#how do you handle all that..... humid heat

[imaginedisish]

Liquid Smooth (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Started writing this last night...sooo happy you guys wanted a sex pollen fic! Hope it lives up to everyone's expectations! This one is (obviously) inspired by "Liquid Smooth," by Mitski. ENJOY!

Summary: A simple mission deep in a forest alone with Logan quickly gets out of hand when you just have to go and pick a flower...

Warnings: 18+ EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT MINORS DNI! Dry humping, Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), Sex Pollen (so dub!con just to be safe, but not really), Multiple orgasms, Porn Without Plot...literally, implied!age gap, cursing, friends to lovers, fem!reader/afab!reader, probably some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 3,797 muahaha

“I don’t need a goddamn babysitter,” you murmur as Logan thumbs through the controls of the X-Jet. “Could’ve done this by myself.” 

Logan scoffs. “I’m not your babysitter, princess.” You roll your eyes at the nickname Logan has specially reserved just for you. “Charles said we’d be safer going together. He knows you can handle yourself.”

The X-Jet cruises effortlessly through the clouds. The air is still today. Calm. You and Logan are on your way to get some sort of flower that Charles claims to have extensive healing properties. It’s an easy mission. No fighting. No violence. You’re unlikely to have to use your powers at all. And yet, you’ve been paired with Logan. 

It wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t—admittedly—a little into him. Or rather, pining after him. There’s just something about the sarcasm that’s always thick in his voice; the way he squeezes himself into those thin beaters. How he’s always so self-assured, so thoroughly convinced he’s right. You just can’t help it. You want him. But he isn’t yours, and he probably never will be. He’s a little older—well, a lot, considering he’s been around forever. And you know it’s safer not to make attachments—not to fall in love.

Unfortunately, it’s a little too late for that. 

But having him here with you now, alone, with no buffers…it’s overwhelming. You can smell him—that mix of tobacco and pine and musk and him. He’s suddenly everywhere, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You watch as his long fingers press different buttons, his hands gripping the steering wheel, adjusting thrusters. You stare at those fingers for far too long, your thoughts drifting to what else he can do with them. You think about him curling them deep inside you, stretching you open and—

“Everything okay?” You snap your head to face Logan, swallowing harshly as his voice pulls you back to reality. 

You force a smile, nodding. “Yep!” You say, overcompensating just a bit. “All good,” you lie. You close your eyes, trying to push thoughts of Logan out of your head, denying the heat growing between your legs.

“Good, because we’re almost there,” Logan says, the X-Jet descending carefully. You look out the window to see the trees below. There’s a lake in the distance, but that’s it. No civilization, no houses—no one. It’s empty, peaceful. 

“We’re really in the middle of nowhere, huh?” You say, glancing at Logan. 

His eyes meet yours and he smiles. Warmth blooms in your heart at the sight. “My kind of place,” he says back. The X-Jet descends further as you approach a clear spread of grass to land on just ahead. 

This is, in fact, not your kind of place. The humidity creeps up your back and settles under your skin. The forest is overgrown and impossible to navigate. You let Logan slice through the plant life with his claws, swiping back and forth whenever something gets in your way.

You haven’t been walking for long, but you’re already done. Perhaps Charles was right; a partner is not the worst idea on a mission like this. 

You can see the flower just ahead—yellow petals and a long, green, viny stem. It glows brightly even under the dense forest canopy. “Semper in tenebris lux,” Charles had said; there is always light in darkness. And he was right. The flower illuminates everything in its path. Next to it, you can see a pretty, lavender-colored flower. You stop in your tracks, letting Logan wander ahead as you crouch down to stroke the purple petals. 

“Charles didn’t say anything about not taking other flowers too, right?” You call out, watching as Logan swipes carefully at the stem of the yellow flower. He holds the dainty stem in his large hands as he walks back over to you. 

“No, he didn’t. But you should be careful. It could be poisonous or—”

You ignore Logan, picking the flower anyway. You hold it up to your nose and breathe in. It’s sweet and fragrant. You twist the stem and realize the flower is sticky with sap and pollen. Your twist shakes some of the pollen up, and it lands all over your face. 

“Shit,” you mutter, wiping it away. A gust of wind sweeps through the forest, knocking the flower out of your hand and spreading more of its pollen in the air. You can feel it in your nostrils, getting caught in your throat.

Logan furrows his brows as the pollen falls to the ground. “What the fuck did you do?”

You roll your eyes. “All I did was pick a flower!” You lift your hands, feigning innocence. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” You stand up, glancing once at the yellow flower in Logan’s hands and then back at Logan. “It’s pretty.”

He parts his lips, his stare focused on you. “Yeah, it is.” There’s something else in that stare, in those words. Like maybe he isn’t only talking about the flower. You shove those thoughts down as you turn around and walk back to the jet.

Your steps are suddenly very heavy. You scratch at your shoulder. Heat blooms in your chest, your stomach, across your face. You’re irritated and overheated and itchy. Your breath grows heavier and rougher with every step. 

Logan notices immediately. He stops, grabbing your arm. You can’t control the way you lean into his touch, nor the way you’re craving more. “Hey,” he soothes, eyes searching your face. “Are you okay?” There’s a hint of panic in his voice. 

You swallow harshly, nodding. Your throat feels thick, your skin tight and oppressive. “’M’fine,” you mumble. 

“Quit lying. I can tell something’s wrong,” Logan demands. You open your mouth to persuade him otherwise, but he doesn’t give you the chance, his grip tightening around your arm. “Your skin is on fucking fire, princess. What did you do?” He cocks his head, sniffing as he furrows his brows. His voice is darker now, slower as his eyes widen. “What the fuck did you do?”

You take in a sharp breath. And that’s when you feel it, the ache between your thighs, the slick arousal soaking through your panties. The realization smacks you in the face. For a moment, you’re clear-headed, but still terrified. The pollen. That goddamn, fucking pollen. “Logan, look, I think that purple flower had some—"

He cuts you off as he yanks your arm, tugging you towards the ship. “We need to get you back to the jet, okay?”

“Oh, I am so fucked,” you cry. You know you only have a few seconds left before the effects really kick in. “L-Logan,” you stutter, almost moaning as your core burns stronger with need. “T-the pollen was everywhere. What if you got some too?” 

He ignores you, handing you the yellow flower you came here for in the first place. He sweeps one hand under your legs and keeps the other at your back as he lifts you in his arms—bridal style. You can feel his heart beating in his chest. You lean into him again, searching for relief. Wetness pools between your legs. You have never felt this needy before. Your desire hurts, burns, scorches you. You rut your hips, clenching down around nothing. 

“S-stop doing that,” Logan spits, restrained and quiet. 

“C-can’t,” you whine. “It hurts, Logan. It hurts so fucking bad. How come you aren’t like this too?”

He pulls you tighter to his chest. “I feel a little something, but that might just…”

You tilt your head up to look at him. He works his jaw, that perfect jaw. You want to bite it, to bury your face in the crook of his neck. “Might just be what?” You ask, tentatively brushing your lips against the hollow of his throat. 

“Nothing, just—fuck,” he groans as you press soft, open-mouthed kisses all around his neck now. “Don’t do that, princess. You don’t want this.”

“But I do, Logan,” you beg. The ramp to the jet lowers as you and Logan approach. “N-need you.” You bury your face into his shoulder, breathing him in. “Need y-you all the time.” The confession slips easily from your lips. 

Logan’s eyes widen as he walks up the ramp and into the ship. It lifts and seals shut behind him. “You don’t mean that, sweetheart. Let’s just get you back to the mansion as quickly as possible, yeah?”

He places you down on the seat next to him, taking the flower from your hands and putting it in the jar Charles had given you. The leather cold at your back almost feels good, almost relieving—until you realize Logan is no longer holding you, touching you. You reach out towards him, grabbing his arms, pulling him back in. “Don’t go,” you plead, nails digging into his biceps. Your body is on fire. Everything is unbearably painful. “Please,” you whimper. “Need you so fucking bad, just you.” 

“Fuck,” Logan curses. “I am not taking advantage of you. I am not doing this.” He stands, freeing himself from your grasp and walking over to the pilot’s chair. “I’m getting you back to the mansion and we’re going to fix this, okay?”

But that’s not good enough for you. You stand up and walk over to Logan. Your steps are shaky, your legs trembling. Your chest heaves, your heart beating rapidly. You climb into Logan’s lap, straddling him, one leg on either side. “Logan, I can’t fucking wait,” you cry, grinding down onto his lap. The pressure feels delicious.  He grabs your hips, stilling you, forcing you in place. And that’s when you feel it: his erection, hard underneath your core. “This isn’t you. You don’t really want this, don’t really want m—”

“It is me,” you protest, squirming against his hold. “Logan, I’ve wanted you for months. I-I was thinking about you t-touching me the whole way here.” You remember the way his fingers dexterously pushed all the right buttons. Need courses through you like a river, and as Logan’s hold on your hips softens, you grind down into his lap, against his erection. “S-so good,” you cry out. 

His hands are still on your hips, but now he’s guiding you, rocking you against his cock. “J-just this though, okay?” 

You hum, pressing your forehead to his, rolling your hips faster. The relief is like heaven. His arms wrap around your back, his fingers trailing up and down soothingly. Logan ruts into you, his erection straining against his jeans. You can feel yourself getting closer, but the pain, the need, it’s all still the same. 

“Logan, it’s not gonna be enough,” you whisper, his lips ghosting yours. “N-need more. Hurts so bad.”

He presses a chaste kiss to your lips, like he’s scared to truly touch you. But he wants to consume your pain, to take it away, to feel it for you. You can see it written across his face, in the way his cock throbs against your swollen clit, how he snaps his hips into yours. 

“I know, princess,” he coos, his hands like fire on your back. Your walls contract around nothing, begging for something to hold onto, to feel something sink deep inside. “Gonna take care of you.” He kisses you again, with more vigor this time, more passion. “I’ve got you, darlin’.”

You moan into his mouth. His composure is slipping, disintegrating with every roll, every rock of your hips against his. His cock notches against your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure up the base of your spine. He hikes your shirt up, the cold air hitting your overheated skin. “F-feels good,” you stammer. You’re almost there, almost hitting that peak. “S-so close.”

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes. “Let go for me, know you can do it.” 

You moan his name, your orgasm crashing into you like a crescendo. You know you’re soaking through your clothes, and probably onto Logan’s too. He’s still rutting against you, giving you more. He knows it’s not going to be enough, and he’s right. Need builds back up just as quickly as you found your release. 

 “Lo…” you trail off, looking up at him under lust-filled eyes. You swallow harshly, squirming in his lap helplessly. “G-gotta have you.” 

He presses his forehead to yours. He works his jaw, parting his lips. “Y-you meant it when you said you wanted me before this?” But he already knows the answer. He knows you wouldn’t lie to him about that, not even now. 

“Yes,” you whine, pulling him closer. He tugs your shirt all the way over your head and picks you up, hands firmly gripping your ass. “Still gonna want you after this, too.”

He curses under his breath as he places you down in the pilot’s chair. He’s frenzied and frantic as he hooks his thumbs into your pants and panties, yanking them down your legs and casting them to the side. 

He spreads your legs with the palms of his hands, his thumbs brushing soft circles into your inner thighs. He’s kneeling, looking up at you. Your breath catches in your throat as his face settles between your legs. 

“Could smell you before, pretty girl,” he husks, his breath fanning over your clit. “Wanted this so fucking bad.” He doesn’t keep you waiting, licking a long stripe through your folds and up to your clit. “Knew you’d taste perfect. Pretty fucking pussy.” 

You throw your head back as his lips latch onto your clit, sucking harshly. He slips one hand across your back, keeping you close. His free hand climbs up your thigh, fingers exploring your folds as his tongue flits across your swollen bud. He spreads your arousal, prodding against your entrance before shoving two fingers deep inside you. “Logan!” You cry out, your walls clenching around him. He’s stretching you out, his fingers dragging inside you. He pulls out and plunges back in. He isn’t taking his time, isn’t teasing. He’s giving you what you need, pump after pump. 

You look down at him, his face buried in your cunt, consuming you, swallowing you whole like a starving man. He’s lost inside you, lapping at you with unwavering hunger and desire. His tongue swirls around your clit, his teeth grazing ever so slightly. You moan his name again, and he hums against you, the vibrations of his bassy voice rocking through your body. He’s wrecking you, but it feels so goddamn good. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he goads you along. He’s adding a third finger now, and you suck him in. You’d take anything he gives you, anything at all. “Doing so good for me, taking it so well.” 

He sucks roughly, your walls clenching around him at the feeling. “Yeah?” He grunts, sucking again. “You like that? Feels good?” 

“Y-yes,” you stammer, stumbling over that one simple word. “S-so fucking good.” 

“I know, beautiful,” he groans, nipping at your clit in between his rough sucks. “Gonna make that hurt go away, okay?” His voice is like honey, sugar; it’s sweet, addictive. “You just gotta come for me again, can you do that?” His tongue strokes your clit, his fingers pumping faster now. 

You nod your head emphatically, pleasure surging as you near your peak. “Yeah, I-I can,” you huff. 

Logan smiles against your cunt between rough laps. “I know you can, sweetheart.” His fingers scissor inside you, deeper than before. He takes your clit between his lips again, sucking hard. 

And that’s all it takes—you’re screaming his name, coming undone, unraveling underneath him. The release is even better than the first, more full, more complete. Logan thrusts in and out a few more times before slowly pulling his fingers from your cunt. He licks one more long stripe through your folds and looks up into your eyes. 

For a moment, the fire inside has been quenched. You feel clear, levelheaded. But it doesn’t last long. “Fuck,” you moan, your head hitting against the headrest of the chair. The fire is back, spreading across your stomach, your chest. “Logan,” you whimper. “I n-need more.”

“It’s okay, pretty girl,” he coos, taking you back up into his arms. He hoists you out of the seat, his hands finding your ass, squeezing softly. You wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you across the jet, setting you down on a storage container. 

You bring your hands up to his biceps. “Need you this time, Lo,” you choke, stroking up and down his arms as the heat builds painfully between your thighs. 

“Are you sure?” He asks, eyes searching yours. 

“Always wanted you, always sure,” you whisper, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist. 

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Wanted you too,” he husks. “But I wanted it to be different, to—” You cut him off. “Just want you. It’s okay like this. I promise.” You grind against him, his erection still straining inside the denim of his jeans. 

He takes the hint, and quickly unbuckles his belt, casting the leather to the metal floor with a clunk. He’s unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, shoving them down his legs, and lining himself up with your entrance. You push your hips forward, giving him better access. His other hand pushes your bra above your breasts, exposing you completely to him. 

With one hand on his cock and one squeezing your tits gently, he thrusts himself into you. He’s so deep—down to the hilt—stretching you out and working you open. He groans, flicking your nipple with his thumb, his lips at the shell of your ear. “So fucking beautiful,” he whispers, sending a chill down your spine, quenching that fire inside. “So warm, so tight.” He pulls out and plunges back in again, filling you up. 

“Lo,” you whine. “More.”

“I know,” he growls, his hips snapping into yours, bottoming out with every thrust. “Gonna take care of you, pretty girl.” He squeezes your tits once more before sliding his hand down your body and slipping between where the two of you connect. His fingers find your clit, drawing rough circles around the bud. “That feel good, beautiful?” 

“Y-yes, Logan, so fucking good,” you cry out as he rocks into you. His other hand grips your hip tightly, holding you in place. You hope there’s a bruise there later—proof that he touched you, proof that he fucked into you like the world was ending. 

His cock rubs against your walls, your muscles contracting around him, sucking him in deeper. “Squeezing me so good, sweetheart,” he praises, his lips crashing down onto yours, swallowing your moans. He’s taking all of you, hard and fast. You can feel him twitching inside you, throbbing with the same need you feel pulsing through your veins. 

Logan kisses your jaw, and then just underneath, biting down on your pulse point. You arch your back, your chest meeting his. The contact is delicious, the friction a necessity. He thrusts into you faster now, doing his all to satiate your every need. He’s getting you there, pump after pump, hitting that sweet spot inside you every time. 

It’s working. You can feel yourself slipping again, melting. “Logan,” you hum, too fucked out to say anything other than his name. That beautiful name, like a song in the air, a gentle prayer, a holy ghost. He’s all you need—all you’ve ever needed. 

Your walls contract, squeezing him tightly. “Fuck,” he mutters. You know he’s close too. He strokes your clit, circling roughly. “Come on, pretty girl. You can do it, let me get you there again.” 

“Lo,” you cry, your eyes fluttering open and shut as he fucks into you, rutting his hips, plunging deeper still. It’s all too much. You can feel the pleasure drumming inside you, coming to a head. 

Logan loosens his grip on your hip and slides his hand behind your back, pulling you into his chest. You rest your forehead against his. “Come on my cock, princess, let go.” And you do. You’d do anything for him. You moan as your orgasm tears through you. It’s all blinding white heat, liquid smooth, pleasure wracking your body. 

Logan curses under his breath, close behind. He pulses inside you once, and then he’s coming undone. Your arms wrap around his back, keeping him close, letting him know it’s okay to finish inside. He fills you up, whispering praises in your ear as you both come down from your high. Such a good fucking girl. Did so good for me. So fucking good. Perfect little pussy.

He’s still inside you, pumping slowly as you ride out your orgasm. His fingers let go of your clit, his hands running up your back and tugging you closer to him. He slowly pulls out, keeping you tight against his chest. 

“Are you okay?” He whispers against the shell of your ear. You take a deep breath, waiting for the heat to build again, waiting for that need to surge every cell of your being. But there’s nothing. Your nerves are suddenly quiet—silent. 

“I-I think it’s over,” you stutter, still nervous that maybe it’s not. He keeps you there, holding you tightly, ready to start again if necessary. 

After a few minutes, you let yourself relax. It’s not coming back. It’s over. 

Logan presses a chaste kiss to the side of your head. “I’ve still got you. Not going anywhere.” Your heart rate has finally slowed down. The heat is gone. You feel comfortable in your skin again. You take a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper into Logan’s chest. 

“Nothing to be sorry for, princess,” Logan reassures, his voice gentle and soft. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You nod against him, but you still feel a sting in your heart. You need to make him know that you meant what you said—need him to know exactly how you feel. You swallow nervously, ready to bite the bullet. 

“Logan,” you breathe. “I-I meant everything I said. It wasn’t just the pollen.” You pull yourself from his chest, looking up at him. “I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted you…” you trail off. “S-still need you now. Nothing’s changed.” 

He smiles down at you, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I know, darlin’,” he husks. “I wanted you before, and I still do, too.” 

“I know you wanted it to be different. I know it wasn’t—” But he cuts you off, his lips capturing yours, quieting your anxious rambles. “We’ll have other chances. Other times to do it the way I want.” He smirks, running his hands up and down your back. 

Other chances. Other times. More. More. More. “Yeah?” You ask. 

“Yeah, princess.”

tags: @wolviesgirl @dojacatswink @dilf420 @spiderset @pleasantlycrazyworld @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @y-ns-things

[taeslarityy]

outage ༄ joel miller one shot (18+)

-> pairing: no-outbreak joel miller au x female curvy reader

-> word count: 4.3k

-> summary: after a citywide power outage, you're left to deal with the scorching texas heat. until, the well-respected neighborhood dilf — joel miller — lends you a more than generous hand.

-> warnings/tags: sarah is 10/11 so joel had her a bit older, power outage, texas heat, yes this is a warning because its not a joke, reader has a cat!!!, age gap (reader is 24, joel is late 40s), curvy/mid/plus size reader, brief fatphobia, reader has self-image/parent issues + is a lonely gal, fluff, SMUT (18+), unprotected piv, creampie, oral + fingering (f!recieving), squirting, body worship, brief ass play, daddy kink, big ole tits, spanking, spit kink, praise kink, a bit of belly bulge, cockwarming, pet names galore (darlin, sweetheart, baby, _ girl), joel has a huge dick (not canon!)

-> a/n: hi hi! i have been so anxious to begin writing again and currently have some wips that i am just not confident with. so when i saw the lovely @hellishjoel post her #hotdilfsummerchallenge, i was positive i wanted to join in! such a pleasure to be involved in this — thank you kylee for creating such a fun way for this community to get involved! as a curvier woman, i wanted reader to reflect that. because... joel miller is a handsy mf and loves to just grab himself some wide hips, thick thighs and phat tits <3 but ofc, this is can be for various body types. please please please, leave your thoughts and even constructive criticism! <3 DILF NEIGHBOR JOEL, YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS!!!!

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. 

You release a groan of annoyance as the visual of your TV, coffee table lamp and humming of the refrigerator all flicker off into silence. The frills on your throw-blanket settle, as the ceiling fan no longer produces the small gusts of wind that have caused you to be rather chilly on this hot, humid and rainy summer night. 

When you made the courageous decision of moving across the country for a new teaching opportunity in Austin — you were never informed on the true brutality summertime unleashed onto Texas residents. More-so, you really had nothing to do but be caged up in the comfortable AC of your home. You’ve been here for roughly 14 months and the only "friends" you’ve made have been the 28 fourth graders you had the pleasure of teaching last school year. Tragic. 

Your coworkers, did not handle your arrival pleasantly. Young, beautiful, freshly-educated and determined. That’s what your grandmother referred to you as when you called her sobbing after your first week. Informing her that the seasoned teachers won’t even bat an eye at you, and when they do it’s a look of disgust. Whispering amongst one another. Like you were in middle school again, trying to befriend the popular girls. 

