah? train that pretty little throat of yours to take all of me.”

you hummed softly against his thumb, his eyes glued to your lips before he replaced the digit with two other ones. they were thick and long, his middle finger knocking against the back of your throat as your mouth opened wide to take them.

there was a soft gag that fell from your mouth and simon’s smile turned feral.

“poor baby. can’t even take my fingers and you think you can take my cock?”

you released a breath from your nose, trying to ease your self into relaxing your throat as you swirled your tongue against his fingers.

simon began thrusting his long digits into your mouth, one hands threaded through your hair to keep you still. purposely pressing his fingers all the way inside and forcing you to get used to the feeling.

he only seemed to be satisfied when you finally met his movements without gagging, “good girl.”

his fingers left your mouth shortly after, covered in your spit. smearing it against yours swollen lips before he began unbuckling his belt.

your mouth watered in anticipation, you had felt how thick and long he was when kissing sessions grew too hot. but you had never actually seen it.

a shiver ran down your spine and you had to refrain from whimpering as your clit began to throb.

you shouldn’t have been surprised that even his cock was pretty. long and thick, the tip a darker shade of pink and leaking pre-cum. god, you wanted to taste him already.

his hips rocked forward, smearing his pre across your lips. the second you got a taste of him you whined softly. his hips pulling back as your mouth chased after him.

“patience, sweet girl.” your tongue swiped out to clean his cum off your lips but you listened. looking up at him with soft desperation.

“tongue out.”

your mouth opened and tongue rolled out obediently, inching closer to him as he grasped at the base of his cock. tapping the tip against your warm tongue.

you stayed as still as possible despite wanting to just wrap your lips around him and take him as deep as you could.

his fingers once again tangled into your hair and you took that as your sign. lips wrapping around the tip to suck.

a small moan fell from your mouth when he tugged on your hair as you tried to take more. “you’re being greedy. go slow.”

you ran your own tongue against the underside of his cock. sucking and lapping at the tip and the few inches of his cock that he let you take.

he slowly eased you into a rhythm that worked for the both of you. only half of his cock into your mouth and you were already a mess.

drool creating a ring on the base of his shaft as your lips stretched wide to accommodate him.

each moan and grunt falling from simon’s mouth had your cunt aching. “take a little more, baby.”

you could feel the tip pressing against the back of your throat and a soft whine would’ve fallen from your mouth if it wasn’t so full.

he could feel the way your throat contracted against him and he groaned out lowly. thrusting slowly to get you to take him deeper.

your eyes were red-rimmed and glossy, and few tears falling from your eyes as you looked up at him and simon felt the tightening of his balls. heavy and filled with cum that he wanted to paint your face with.

“that’s it, fuck. doin’ so good, baby.”

your lashes fluttered at the praise and simon’s fingers tightened in your hair. your breathing was heavy and labored as you inhaled through your nose.

feeling slightly dizzy from the lack of air your eyes rolled back and it was only then that simon tugged you off his cock.

a string of spit connecting from your lips to his tip and your chest rose and fell rapidly. desperately trying to fill yours lungs with oxygen.

simon’s hand wrapped around the base of his length. using your spit to aid his movements as he jerked his hand up and down roughly.

your tongue stuck out for him and his thick cum coated your face. some landing on your tongue and you swallowed it eagerly.

“fuck!”

simon thought you had never looked prettier as you stared up him. a gentle smile on your face and his cum coated on your soft skin.

“how’re you feeling’, love?”

“good, really good.”

the strain in your voice had his cock stirring to life once more, smiling down you as used your fingers to clean his cum off your face before stuffing your mouth with your own fingers.

[runa-falls]

sleepy lovers

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader

rating: explicit 18+

cw: smut, somnophilia elements, oral (f), piv, not finished--

summary: i'm a sleepy girl so i'm always thinking about how soft miguel would be if his girlfriend was dozing off as he eats her out. the second part is with sleepy!miguel!

a/n: this is a wip that i'm posting bc i hate myself -- anyway

---

he gets in late. very late. she was planning on waiting up for him, wanting to see him after being apart for his work trip, but when he arrives, she's already asleep on the couch, her body curled in on itself with her head propped uncomfortably on the arm of the couch.

miguel quietly walks over to her, watching her shoulders move with slow, deep breaths. he picks her up, cradling her body easily in his arms, and walks up the stairs to their bedroom.

she's dressed in an adorable nightgown, one he's sure she was wanting to show off when he arrived. the neckline is modest, but it's quite short, showing off her legs and hinting at lies underneath. and it's soft to the touch, fabric almost thin enough to tear with his bare hands.

he looks down at the girl in his arms, eyes exploring how the gown rides up to the tops of her thighs. his hands unconsciously tighten around her figure as he feels heat rush towards his center. he doesn't soften his hold until he feels her shift in his hold.