“I was foolish to think things could be different for me down here, so stupid of me.”

“Now listen to me, you are the most intelligent woman I know. More than anyone in this family. Bullies like that, it stems from an unknown jealousy and overbearing insecurity. Don’t let a few sour grapes ruin this outstanding career for you. Your students adore you already, and so do I. Just continue to be yourself and if that isn’t enough for them, so be it.”

Your grandmother always knew how to make you feel better. She had been instilling your own sense of confidence since you were a little girl. The only adult in your life to do so. If only her words were enough. Your coworkers just never let up. After overhearing them gossip about you during lunch break, you gave up your attempts indefinitely. 

“She really thinks she deserves a place here?”

“Look at her back rolls in that shirt…”

“She really needs to put that sandwich down.”

“Why is she so quiet? It’s freaky, honestly. No wonder she’s always alone.”

You’re not a stranger to being alone. You practically have been your entire life. Your parents never really bothered to form a genuine relationship with you, always so focused on your younger sister. She was the prettier, thinner, more impressive version of you. You have only had one best friend throughout your long 24 years on this earth. She was smarter than you and moved away from the timid small town you shared in Northern Maine, choosing an out-of-state university. So, being alone was a familiarity. You have made peace with it. But being lonely — that’s a whole other ball-park. 

The booming thwack of thunder startles you from your thoughts. Your sweet calico boy leaps from your warm lap and scurries under the dining table — tail puffed in fear. “Milo... it’s okay,” you whisper. He just gleams at you with his jet-black saucer eyes. Even you don’t believe your own words. You are not used to storms like this, and you didn’t really prepare. You read some articles online about stocking up: having plently of batteries, candles, non-perishable foods. Yet, you didn’t do any of that. 

Rubbing away the moisture from your damp upper lip — the heat inside your home already becoming unbearable. Deciding on a whim, you can head to a nearby hotel for the night. Unsure how long you will be without power and don’t wish to succumb yourself or your cat to the searing temperatures of the night. 

The rain has slowed down, as you feel the soft patter on your umbrella. Throwing your purse and water bottle in the front seat, you begin to dread unpacking all this stuff when you get to the hotel. Bags, cat litter, cage — scrutinizing yourself mentally and deciding you better fucking prepare for the next storm. 

“Where ya headin’ sweetheart?”

Your heart jumps at the deep smooth Southern voice that fills your thoughts at night. When your hands would find their way in between your quivering legs. Throughout the day. Pretty much all the time.

Joel Miller is the only person in this town that has ever filled the lonely void you can never seem to fill. When you moved to the quiet suburban street, he was the first to come greet you as you struggled to pull your mattress out of the U-Haul. Immediately lending a hand, and proceeding to lug all of your remaining boxes, furniture, miscellaneous items into your new home. 

“Pretty lady like you, shouldn’t have to lift a single finger.” He remarked when you you blushed and assured him you could handle the rest, not wanting to be a burden. Even though the sweat dripping down your back was apparent and 5 minutes prior you had no idea how you’d be able to unpack the remainder of the truck. He then assured you — there was no way in hell you were being a burden. Words that were a rarity. 

Later that afternoon, he invited you for dinner at his home. You met his lovely daughter, Sarah. Where everyone learned that you were her new school teacher. What were the odds? 

Following that, seeing Joel was frequent. From parent-teacher conferences, backyard barbecues for the neighborhood, or even small intimate dinners with Sarah at each others homes. Sarah would even spend the night at yours on occasion. When Joel had a late night at the construction site, or when she just needed some girl time. You adored that little girl, and vice versa. 

You also adored the fuck out of Joel. 

So when you looked up at his porch, finding him in nothing but a pair of plaid pajama pants.. your throat went dry. His tanned skin gleamed softly from the street light — little speckled freckles adorned his waist in various spots. And that darkish grey hair on his chest and fat of his lower tummy that flowed underneath his pants. Your brain fuzzy at the thought of your face pressed against it as you swallow his cock. 

But you were not a fool. Joel would never express an attraction towards you. A man like that? He deserved the perfect woman. 

“Darlin’?” He speaks again, a bit louder. Disturbing your wandering thoughts. 

“I- I was gonna head to a hotel for the night, my house is too hot already. And I don’t want Milo to be uncomfortable.” 

Joel’s eyes wander down your body as you explain — the plush jiggle of your tits in that small tank. Nearly spilling out. Slightly damp from the rain or humidity. The chub of your tummy spills slightly from your leggings. A sight that makes his cock swell unbearingly. An act that occurs more often than not when he sees you or even thinks of you for the countless minutes of his day. 

“No way. Not gonna let ya drive in this weather. Plus, most hotels nearby are gonna be overbooked. I got the generator up n’ working, got the spare room too. Your stayin’ over.” 

“No! No, Joel. I can’t.”

“N’ why not?” His hands have found his way to his hips, popping a knee out and giving you that classic dad glare. Not angry, but confused as to why you’re even protesting when he’s already decided. 

“I don’t want to intrude and I have Milo. You and Sarah are allergic.”

“Sarah left yesterday to stay with her mom in California for the rest of the summer. Besides, Milo loves me. I can handle a runny nose as long as I know the two of ya are safe.” 

To this, your stomach nearly flips inward on itself. You’ve never been alone with Joel in his home. Not for this long. The few times you’ve come over to help him with dinner before Sarah got home from soccer practice, have always been excruciating. Staring at him without worry. Watching his muscles flex through his t-shirts. Big hands chopping vegetables and plating food. His hand lightly touching your waist when scooting by. 

There’s no possible way you can survive a night in Joel’s home. 

But, he’s already grabbing his umbrella and walking over to you. He grabs your stuff from the car and tells you to go grab Milo. So, you do.

Joel slips on a t-shirt after he put your stuff in the spare room, disappointedly enough. You nearly told him to keep it off, but held your tongue. You made yourself comfortable at the island barstool as you typed up some early lesson plans, Milo at your feet. 

He patters over to Joel who is now leaning against the counter, brushing against his leg. He then leaps onto the granite and purrs against Joel’s arm. 

“Psst! Milo get do-“ you beg, embarrassment coloring your cheeks. 

“S’ okay, sweetheart. He’s not botherin’ me,” Joel attempts to settle your nerves. Petting Milo’s soft fur and scratching under his chin, that special spot all cats love. “Can I get you anythin’ to drink?” He nods towards the coffee he’s brewing. 

“Coffee would be nice, thank you.” You beam at him. Joel’s heart skips a beat every time your cheeks puff up ever so slightly when you smile at him. It’s something he swears is the most endearing thing about you. Of course, he’s only ever shared that with his daughter. Who begs her father to just take her favorite teacher on a date already. 

Joel grabs some sugar and oat milk from the fridge, your favorite. He learned from the few breakfasts you guys had shared. A bit of sugar and a nice gulp of milk softens the dark roast color in the mug, he slides it over to you as he grabs his plain black coffee. 

“You remembered!” You giggle slightly at the Number 1 Dad title that adorns the mug, taking a sip. You moan at the taste, exactly how you like it. 

“Of course I did, darlin’.” You almost hate how easily those pet names roll of his tongue. You summed it up as his southern hospitality, figured he calls any woman those special names. “So, you ready for this new school year?”

An icky feeling settles in your stomach. The thought of returning to the painful and toxic work environment you can only escape when you’re with your students.

“Not without my Sarah girl,” you swiftly change the subject towards the one person he can talk hours about.

He smiles proudly at her name. 

“Ya know, she still all mad that you wouldn’t flunk her so she could have another year with ya.” Both your laughs quickly fill the empty house. 

“Well, even if I tried to, that girl is too smart for her own good. She should skip a grade in my opinion.” You state, and you’re truthful at that. Sarah Miller is as intelligent as she is quick-witted. 

“Yeah, she gets it from me.” At that you roll your eyes playfully. Typing something up before closing your computer and taking another sip of coffee. “Although I love boastin’ over her, I guess I meant are you excited to go back? They treat ya good there?” 

Joel watches the color drain from your soft skin. Realizing he touched somewhere that might be too personal. Too raw. “M’ sorry sweetheart, shouldn’t have asked.”

“No- no uh, you’re fine. Um, honestly? No. I’m not excited. The staff there aren’t exactly the kindest bunch.” You confess, slight unease crawling over you. 

Joel’s eyes scrunch in confusion. Mind blank on how the kindest soul he knows, could be surrounded by complete opposite. “Whatcha mean?”

You sigh letting the anxiousness settle a bit before speaking again, “they hate me. I don’t even know why, really? I have tried my hardest to get them to accept me but nothing seems to work. Whether it’s jabs at my appearance, teaching style, they’re never satisfied.” Your eyes are burning slightly, haven’t confessed this burden you constantly carry to anyone. “If it wasn’t for your daughter and my class, and… you.. well, I think I wouldn’t have made it through. I try to be strong, I try to be everything that people expect from me but it’s just so hard, Joel.” At that, the fat tears begin to stream down your face.

Joel was frozen in shock. Or maybe anger. Protectiveness. He wanted to hurt the people who made you feel like this. The least deserving of any pain. He sets his mug down and snatches you in his embrace. Holding your head with his hand, stroking your back with the other. He lets you sob almost uncontrollably into his firm chest. 

“I just hate being so alone.” You whisper, clutching onto him. You can’t even be embarrassed anymore, you’re so overthrown by his scent, his comfort. Comfort you’ve not felt in so so long. 

Joel kisses your temple softly, "promise you're not alone, sweet girl." He nudges your head to look up at his own sorrowful expression. His thumb running over your full lips, a bit swollen from your teeth biting down on them in an attempt to muffle your sobs. "So beautiful." He murmurs as he leans down to place a kiss on your left cheek, his lips skim over yours before he places another on your right.

Joel just barely hears the whimper from the back of your throat when that feather light skim happened. He leans back half an inch, staring into your glossy eyes. "Tell me not to, and I'll let you go upstairs and get some rest. Tell me, sweetheart."

It feels like a whole minute passes by. The soft patter of the rain, the smell of coffee beans from each others breath, the same slow breathing that overwhelms the little space between you both.

Desperation.

Your fingers tighten on his shirt, "don't let me go upstairs, Joel."

Joel smashes his mouth into yours, his guttural groan flying into your soft whimpers. The softness Joel expressed a moment ago is long gone. This kiss is messy, teeth-clanking, tongue inside your mouth. Like he wants to devour you from the outside in. He releases your lip with a pop.

He threads his thick fingers through the base of your hair and yanks it back gently, tongue on your neck. Biting the skin there. "You're so soft, baby. Just need me to mark ya up, is that right?"

You nod as hard as you can despite his harsh grip on your locks.

"I need you to use your words, sweet girl. Let me know what you're thinkin'."

"Everything you do is okay. I want more. I need it all. Please."

"Oh baby, cm'ere," he wraps your lavish thighs around his waist and hoists you into his arms. Easily. Like you're just the most delicate thing he's ever held.

As he walks to his bedroom, you smile into his neck. Arms wrapped over his shoulders, hand rubbing ever so softly at his greying curls. You bite at the skin under his ear and he gives your ass a huge squeeze. Groaning at how his big hands barely hold all the meat there. He couldn't wait to touch and gnaw at this body he loved.

At the foot of his bed, he taps your leg as if telling you to get down. You stand in front of his massive overbearing figure, staring up at him lustfully. You grab the bottom of your compression tank top and pull it over your head, revealing your unsupported chest. Your heavy tits fall a bit.

"My god," Joel falls to his knees in front of you, face nearly level with your pebbled nipples. Both his hands grab a fistful of each, rolling them in his palm. Your sweet noises fill the room and he swears he might've just came in his pajama pants right there. He takes his teeth and bite at the fat above your leggings, licking and sucking at a sensitive part of you. Literally and figuratively.

Joel abandons your chest to yank your leggings and panties down in one move, coming face-to-face with your prickly oozing pussy. He can't restrain himself much longer, spinning you around he pushes you down into his mattress.

He spreads your ass open with both hands, the chub of your lips open ever so slightly as the slick between them strings together.

"Perfect cunt." That's when you feel the chill of liquid spat right onto your puckered hole, dripping down to your clit. He leans in, tongue catching the tangy mixture of your slick and his saliva, right on your throbbing clit.

You screech into the sheets, so turned on from his actions. As he licks up to dip his tongue into your hole, one hand that's holding you open sneaks up your back, to your neck and yanks your head up.

"Nu-uh, let me hear you, baby girl." He demands as he pauses to throw his shirt off as fast as possible — not wanting to leave your cunt for too long without the warmth of his mouth.

He sloppily makes out with your cunt as it clenches and unclenches under his tongue, his beard prickling at your skin. Like he wants your scent all over him for as long as possible.

"Ohh daddy, more more," you whisper hazily, hand reaching back to grab his head desperate to have him as deep as possible.

Joel stops as he processes your choice of title. "What was that, darlin'?"

You freeze at his serious tone. Just now realizing what you've called the man. "Oh my god, I'm s-" Joel grabs your wrist and pins it against your lower back — thick middle and ring finger hooking into you with no warning. Your wetness aiding in the rapid slide of them.

He spits on your puckered hole again and abandons your wrist to land a harsh smack against your ass.

"Only dirty girls say that word, baby. Are you daddy's dirty girl?" He edges you on as he spanks you again on the opposite side. Hard. Unsparing. A side of Joel you've never seen. And oh, does it make you feel that coil tightening within you.

"Mmmm yes yes 'm your dirty girl, daddy!" You groan loudly, eyes swelling with fresh tears. But not tears of pain from earlier, pleasure.

Joel's fingers fuck into you harder, thumb now rubbing at your clit as he leans forward to prod his tongue at your asshole. "Cum for me, my nasty sweet girl. Drench my face. Let me taste you even more." He halts his fingers knuckle deep, hooked inside your cunt as he presses into that spot on repeat. Like he's stroking it out of you.

That's all it takes for you to silently scream as you squirt all over his lower beard covered face and your thick inner thighs, that nearly squish his head from how hard you're coming. Joel just keeps himself situated, never letting up. Allowing you to completely let go and rut back into him, telling him you need more.

"Thaaat's it, my good fuckin' girl.” He praises as he kisses your cunt and ass, he leans over your face capturing your lips in a kiss so messy and depraved. “Open that mouth.” Spitting roughly onto your tongue with a groan as you taste your sweetness that he knows he will forever be addicted to. No chance of recovery.

He ruts his thick bulge into your ass as you whine needly.

"Really want you to fuck my face, now." You beg, hand reaching down to grope him through his loose pjs.

"Mmmmm," he murmurs as his hips keep rutting into you. "Tonight is about you, baby. M' gonna stuff your tight cunt so fuckin' deep you'll feel it in your throat, don't worry." And with that promise, he releases himself, throbbing cock slapping against his lower tummy. You flip onto your back just to see it and your eyes widen at the sight before you.

You always knew it was huge just from perception, but god. It's thicker than your wrist, and looks like it would prod into your cervix. Painful even. Joel senses the worry on your face as he pushes your legs back against your chest. Admiring the way your stomach folds into itself, soft roll after roll. And the thickness of your inner thighs lays heavy. He just wants to get down and feast on you again but he might die if he doesn't feel you wrapped around him.

"You're in charge here, sweetheart. Understood?" He explains as he rubs his fat cock head up and down your swollen slit — notching on your opening with every downward stroke.

You nod slowly, peeking down at the monster between your legs once more. He squeezes your ankle, subtly reminding you to vocalize.

"Yes daddy, I understand."

"Good." And with that, he pushes into your fluttering hole. Your eyes roll back immediately, head thumping onto the soft duvet. He pushes in deeper, barely halfway in and he sees your feet and eyes scrunch a bit. It almost feels like he could rip you apart. Maybe it's because you haven't been fucked in a hot minute — or maybe it's just that Joel is so fucking hung. More than any guy you've slept with.

“Deep breath for me, sweetheart.” He soothes you, as soon as he sees your chest fall — he slams the rest of the way in. Hips flush with the back of your thighs. Cock fully sheathed in your warm soaked cunt. Heavy brimming balls pressed against your little puckered hole. “You feel so damn good. Dripping for me.” Joel’s eyes close at the feeling of you hugging him so tight. He suddenly forgets the feeling of any other woman he’s pleased. Utterly devoted to you from here on out.

When he pulls out all the way to his fat tip — it notches on your opening. Like he has to put in that extra effort to fully remove himself from you. But he doesn’t, and starts fucking into you fully. Never half way, never pulling completely out.. but always making sure he reaches the end of you.

“Da- daddy oh, harder please.” You plead, squeezing his forearm at the overwhelming feel of him nudging your cervix with every thrust.

That confirmation of pleasure is all Joel needs to push your legs back even more — ankles by your head — and began a brutal relentless pace. Grabbing a fistful of your jiggling tit and messy hair, he pulls your head up so you can watch how he ruins you for anyone else.

“Ya see that, see how swollen your gettin’ already?” Joel questions as he holds your head perfectly to observe the slight lifted pudge on your tummy. Paired with the way his coarse hair rubs against your swelled clit — it’s a drool worthy sight.

“Cus’ your so big, Joel.” You sigh, eyes fluttering from the primal force he’s using on your body.

A smug grin flicks across his face at the view. Mind consumed by the most perfect woman. Eyebrows turning inward, the little lines between them deepening as you try to comprehend all the emotions in this moment. Removing his hand from your head, he finds your clit and swipes it upward. Over and over. Leaning down, he sucks as much of your breast into his mouth as humanely possible. Tongue flicking the pebbled area, coercing your orgasm from you. “Cum with me, baby.” His muffled command shoots straight to your filled core.

As he feels you spasm around his thickness, he stills balls deep. “There it is, baby…” Spilling his cum inside your warmth. Plugging you, keeping you full of him. Joel relaxes his body against yours, finding your mouth to kiss you gently. Sweaty foreheads against one another. Joel goes to push off of you, his comforting body heat about to be ripped away.

"No! Wanna feel you longer, please."

Your protest makes Joel's heart surge. "Of course, sweet girl." Wrapping his large arms around you, he flips you both so that your soft plush body lays above him. The new angle makes his spent cock nudge a bit deeper, you both moan at the faint squelch of his cum overflowing your cunt. "You're so perfect," he mutters.

Smiling into his full chest, you leave a swift kiss. "So are you. Thank you for this. For.. everything."

Joel's hands finds your back as he begins gentle strokes onto your supple skin, his head resting atop your own. "Thank you, darlin'. I want you to understand something, you might just be the finest thing that ever happened to Sarah and I. Y'know, she didn't really want to see her mom. Never had the best relationship with her. She just wanted to spend the remainder of the summer havin' ya over everyday to swim and all. That girl admires you more than anyone."

Eyes foggy, you shift to gaze up at him. "And what does her father think?"

Joel pauses briefly, rich brown orbs beaming into yours. "Think she's damn right. She didn't want me to tell you this, but she left so I could have some alone time with you — take ya out. Scolded me sayin' by the time she's back, we better be together." He laughs at the thought, you join him. Picturing that 4'9 ball of fire lecturing her father on the rules of dating.

"So, you're asking me out Miller?" You question with a heavy hopeful heart.

"Should've done it forever ago, darlin'." He confesses, placing a delicate kiss on your temple.

And with that, you place your head back onto the warm chest of the man you've craved your entire life. Realizing, ever since that day where he first greeted you with that sultry gentleman voice — you were never truly alone.

thank you truly for reading! let me know your thoughts below or in asks!! reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

[smut-slut69]

★~"Girl's Just Wanna Have Sun"~★

★Hashira x fem!Reader★

Synopsis★How the Hashira react when they see their pretty little wife in a sundress themed after their Haori.(Minus Muichiro Ofc, cause I'm not a weirdo)★

Gyomei Himejime

Gyomei would want to show his appreciation towards you

His sweet little wife who knew how much small things mattered to him

You who hated the hot summer sun but still took walks through nature with him

Ate meals with him during the humid nights

And even accompanied him to dinners with the Master and his wife

In a pretty dress that matched his Haori, that you told him you bought purely because it relieved you from the summer heat

But he was sure you were doing it because you knew how much it meant for him to have his wife walking around with a symbol of him on her

How could he not reward you for that

"She's nice and loud for me today isn't she" Gyomei whispers in your ear. The sound sends a pleasant shiver down your spine and straight to your cunt. Which was currently being stuffed by two of Gyomei's thick fingers. You could barely listen to the constant flow of praises your husband was slurring in your ears. Everything was just so hot. The air of your bedroom, his warm fingers curled inside of you, his breath on your neck. And the green dress that had gotten you into this situation was starting to feel suffocating in the best way possible. Gyomei was entranced at the way you pussy took his fingers all the way to his knuckles. You were so wet, he could hear and feel it, the juices starting to leak onto his pants. But he wouldn't complain. The only thing he loved more than rewarding you, was rewarding your pretty cunt. So he could let the stain slide. "You hear her talking Y/n, I think she likes being full...and you earned it for her" Gyomei grins. "Mmm, guess she should thank you, make you cum real good"

Giyuu Tomioka

Giyuu can't help himself when he sees you in it

He definitely hates the summer

There are so many things about it that annoy him

The sun is pestering, the mosquitoes are always out, and his hair frizzes in the humid climate

But there was one good thing about the summer

Seeing his wife in her favorite way to stay cool

Sundresses

His favorite is the one you wear that is decorated with intricate waves of water

It reminded him of his own breathing style...and the way he made you squirt on his tongue

"B-Baby you said- fuck" you groan as your husband dives back into your slit. Lapping at your pussy without tire, as if he hadn't been at it for nearly an hour and a half. He heard and understood what you were trying to say. He had told you if you squirted one more time he'd let up. And he'd said that at least 3 times so far, and he had a feeling he'd be saying it again soon. To be fair, you knew how Giyuu got when he was between your legs. The man was insatiable, he would eat at your clit until he knew for sure you couldn't handle cumming again. And it was such a glorious form of torture. Cumming over and over again on your husband's tongue, juices squirting from you to the point they were dripping all over his face and onto his shirt. And even when he pulled away, watching you twitch and shake. Rubbing along your clit to prolong your orgasm. And when he looked up at you, a pleading look in his eyes. You knew what he was gonna ask before he even asked it. But the plea still fell off his tongue. "Please, Mama, just one more"

Tengen Uzui

Tengen's excited when he sees you in that sundress

All his wives have one

Something blingy and out there so they could be comfortable during the summer

The fact that your dress matches his flashy personality definitely does something to him

But I feel like the easy access the dress provides turns him on even more

"And oh my god! Y/n you'll never believe this flower I saw on the way home, it was so pretty and pink and it had a yellow inside and...." you were nodding your head along to your wife, Suma's story, really trying your best to pay attention. But it was hard, especially right now. To everyone else in the room, It looked like you were just casually seated on Tengen's lap. One of his hands resting on your hip. But concealed underneath your dress, You were hugging Tengen's cock tight. Trying your best to ignore the way his tip kissed your cervix whenever you shuffled on his lap. Just to try to make this position comfortable. And sweet little Suma didn't notice a thing, too busy telling you stories of her day like she always did. You were even managing to comprehend some of it. Until Tengen started a slow grind of his hips up into yours that had you squeezing the flesh of your thigh to hold in a moan. But with the way Tengen was grinding into you, you couldn't hold them back for much longer. Suma saw the way your eyes crossed in pleasure, and her own filled with worry. As if sensing the distress, Makio and Hinatsur walk into the room. And when they catch the sight of you, pathetically grasping on Tengen's lap they can already guess what's happening. But Suma's not so quick to catch on. "Y/n are you okay?""You idiot, Lord Tengen's balls deep in her right now!""Don't call her an idiot, Y/n did a good job withstanding Lord Tengen's teasing, she could have fooled anyone of us!" And Tengen rolls his eyes at his wives arguing, grunting as he feels you clenching around him, extra wet from having all the room's attention. "You guys are no f-fun"

Sanemi Shinazugawa

Sanemi's a freak as always

Summer seemed to be the time when everyone had parties

Some people through family gatherings, others hosted dinner parties

No matter what type of party there was

You always got invited and Sanemi, when he wasn't working, had no choice but to accompany you

And he hated it

Well, most aspects of it

He liked the dresses you wore, especially when they were white.

Made you look so sexy when he had you bent over the bathroom counter when you were getting ready

Sanemi always finishes getting ready before you. He usually wasn't one to rush his wife but his irritation got the best of him and he stormed upstairs to the bathroom. And for once he was grateful for his irritation. He went upstairs,  knowing he’d probably have to drag you away from a mirror and out the door. But when he actually lays his eyes on you, staring at yourself in the mirror, he pauses. Eyes trailing down his wife’s body Like this..he could see the low cut of your dress, your boobs pressed up perfectly in the hold of the straps. Sanemi walked closer to you, his hands encircling your waist. Your hips were thick but his hands were bigger, squeezing at the flesh. “This….I like this” Sanemi smiles at you. You smile at first, until you feel his hands start to roam over your body and you let out a breathy moan, “O-Oh…you really like it” He pulls you back and now you can feel his cock growing hard in his pants, “I have a problem now” he tells you, “You gonna help me fix it Woman?” he asks and you groan as he starts to palm at your tits. “Baby, we’re going to be late for the- the party” You whimper out as he pulls your tits out of your dress, fingers tweaking at your nipples. Sanemi shakes his head, “I’ll be quick, promise I’ll be quick” And when his hands trail down to your pussy, touching you through the fabric of your dress you give in. You always give in to your husband. He was insatiable. “F-fine!” you say and as soon as you give him the green light, he’s quick to shuffle your dress up your hips. He doesn’t even bother to yank your panties down all the way before he’s unbuckling his pants, pulling them down just enough to pull his own cock out. “You need prepping Mama?” he asks you, though his tip was already waiting near your entrance and when you shake your head no he grins. "Good, I'll go slow, I know that cunt's too tight to take me all at once"

Shinobu Kocho

Shinobu's Insatiable

On hot days, Shinobu likes to swim in a lake near the butterfly mansion

The only thing she hated more than demons was being uncomfortable and hot

You weren't particularly fond of swimming

Opting to come out and leave Shinobu some snacks in case you got hungry

But every time you had come out today to give her a small snack, it felt like she was getting teased

Because you came out in a pretty little sundress, made out of the same fabric as her Haori

And it was driving her crazy

You were beyond embarrassed right now. There was such a weird feeling of vulnerability that surrounded this. Being spread out on the hot rocks of the lake's shore, pussy wet and visible for anybody walking by to see. Not that Shinobu cared about that anyway. Because if anybody did see you right now, they would definitely see her too. With her head right between your legs, making you scream out so loud you scared all the nearby birds out of the forest. Usually, she didn't do things as taboo as sucking your clit outside, but how could she resist when her wife looked so pretty in her sundress. Pussy wet as if she was waiting...begging for Shinobu to make her cum at some point today. So that's what she did. The insect Hashira made you hold your shaky legs up as she focused almost all of her attention on your clit until you were a quivering but satisfied mess. Reluctantly, after you gently pushed her head away she relinquished you, looking up at you with your slick still wet across her bottom lip. "I think I've had enough snacks for today love...you should let me return to my laps because If I see you out here again...you'll be sitting right back here"

Obanai Iguro

I think Obanai's immediate reaction would be to take you right where he saw you wearing a dress

And he saw nothing wrong in that

How the hell did you think he was just supposed to sit there and see you in that pretty black-and-white striped dress?

Ass so pretty and perked up like it always is

Backshots should have been expected as soon as you wandered back home from a long day of shopping, all dolled up in that damn dress.

"Where the hell have you been hiding this" Obanai gruffed and it always baffled you how he could talk so clearly when he was pounding the shit out of you. You didn't look like you did half an hour ago. Your painted lips were smeared and your dress had sinched up around to your waist to the point where your tits had flopped out the top and your ass was on full display. Allowing Obanai to watch himself disappear in and out of you. He had fucked you out already, only two rounds in. But it wasn't your fault. His backshots were always rough but these were borderline mean. Obanai was so deep you could barely think, hands squeezing the sheets of your bed. You whimpered when Obanai twisted his hand in your hair, pulling you closer to him. Your back arched, toes curling at the sensation of his cock fucking you at a new angle. "I asked you a question sweetheart" he whispered in your ear. "...It's not polite to ignore someone who has a guest inside"

Mitsuri Kanroji

Seeing you in a sundress modeled after her would flip a switch in her

Because of how busy her work keeps her, it was rare she got to come home

So on a warm summer morning, you decided to drop by the Butterfly mansion which she was visiting, to see her

And when she sees you walk up to her in that sundress, she's speechless

Because not only is it modeled after, white that faded into a pink and green ombre that matched her hair...but you look incredibly sexy in it as well

The dress hugged your hips tight, and your skin was sheened with a slight sweat

You looked divine, and everyone else at the mansion was thinking the same thing

And there was only one problem with that

She wasn't particularly fond of sharing

"M-Mitsuri please, people are going to hear us!" you speak, looking over at the girl who had her hand up your dress. She had dragged you into a nearby room, with no hint as to who was coming in at what time. Mitsuri swooped to lock your lips in a kiss, "That means they know you're definitely off the market" You moan as her hands trace circles over your clit, making you jump, "I'm your w-wife love, everyone knows I'm off the market!" you argue back, a slight stutter in your tone as her pace speeds up when she hears your words. "I didn't like the way they looked at you, my pretty girl" Miitsuri speaks and you sigh, turning to look at her. "If I let you do this will you feel better?" you ask and Mitsuri nods her head. And with a sigh, you relent, letting her trail over your body with complete freedom. "There you go pretty," Mitsuri says as your breath hitches at the feeling of her fingers dragging through your clit. "Make a lot of noise for me, let them hear how I make you feel".

Kyojuro Rengoku

Rengoku would short-circuit

Like Kyojuro knows how to control himself.

He likes to fuck you gentle and soft

Show his love for you with every thrust of his cock

But seeing you in a sundress in an attempt to escape the humid climate of Japan in the summertime

The fabric patterned with his flames matched the ones on the end of his Haori

The vision drives him over the edge

And he fucks you like a madman

It was usually you that lost count of how many orgasms you had during sex. But tonight, you and your husband had switched places. He couldn't count how many times he had and neither could you. All you knew was that you felt so full. This man stuffed you to the brim, begging and pleading in your ear every 10 minutes asking to cum inside you as if he hadn't already emptied his balls into you an obscene amount of times yet. But it was nice, a turn to see him like this. Using you for his own pleasure, getting himself off with you. It made you feel good, almost better than he was fucking you right now. As Kyojuro's thrusts into your cunt grew sloppier, and his pleads start up again. You smile weakly, giving him confirmation and moaning as you feel him paint your walls white, a whimper rolling off his tongue. "Thank you l-love, thank you" Kyojuro whines, his hips pumping up again. "I've got so much more to give you sweetheart, you look so pretty. I need to fill you up again"

★This was another request! A little less detailed than usual but I think it's still pretty good! Sorry for any spelling mistakes, hope you enjoyed!!!★

masterlist~ requests~

[love-toxin]

MEAT - thomas hewitt (leatherface)

a/n: i had to be a little silly ehe <- delusional

(cws: fem!reader, DDDNE, extreme violence, blood, gore, broken bones, a whole array of weaponry, domestic abuse, forced relationship, evolution of victim -> perpetrator, psychological torture, mentions of very dubious consent, breeding, huge size difference, ownership marking, protective tommy, implied cannibalism, unnamed victims of the tcm.)

wc: 10.7k

Lungs burning in your chest with the humid Texas heat, you forced the corn stalks aside as you stumbled through them in a frantic sprint. Each leathery pod whacked against your shoulders, your hands, your chest, and your bruised-up legs, but you wouldn't stop for nothing.

You couldn't stop. The people you'd hitchhiked with were all dead, or at least very well on their way to being so–they had been hunted one by one, by bear traps and shotguns and hay hooks, and you were sure you were the only one the family were left hunting. It'd taken all night to spread you thin and weaken you all with sadistic tortures of every kind. Now your group was down to one. You. Hauling ass was not enough to describe how frantically you were tumbling through the crop field, practically hand-over-foot crawling with how dizzy you'd gotten. Blood loss and a few hits to the head would do that to you.

Finally, the maize parted one last time to spit you out into the dewy grass, the labyrinth of sameness finally coming to an end. But when you tilted your head up to the starry night sky, your heart dropped into your feet at what laid before you. The farmhouse. You'd run in the wrong direction. Warm light glowed from within the drapery behind the windows and you spotted the older woman standing on the porch, a rag tucked between her hands as she called out a name. Terrified and hoping for the blessing of going unseen you army crawled your way right back to the corn–

Thunk. Only halfway there, the grass split with the force of a sledgehammer dropping into it. A boot stepped into view right by your head; attached to it was an enormous calf, and your eyes trailed upwards slowly to reveal the whole of that crazed maniac you'd seen manhandling the others into that house of horrors across the lawn.

Greasy hair hung down in long tresses, wary eyes pierced into your skull, an apron sat snug around his midriff stained with dark blood. Up close, you could listen to the way he breathed heavy through the mask that obscured his lower jaw, only the bridge of his nose and his forehead visible through it. He stunk of sweat, rot, and fresh meat. His weighty hand tightened round the handle of the hammer he'd set down, veins popping out with the sheer size and strength of his enormous, hulking body.

“Tommy!” The woman's voice cracked out in the night, the name finally ringing clear enough for you to hear. His head whipped around to the source and he stared in her direction; you watched her turn a blind eye to your predicament in the grass and step back inside the house. It felt as though your heart might burst in that moment, the fear and tension running through you like a taut wire about to snap in two.

The giant grunted overhead. You looked back at him again and squeezed your fists against the dirt, expecting him to lift that hammer and crush your skull into the ground with it. But upon resting his palm on the blunt end of it, the monster instead used it to lower himself to one knee. With a hand outstretched, he slowly, carefully brushed your damp hair aside, and pressed his fingertips firmly into your cheek. You shuddered as they moved downwards, probing around the soft spot beneath your ear and the curve of your jaw. He tilted your chin back and slid his whole, grubby hand down your neck…and with the most tentative squeeze around your throat, you swallowed and he all but jumped back. Your skin ran cool again as his warm hand ripped away from you, but with just as much hesitation he grazed your lips with his knuckles and trailed them across your forehead, leaving smudges of wet blood behind.

“Tommy!” A harsher voice tore through the quiet night, yanking his attention away from you again. The sheriff–the fake sheriff, that is–came stomping up from around the back of the barn, the shotgun hanging at his side causing you enough panic to scramble to your knees. But you wouldn't get far. Not even a couple feet. Your body hit the earth within moments of you climbing to your feet, and you heaved out a pained moan at the mountain of weight that pinned you down and crushed you underneath him. The giant had thrown himself forward and taken you down without thinking twice; his beefy arm came around your neck and tightened, his muscles flexing under the coarse fabric of his shirt for him to hold you in place.

“Attaboy, Tommy.” The older man came around his side as you struggled, clawing at the bicep that was crushing your windpipe with barely any effort. The sheriff kicked your flailing leg with a holler, cackling at the way you squirmed under his nephew's brute strength. “Stupid bitch. Gonna learn your lesson now, aint'cha?”

Dying squeaks for mercy escaped your throat, your words barely tinged with any discernible syllables. Thomas’ grip only grew tighter. Your arms went slack, then your legs slowed to a trembling halt…and before long your head slumped forward as you passed into unconsciousness, hoping to god this would be the last time you woke up in this sweltering Texas hell.

Clink. Clink. Clink. The chatter of voices melted into the gentle clatter of silverware. It wasn't the sounds that stirred you from your sleep rife with nightmares, though–it was the sliver of a sunbeam cast through the window that shone gently on your face. You blinked blearily as your head lolled in a stuttered circle, slowly and quietly coming to. Clink. Clack. Eyelids cracked half-open, you raised your head up despite the weight of a pounding headache, and watched a pair of wrinkled hands set down a teacup on a saucer in front of you.

Although there was much to see, you instantly turned your gaze to the woman you'd seen on the porch. Your nerves jittered and you flinched as she reached out to touch you, but it passed with her gentle shushing as she tenderly caressed your cheek. The age showed in creases all across her face, her eyes soft but wet with something terribly uneasy behind them.

“Such a pretty girl,” She crooned, a smile like nothing had happened plastered across her face. The eagerness with which she watched you unsettled you to your very core, but it would be second to the nightmare that was waiting to explode on you across the table. “I always wanted a little girl. Never seen one so pretty.” Despite the sweetness of her words, a shift of your hand rattled the chair you'd been tied to; both wrists buckled under the tough ropes used to bind you, indented where you could see dry blood crusted over the fibers. Either you moved a lot in your sleep, or someone really wanted to punish you for trying to get away.

As tenderly as if she was your own mother, the lady brought your teacup up and tilted it for you to drink, which gave you a moment to let your eyes wander. With a glance around you took a mental sweep of the place. Your chair sat at the end of a dining table, and aside from the woman you spotted two other older men; the frightening man with the shotgun, and an elderly man in a wheelchair. Framed photos hung around the room against peeling wallpaper, and aside from a decent amount of clutter and antique decorations of a house long lived in, nothing struck you as out of the ordinary from the cutlery to the frayed rug that cushioned your bare feet.

The aging woman tottered around the table to pick up a plate and slid a few eggs on from a saucepan in the middle. That and a few strips of bacon made their way down to your placemat, still sizzling.

“Why're you givin’ this bitch special treatment, mama?” The fake sheriff glared you down from his seat at the head of the table, spitting off to the side with his hands still clasped in front of him. “Already got enough mouths to feed.”

“Hush.” She finally snapped, and gestured with the spatula still in hand. “This is your fault. You wanna play sheriff so bad, Charlie.”

“It's Hoyt, mama, for god's sake!”

“Don't you cuss at me!” The old woman warned, aiming the spatula right at his chest.

“U-Um,” You whimpered softly, and drew the attention of all three of the frightening strangers, who turned their heads in your direction. The focus on you made you falter, but the problem at hand was far more pressing than fear. “Th-The rope…please..” You managed to squeak out, and only then did they seem to notice your hands were changing colours. They were so tight the blood wasn't circulating, and you feared even a few moments more of the ache would result in something very unpleasant in the near future, especially when you knew there was a chainsaw floating around here somewhere.

Just then, the floorboards creaked at your back. Too afraid to turn your head you only shifted your gaze, and in your peripheral you saw it. Two thick, fat-fingered hands reaching downwards to tug at the binds round your wrist. For someone so huge, he made short work of untying you even without the aid of one of the knives scattered round the table settings. The rope loosened and dropped to the floor in a coil like a dead snake, but as he reached over you to undo the other–and you got a whiff of soap amidst his sweat in the process–the man naming himself Hoyt grumbled and slammed his fist down on the table, rattling the plates and silverware.

“Goddammit, boy–what'd I say? We ain't keepin’ her, for Christ sakes!”

“Watch your mouth!” The woman–mama–shrieked, and her fist shook as she dumped the spatula down on the table with a thunk. The other cuff came loose and you released a sigh of relief as you touched your wrists, wincing at the open cuts that had only half dried over. And while the two continued to bicker about one thing or another, a great shifting of clothes and a thump beside you caught your gaze. Thomas, the giant that you'd watched haul the others off to the slaughter, had knelt down by your chair like a dog and still came up to eye level. God, he was just massive. Somehow it made him less intimidating though, since he looked at you like he was waiting for scraps from your plate. It was somewhat pathetic, but…endearing? Was that a word you could even consider using for a maniac like him, or was it beyond all common logic to even think of him in such pleasant terms?

“A-Are you…hungry?” You whispered, only to be met with a slow shake of his head. Thomas raised a melon-sized arm and pushed the plate closer to you, as if to say ‘eat up, it's getting cold’. Emboldened by his tender gesture, you shakily plucked your fork off the placemat and leaned in to examine the bacon. It looked like…bacon. Hot, crunchy, cut in strips like you would see any day in the supermarket. Still, you tentatively went for the eggs first, and raised the tiniest bit to your mouth as the two older ones finally managed to settle down whatever argument they'd been having.

“Boys, time to say grace.” Suddenly flushed hot with embarrassment, you lowered your fork in an instant and followed their lead. You bowed your head with them, listened to mama say her standard prayers of thanks–and then, when everyone else began to eat, you cautiously lifted the bite to your lips and chewed thoughtfully. It felt like forever for you to discern whether or not it was normal, if it tasted like it should, but after a while of chewing you had to relent to the fact that it didn't taste abnormal, so it was about as fine as you could expect. You ate in silence alongside them, but just when you pondered whether the food might be drugged or other awful possibilities, the sheriff cleared his throat and drew your attention to him once again.

“Now,” Mama scowled at him, but he continued to speak nonetheless. “You got two options here, kid: eat, or be eaten. Them's the laws of life.” He reached up and scratched the back of his neck, readying himself to say more, but an interruption came with a grunt from your side. Hoyt raised a hand and waved the wordless concern off. “Don't you mouth off, boy. Gettin’ to it.”

You shifted your gaze to Thomas, who only nudged your plate closer to you to urge you into eating more. Something gnawed at the back of your mind. Their behavior was so strange, the looks exchanged even stranger–there was something that wasn't being said, like a plan was brewing right under your nose.

“See here, this is how it is. You got choices. Now, my nephew here happens to like you,” His honeyed southern drawl couldn't hope to mask the hopelessness that stirred in you at those words. “Ugly as sin, but he's a good enough boy, ain't that right?” He looked to Thomas, but the ‘boy’ in question stared right at you when he nodded. “So you choose. You wanna eat-”

“I'll eat,” The answer flew from your mouth without hesitation, so much so that even the most uninterested of folks around the table caught your gaze. Your breath hitched in your bruised throat. “I'll eat, I swear. I'll eat.”

“Mm-hm.” Hoyt eyed you and nodded. Something about the way he watched you made you feel overexposed, like your skin had been stripped raw from the bone and he was peering into every inch underneath. “Fine then. Whore's all yours, Tommy-boy.”

At those words, your world shifted with a violent blur of motion. Before you could even gasp there were huge, strong hands under your armpits, and you were lifted out of your seat like a child who weighed less than nothing. You'd be thanking yourself later that you at least polished off most of your plate, because aside from an accidental thump of your foot hitting the table on the way by, you wouldn't be touching the rest of your breakfast again. Thomas slung you over his shoulder and cradled your lower half in the crook of an enormous arm, and with a shriek you felt yourself being carried off by the giant and taken away into another world.

The basement.