"mig...?" her groggy voice calls out for him as he places her gently on the bed.

"sorry, cariño..." she nuzzles against his hand as he sweeps her hair away from her face. "didn't mean to wake you."

she yawns sleepily, "it's ok." he watches hungrily as she stretches, pushing her arms above her and arching her back.

"you look real pretty tonight." she squirms under his gaze, heat rushing to her cheeks. miguel's eyes glow red, drinking in her bashful smile. even with the minimal light in the house, he can see everything, and he's never been so thankful for his powers.

she hides her face in her hands, "really?"

"mhm..." miguel takes a hold of her wrists before pinning them to either side of her head, "don't hide from me, baby."

her breathing labors as he slowly crawls onto the bed, caging her in between himself and the mattress. he first kisses her sweetly, gently caressing her lips with his and drinking in her gasps and moans, before placing hot kisses down her neck and over her covered chest.

"how pretty?"

"mm..." his large hands shove the skirt of her nightgown up to her hips, revealing her bare cunt to the cool air of the room. "...pretty enough to eat."

he dips his head between her thighs, forcing her legs apart with his broad shoulders, wasting no time to taste her. he gently circles his tongue around her clit, teasingly applying minimal stimulation until she whining for more.

"please--please, more, i need--"

she lets out a squeak when he sucks the sensitive bud into his hot mouth, expertly flicking against it. he moans as fingers quickly thread into his hair, gripping and tugging him closer as his tongue has her shaking against him.

her hips begin to rut against his mouth, desperate to reach her already rapidly approaching orgasm, but just as she's at the cusp of her climax, he pulls back and she nearly weeps at the loss.

dark eyes watch as her exhausted body teeters on the edge of the euphoric end she was seeking.

"w-what, wait, please...?"

"patience, cariño." he's so close to her that his lips move against her pulsing clit as he speaks. "i'm not done with you yet." she whimpers softly when he pushes closer, slowly laving his tongue against her wet heat. she's never felt so sensitive, yet hungry for more.

he keeps the slow pace and sweet pleasure makes the world turn into a blur around her. her legs are sprawled over his shoulders as he methodically licks and nuzzles against her, constantly bringing her to the edge but never letting her cum.

at some point she's delirious with pleasure, eye lulled and shiny with unshed tears of exhaustion. he whispers comforting praises in that low voice of his as she whimpers at the intense sensation of coming down from the edge.

she has no idea what time it is when he actually lets her cum, but it rushes over her like a tidal wave. all those edged orgasms collapse and pool at her center and miguel has to hold her down as she writhes under him.

at the end of the night he holds her close, wrapping his arms around her torso, listening to her soft breathes.

(rushed end but :/ i'm done)

--

very SHORT SECOND PART

(changes to 2nd person POV)

when miguel is sleepy and exhausted from work, he usually comes home and immediately scoops you up to come cuddle with him until he falls into a deep slumber.

he's like a bear when he's curled around you, an arm splayed over your body to hold you close and protectively.

but sometimes his baby is needy, especially when his work takes him away for long periods of time.

in those cases, miguel is more than happy to cater to your needs.

he's a hardworking man and you acknowledge that, so you're always hesitant to make a move and wake him up again.

but he knows you.

he knows those soft nuzzles you make against his neck, those quiet sighs that you think he can't hear, or that feeling of your hand running over his chest in want.

"what is it, mi vida?"

you shake your head as you lie next to him, not wanting him to worry about you.

"nothing."

he hums unconvinced but too tired to coax it out of you. instead, he tugs you against him, letting his hands roam over your curves until he drifts over your center. you gasp when he cups you with a warm hand, right where you want him.

"this what you want?" he's gruff behind you, voice foggy with exhaustion. "are you so needy that you need to keep me warm while i sleep?"

you whine as he presses against your more insistently and you can feel his growing hardness twitch against the small of your back.

"yes..." you shift next to him, arching your back to feel him flush against you. "please."

without another word, your sleep shorts are yanked down and you hear rustling fabric behind you. silky warmth nudges against your dripping hole, pushing until he enters your heat.

he groans against your ear as he slowly stretches you from the back.