It had been a month and a half since you'd been taken in, now. Life had gone on despite you vanishing from the world you knew, and regardless of whether or not you woke up each morning and wondered why you were still kept alive, the earth continued to turn. Time went on and you adjusted, albeit shakily, to the routine of a life in the backcountry of rural Texas. You learned to help on the farm and Luda Mae, or momma as you were taught to call her, passed on her generations-old knowledge of cookery and cleaning and caring for the household. Sometimes you'd get driven out with momma and one of the uncles to tend the store, but that was on the rare side since they didn't trust the locals not to mess with you. Pretty things like you didn't come by often and you had values to uphold, now.

Plus, you had a man at home. Tommy was the reason you survived that awful first night, but now it was expected that he was also the reason you kept on living.

The rest of the family kept out of your business together for the most part, but you'd long been perplexed by the dynamic that had ensued since you'd first arrived. For as hulking and strong of a beast he was, you came to find out that Tommy's appearance was a shell that sheltered a soft-natured, sensitive boy at heart. His penchant for murder was not so, rather it was a duty carried out regardless of will in the service of a family he was lucky to have, despite you certainly thinking otherwise. He liked to work, and eat, and make things. His rage could certainly be a problem, but it was a rare thing that only cropped up once in a great while. He would endure more than ten times a normal person before he finally snapped, and even then he wouldn't ever let you see it. The few times he got mad, he would stomp out to the barn or head to the now-abandoned slaughterhouse, and take out his aggression on the thing he knew best. Meat. And most of the time it was a beating from Hoyt or a few too many bouts of yelling before he felt the need to get away.

After all, it wasn't anger that led his interactions with you. It was odd; he'd pointed you out specifically as the one he wanted to keep, but he seldom showed any entitlement in taking whatever it was he wanted from you. He'd lean in for kisses but most of the time he missed anyways. You weren't exactly sure what you could call your one occasion of intimacy with him that you recalled, because he didn't ask if you wanted it, but you didn't really tell him outright that you didn't. Would it have even mattered? Maybe not. But he barely managed to find the hole he was looking for anyways, and by the time he did it was obvious he had no clue what he was doing. Fumbling hands and a bit of awkward thigh-humping later and he'd finally left you be, albeit soaked and sticky with sweat and the residue he'd clumsily left behind on your bare stomach. Since then, it'd been just a few fingers on your thighs and some tame through-the-mask kisses, nothing more.

Not that you should really be questioning the love of a serial chainsaw butcher, but as the days passed it grew harder to see him in that light alone. You witnessed too much of the deformed, mentally-disturbed man who refused to eat before you did, who wouldn't lay a hand on you like he'd had laid on him all his life. Thomas showed affection in odd ways but they were more endearing than you thought they would be, from picking you flowers off the side of the road to cleaning up the small room you shared so you'd feel more at home. Sometimes his arousal would grow against your back while you laid in his arms, but a bit of shuddered hip-rocking through your pajamas while he thought you were asleep and the moment would pass. He was pretty easy to please.

There came a time when new visitors drove through town, however, and you knew what was going to happen as soon as Hoyt came home and called for Tommy to come upstairs. You stood at the sink washing dishes while you peered through the window; out in front of the same cornfield you'd crawled out of nearly two months ago, a van sat parked next to Hoyt's stolen Dodge. You watched with your breath held tight in your throat as five people hopped out the sliding door one by one, all seemingly chipper for where they were. Three girls, two guys. Their sunbleached hair and fancy beach clothes said all you needed to know about what type of people they were. One of the girls had a pendant hanging round her neck that caught the light just right, and you found yourself staring at it as it jostled against her sweat-soaked collarbone.

Chnk, thuuunk. At the sound of the basement door sliding open you turned your head, and there stood Tommy in the kitchen. Quiet as ever he came walking up and placed his thick hand on your head. The look in his burning eyes said it all. “Everything's okay. Don't fret.” He touched your hair a moment until Hoyt's voice rang out again, and with a silent huff he stepped away and made his way out to the lawn.

The light in each and every one of their eyes left the moment they spotted him approaching. One of the girls even grabbed her friend’s arm, stepping behind him halfway out of fear of the hulking giant that couldn't sleep without cuddling you at night. A dish slipped from your hand into the sink and splashed you, but as you pulled a rag from your apron pocket to dry the counter a bang and a high-pitched scream cut through the peaceful din of your quiet afternoon. You hopped up to see what was happening, but struggled to piece together the aftermath of the last five seconds.

On the ground lay one of the girls with a cavernous opening in the back of her head, collapsed in a steadily-growing pool of her own blood. Her lifeless eyes stared through you from across the lawn, they pierced into your very soul as she choked listlessly on her own blood, and you dropped to your knees behind the counter. Hands clamped over your mouth, you heaved each breath and hoped not to puke all over the freshly-mopped floor. Momma would have a fit if you ruined your own hard work.

Blind to whatever senselessness resided in their screams, you held back the churning of your stomach on your own bruised knees while the two of them took care of the rest. Within a few minutes you'd managed to pull yourself back up on shaky feet and finish washing the dishes. Within the hour, Tommy and Uncle Hoyt had gathered up the remaining survivors and taken them in. Two in the barn, one in the guest bedroom…and one locked up in the basement.

“Momma?” You called out softly into the hallway, wiping your fingers on your apron. Your chores for the day were finished, and the sun was starting to set on the horizon. Now would usually be the time you headed out to the chicken coop to lock it up, but with new visitors around, you didn't know the protocol. The last time this happened was…well, you didn't like to think about it.

“Down here, darlin’.” Luda Mae popped her head out from the living room, and you hurried down the hall with your skirt fluttering around your legs. All your dresses were pretty modest and most of them were out of a trunk stored up in the attic, since momma had a whole collection of clothes she'd worn in her younger days that she figured would suit a young lady just fine. When you stepped in, you weren't expecting to see what you saw lying on the couch near uncle Monty's favourite spot.

It was one of the guys from the hippie van. His long hair had been soaked with blood and he was gagged, his face sporting bruises from an undoubtedly rough encounter with uncle Hoyt, who stood on the opposite side of the living room glaring at him.

“Fucker tried to escape.” He sniffed, nursing a bloody nose with a hanky as he spoke with momma. “Other one's putzin’ around somewhere. You two keep an eye out, you hear me?” He pointed in your direction and you nodded out of instinct. Your eyes flicked towards the bound man on the couch as he made muffled noises of panic, but he was soon silenced by Hoyt whacking him over the head with the butt of his shotgun before he left to continue the search. Meanwhile, uncle Monty sat in his wheelchair unbothered, listening to the radio as it played on the windowsill and reading without a care in the world.

“Momma-” You tried again, but she turned to you with gentle eyes and gripped your shoulders lightly.

“Go clean up the kitchen for me, sweetheart?” She asked in earnest, and the plea you had to beg her not to make you take part died on your lips.

“Yes, momma.”

“That's my good girl.” Your hands fell at your sides, while she petted your hair lovingly and turned you away from the scene, patting you on the back as she ushered you back towards the kitchen. Blowing your hair out of your eyes, you resigned yourself to at least being a bystander to the horrors that were about to come, and made your way down the hall with your arms crossed over your chest in contemplation. Was there nothing you could do? No way to get out of playing a part, or at least ensuring they wouldn't ask? You had no doubts that you didn't have the stomach to do anything to the visitors, but then again, momma didn't have to do much either. Maybe you'd be saved by the tradition that dictated the six generations-deep household, and be regulated to the homely chores you'd tended to since first becoming a part of the family.

As you pushed through the door that led into the kitchen, the sounds of pots and pans clattering already grabbed your attention. It would be too late to do anything, however–because before you could even take a breath, someone's chest hit your back and there was a knife pinned to your throat.

“Don't you fucking move!” An unfamiliar voice whispered harshly in your ear. Your fingers scrabbled for purchase on the hand he had at your neck, but he jolted and the blade sunk deeper into your skin, causing you to cry out–and immediately be hushed by the stranger now holding you hostage. The bruising grip he had on your wrist now moved to clamp over your mouth, his body moving with you as you struggled in a momentary panic. Despite his warning, you brought your elbow backwards and loosened his grip on the knife as he choked in pain, throwing his arms off you as you stumbled forward and tripped over one of the dining chairs. Your skirt ripped as he tried to grab ahold of you again, but in his scramble to pick his weapon back up you kicked it away; and that was when fear truly started to pulse through your limbs like a heartbeat, when he glared daggers into you with a murderous rage, and you cried out the one name through tears that came to mind.

“Tommy!” You sobbed, crawling away and trying to use the table to hoist yourself up, only to be kicked down again with a harsh shoe planted in the middle of your spine. Coughs ripped through your lungs as they seized in desperation, the wind having been knocked clean from your chest, and the sticky wetness of blood started pooling under your chin from hitting the floor face-first. Your nose wept with scarlet-red blood into your trembling palm, but that realization couldn't come close to the terror you felt at being grabbed by your hair and painfully lifted up off the ground.

“You fucking bitch!” He screamed, voice hoarse and frighteningly loud so close to your face. “I'll kill you–I'll kill all you psycho motherfuckers!” He brought the knife so close to your heart you felt it cutting through the air–but before he could bring it anywhere near your skin, a muffled thump from close by yanked him right to attention. He turned his head frantically towards the source, and you took the opportunity afforded to you. You brought your foot up hard into his groin, and released his grip on you for the second time for you to drop to the floor in a heap. Your dress smeared the blood you'd left on the pristine, freshly-mopped floorboards as you shuffled away from him, fearing the worst of retaliation from the panicked, indignant captive.

That is, until the thumping grew so loud you heard it clearly coming up the stairs, and without so much as a hint of ceremony your savior burst through the kitchen door; his eyes wild, his fists clenched with indomitable rage. His gaze swept over the scene to you, so small compared to him, huddled in the corner between the cabinets with a blood and tear-stained face. What could only be described as a growl erupted from his broad chest, and he grabbed the legs of your hunched-over assailant and dragged him closer between his feet.

“No!” He cried, but it was far past too late. Tommy grabbed him by the back of his head, yanked him upwards to the height of his shins, and slammed the guy's head so hard into the floor that you could hear the sickening crack of his skull. Dazed but still semi-conscious, he fumbled for the knife he dropped or for anything that could save him, but it wouldn't be enough even so. With his nose ten times as smashed up as he'd done to you and his eye sockets bruised, Tommy's grip trembled on his head like he was considering whether or not to end him right here, right now. Evidently he figured that would be too easy, and before your very eyes he hauled the man up and carried him screaming down into the basement, where you heard the thwacks of him being cuffed down to the workbench before footsteps came echoing back upstairs. He found you in the same spot, still shaking like a leaf, and pushed the table aside to waste as little time as possible getting to you.

“Tommy..” You winced, touching your own face for your fingers to come back bloody. He knelt down like a mountain sinking into the sea and felt around your neck, his concerns for the shallow slash you'd gotten in the struggle that you hadn't even noticed was bleeding. He grunted in reply; one hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, while two meaty fingers lightly pinched the sore bridge of your nose. Knowing what he was about to do wouldn't make it hurt any less, but you still gave him the go-ahead to do it anyways–he forced the bone back with a gut-churning twist, and you squealed out in pain, but it was momentary and the ache that followed was a dull one, thank god.

But still, you sat with a face full of blood and bruises and cried, half out of pain and half out of pure misery. This wasn't the life you wanted to lead, and you hated that you had no choice in the matter. You wanted to go but you knew it would mean the end, and you hated that whenever you thought of all the things you despised about this life, your mind would always wander to Tommy and you'd feel guilt over hurting him or leaving him behind. You hated it all, but somehow you couldn't really hate him, and it left you trapped in this cycle that you loathed to think would never, ever end.

While the tears continued to streak down your face, Tommy took to patting your cheeks gently. He held them and squeezed them carefully, so tender and cautious when it was you that was the meat between his destructive hands. He moved in close, his breathing hot and stifled beneath the mask he never took off in front of you. His head tilted, tongue wetting his lips in anticipation, and he-

“Boy!” Uncle Hoyt roared as he burst through the kitchen door, alerting you both and tearing Tommy's reverent gaze away from you. He stood fast and took you with him, your elbows cupped in his rough hands as he hauled you singlehandedly to your feet. “You find that fucker yet?!” He swung his shotgun around and you flinched at the way he aimed it so carelessly. The ‘boy’ in question tucked you under his arm out of habit and shielded you almost entirely with the sheer enormity of his titan-esque frame. Wordlessly, he gestured towards the direction of the basement door with your trembling self still pinned tightly to his chest. The pseudo-sherriff narrowed his eyes at the both of you, namely the blood caking your otherwise pretty face, and scoffed. “Hose her down, Jesus almighty..” He muttered that last blasphemy under his breath as he moved past out the back door, leaving the two of you wide-eyed and uncertain; his arm squeezing you tight against him, and your calloused fingers digging into his dirty sleeve as the crickets chirped outside the screen door.

“You..” You swallowed dryly. The words came to you when no others did the same justice. “You're a good boy, Tommy. You did a good job.”

Your praise hit his ears just right, as it always did. Tommy nuzzled his face into yours just so gently, barely grazing your skin with the damp leather as he tended to your wounds. With your broken nose already re-set, he rummaged through the drawers around you without taking his hand off your arm, sparing little time before his hand clasped around a roll of familiar gauze and he nudged the drawer closed. Though it was shallow enough to have stopped bleeding already, he wrapped some around your neck for the cut that would surely leave a scar, and used a clean rag to mop up your face with a bit of water from the tap. As he moved down your body to your waist, clearly concerned by the generous bloodstain marring your pretty, cotton dress, something caught his eye that froze him in place and sent a throbbing anger right into his dense fists. Worried, you set your hand on his shoulder, but it would do no good at comforting him after what he saw.

Your skirt. Torn like it had been yanked apart, desperately, and it had. Was he worried you'd be upset over the damage? You wondered for a passing moment, but as his fists shook with rage and your dresses’ hem balled within them you knew it to be a different reason entirely. He thought–

Oh. So that's what he thought. You sought to comfort his fears but he'd had enough. Your delicate hands tugging at his mammoth arms made barely a dent in his intense march towards the basement, your begging too saccharine to even reach his ears. He walked with purpose into the hallway, wrenched open the sliding door with a force that bent it slightly, and with a palm outstretched to ward you off from following, he slammed it shut with an enormous bang that rattled the whole house. Standing there in shock and horror, you listened to his footsteps pounding the stairs before turning away and heading back towards the kitchen.

You had quite the mess to clean up in there, and there was nothing better to distract yourself from the howling screams of agony that would persist until dinnertime.

Maybe this was exactly how awkward it was when you'd been sat in that familiar chair. You remembered little of your first meal, the very first breakfast of many you would share with the family that had adopted you in to their home.

This was a lot less…friendly, though. Out of the five people who had arrived, two of them were dead. The one that had attacked you in the kitchen had grown silent in the basement. The other two–the hippy with the long hair and a redheaded girl–had their wrists bound to two chairs diagonal from each other. The guy sat at the very end where you'd once been, and the girl to his right with tears streaming down her cheeks, sobbing softly as you filled everyone's bowls. Luckily for you, Monday was chicken soup night, so you had no worries over what kind of meat Hoyt would want to prepare for the special occasion. You'd been the only one to stir the pot, and the only one who made it at all for every Monday that rolled around. It had quickly become Tommy’s favourite, hence why he was only a few minutes late to arrive outside the dining room for dinner. Though you could tell that he'd barely cleaned up, his apron and his pants still soaked liberally with clotted blood.

“Hands?” You questioned, your ladle poised over the pot of hot soup, and waited until the hulking giant tentatively stepped in the doorway to hold out his massive hands for inspection. When it was your turn to cook, you learned that you held the authority over the table for that evening. So you rarely followed the lead of uncle Hoyt or the others, and wouldn't wait until after grace to invite Tommy into the room. You checked over his knuckles–bruised, but scrubbed clean–and only then did you nod towards the seat you saved for him and waited until he settled uncertainly into the chair to pour him a bowl and set it down in front of him.

If not for the whimpering captives at the table, it would be a better-than-average night. You'd improved on your recipe with a bit of creative seasoning, and the night had cooled off considerably to offer a bit of respite from the oppressive heat. You led grace, and smoothing out your fresh dress to fan out under your thighs as you sat, the table commenced with clinking spoons and bread being buttered that you thanked the stars hadn't gotten stale yet. Though of course, the unexpected visitors weren't so keen on your homemade cooking and didn't so much as look down at their bowls.

Tommy was too distracted to be frustrated by it, though. With his head dipped down to the table like a mutt, he slurped up his soup through the mask and chewed noisily on bits of chicken and corn. You'd saved the biggest roll for him and he tore into it like it was nothing, ripping chunks of bread off with his teeth and enthusiastically gulping down broth to wash it down. You hadn't even had time to butter his bread for him first like you usually did, but it pleased you to see him enjoying your cooking even more than usual.

“Please,” A wobbly voice pricked at the tense silence. The redheaded girl pulled at her restraints again, shaking the table in the process. “We didn't do anything…please, please, let us go!” She sobbed, wailing even louder as she thrashed against the stiff arms of the old chair.

“C'mon, man! We won't tell anyone, swear!” The hippie chimed in, only for Hoyt to slam his fist down on the table to silence the whining of his two captives.

“Shut the hell up!” He snarled, whipping out a revolver from his holster to point at each one of them. “Had enough of your shit today. Shut your mouths.” He motioned towards his still-bloodied nose, and endured yet another scolding from momma for cussing at the table as he tucked the gun back into its place. You peered over at the two of them, but regret came immediately when the hippie's green eyes locked on yours like he saw a glimmer of hope within them. You forced your gaze back down to your bowl. You couldn't be their saviour, no matter how much they wanted you to be.

“Lovely soup, sweetheart.” Momma smiled over at you, while uncle Monty nodded quietly in agreement.

“Mm-hm. Momma taught you all her secrets, eh?” Hoyt added with a slurp off his spoon, the irritation from earlier having vanished. You thanked them politely, keeping your pride to yourself at the coveted praise directed your way. In a household where anything could go wrong at any time, you had to hold the good things as tight to your chest as you possibly could.

From beside you, Tommy lifted his head from an empty bowl and sighed softly with satisfaction. The remnants of spilled soup dribbled down his mask and his grimy neck, so with your own cloth napkin you reached over and did the job that was normally momma's; you wiped his face clean with a gentle hand, and he sat still for one of the only people he didn't flinch away from when you touched him.

“Good, Tommy?” He wasn't used to being asked his opinion, much less on something as scarce as food, when you didn't have much choice on what you ate. He nodded slowly, looking at you like you held the world as you finished wiping up the mess he'd left on the table.

Just then, one of the captives–maybe both of them–kicked their legs out in frustration, and shifted the table with a jolt that sent hot soup splashing out of the pot. The redhead's bowl tipped over and dumped her untouched meal all over her lap, but the porcelain shattering as it hit the floor wasn't what had Tommy rising out of his seat.

Wasteful. That's what they were. Insulting your cooking. You saw it in Tommy's eyes as anger overwhelmed him again, and for the second time tonight your reassurances weren't enough to halt him in his tracks. His chair legs scraped the floor loudly as he got up and maneuvered around the table, the tense quiet peppered by the screams of the girl as he grabbed the back of her head and slammed it down into the slick tabletop. Not nearly as hard as he'd done to the other guy, but enough so that he brought her back up with a nose gushing blood and a harsher sob on her lips.

“You teach her a lesson, Tommy!” Hoyt eagerly encouraged the violence, but you reached your hand out over the table and pressed your palm flat against her forehead. At the resistance you gave her, Tommy's grip grew slack and a look of panic came over him at the distress etched clear on your face. He looked conflicted, peering over at Hoyt and then back at you. Was he being bad, or being good? Was what he was doing right, or was it wrong? Hoyt started shouting and cussing at you for stopping him, but Tommy skirted back around the table to your side and put himself between you and his furious uncle. A swat to the back of the head wasn't totally uncommon for you, even if it didn't happen often, but the punishments Tommy received were always far worse. The belt or a two-by-four were considered light work in Hoyt's sadistic mind, but after what you'd been through today you were certain Tommy wouldn't be keen on letting you endure any more pain. He would take punishments and beatings for you whenever he had the chance–sometimes Hoyt had even asked him what he preferred, and not once had he put you up for the chopping block if he could take it for you.

“Enough of this shit!” Hoyt finally roared. He jabbed his thumb in the direction of the basement and shoved both you and Tommy towards it. “Take these sons a’ bitches downstairs, and don't come up until they're meat!”

Both of the captives shrieked and flailed in their chairs at his demand, but you managed to undo their binds despite the struggling and let Tommy haul each one up in his arms; one over his shoulder, and one tucked up under his armpit. Your heartbeat thudded in your throat as you followed Tommy's lead towards the stairs, and when it came time to shut the door, you had to swallow your fear with a gulp as the metal scraped on metal and a heavy thunk pitched you into darkness.

The only times you'd watched Tommy work before was when he'd taken you to the slaughterhouse. It was an aging, now-abandoned building that had seen generations of hard workers come and go, and despite it no longer being in business he still came by to do some work when he wasn't needed for chores at the house. You weren't sure why he didn't usually take you along or why he decided to on those few occasions, but regardless of the stench, the blood, and the intensity of chopping and cleaning meat, it was easy to tell that Tommy was good at it. Real good.

It was a little different today. About a week had passed since the visitors came through town, and by now all five of them were taken care of. You'd barely eaten since you couldn't stomach the fresh meat, and with you excusing yourself to throw up that first dinner after you'd had guests, the rest of the family had been looking down on you. Momma was sad for you, and Monty was mostly indifferent when he wasn't straight up disappointed in you. But Hoyt was vindictive and angry. He thought you were turning your back on the family, judging them, acting “all high and mighty” and worst of all, risking your family's safety. You'd gotten caught leaving the locks loose on the two survivors' shackles, and they'd nearly escaped out the basement before Hoyt caught both of them in the cornfield and finally shot them dead.

You swore it was an accident. Hoyt thought otherwise. He would've killed you right then and there if Tommy hadn't stepped in for you, and even then the air had been strained in the house ever since, as uncle Hoyt demanded you be properly punished for your sins.

That's why you'd been dragged along with Tommy to accompany him to the slaughterhouse. By the end of the day, Hoyt wanted a proper apology–one in the form of a bloody limb, an organ, or maybe just your head on a platter as recompense for betraying your family. And worst of all, he wanted Tommy to be the one to do it, to decide what would be a fitting price for you to pay. To ‘grow some balls and be a man’, as Hoyt put it so delicately.

But since morning, he'd just been chopping meat. Tommy hadn't even looked at you the whole time you'd been here, not even on the walk down the side of the road to get here in the first place. He'd picked you up under your arms and sat you up on the table behind him, and then he'd turned his back to you as he brought down his cleaver on the piles and piles of dripping meat. Sometimes he would turn around and hand you chunks to wrap up in butcher's paper, but for the most part he indicated nothing towards the task he had primarily been sent here to do. Somehow it just made it all worse; you felt on the edge of snapping from the anxious terror that tightened up all your muscles, wondering what on earth Tommy would do to you before the day was done. Was he just procrastinating? Because if he arrived back home with nothing to show for it, it wouldn't save you in the end–it would just make it worse for both of you when he got punished too.

“Tommy.” You gnawed on your bottom lip. He brought the blade down on the chopping block with a thunk. With the bone separated, a squelch hit your ears as he slid the sections apart and dragged over another hunk to slice through. “I'm sorry.”

Thunk. Not even a passing glance over his shoulder. And it was hard to tell if he was mad when he wouldn't even look at you.

“I didn't want to get you in trouble…”

Thunk.

“I was just scared.”

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

“Tommy-”

The slow escalation of his measured cuts finally culminated into an uproarious clatter, his cleaver smacking down on the soaked table before he turned himself to face you. Blood marred the clothes you'd taken off the laundry line for him that morning, apron slick and sticky with viscera as it almost always was. Sweat poured down his arms and his hairy chest and beaded at his dense forehead. Every inch of him was dirty, and yet you didn't cringe away from it when he closed the distance between you and came up harrowingly close. The stench of blood and meat wafted off of him from barely an inch away. His hips edged in between your knees as you sat on the lip of the counter, keeping personal space far from his mind when he grabbed your arms and dwarfed them under his massive fingers. Each breath heaved beneath his mask like swallowing a bubble, ready to pop.

This time, Hoyt was nowhere around to interrupt him. Momma wasn't there to scold him. Nobody would hear for miles what he would do to you, and you had no idea what he'd had brewing in his mind since he'd choked you out in the cornfield that first meeting. That intense stare of his was like a bear honing in on a rabbit, and if you had the thought to run, it was already too late.

Thick fingers clamped down around your neck, dug into the scar that had formed from the asshole that had sliced you, and you felt your heart stutter as Tommy pulled you along the length of the table and slammed you down into it by the throat. This way you were laid out like a cow would to be butchered, plenty of room for him to work as he held you down and reached over to pull a leather strap over your midsection. He affixed the buckle tight to the opposite side and tightened it more when you squirmed against the pressure, but not quite enough to be as painful as the ropes that dug into your wrists at your first family meal. With that in place he didn't need to hold you down to keep you pinned against the table, and although you whimpered in fear and fought against the bindings he paid your resistance little mind, instead looking through his tools on the cutting table to find a decently-sized paring knife–drenched liberally in blood–for him to hook under the neckline of your dress and make a cut down the middle. Once he hit the tough leather over your stomach, the tool skittered across the table as he abandoned it in favour of ripping your skirt apart with his bare hands, the thin layer of cotton offering no resistance to his brute strength.

Why did it make you so wet? You couldn't shake the feeling of arousal from how animalistic he was behaving, nor the sheer, overwhelming musk of man and sweat and blood. Tommy was never rough with you but he was certainly making up for it now; you flinched at the firmness of his fingers digging into your skin, leaving trails of thin blood and dirt behind as he tore your cotton bra into loose pieces. His hands trembled at the sight of you exposed like this, too much skin to handle, and such soft flesh that filled out his palms when he cupped your breasts in each eager hand. A hitch of breath was enough to show him that you liked it, whether it was the attention itself or exclusively because it was him touching you. It didn't matter.

Tommy massaged each one with such eager reverence, his handwork clumsy compared to the ease with which he handled so many other forms of meat. He wasn't keen on ripping these off your body and eating them; although he did want to test how they would feel in his mouth, especially those plum, soft nubs of yours that perked when he brushed his thumbs over them. By now you weren't completely certain he wasn't going to butcher you, but you had a pretty good idea that this was his plan B–take out that inner aggression on you that would not make his god-fearing family proud.

A deep, weighty groan slipped out of him at the taste of sweat on your skin. Every bruise he left with his teeth would have to be covered up and powdered, but god, god it was so easy for him to undo every vestige of purity you'd put on for show. Your back arched and your worn shoes squeaked against the steel table as you wiggled, the globes of fat he held in his palms jiggling with a mesmerizing glow every time you moved. As much as you wanted to wrench yourself free in some moments, in most others you couldn't bear the breaks he took to catch his breath, leaving your chest prickling with goosebumps as a draft hit your spit-sticky skin. He squeezed and kneaded to his heart's content and took a twisted glee out of making you squirm, especially when you made those gurgly noises that were so traitorous to the pristine image you painted for momma. She'd made it clear that you weren't to go off messing with boys when they came strolling up to the store's counter, or return any of their flirtations no matter how many times they called you pretty.

Obviously she didn't think her son would be the one you had to keep from tempting, but that train had long left the station now. Thomas’ index finger tore through the thin fabric of your panties with a swipe, and there you laid bare and naked to his wandering eyes while he yanked the shreds of them down the rest of your legs. He probably didn't know what positions were which and how girls had their periods, but he knew enough to slide those thick fingers through your folds and to keep going when you moaned like a dying animal. “Tommy, Tommy, Tommy”, it was a mantra that hit his ears just right and urged him into clambering on top of the table with you with wild eyes. They drank in every inch of your sweltering body, the pulse of your heart through the hole he was jamming his fingers into, and on instinct he was guided to push down his waistband and throw off his apron as he knelt back on his haunches.

You might've thought he was nothing but hair if he wasn't so thick. Clearly he'd never shaved in his life with the erroneous bush he sported, curly hair matting down his thighs and his belly too once his shirt started riding up. But that fat, drooling knob of his swayed to hit his thigh, and you got an eyeful of pure, veiny, gut-smashing terror that you were sure would kill you if you didn't manage to relax. The further he leaned over your body, the more you felt like he was going to crush you as soon as he lined himself up with the hole he'd be stretching out like a little homemade cock sleeve. His hands slid under your knees to prop them up, but rather than sling them over his shoulders he bent them back and pinned them to your chest. An aching burn raced up your thighs but he paid no mind to your trembling; Tommy knelt over you and settled between your legs, and without warning, started sinking slowly into that hot opening he'd been dying to get deeper inside.

“H-Hold–wait, T-Tommy, hold oh-!”

Were you really so convinced he would play nice with you? Maybe you'd become complacent with the gentleness he showed you at his best, because when Tommy finally pressed in past the tip, he was gone. Forcing your knees back even further, he let out a groan and pushed himself up higher over you; all just to settle himself into your deepest pits and trap you in a violating mating press. After doing nothing but enjoying your heat, smushing his hips down against yours in a grinding motion, he soon seemed to realize he could move–and move he did, drawing back just to crush your hips with a deep, stomach-punching stroke.

“Unh,” What most resembled a moan fell from his scarred lips, and he fumbled around the back of his head to unclasp the leather from his face. This was the first and only time he'd ever felt safe enough to take it off since you'd met, and it was when he'd finally listened to his body and acted on his need to force every inch of him inside you. To be one. Now you finally were, and his synthetic face dropped on your chest before slowly sliding off to hit the floor.

If your jaw hadn't already gone slack from his violent thrusting, it would probably fall from the realization of what hid under that mask day after day. The sallow, sunken nose, the scars, the jagged skin and self-inflicted wounds…why wasn't it as scary as you thought? You figured, in the moment, you'd just gotten too used to him in personality, or maybe because you were just too distracted at the moment, but…

“Tommy-!” You squeaked out. The wet smack of his balls on your ass stuck in your ears, the strings of creamy slick linking you flesh-to-flesh as he went to town on your pussy. If he truly was losing his virginity to you, then all that pent-up frustration must be the source of him absolutely ruining any semblance of tightness you might've had. “A-Are you tryin’ to–you wanna gimme a baby? S'that it?” You slurred, slowly losing your good sense the longer he showed you your place.

Though you thought it would be to your horror, his slow nod only sparked something dark and tremulous within your loins. Something more than sweat and slick and the vile squelching of his seldom-washed dick rubbing up to your womb. It hit you then; this was your punishment. Every clap and sticky smack of flesh on flesh was a promise, an urge fulfilled to tear your meat from the bone and thrust a new purpose unto you. A homemaker. Tommy's little bride. A momma. Make his momma a grandmama like she was always praying for.

Shluck. Shluck. Shluck. Shluck. No doubt in your mind that was exactly what he was doing, and exactly why he brought you all the way out to the slaughterhouse to do it. The leather strap over your stomach kept you from wriggling away, but that would only be if you could somehow get him to pull out, and that for sure wasn't happening. He didn't bother with long strokes and leaving the tip in, your cunt was a home for him to bury himself in and he wasn't about to waste a second of this. His thick thighs trembled over yours, and he ground the swollen head of his cock deep against your cervix. So deep it was painful, but why would he care? He was doing a good thing. He was being a good boy, giving you what uncle Hoyt told him all women wanted, even if they didn't say it out loud.

Tommy's moans grew to a higher pitch once he affixed his hand like a necklace round your throat, swelling with the faster, faster, faster pace of his thrusts downward. He pressed his other meaty hand into your knees and shoved each one further apart, which made you whine but gave him easier access to pound you into greedy, delectable mush. Whereas it might've turned off weaker men, your nails digging deep, long scratches up his back made Tommy groan and tilt his head back in delirious pleasure. His knees kept you pinned at your sides and his weight–his stomach squishing into you from above–held you down where you belonged, where you'd be the most beautiful and of best use. Beneath him with a womb spilling over with cum, sown by his seed and his seed alone. His picturesque, pretty little wife. Hewitt property. He wouldn't stop, and you wouldn't beg him to even if you weren't being choked of any air you had left, and the world started to spin as the ecstasy took hold and Thomas was squeezing your moans out of you with trembling fervour. It felt as though your lower half exploded and left you with a warm, full, tingly sensation, marred by pearly-white globs of a load he'd had saved up since birth.

In contrast to the violent lovemaking he'd just shown you he was capable of, you were slowly brought back to life by small, soft little pecks. Kisses like the fuzz of a bumblebee brushing by your cheeks, pressing into your lips with a sweetness you weren't used to. This felt like Tommy again, like the gentle touch he used when nobody was around to laugh at him for being so sweet on you. He shuddered with bliss as his cock pulsed with your heartbeat and milked him of what little he had left, but with his chubby fingers rubbing at your jaw and brushing your sweaty locks aside he managed to drag himself off of you. Slowly, like molasses on a cold day, he brought himself back down off the table and let his feet hit the floor, having to brace himself against the table to keep from stumbling to the ground. Click-shuuunk. The leather belt snapped back into its holder as he released it, which left a sizeable indent across your abdomen that you'd have to hope would be covered enough not to show bruises. All you could do was watch as Tommy did up his pants on his way around the table, only to return to your side with the biggest, sharpest knife you swore you had ever seen. You flinched away and nearly cried out-

Shlip. With a strand pulled taut, Tommy made quick work of separating a lock of your hair from your head. Just a short one, so as not to make much difference–but he held it to his face and sniffed deeply, and it ashamed you to say that the gesture in itself just made your clit throb with need you thought you'd been completely overdosed on. Despite that, you laid still while Tommy reached over and retrieved his mask, tucking the tuft of hair inside it so he could smell it all the time. To calm him down, to cool him off, to just enjoy…all the things that you brought to him when no one else did, or could. From his pocket he produced something small and shiny, and dangled it over your face to show you before he set on fixing it around your neck. The pendant you'd seen that girl wearing a week ago now hung against your collar, the gleam of gold in it polished clean of the blood spilled to take it.

You barely let out a moan as he set on rearranging your limbs, turning you over, letting his cum spill down your thighs and all over the table like the blood from a fresh cut of beef. His calloused digits traced down your spine and up again til he found a sweet spot, and padded down your springy flesh that separated bone from his fingers. The carving knife had tinged when he'd sharpened it but he didn't show it to you–that would be too much for you, given what he was about to commit to.

Every arc, long and curved or short and straight, burned. The tip of the blade dug into your flesh like a red-hot needle, but Tommy's warm palm on the back of your neck kept you from moving out of his reach. He needed to start and to finish and his hand was already unsteady, mostly from the way his breath still hitched and his cock stirred all over again at the sight of your writhing body. Your blood turned him on. He hadn't touched any of the victims before you, not in that way, but you weren't really the same as them–no, you were special. If you weren't, Tommy wouldn't be carving those words into your back, and putting on display his ownership over the one and only thing he would ever see as more than meat.

If you didn't get pregnant this time, then this would surely be enough for the family to forgive. The letters scrawled in bloody ecstasy that would heal over, scar, wounds to be reopened over and over again.

Tommy's girl

forever

[pucksandpower]

hiii! with the chaos that was today’s career, could I request one with driver reader that she started telling her team that she wasn’t feeling good but still wanted to continue but the next moment she isn’t answering her radio because she fainted in the car and the car goes out, the marshals take her out of the car and she doesn’t wake up, maybe she has extreme dehydration and is hot to touch, etc.

How the other drivers react when they found out, her team, etc.

Thank you

Too Hot To Handle

Max Verstappen x Red Bull driver!Reader

Summary: the Qatar Grand Prix pushed every driver to the limit … and some past the limit

Warnings: heat stroke, dehydration, crash, medical conditions

The Lusail International Circuit hums with electric anticipation, its asphalt ribbon shimmering under the floodlights. The roar of the crowd fills the night but the oppressive heat weighs on everyone, creating a contrasting atmosphere of excitement and cautious apprehension.

Standing alongside your Red Bull Racing car, you wipe a bead of sweat from your brow. In only your first year with the reigning double champions, you already have a record that has quickly become the talk of the paddock. But for all the praise and whispers, there is one voice that stands out.

“Remember, liefje, it’s not just about speed tonight. Keep hydrated, alright?” Max’s voice is full of warmth and concern. His hand rests gently on your arm.

You flash him a confident smile even though you’re battling your nerves internally. “I’ve raced in heat before, Maxie. I won in Singapore. I’ll be fine.”

He pulls you into a quick embrace, the temperature doing little to dampen the spark between you. “It’s different here. This heat ... it’s like nothing I’ve ever raced in before.”

Pulling back, you raise an eyebrow teasingly. “You worried about me, Verstappen?”

He laughs but there’s a hint of steely seriousness in his blue eyes. “Always. Just ... promise me you’ll be careful out there. For both our sakes.”

You nod, touching your helmet to his. “Promise.”

The intercom in your ear crackles to life. “Drivers, to your cars!”

You both exchange a final glance. Racing is in your blood, it’s what brought you together, but it also keeps you apart, if only for the few hours you’re no longer partners in life but competitors on track.

Sliding into your car, you secure your helmet and gloves. The world outside becomes a bit muffled but your focus sharpens. The engine’s purr is a familiar comfort, but tonight, it’s edged with the unease Max’s words left behind.

Your race engineer, Hugh Bird, checks in over the radio, “Everything good, Y/N?”

You take a deep breath, “As good as it’ll ever be. Let’s light up this track.”

“Give them a show.”

Lights out and away we go.

***

The Qatar Grand Prix unfolds with its usual mix of intensity and skill, drivers navigating tight turns and overtaking with precision. But beneath the spectacle, a subtle tension mounts. The oppressive heat, the stark floodlights, and the weight of expectation — all of it seems to be building to something.

In the garage and on the pit wall, your team closely monitors the race and your performance. Hugh occasionally chimes in with updates, “You’re doing great, Y/N. Remember to hydrate whenever you need to.”

You nod even though he can’t see it, “Understood. The heat’s something else in here.”

A pause. Then, “Just keep stead. And Max told GP to tell me to tell you to remember what he said.”

A smile touches your lips, “I always do.”

***

The track is a blur as you push your car to its limits, feeling the adrenaline surge in tandem with the roar of the engines. It’s as if the heat has seeped into your very core, burning with intensity. Each lap feels slightly longer, every turn a tad sharper, as the humid air takes its toll.

“Y/N,” Hugh radioes through, sounding distant and slightly distorted by the pounding in your head, “you’re P2. Great pace. Remember to sip some water.”

A trickle of sweat runs down the side of your face, stinging your eye. Blinking rapidly, you reach for the button that activates your hydration system.

“Got it,” your voice sounds foreign even to your own ears. The water is lukewarm and tastes metallic, not as refreshing as you had hoped.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing,” he urges.

With every lap, the world outside your visor seems to grow brighter, the floodlights shimmering like mirages in a desert. The race has become a battle, not just against other drivers but against the environment and, increasingly, against yourself.

“You’re dropping pace. Is everything alright?” Hugh’s concerned voice crackles through.

A knot tightens in your stomach. “I don’t know. I ...” You trail off, the words catching in your throat as a wave of overwhelming dizziness hits.

You can hear the alarm in your engineer’s voice becoming more pronounced. “Y/N, talk to me. Do we need to pit?”

The heat wraps around you, constricting, making it difficult to breathe. Your hands, slick with sweat, struggle to grip the wheel even through your gloves. “Guys ... I don’t ... feel ...” The world spins and your words falters.

“Y/N? Y/N, talk to me!”

But before you can respond, before you can even finish your sentence, the world tilts and blurs into an incomprehensible whirlwind. The sweltering heat, the relentless pursuit of victory, and the weight of expectation converge into a maelstrom that engulfs you entirely.

Your hands, once deftly steering the RB19, now hang limply by your sides. The car veers off the track, careening towards the barriers. Panic rises in you but it’s too late. Your body refuses to act.

The deafening sound of metal against metal fills your ears, followed by the nauseating sensation of impact. The world outside your cockpit twists and spins, a kaleidoscope of colors and chaos. Then, abruptly, it all goes dark.

In the garage, your team watches in horror as the monitors show the violent crash. The radio falls silent, the connection severed. In that heartbeat, the world goes eerily quiet, punctuated only by the distant echoes of screeching tires and the blaring alarms.

Moments pass like hours and finally the static on the radio clears, replaced by your frantic race engineer, “—please respond. Y/N? Are you okay?”

But there’s no response. Your world remains shrouded in darkness as the circuit comes to a standstill, gripped by an eerie silence that drowns out even the most deafening of cheers.

The track is plunged into chaos. Red flags wave fervently, signaling danger. Marshals rush towards your wrecked car, their fluorescent jackets contrasting brightly against the night.

“Get her out! Get her out!” One of the marshals shouts as they reach your car. Your limp form is carefully extracted and they begin immediate first aid. The severity of the situation is clear — the heat, the dehydration, it’s all taken its toll.

The crowd watches, a collective gasp filling the air soon replaced by a thick, heavy silence. As your unconscious form is stretchered away, the weight of all those warnings crashes down.

Back on the pit wall, four words whispered into the radio are the first of many about to turn your boyfriend’s world upside down.

“Safety car, safety car.”

***

“Max, we’re pitting this lap. Box, box,” the calm, steady voice of Gianpiero Lambiase, Max’s race engineer, instructs over the radio.

Max’s voice is curt, his mind still on the race. “Why? Tires feel fine.”

“Non-negotiable. Safety car is out. We need you to pit now.”

The urgency in GP’s voice is not lost on Max and he immediately senses that something is wrong. “What happened? Why is there a safety car?”

Silence follows for a heartbeat too long. “There was an incident. Just focus on your race.”

An icy dread seeps into Max’s bones. The circuit is massive yet his world feels terribly small at this moment. “Who was it? Who crashed?”

His engineer hesitates, and in that pause, the weight of a thousand possibilities presses on Max.

“Who. Was. It?”

GP wavers, “It’s … Y/N.”

Max’s breathing becomes ragged. Panic and fear flood his system. “Why the hell wasn’t I told immediately?”

“It was team orders. The decision was made to keep you focused on the race.”

Max laughs but it lacks any humor. “Team orders? You’re saying Christian decided not to tell me that Y/N ... my Y/N is hurt?”

“Yes,” the reply is uncharacteristically soft, “It was believed to be in everyone’s best interest for you to be fully focused on the race.”

Max has never felt such white-hot rage. He spits into the radio, seething with fury and pain. “You tell Christian that if he ever makes a decision like that again about someone I love, I’ll cut his balls off with a rusty spoon.”

“Max, I understand you’re upset. But right now, we need you to stay focused.”

Stay focused? When the love of his life is in potential danger? The weight of what that means presses down, threatening to crush him. “I need to see her,” he finally rasps out, voice breaking.

The plea hangs in the air, met by another long silence. Finally, the radio clicks on again, softer than ever. “Y/N would want you to finish. You know that. Win this for her.”

Tears blur Max’s vision, mixing with the sweat already pooling in his helmet, but he nods, a silent assent. The roaring engine now sounds distant, the glinting lights a backdrop to the storm that rages within him. Every second is an eternity, every turn a test of his resolve to keep racing. But Max drives on, pushing his limits for you.

Every fiber of his being silently screams your name, a prayer or a promise or both, Max doesn’t know. All he knows is that the faster he crosses the finish line, the sooner he can be with you.

For the world watching, the race continues, cars whizzing by. But for Max Verstappen, each lap, each second, is a race against his own heart, torn between duty and desperate love.

***

“Her pulse is erratic! Get the defibrillator ready!” A medic shouts as the emergency team frantically works around you, the ambulance parked haphazardly nearby.

Another voice, calmer but filled with urgency, counters, “Wait, give her a moment. She might come around.”

“Come on, Y/N,” A young medic mutters, pressing an oxygen mask to your face. “Don’t do this.”

The ambulance door opens again, the head medic speaking into a radio, “We need an airlift, now. The situation’s deteriorating rapidly.”

Another voice, muffled, replies, “The helicopter’s on its way! Clear the area.”

As the medics continue to administer aid, working desperately to stabilize you, the chief medic tries to maintain order, “Every second counts. This heat stroke is severe, coupled with dehydration ... it’s a nightmare scenario.”

“We should have had more cooling stations,” the younger medic mutters. “The humidity coupled with the heat ... it’s brutal tonight. And we’re not even the ones out there driving.”

The older medic takes a deep breath. “That is on the organizations. We can’t fix there mistakes but we can focus on what happening now and do everything we can to get her through this.”

The thrum of helicopter blades soon overwhelms the noise of the circuit, growing louder as it approaches. Soon, the bright light from its landing spotlight punctuates the night. “The helicopter’s here!” Someone shouts.

“Alright, team, on three,” the chief medic commands. They work in perfect sync, lifting you carefully but quickly, your body still unresponsive.

As they approach the helicopter, the pilot shouts over the roar, “We’ve got the best onboard. She’s in good hands.”

“She’s one of our best,” the younger medic shouts back. “She has to be okay.”

The chief medic, securing you inside, murmurs more to himself than anyone else, “Come on, Y/N. The race isn’t over. Keep fighting.”

***

“You expect me to smile and stand on that podium knowing she’s been airlifted to a hospital?” Max’s voice trembles with rage as he confronts the FIA officials blocking his way.

“Mr. Verstappen, there are rules, procedures,” an official replies stiffly.

“Rules? Y/N might be fighting for her life right now and you want to talk to me about rules?” Max’s hands clench and unclench as he physically holds himself back from throwing a punch.

Another official steps forward, trying to mediate, “Max, we understand your feelings but millions of viewers are watching. The podium is an essential part of the race.”

Max’s eyes flash with anger. “You think I care about a trophy when my girlfriend is in a hospital? Do you really think that piece of metal means anything to me right now?”

“We sympathize— ” the first official begins but is cut off by Max’s heated response.

“You sympathize? Do you even know what that word means?” He’s on the verge of breaking, voice barely above a whisper as he continues, “She is everything to me. Everything. And you want me to smile and wave for the cameras?”

The air grows thick with tension. The two drivers from McLaren waiting for their cue to go to the podium are silent, their eyes darting between Max and the officials.

A new voice interjects , “Let him go.”

It’s Lewis Hamilton, who despite DNFing early in the race, made his way across the paddock after seeing the distress on his rival’s face. “There are things more important than a ceremony.”

The officials exchange glances, clearly not expecting this intervention. But before they can reply, Max levels them with a final scathing look. “Fine me if you must! Penalize me! Suspend me for all I care! But I am going to her.”

And off he goes.

***

A nurse at the desk recognizes Max immediately when he runs into the hospital. “Mr. Verstappen,” she begins hesitantly, “Miss Y/L/N is in the ICU. Room 302.”

He doesn’t need any further prompting to sprint down the hall. Reaching the room, he stops dead in his tracks. You’re there, surrounded by machines that beep and whirr, tubes running to and from you, an oxygen mask on your face. The sight of you, once so full of life, now frail and vulnerable, breaks him.

His voice, when he finally managed to finds it, is a choked whisper, “Y/N ...”

Approaching the bedside, Max gently takes your hand, feeling its clamminess. “Hey, liefje ... it’s me,” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your knuckles. His tears fall freely, wetting the back of your hand.

“Come on, love,” his voice cracks as he continues, “You’ve got to pull through this. For us.”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, tracing the familiar curves and lines he’s come to adore. “Remember that time in Monaco? When we snuck out for that secret dinner that our trainers would have killed us for? We promised each other forever that night. You can’t leave me now. Not when we’ve got so many more memories left to make.”

The room’s silence is punctuated only by the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor in a cruel reminder of the fragility of the moment.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs. “Please ... please come back to me.”

Leaning in, he rests his forehead against yours, allowing the weight of his anguish, love, and hope to flow between the two of you in the sterile room.

***

Nothing has changed. The steady beep of the heart monitor still punctuates the silence of the hospital room. Max sits vigilantly at your bedside, his hand gently clasping yours.

It’s been three days since the crash and you still have not woken up. The doctors say your condition is stable but uncertain.

Max leans in close and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Morning, liefje. I’m still here. Not going anywhere.”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch impossibly gentle as if you might break. In the stark hospital lighting, the dark circles under his eyes are visible. Sleep hasn’t come easy to him, not with you lying here.

A soft knock at the door draws Max’s attention. Hugh pokes his head in hesitantly. “Hey, Max. Any change?”

Max shakes his head, swallowing hard. “Nothing yet. But she’s fighting. I know she is.”

Your race engineer steps further into the room, his expression solemn. “I should have seen the signs earlier. Pushed her to hydrate more. Slowed her pace.” His voice catches, “It was my job to look out for her.”

“This wasn’t your fault,” Max says firmly. “Y/N is stubborn. We both know that. She wanted to prove herself.” A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “It’s what makes her brilliant.”

Hugh pulls up a chair on the opposite side of the bed. For a moment, the two men sit in pensive silence. Then your race engineer speaks again, softer this time. “Has she ... has she responded at all? Squeezed your hand or anything?”

Max clenches his jaw and stares past Hugh at the blank wall. “No. Nothing yet. But I know she can hear me. I tell her about training, the team ... I update her on everything. She’ll want to jump right back in when she wakes up.”

Footsteps approach and a nurse enters, checking the equipment and your vitals. After making some notes on a chart, she offers an encouraging smile. “No change but she seems stable. Just keep talking to her. Familiar voices help.”

After she departs, Hugh leans forward, clasping your still hand. “Hear that, Y/N? You’ve got to wake up. The team needs you. Your fans are all rooting for you. And ...” His voice cracks. “I need my driver back.”

Max looks at him gratefully. “We all need her back.” Reaching out, he gives your race engineer’s shoulder a comforting squeeze.

Another knock sounds. This time, it’s Christian. His face is etched with guilt and worry. “Max. Any improvement today?”

Max’s expression hardens. He hasn’t forgotten Christian’s decision to withhold news of your crash. But his voice remains even as he responds to the team principal. “Nothing new.”

Christian pulls up a chair next to Hugh. He chooses his next words carefully. “Max, I need to apologize. I made the wrong call that night. You deserved to know immediately about Y/N. My priorities were skewed.” His voice shakes slightly. “Seeing her like this ... I would give anything to go back and change what I did.”

Max studies him for a long moment and some of the hardness leaves his eyes. “I appreciate that. But right now, the past doesn’t matter. All that matters is her getting better.”

Christian nods. Reaching out, he gently smoothes your hair. “You hear that, Y/N? We’re all here for you. Your whole team. Now you need to come back to us.”

A heavy silence settles on the room once more. The three of them remain clustered around the bed … keeping vigil … willing you to show any small sign of recovery.

After some time passes, the ringing of Hugh’s phone snaps the three men out of their thoughts. “Sorry to interrupt,” your press officer’s voice filters through the speaker, “but the team’s on the line. They want to send their well wishes to Y/N.”

Hugh glances at Max questioningly who nods, “Patch them through. Let the whole team remind her why she needs to wake up.”

A smile tugs at your race engineer’s lips. “You got it. Go ahead, team. She can hear you.”

A chorus of voices floods the room. Your mechanics, pit crew, strategists, PR team … everyone chimes in with encouraging messages.

“Come on, Y/N! We need our star girl back on the grid.”

“You can do this, kid. You’re the toughest one out there!”

“We all believe in you. Keep fighting!”

Max grips your hand tighter, emotions threatening to spill over. Even Christian and Hugh have sheens of tears in their eyes.

“Alright,” your race engineer says after the team signs off. “You heard them. Time to wake up.”

And that’s when Max feels it. A short, weak squeeze of his hand.

Then your eyelids begin to flutter.

“Y/N?” Max leaps to his feet, leaning over you anxiously. “Can you hear me?”

Slowly, painfully, your eyes open, taking in the scene around you. Confusion clouds your expression. “M-Max?” You rasp.

A brilliant smile breaks across Max’s face. Relief floods through him so powerful that his knees nearly buckle as he chokes out, “Yes, yes it’s me! You’re back, liefje. You’re really back.”

Hugh lets out a shaky laugh, scrubbing a hand across his face. “Welcome back, superstar.”

You try to speak again but Max hushes you gently. “Save your strength. We’ve got all the time in the world to talk.”

Christian grins, looking years younger. “Oh thank god. I need to tell the team. They’ll be thrilled. Welcome back, Y/N.” He hurries from the room, phone already in hand.

Your race engineer squeezes your shoulder. “Get some rest. We’ll all be here when you wake up.”

As he and the nurse move discreetly out of the room, you gaze up at Max. “You ... you stayed.”

Max lifts your hand to his lips, blinking back tears. “Of course I stayed. I’ll always stay by your side.”

He leans down, pressing his lips against your chapped ones. All the fear, the uncertainty, the heartache of the past few days melts away.

You’re back. You’re really back. And Max knows, without a shred of doubt, that your lives from this day on will be greater and more meaningful than all your wildest dreams.

***

In the following days, drivers from across the grid make the pilgrimage to your hospital room. They come bearing gifts — flowers, balloons, even a nearly life-size plush race car. But more importantly, they come bearing a message.

“That race should never have happened,” Lewis says solemnly, handing you a get-well card covered in signatures. “The heat was dangerous. We should have acted sooner.”

Esteban grips your hand tightly. “I’m sorry, Y/N. We should have spoken up about the conditions sooner. We all suffered but you suffered most.”

“Your crash woke us all up,” Lance adds. “No trophy is worth risking drivers’ safety even more than we already do each race.”

You’re moved by their solidarity but sigh knowingly. “The FIA would never have listened to just one driver saying something. But maybe they’ll listen to all of us.”

Max’s jaw clenches, residual anger simmering beneath the surface. “They have to listen. We won’t race in unsafe conditions again.”

The other drivers nod, They know the power that you all wield together and for the first time in a long time, you are going to use it.

In a show of outspoken unity, the GPDA drafts a strongly worded letter condemning the lack of caution around extreme heat and demanding tangible changes to make sure drivers aren’t put in avoidable jeopardy.

All twenty of you threaten to strike.

To your surprise, the FIA not only apologizes for the oversight but pledges to implement the requested changes immediately.

“Your crash was a wake-up call,” the FIA president says solemnly during a visit to your hospital room. “We should have protected you better. That will never happen again.”

When he departs, you let out a long breath, leaning back against the pillows. The anger and hurt from that night haven’t disappeared entirely but you feel a sense of hope, that some good has come from the experience.

Max clasps your hand between both of his. “What you went through is unacceptable but you used that to make the sport safer for every driver out there. I’m so proud of you.”

You give him a tired smile. “We did this together. All of us.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Get some rest. When you’re better, we’ve got plenty more checkered flags to take. Side by side.”

The long road to full recovery still lies ahead. But with Max by your side, and all the drivers behind you, you know everything will be okay.

The race goes on but it will be a safer race thanks to you.

[solbaby7]

Heat of the Moment

rhysand x reader

warnings: smut, this is pure selfish indulgence, public masturbation 🫣, possible swearing, mildddd voyeurism (this batboy likes to watch, i’ll die on this hill), drunk swimming, nudity, kinda pervy!rhys if we’re being technical here, had to get it out my drafts sry

summary: When summer in Velaris becomes too hot to handle, you take it upon yourself to go swimming; naked—better hope no one’s watching.

—

Rhysand fucking hated the summer.

Sometimes he found beauty in the suns resplendent display during its rise and fall in the sky. Saw hints of the Mother nestled in the flowers proudly broadcasting their colorful beauty around the house’s perimeter—but that was about as far as his admiration ran.

Mostly due to the fact that Rhys absolutely abhorred the pulsing burn of the sun, its rays boiling ten times hotter when adorning the typical black of Night Court attire. He positively loathed the drifting pollen in the air that stuck to fine fabrics of his tailored suits and the humid breeze that forced an uncomfortable sweat to thicken against his skin.

Two fingers tug at the collar of his dress shirt; one, two, three buttons being yanked undone until a healthy amount of chest is exposed, inky tattoos on full display. “Anything?” Rhysand mentally sends Azriel’s way with more than a little bite in his tone but the shadowsinger doesn’t even flinch.

“It would appear a few of the wards are down.”

Even without physically seeing his brother, Rhys can picture the amused tilt of Azriel’s mouth to accompany his sarcastic tone. “No shit! It’s a hundred godsdamned degrees in this house.”

“Pampered High Lord can’t handle a little heat? Open a window. It’ll be fixed soon.”

Rhysand grumbles, eyes rolling when Azriel’s mental shields are rebuilt and fortified in an instant. He takes his advice though, sluggishly dragging across the room to open the double doors to his office balcony with more attitude than intended; the polished wood clanging against the walls.

It’s not the sound that captures the High Lords attention though.

It’s the female with her toes dipped in the water, back stretched out against the smoother parts of rock that surrounds the lake below. A towel is splayed over heat-kissed stone, a bottle of wine used to hold down one edge while a wicker basket full of chopped fruit and cubed cheeses, cured meats and crispy crackers holds down the other.

He knew he should've looked away when he realizes it was you. He should've turned around and put the image of you out of his mind so he could finish up the debilitating pile of paperwork that remained on his desk. There was so much to do—so many responsibilities to tend to and now with the wards out of place, who knew how long it could take to detect them all and fix it.

But Rhysand just can't tear his eyes off of you and that skimpy little bikini you adorned.

It's awfully dainty, with flimsy little straps and cute bows tied tightly against curvy hips in a pretty pastel purple that pops against sun-kissed skin. You've tied your hair up, a messy bun of a thing plopped at the top of your head with a bright scrunchie but a few stray curls fall free, teasing at the back of your neck and sides of your cheeks when the wind graces you with its presence; ruffling the pages of the book tucked between two fingers.

He lingers there longer than he'd care to admit, memorizing the scrunched furrow of your brow and the precious pout of your mouth. One of your hands falls carelessly to the side, occasionally reaching for a snack or a drink of wine until Rhys decides he's definitely been looming in the doorway an obscene amount of time—enough to almost feel embarrassed and maybe a little creepy when you snap your book closed.

His cheeks go red, already preparing himself for the apology you're sure to demand from him for perving on you from the balcony but when Rhysand looks down, you're still none the wiser to his presence. Though, you have carefully put your literature aside to slowly glance at your surroundings.

Rhysand pauses his retreat, now surveilling as you had, searching for the sign of life that you’d detected but no matter how far he pushes his power through the trees and forestry, over the mountains and the village surrounding it —not a single soul is identified.

You seem to come to this same conclusion and Rhys waits with bated breath as your hands curl behind your back to undo the ties of your top. “Holy gods,” The High Lord's knees physically give out when the heaving plush of your breasts are bared, his weight slumping into the outdoor lounge chair and all but whimpers at the sight of you. Absolutely ethereal, you are; a gift granted from the Mother herself--completely unaware of the beauty you behold and the lengths males would go to have such beauty latched on their arms.

The very thought of another seeing you this way has jealousy churning in Rhys' gut.

A completely different kind of heat swarms his skin as your pretty purple bottoms follow where your top is haphazardly tossed and obscene kinds of filth floods his mind; a million fantasies taking root at once until all the blood needed for his braid to exude proper common sense is rushed below his belt.

Fuck, this was so wrong but that very fact makes his cock swell further. Every nerve in his body burns, and for once Rhysand isn’t brooding about the sweltering heat or the sweat dripping down his back or the disgusting little gnats that flock around the perfectly pruned flora. Not when you're there, not quite within arms reach but plenty close enough for Rhys to make out the outline of your body from under the water.

Thick curls cling to you when you break the surface and Rhysand doesn't even think twice before his fingers are hastily undoing the button of his breeches. Teeth bite into his bottom lip as he palms his hardness through the thin material of his boxers; violet eyes darkening into a lusty aubergine.

It’s effortless, the way you cut through the stream, feet kicking against the gentle current as you bask in the feeling of weightlessness—most likely grateful for the cool calm after waking up with clothes drenched in sweat and hair sticking to your shoulders. A complete juxtaposition to the shiver that rakes down your spine from the surprisingly crisp waters, goosebumps loitering your flesh and nipples pebbling.

Rhysand tracks every move, hypnotized by the way light reflected off the high points of your features, casting sensual shadows over the shape of your hips and the ample ass behind it. Drool damn near drips down his chin when you pull yourself out, every inch of you soaking wet and glistening; womanly curves jiggling enticingly as you plop out to lay on your towel fully intending to work up an even tan.

One hand strokes at his erection, thumb collecting pre-cum and spine sinking into the chair as he feasts on the display you’ve provided. So beautiful, so soft and lovely—oh, but not quite so proper, were you?

Because, the way you trace your fingers down the line between your tits lacks anything but decorum. Legs bend at the knee for stability while you tug at a nipple, your free hand sliding down, down, down until your perfect manicure disappears between your thighs. He's completely stuck; hooked, caught like a fish on a line and you just keep reeling in him closer and closer to his demise and yet he still refuses to fight it.

The throb of his cock is nearly painful, balls swollen and grip lethal when pumping up and down the thick length. Even when his eyes go droopy and his breathing grows labored, he forces his view to remain on you and the slow roll of your hips as two fingers slowly circle around the sensitive bud of your clit.

Rhys swears that he tries to stop but he'd already fallen too far, swept up by the unsteady rise and fall of your chest and the eager spread of toned legs as you build up to that sweet release. Huffy hums of pleasure drifts up into his ears like sweet music and while he wouldn't have considered himself a melomaniac; he could see the obsession forming if it was your voice carrying the melodies.

Velvety skin shifts with each desperate pump, thumb applying pressure just under the defined mushroom head of his prick when Rhys realizes the noises have stopped—your pretty moans and the slick sounds of your pussy no longer drifting his way.

"And here I thought a High Lord was supposed to hold himself with some sort of decorum,” Every muscle in Rhysand’s body locks at the sound of your voice, its cadence much closer than before and entirely too smug when you take in the leaking throb of his erection. Hands seize their stroking and Rhysand can't fucking fathom the fact that he'd allowed his imagination to run so wild—to distract him so intensely that he'd been sloppy enough to get caught.

He hadn't even heard you enter the room. Hadn't detected the familiar itch of one winnowing around his territory. You'd utterly blindsided him, a hot flush billowing into his cheeks, "I was just—“

"Watching me," You swiftly intercede, completely confident before him with your body free of periwinkle restrictions. "Instead of finishing that mountain of paperwork you've been ignoring."

"I got a little distracted." Mischief swells in your eye at the rough tone of his voice and it’s no secret your affect on him. Rhysand’s jaw was clenched tightly with barely contained restraint as he forces himself to focus on the lush green grass or the chirp of the birds wrestling in the trees instead of the soft swell of your belly and the supple curve of your thighs that sits right in his line of sight. “And you’re not exactly making it easy to pay attention to anything but you.”

“Good,” You all put preen under the compliment. "The harder the better." A sharp inhale is sucked through his nose when one knee drops to the free space of his chair. You hover over him, perky tits right in his face as you take your sweet ass time getting comfortable in his lap. It's bold; intrusive even—you plopping the weight of your ass against his thighs as you ease his hand aside and replace it with your own. "All the fun is in the challenge."

And what a challenge it would be taking such a massive cock.

It's really fucking pretty though. Hard to the touch and soft as silk. It pulses in your grasp, twitching when you give an experimental squeeze and Rhysand nearly finishes on the spot when you peer at him through thick lashes. Lust swims in your vision, aroused by the scenes from your book read by the lake and the added eroticism that ensued once realizing you weren't alone--that there was another watching you as you'd undressed. "Fucking filthy thing, you are." Rhys grunts as your thoughts consume him, abdomen contracting involunentarily as he submits to the overwhelming high that comes with your touch.

"Says you," Your wet hair drips a puddle by his shoes, liquid bouncing off polished leather as your hips shamelessly roll, grinding down along the muscular ridges of his thigh through his breeches, pussy clenching around nothing at the delicious friction. “Those expensive tutors forget to teach you that’s it’s not polite to spy on a lady?”

"They did," Never once had it taken Rhysand so long to conjure up a witty remark, "—but it's been a while since I’ve attended my lessons." The warmth from between your legs and the hypnotic bounce of your breasts is enough to turn him dumb. All the overstimulated High Lord can offer up is deep grunts and choppy pants through garbled praises and pleas for more as you have your way with him. You don't even have to bother tugging his pants down all the way, plenty satisfied with only unvieling the goods.

"Sounds like you need a refresher on manners." Consent is granted in the way Rhys’ hands grip at your hips, guiding you up, up, up until your dripping sex hovers over his own and when he and you finally connect—every movement turns desperate.

“Oh fuck,” He chokes out, starving hands feasting at your figure, ravishing every curve and devouring every sound you offer. It had to have something to do with the heat; this all-consuming hunger that burns beneath your skin and just engulfs everything in sight until all sense of rationality and logic had melted to mush.

“Better than your hands, huh?” It takes everything in you to keep your words steady, to keep your thighs sturdy and rhythm in tune as you rock your hips; experimenting with the feeling of such fullness. “Was this what you were thinking about when you were perving on me? How I’d feel wrapped around you? How far I could take you?” Fingers bite into your waist, it’s sure to leave bruises and yet you can’t find it in yourself to give a shit when you’re so preoccupied with sucking up every fucking inch Rhys had to offer. The noises that rumbles through the air is guttural, animalistic; stained with desire and a mind numbing need that triggers that possessive Illyrian blood within him and when his hips shift, feet planting more sturdy against the ground—you know you’re screwed.

Truly, undeniably fucked.

Because with each sharp thrust he offers, your cocky demeanor fades away. “Was thinking about how you’d sound and the noises you’d make for me.” The control shift is palpable even in your state, hazy eyes catching the second a flustered Rhys eases into the role of High Lord, weilder of a great power that he clearly knew how to manipulate. “Can’t say, I’m disappointed.”

[mikoluvsblondes]

Stuck on You

Paige Bueckers x reader

summary: Your AC is broken in the humid summer. The sheen of sweat over your body erupts a certain feeling in Paige.

warnings: rpf, sweat, kissing, scissoring, 18+

In the heat of the humid summer, the AC chose the worst time to breakdown. The breeze from the open window is almost useless as it is no match for the summer heat. You and Paige lay on the bed splayed out side-by-side. The two of you avoid touching each other from the fear of your sticky bodies making contact.

You roll onto your side to face Paige, propping your head up with your arm. You sigh at the blazing heat. She turns her head towards you, the loose strands from her messy bun nearly stay in place due to the sweat.

"Whats up, babe?" She rests the back of her head on her forearms.

"Its so hot."

"Yeah, because youre here" she jokes, sticking her tongue out playfully.

"Shut up" you laugh "you're so stupid" your voice trailed off towards the end as you shook your head amused.

You stare into her pretty blue eyes and she does the same to you. A smile creeps onto your face as you admire each feature.

"God. You're so damn beautiful."

"I miss you." She rests a hand onto your hip and the weight makes your thin pj shorts soak into your skin. Her eyes travel from your lips to your thighs, then back up as she bites her bottom lip.

"Really, Paige? Come on, it's too hot for that." you half-joke.

"You know you want it" she teases, bringing her lips up to yours in a kiss.

She rolls you onto your back, straddling you without breaking the kiss.

"Here." Paige's fingertips slide down your sides and stop at the hem of your shirt, peeling it off of you and exposing your bare chest. "Because it's 'too hot'." she quotes your words with a smirk.

All you can do in response is stare as she moves her body down yours and pulls your shorts down your legs. She kisses a trail from your hips up to your chest. Before her lips can meet yours again, you rid her of her clothes. The muscles in her abs and arms are highlighted from the light sheen of sweat covering them.

Her lips move rhythmically against yours as her forearms rest by the sides of your head. She lays her body onto yours. Her bare chest is pressing up against yours, her hard nipples pushing lightly into your skin. She kisses up your jaw and down your neck before traveling between your hips.

Paige leaves little wet kisses on your thighs and around where you needed her most. After minutes of her teasing, you start to become impatient.

"Please. Paige" You tangle your fingers in her messy bun and guide her towards your pussy. She presses a firm kiss between your legs causing your legs to twitch.

She drags her middle finger up and down over your underwear, groaning at how wet you already are. "Haven't even done anything yet." she says and before you can respond, youre letting out a gasp as the waistband of your underwear slips between her teeth. Paige tugs them down, keeping eye contact the entire time.

Paige lifts one of your legs onto her shoulder as she straddles your other leg. You reach forward to being her hips closer. Soon, her pussy is pressed up to yours. The two of you let out a moan as if the contact is too much for both of you to handle.

She moves her hips back and forth letting out heavy breaths between each movement. One of her hands works on your tits while the other holds onto your leg that's resting on her shoulder.

Your legs open wider for her as she leans forward to bring her pussy closer to yours. Her chest was flush with the back of your thigh. You and Paige's sweat and pussy juice drips onto the bed with every searing minute.

Now, it all became too much. Shamelessly bucking your hips into hers while she gets more rough with her movements. The feeling in your core intensifies before the two of you are finishing against each other. Both of your eyes squeezing shut and the grip you have on each other is getting tighter.

She continues rubbing her wetness against yours to bring you both down from your high. She releases your leg from her grip and falls back onto the bed.

'Maybe the AC should breakdown more often' you thought to yourself, curling up to Paige with no revard for the sweat or heat.

[godidontevenknowwhat]

Attitude Problems

Avatar Driver!Jake Sully x Omatikaya!Reader

Fic Includes: NSFW so MDNI, idiots to lovers, semi-descriptive animal hunting/death (not gory, very brief), spanking, fingering, orgasm denial, p in v, dirty talk, dubious consent?? (consent is not verbally given, warning just in case), creampie, shitty writing that hasn't been checked so sorry 😔, 2.8k words

Synopsis: There's not much that can frustrate Jake, at least not openly anyway. The RDA and the avatar programme are relying on his ability to shut up and do what he's told which means keeping his irritation locked up, his head down and his mouth shut. Neytiri keeps him on his toes, her teaching methods are to learn fast or die faster and he's adjusted to handle it. Hell he even feels like the cruel words of Tsu'tey and his burning glares wash off of him like water off of a duck's back at this point. The only thing he can't brush off and walk away from is you and your goddamn, cocksure attitude. Best hunter in the village his ass, more like best fucking cause of a migraine. You make his tail flick with anger, his pupils dilate like he's a pissed off little kitten and the worst thing is he can tell that above all else: you like pissing him off.

Heat lingers in the air on Pandora, a humidity that forces a layer of sticky sweat to coat his blue skin despite most of it being bare of clothing. Muscles ache and pull uncomfortably, calves burning from his latest trip into the vast rainforest surrounding the Omatikaya home tree and in spite of it all a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth that he can’t seem to shake. 

There's a comfort that comes with the pain his avatar body experiences, comfort that he’s there and present and goddamn his fucking legs hurt for the first time in years so who cares if they’re big and blue.

Neytiri trains him hard, part of him deep down doesn’t really blame her for the hate that lingers in her eyes when she looks at him or when she pushes him to do better. Augustine told him about what those assholes did to her sister and he can understand that despite being on his best behaviour the assholes that murdered her are his assholes so there's always going to be some animosity there no matter how many smiles he can get her to crack when he falls face first into direhorse shit. Every now and then though, when the long day comes to a close and they sit together eating the meat caught by the hunting party, he can see a softness to her that he likes to think shows she’s warming up to him.

The only one knocking around this damn hollow tree that he hasn’t managed to warm to him other than Tsu’tey is you. Neytiri said it's just who you are, that you’re passionate about being the perfect hunter and providing for the clan, that you’re serious. 

‘Serious’ his ass, in fact, he can guarantee the only ‘serious’ you are is a serious thorn in his side. 

Since he stepped foot in home tree he knew he pissed you off and everyone around him who had to listen to his rambling thoughts both in and out of his avatar body knew that the feeling was mutual. It got so bad that Augustine put a ban on talking about you in his video logs unless you were a big part of his day, unfortunately for her the Tsahik thought it was the will of Eywa to have you teach him how to hunt so you were a big part of his life despite him begging for you not to be. 

Truthfully as much as this tree-hugging, Eywa stuff was starting to seem more plausible to him the longer he spent with the Na’vi, there was an unsettling glimmer in the Tsahik’s eyes when she paired you with him that plays on his mind more often than not. Maybe this is his punishment for being so damn lucky up to this point. The Na’vi surely believe in karma.

“Your grip isn’t firm” A not so gentle kick to his calf forces him to widen his stance. “And your stance is not open enough, are you learning nothing from these hunts?” Irritation prickles under his skin at your words, you’re the only one who seems to never see his improvement. 

“Sorry”

“Sorry won’t provide for the clan, dream walker” His jaw ticks, teeth clenched so hard that he can almost hear them crack under the force. He chances a glance at you from the corner of his eye and the nonchalance of your posture is betrayed by the amused glint in your eyes, your attitude only serving to piss him off further.

Doing his best to ignore you he takes a deep breath.

In. Out. In. Out.

His eyes follow the largest hexapede of the group, watching it dip its head into the plush grass. The tension of the pulled back arrow makes his shoulders burn and your scrutinising stare does little to ease the fire creeping over his tight muscles.

In. Out. In..

“Oel ngati kameie, ma tsmukan, ulte ngaru seiyi irayo. Ngari hu Eywa salew tirea, tokx 'ì'awn slu Na'viyä hapxì.”

His arrow releases with a sharp whistle, cutting through the air and flooring the hexapede immediately.

Out.

Taking off in a sprint, Jake whips out his hunting knife and performs the final act of sacrifice he can for the creature.

The knife is heavy in his hand, his words weighing on his mind in a confusing way. He had taken life before, been ordered to anyway.. and it never became easier. But taking a life in this way, with respect and the idea that this animal made an incredible sacrifice to provide for the people- 

“Sloppy”

Your voice cuts through the silence like a thanator’s claws and Jake can only scoff in disbelief rather than give a proper response.

“Did you hear me, tawtute? That was sloppy, you were barely on target and you took far to long too position yourself”

Jake cleans his knife off on the grass, refusing to look at you in the fear that he would be unable to fight the urge to use the knife on you. Your words were enough but the irritated sigh that you let slip is the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

Knocking your legs out from under you with a sweeping kick is just the right move to floor your unexpecting form. The look you shoot at him from your position is venomous and for a brief second Jake can see exactly why the Na’vi would be so terrifying to face in a real life or death fight. He watches your chest heave, the delicate beading of your chest covering barely keeping your ample tits concealed from his gaze after being disheveled from your sudden fall. 

Jake's ears twitch as they pick up a strange sound and it’s only when your own drop to your head submissively that he realises the sound is coming from him. A deep, rumbling whisper of a growl that emerges from deep in his chest and seems to have you frozen in place in the dirt below him. 

“You” The sound of his own voice is almost foreign to his ears, it huffs out of him in a harsh pant that makes you flinch despite your best efforts.  “You are such a pain in my ass!” There’s a strain of frustration in his voice, emotions bubbling to the surface that he’d tried to hold back and keep to himself. 

He’d thought about this moment plenty of times before, almost obsessively since the first snippy comment passed your lips about him, thought about confronting you and really giving you shit, putting you in your place but when the opportunity finally presented itself all he could think about was how desperately and stupidly he wanted you more than he’d ever wanted anyone else. How he wanted to shut you up by kissing you until you were breathless. How when he first saw Neytiri in the forest he thought she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen but when he had first seen you he knew that you were.

Jake drops to his knees between your spread legs, the swiftness of his rash movements activating your fight or flight causing you to lunge at him which in turn results in your arms locked within Jake’s firm grip.

“Not fucking talking about my grip now are you?”

He pulls you closer to him, holding you and forcing you to look at him in the eyes as he speaks to you.

“You frustrate me, you piss me off, you shit all over me constantly”

Your eyes are wide in shock as you gaze up at him, their colour so striking that it takes his breath away and stops his words before they can leave him. 

The tension between you both is thicker than the skin of a titanothere and maybe he’s as stupid as people think he is, maybe it’s the way your long eyelashes brush your cheeks while you blink up at him, maybe it’s the electric feeling of having his hands on you or maybe it's some weird combination of everything overwhelming him but his grip on your arms loosen, his left hand moves to the dip of your lower back and his right cups the back of your neck giving a light squeeze that makes your cunt pulse with need.

Your lips slot together like fitting the last piece of a puzzle and while Jake waits for a slap or scratch or a well delivered right hook, you surprise him when your hands only move to bring him closer and he knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Jake kisses you with an urgency that you’ve never felt before, parting your lips and licking into your mouth in a way that makes your stomach dance with atokirina. You’re embarrassed that you can only whimper and cling to him, shocked and subdued by his passion.

You attempt to follow him as he pulls away, craving more but he stops you with his grip on the back of your neck.

“Why..? I just want to know why? Why do you give me such a hard time?”

Your soft eyes harden almost immediately, glaring up at him again with none of the sweetness he’d felt during your kiss. 

“Because you are not ready, I have already told you-”

Jake can only laugh, it’s an airy, unamused laugh that sends an unpleasant shiver down your spine.

“You’re such a fucking brat”

Your world flips around you as Jake flips you onto your front, manhandling you, pulling at your hips until your ass is presented to him.

A yelp rips out of you with his first swat, your tail furiously whipping behind you as you crane your neck to look back at him. 

“Ow! What are you doing, skxawng?” 

“Think of it as a little payback, huh? For being such a pain in my ass” Another firm smack comes down on your ass, the deep blue of your skin becoming a gorgeous purple before his very eyes. 

“You like being a pain?” Smack. “Being a bitch to me? Pushing my buttons?” Smack. Smack. “You like pissing me off?” 

Smack.

There’s a surprising silence from you, tamed from a little roughhousing and the grin that spreads across Jake’s face in response is uncontrollable. “Don’t worry, you don’t need to answer. I know you do”

His thumb traces the outline of your pussy through your tewng, spurred on by the feeling of your wetness seeping through the fabric and the sweet moan you let out.

His hands leave their grip on you for a moment, loosening the strings of his tewng before moving to your own. He gives you plenty of time to stop him, plenty of time to kick him away or tell him he's a bastard but the biggest movement you make is a subtle rock back of your hips, seeking pressure from him on your needy cunt again.

His large hand cups your mound, fingers tracing through your puffy lips and barely dipping into your hole. Teasing or checking how wet you are even Jake isn’t 100% sure. Back and forth, Jake traces every inch. An embarrassing slick sound filling the air as he gathers your wetness on his fingers and presses his finger into you with a groan.

“Jesus..” 

You whine at the feeling, his finger doing nothing to fill the emptiness and just serving to tease you more. Your hips helplessly rock back, desperate for more already and he takes pity on you by adding a second finger, curling them just right to make your sensitive clit twitch from going untouched.

He purposefully neglects your clit, thrusting his fingers fast and deep enough to bring you close but never send you over the edge. Your whines drive him crazy, such sweet sounds from just his fingers make him borderline feral to find out what you’ll sound like split on his fat cock.

His fingers pump in and out of your squelching hole, spreading your wetness until the sound of each movement is making your eyes roll back in your head and your legs tremble. 

Jake feels you getting tighter, hears your moans hit a whinier pitch than before and finally touches your clit, rubbing quick circles into your sensitive little bud until he sees tears in your eyes. He feels the pulsing of your cunt, has to grip the base of his cock to keep from finishing early. Embarrassing but true. In his human body he’d lost all feeling in his bottom half and in this body he’d not exactly had the chance to get any action, it was like he was a virgin all over again.

Your nails dig into the dirt, tail wrapping around Jake’s arm like a brace to try and keep him going but he doesn’t hesitate to stop right as you’re about to fly over the edge.

“J-Jake..” 

He pulls his fingers from you, wrapping his slick hand around his cock and letting out what can only be described as a growl at the feeling of your wetness coating his cock as he strokes his hand over it. 

“I like when you say my name”

Once he feels that he’s lubed enough he presses forward, guiding the head of his cock through your slick folds and barely pulling away enough to tap it against your clit before repeating the process again.

“Not tawtute.. or- fuck- or skxawng, s’nice.. a nice change” 

He takes his time, pressing just the tip into you with restraint that he surprises himself with. Barely giving you any of his cock before taking it away again only to repeat with slightly more each time. Each inch of his fat cock feels like torture to take because he can’t just let you have it. It makes shameful, hot tears rolling down your cheeks and when he finally settles himself fully inside of you, so deep you can feel him in your guts, your cunt clenches and twitches around him almost gushing from just the feeling of him filling you.

He feels you fluttering around him and takes his time stuffed deep inside you, fearing if he moves even a miniscule amount he’ll have you both cumming too quickly, too intensely to recover from.

Jake’s eyes clench shut, hands gripping your hips so hard that you will most definitely have bruises left when you return to hometree. Silence surrounds you both, interrupted only by your quiet sniffles and Jake takes a second to look at you properly, his hand subconsciously rubbing the length of your back in a comforting motion.

“I got you, I got you don’t worry.. taking me so fucking deep.. M'gonna move now baby, don’t worry baby M'gonna move”

He pulls back, dragging his cock from your heat and letting out a sinful moan at the feeling of your cunt gripping him so tightly. He does his best to hold back and give you time, give himself time but when he presses back into you and all you can do is give a punched out whine of his name he loses himself.

His thrusts accelerate without warning, the slap of his heavy balls against your wet clit making you clench around him even tighter. With every thrust the tip of his cock bullies it's way against your g-spot, getting you closer every second he fucks you.

Jake makes the mistake of looking down at where you’re connected, sees the creamy ring being left around the base of his cock from your soaked cunt and that authoritative, rumbly growl seeps from deep in his chest again as his fingers desperately seek out your clit.

It barely takes one swipe of his fingers before your voice cracks mid scream and your vision flashes white as you gush around his cock, cunt clinging to him so tightly that he can barely pull back out to keep thrusting. He settles for grinding into you, trying to keep your high going as long as possible with each press of his tip digging into your g-spot.

Overstimulation settles in quickly, you try to wiggle away but Jake holds you in place. Finally feeling you loosen up enough to give a few more well delivered thrusts. 

“Hold on baby, just wait, just- mm fuck- just wait”

You say his name in a whimper, sweet and quiet like you’re begging and then he’s cumming, filling you up so deep that you’ll feel him for days.

He makes the most incredible noises as he cums. Strained moans mixed with feral growls with each pump of cum that fills you, stuffed as deep as possible until the very last drop.

Jake pulls you close, keeping you connected as he lays you on your sides. Wanting to comfort you and keep you close but selfishly wanting to stay deep inside you as long as possible. His head drops into your neck as he spoons you, panting breaths tickling your skin.

It’s peaceful, idyllic. Jake thinks it's the best moment you’ve shared with each other despite just having the best sex of his life but then your quiet voice breaks the silence, heavy and full of tears that make Jake’s heart ache instead of his cock. “You are ready.. I just did not want you to be”

[nickeverdeen]

hey, i was wondering if you could write about if five (from the umbrella academy) saw his s/o's sh scars for the first time. no fresh cuts and the s/o is much more stable now but not totally.

Cuts as sharp as love | Five Hargreeves x gn!reader

Warnings: Self-harm

PS: I love you and if this happened to anyone here, I’m truly sorry and hope things are better now. My DMs are open 24/7 if you need to talk about really anything

—————

The sun hung high in the sky, its rays mercilessly casting down waves of heat that seemed to shimmer off the pavement. The air was thick and humid, making even the simplest of movements feel like a herculean effort. You and Five had retreated to the shaded sanctuary of the Umbrella Academy’s garden, seeking refuge from the blistering heat.

“Why is it so damned hot?” Five grumbled, pulling at the collar of his shirt. Despite his attempts to maintain his usual stoic demeanor, the heat was proving to be quite the adversary.

You chuckled softly, wiping a bead of sweat from your brow. “It’s summer, Five. That’s kind of how it works.”

He shot you a playful glare. “Very funny. Remind me to never trust you as my meteorologist.”

You laughed again, a sound that Five found strangely comforting. It was a rare moment of levity in their otherwise tumultuous lives.

“Hey, it’s not my fault you can’t handle a little heat,” you teased, while a smirk played on your lips.

Five smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh, I can handle plenty. Just wait until winter. Then we’ll see who’s complaining.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “Deal.”

As the afternoon wore on, the oppressive heat showed no signs of relenting. You, in an attempt to cool off, decided to shed your outer layers, rolling up your sleeves without a second thought. It was an innocent enough action, one born out of sheer necessity rather than any conscious decision.

But as the fabric bunched up around your elbows, the scars were laid bare for the world to see. You crisscrossed your arms like a grotesque roadmap of pain and suffering, each mark telling a story of battles fought in the darkest corners of your mind.

Five’s eyes were immediately drawn to the scars. His usually sharp, calculating gaze softened as he took in the sight before him. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen them, but he never pryed hoping he was mistaken, but each glimpse was a painful reminder of the struggles you had endured.

You followed his gaze, your eyes widening in realization. Panic set in, your heart racing as you hastily tried to roll your sleeves back down.

“Five, I—” you started, your voice quiet.

But he was already at your side, his hands gently covering yours. “It’s okay,” he said softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. “You don’t have to hide them from me.”

You looked up at him growing a tad bit unsure what to do. “I forgot,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to…”

He shook his head, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. “You don’t need to explain. I’m here. I’m always here.”

You both sat in silence for a few moments, the weight of the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Five’s face had one question only written all over his features. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you knew was going to be a difficult conversation.

“Five, I… I’m not that person,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m more stable now… well not totally, but much better”

Five’s expression softened even further, his eyes filled with a mixture of empathy and understanding. “I’m glad,” he said gently. “You don’t need to hide them.”

You looked up at him, your eyes searching his for any sign of doubt or judgment. But all you found was unwavering support and love.

“I just don’t want you to feel like you have to carry my burdens,” you continued, your voice breaking a bit. “You’ve been through so much already. You don’t need to deal with my issues too.”

Five shook his head, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “We’re in this together,” he said firmly. “Your burdens are my burdens. Your struggles are my struggles. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He pulls you into a hug “Thank you,” you whispered. “For everything.”

Five pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Always,” he murmured. “I’ll always be here for you.”

[polyo-nym-y]

Delightful Debauchery

[CH.1: When Tainted Souls Meet.]

Human! Alastor x Human! Fem! Reader

[Word Count: 2,844 ]

[Content Warnings: This Ch. is SFW, however, the story will delve into NSFW, So minors are still asked to NOT INTERACT. This story will eventually focus on exploring sex as well as darker themes revolving around Alastor being a serial killer (gore/blood/death). But for this Ch. there isn’t much to warn about!]

Once you allow blood to spill on your hands it’ll become a stain you’ll never wash away. No matter how clean your skin may appear, the etching of your sin will forever follow you. Permeating layers of flesh and seeping into your very soul.

You know you’re damned to an eternity in Hell. It’s something you have come to terms with rather quickly. So, you thought, might as well spend the time you have left on earth however you please. You’ve already sealed your fate, now it’s time to enjoy life amongst the living whilst it lasts.

The sky was clear, allowing the sun to beat down without anything obscuring its rays. Your skin felt sticky as heat weighed heavily in the thick and muggy air. You stood on an unshaded sidewalk, your eyes following the brick and wooden exterior of the building in front of you. A sign outside read in golden lettering ‘Crescent City Radio Station, WWNO 999 on your AM dial!’.

By now you must’ve read that sign a million times, your brain lagging trying to process that you were actually here. The folder you brought with you was being used as a fan, desperately trying to cool yourself off. The mix of the humid heat and anxiety had you teetering on overstimulation.

“C’mon, don’t clam up* now.” You quickened your fanning as the air you created lightly blew your hair back. “You came all this way...”

You continued muttering to yourself as you willed your feet to move from the sidewalk. Taking hesitant steps, you approached the building's front. Your eyes following the ornate etching on the front window. The interior curtains were closed, allowing no sneak peeks inside.

Your gloved fingers twitch over the door handle. After taking one last breath you force your signature smile, a tool you used often. Opening the door, you slowly entered as your eyes swept over the lobby space. The cooler air of the building soothed you as your shoulders relaxed. You stood in the middle of the lobby with curious eyes. Soft music played from a gramophone behind the front desk. The ceiling was high and the space was clean. Arguably, one of the fancier places you’ve seen as of recent.

So enthralled by the interior, you hadn’t noticed the set of eyes burning holes into you as you approached the front desk. As you turned and settled your eyes forward you flinched back as you were met with a cloud of smoke being blown at you. The receptionists' annoyed stare was accompanied by an insincere smile as she ashed her cigarette into the nearby ashtray. “Hm? Oh no I’m still here, love. Mhm, yeah.” She spoke into the phone that was wedged against her ear with her shoulder. “Just a drab dame* waltzed in so it’s nothing important.”

You couldn’t stop your nose from scrunching up as your eyes narrowed down on the seated women. But the receptionist seemed to pay no mind as she belted out a haughty laugh at whatever was said on the other end of the phone. Clearing your throat, you stepped up to the front desk and settled your gloved hands atop the shiny wooden surface. “Excuse me-” you hesitated as the receptionist's sharp glare shot back up to you. “This is actually something important, if you wouldn't mind?” Not like it's your job or anything, you thought to yourself.

You watched as her stare twisted into a sneer directed up to you. “One second, Val.” With a big huff she would drop the phone from her ear and press the mic end against her chest to ‘mute’ it. “Ugh, what do you want? I’m kind of busy here.”

Your gaze remained narrowed but you managed to bring back your smile, albeit tense. “Terribly busy, I can see.”

“Tch. Listen, girlie-“ The phone still in her hand was lifted to point up at you. “Whoever you’re here to see doesn’t have time to talk with fans no matter how important you think it is-“

You interrupted her with a laugh, “Hah! No- I’m not a fan- well, I’m not not a fan-“ you paused trying to stop yourself from tripping over your own words. The rude interaction caught you off guard, with your nerves already being high. “I’m here to discuss the possibility of employment.”

“The station isn’t looking to hire, hun.” The woman stretched her shoulders back with a scoff. “Not to mention all the high pillows* are very busy-“

You glanced past her to the clock on the wall. “Actually, it’s noon.” Your eyes met the womens once more as you softened your expression to match your faux-smile. “I was hoping to speak with Mr. Heartfelt specifically. Based on his broadcasting schedule he should be taking a coffee break right now-“ you saw the concerned and disgusted look on the receptionist's face as she slowly stubbed her cigarette out. “Or so I’ve heard, uhm. Just- Please, at least ask him.”

“Not a fan, huh?” She looked you up and down as she set the phone down on the counter without hanging it up. “If it’s that egg* then I could care less if he's busy or not. So, sure. Especially if it means you'll leave me alone.” She said with a small shrug as she rolled her chair over to an intercom. Bringing the speaker to her ear as she pressed Alastors call button. Waiting only a moment for it to be picked up before she was smirking into the mic, “Mr. Heartfelt~, you have someone here for a meeting with you.”

You bounced nervously on your heels as you tried to listen in on whatever answer she was given. The receptionist's eyes flickered over to you as she held a toothy grin and hummed into the speaker. “Mhmm.” She lifted her free hand up to inspect her nails, idly. “Yeah, no you didn't have this on your calendar, mhm.” You cringed a bit and tried to reach out to her but she just continued speaking into the intercom. “Oh no, she made it very clear she was in fact not a fan.” She gave you a mocking thumbs up.

Your mouth opened in horror as the woman before you barked out a snobby laugh like a small purse dog. Unconsciously, your fingers tensed on the paper folder you were holding. Your head begins to race with anxiety at the fact this wretched woman might have just ruined your first impression.

But you will yourself to take a deep breath as the receptionist hangs the intercom and rolls back to her original spot. Her dark slender fingers picking the phone back up as she waves you off and gestures to the hall at her left. “Fourth door.” Was all she said before turning her attention back to her phone conversation. Despite your annoyance you offered a thank you. To which she groaned in response, “Ugh, dry up*.”

As the receptionist spun in her chair to completely turn her back to you, your smile fell flat. If I do get hired then she’s going to be a problem, you weighed your options as you slowly stepped around the front and down the hall you were directed to.

Anxiety won the battle against annoyance as you felt it's nauseating grip settle back in your chest. You found yourself in front of the fourth door quicker than you would've liked as you nervously inspected it. A beautiful dark wood with a golden plate reading Alastors name. For a moment, as you heard the receptionist bark out another laugh in the lobby, you debated on just leaving. But you thought, what do I have to lose?

Gently knocking your knuckles on the door, you leaned forward to listen for a reply. A muffled ‘Come in.’ was given and you flinched as if you didn’t expect him to answer. Your gloved hands fussed with your clothes and hair. Once you felt somewhat put together you settled your hand on the handle and slowly pushed the door open. Taking a single step over the threshold your eyes glanced across the office that the door opened into. Your smile shining as you began your practiced speech, “I apologize Mr. Heartfelt. I know I’m interrupting your busy schedule- and I must thank you for even giving me a chance to speak with you.” Your words were laced with perfectly crafted faux-confidence. But silence fell between you two as soon as your eyes met Alastors. An ominous chill seemed to fill the already cool office as you felt goosebumps rise on your skin. A feeling consumed both you and Alastor at that very moment, weighing heavy in the air like the humidity outside. But you couldn’t quite put your finger on it- it was an odd queasy feeling that slipped down your throat and settled in your stomach like a hard pill to swallow.

But the instinctual warning you felt in your gut was pushed to the side when you really took in Alastors appearance. Because, by God, everyone knew Alastor for his charming voice and radio persona. But to find out he had the looks to match? Now that had your brain nearly short circuiting. Your eyes ran over him unabashedly. Tan hands, long arms, broad shoulders and a proud chest. Fitted button up beneath a red vest with a perfect black bowtie and rounded glasses that rested atop the bridge of his nose. Though, what really caught your eye was his hair, cut in a style you had never seen before. If you looked closely, between the dark strands you could see the beginning of grays peppering throughout. Really the only physical indication of his age. You had to assume he must be in his forties and yet the man before didn’t look a day over thirty.

Alastor sat behind a large wooden desk with his hands folded together in front of him. His eyes caught yours, forcing your wandering gaze into tense eye contact. Stunned, you watched his eyes crinkle as his neutral smile grew into a grin. The sight of your wide eyes and lightly tinted cheeks was enough to distract him from his own instinctual unease.

You watched as his eyes slowly raked down to your toes before rushing back up. Clearing his throat he pushed his glasses up as he sent a wide smile to you. “Oh, no worries about that, dear. You caught me at a perfect time.” You knew that. “Please, sit.” He gestured a hand to the chair in front of his desk. Keeping his eyes trained on you as you seated yourself. He paid attention to your movements, how you sat and the expression you gave him. “I know Velvette said you were here to inquire about a job? I hope you weren’t misinformed- but we aren’t currently hiring.”

With your ankles crossed you sat with a straight back. Hands fiddling with the edge of the folder as it lay in your lap, your only outward cue of nervousness. “Oh, no, I am aware the radio station wasn’t advertising for workers.” Alastors elbows rested on his desk with clasped hands. His eyes staring into your own with what felt like never-waning intensity. As you swallowed audibly, you swore you saw his smile widen.

“And yet you are still here.” He said amused as his eyes narrowed. He was intrigued and so even though he had no intent on hiring you, he let you continue. “Why is that, Mrs-?”

“Miss.” You corrected before giving your name. “And it’s truly an honor to be meeting you, Mr. Heartfelt-”

He rose a single hand up to stop you, “The pleasure is all mine, dear. But please, Alastor is fine.” He leaned back into his chair as you heard it creak. His eyes darted down to the folder in your hands. “But as you were saying?”

Your eyes shot down to the folder he was staring at. “Oh, yes, well-“ Gently, you slid the folder across the desk towards him. “I’m a writer- researcher- journalist. Whatever you may need I promise I can provide.” As Alastor picked up the folder and opened it you cringed inwardly. Seeing how crinkled it was now from your constant nervous handling of it.

“This is..” His eyes read reports and details about certain events he has already reported on. Scripts for news readings that happened recently, many of which having details he himself hadn’t gotten. But what had his eyes widening was the last bulk of paper all reporting on the string of serial murders that Louisiana has faced within the decade or so.

“It’s my work. As you can see I take my work seriously and I’m able to get details you won’t find anywhere else.”

“How long have you lived here?” There were testimonies from people within the local community, names he recognized. Yet, he didn’t recognize you.

“I arrived here last week.” You lied through your teeth.

His eyes shot up to you as one long finger pointed against your papers. “This was all done within a week?”

“Yes, sir.” You nodded as you began to internally panic. Was the lie too obvious? Usually you're better at this. “For the most part at least. The end which focuses on the Bayou Butcher has been more so a hobby of mine prior to moving here. So some research on that was done previously, I’ll admit.”

You didn’t notice the way his jaw clenched at your words. “Dangerous don’t you think? A sweet belle like you chasing after a killer.”

You laughed, earning a surprised look from Alastor. “I appreciate the concern but I can handle myself.”

His smile grew into a smirk as he stifled a mocking laugh. “I’m sure you can, darling, I’m sure you can...” He sighed deeply as he held the folder up to feign reading it more intently. One hand adjusting his glasses as he hummed. “But against a killer like this? Overestimating in one’s own abilities often leads to an early demise.”

“Underestimating in others will lead to worse.” You replied without skipping a beat.

Quick witted girl, he thought to himself. Such a young thing coming here with such a devastatingly good eye for this. Too bad, too bad.

“Your work is impressive, I’d be a fool to deny that.” He slowly stood from his seat as he slid the closed folder back to you.

You stood up abruptly to match him as you took your folder. “So does that mean-?”

“You’re hired? Heavens no!” He laughed as he rounded the desk and approached you. The height difference between you and him became alarmingly apparent as he stood beside you. Bending at the waist to ghost a hand on the small of your back as he gently ushered your frozen form towards his office door. “I did tell you we aren’t hiring, dear.”

“What- no, wait, Mr. Heartfelt-“ You pushed his hand away from your back and planted your feet. “But you said it was impressive. You read all the details I got- things you never got.”

His lip twitched at the attack to his own work. A bit of malice tainting the sweetness in his tone. “Come back when you have something actually worthwhile, darling. Cause that fancy writing? Ain’t nothin’ special.” For a moment you caught his transatlantic accent drop.

“Worth- WORTHWHILE?! I have connected deaths that the fuzz* haven’t even connected!”

“You’re theorizing. Nothing you have is substantial.”

“What are you expecting?? The killer's identity?” You asked, bewildered by his disregard towards you and your work.

A fire filled those beautiful eyes that looked up at him and he could feel their heat igniting something in him. Lifting one of his hands to rest his fingers over his grinning lips. A poor attempt to hide his amusement. “Yes, actually, that would be something worth my time.”

“Okay, fine.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll find the killer's identity. Then you’ll hire me, right?”

He straightened his back, caught off guard. But, who was he to push away a game he was certain he’d win? “Hah! Sure, why not-” He tensed as you yanked your glove off and extended a hand up to him. He raised a brow at it as if he had never seen one before.

“Shake on it. If I come back with honest to God proof of the Butchers identity. You have to hire me.” You narrowed your eyes up to him. “Deal?”

Oh, how fun. His hand took yours, completely enveloping it. “Deal.”

Let the game begin.

And without another word he watched you march out of his office, huffing and puffing. He trailed slowly behind to watch you leave through the front doors. A soft chuckle left him as he leaned against the front desk counter.

When he heard Velvette snicker with him he flinched and snapped his gaze down to her.

“Did you hire the dumb dora*?”

“No-“

“Looks like you wanted to~”

He squinted with a strained smile. “Go home, Velvette. You don’t actually work here.”

1920s Slang Used*

*Clam Up: To become silent suddenly.

*Dame: A woman.

*High Pillow: Person at the top, in charge.

*Egg: A man.

*Dry Up: Shut up, get lost.

*Fuzz: Police.

*Dumb Dora: A foolishly simple or dumb woman.

Credit where credits due!

Art Deco Banners: @/saradika

MDNI Banner: @/cafekitsune

Yellow Star Banner: @/cafekitsune

Tags:

@6esiree

[genshin-squabbles-and-wobbles]

greetings. may i requst the GEnshin bois saying something hurtful to you mid argument, gotta adds some angsttt, thank you :) Cyno, scaramouche, tighnari, and ayato

Yes you may, my dear. Let the angst begin. :)

Cyno: ┌── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┐┌── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┐┌── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┐ Lately you've been feeling lonely due due Cyno being busy investigating academic troubles for the Akademiya. Despite this, Cyno is a attentive lover who holds up to his promises, he can also prioritize the passion of his works and forget about you. You try your best to be supportive and welcome him over to your home with open arms if he decides to visit after his investigations.

However, due to feeling lonely, you decided, why not get a friend? You were the usual adventure who was doing commissions and happened to meet a friend along the way. This friend became a nice source of interaction for you, they have all sorts of information and connection. Additionally, they are very funny, and very nice to spend time with. Your friend also provides good advice on how to handle the dessert heat and the humidity of Sumeru Forest. Most of all, your friend became someone you go do commissions together with all the time.

Cyno returned from investigation his current mission and eventually decided to visit you, to your place. He was sitting next to you and explaining his investigations on illegal use of drugs that is supposed to make you intelligent, but only creates a dangerous addiction. Now, it was your turn to tell you how your days have been doing, you told him everything and how your friend really makes you happy and keep you company. Until you told him her name--

"That name..." Cyno said putting his hand up to his chin pondering.

You tilted your head to the side. "Yes? What about it?" "I don't like this friend of yours, I believe I saw her name on my list as one of the major suspects of selling these drugs."

"Haha, don't be silly Cyno, this friend is important to me, don't say things like that." You have a light chuckle but deep inside you were annoyed. You just made this friend, now you have to lose her too?

Cyno's face turned serious, as if he was back to his justice judgement persona. As you know, Cyno takes his job seriously and is thorough. "No, you should stop hanging out with her, I don't want you to fall into these types of things. And to add, this is a large organization, therefore, a large sum of the population can be in this practice."

You started to get more annoyed. "Listen, who told you that you can tell me who I can be friends with or not? I can be friends with whoever I like, this person makes me happy. You are just jumping to conclusions. You have no proof. Plus, she keeps me company, you are gone for most of the week or two and that makes me lonely. I have someone who makes me happy and not make me feel lonely."

"So I guess I should consider you a suspect of this drug organization as well then?

"....Huh?" You immediately went into a daze.

Since you would like to continue to hangout with her, you'd be considered a suspect on my list of people to investigate." Cyno said coldly, and stared straight at you. He was expressing annoyance and irritation of your resistance to his advice of course, however, his seriousness is rubbing you the wrong way. This just feels like he immediately turned against you. You were not a lover to him at the moment, just another suspect of his job and investigation.

You felt a stinging pain in your chest. Was all the things we did together meant nothing? Why did he switch to this narrative? Why did he do it, without hesitation? Is this what you do to a lover?

You were taken aback by his sudden yet subtle accusation. With a quivering lip, trying your best to not cry in front of him, you got up and walked to your door and opened it. " G e t o u t."

You told him without a flinch. Your voice radiated threat as one hot tear stroll down your cheek, keeping eye contact on Cyno.

Cyno opened his mouth to say something, but it transition to a sigh. Without another word, he slowly got up and left. That sign didn't help, that made it worse. You slowly crept to your bed and began to bawl on eyes out into your pillow.

How could he? You thought you meant more to him then that. Why did it have to turn into such a debate? You wanted a friend, not to be lonely. What was all of this for?

Scaramouche:╔══•●•══╗╔══•●•══╗╔══•●•══╗╔══•●•══╗ You were worried, Scara hasn't come home for two weeks, and you have been asking around -- nothing. This concerned you substantially, not only has he been gone for two weeks, he would have at least alluded to you in someway or some form of to where he was. However...nothing. This leads you to pace and forth in your home on a daily basis. Just what is going on with him? You know Scara can be dramatic and harsh at times, but this seems a little way out of line.

After two more days, you heard a door open. Immediately, you jumped out of your seat and opened the door wide open, yanking the door knob out of his hand.

You were delighted to see his face again, relief washes over you and you planted yourself onto him and gave him a tight hug. He wasn't hurt and he was okay. That is all that matters.

Scara raises his eyebrow with an annoyed expression and patted your back slowly in a "Okay that's enough" body language. "What's gotten into you? You act like I was gone for centuries." You pulled away and sighed. "Where were you?" "Why is that your business?" He shot down your question, right away.

"Because you were gone for two whole weeks, you can't just up and leave me like that!" You walked in front of him to get his attention to be on you. "Do you know how worried I was??"

"What? I am not a child, you don't need to baby me. Why are you so concerned about the dumbest things. You are annoying sometimes." He sighed and walked away from you.

There was an ache in the pit of your stomach. You decided not to push the subject any farther since you know he can say what he wants but it always leads into something deeper than that.

"C-Can I at least get a hug? You've been gone so long." You looked at the back of his head with pleading eyes. "Didn't you just hugged me? Why do you need another one??" He crossed his arms and shook his head. " I still don't understand you sometimes."

Rejection after Rejection

This is what echoed in the pit of your stomach, repeatedly. You feel neglected, unloved and uncared for. Why were you in a relationship with him? Why did he want to be with you, if he was going to do these things to you? Were you not good enough? Didn't he even miss you?

Overthinking swallows you whole. "I'm s-sorry."

He sighs and looks at you with the same annoyed expression as if he was dealing with some needy child. "What are you sorry about no-?" You cut him off immediately. "I'm s-sorry I can't do this right now. I need a moment to myself." You whimpered quietly to yourself holding back your tears. You didn't want to annoy him any farther by being sensitive and crying. You grabbed your things immediately and left without closing the door. Scara looked at you confused. "Huh?! Hey!" He was left behind, confused and dazed. He didn't even finish his little rebuttal.

Tighnari ╒══════╕╒══════╕╒══════╕╒══════╕ You were tending to Tighnari's garden and plants while he was out on his patrols in Sumeru Forest, along with mentoring Collei. You decided maybe you can do something nice for him. You weren't that great at gifts but maybe you can get him something nice to eat or something he can have on him with his patrols.

You went inside his house and decided maybe knitting a little notebook holder with a pencil holder will help him out on his journeys. He can also collect stuff and add it into the bag you are knitting him. After you finish knitting him a green bag with cute flowers on it, you gently placed it in a box and wrapped it neatly for him. You were excited, you wanted him to be happy and you wanted him to use your bag everyday.

You held the box near you, you then made him a nice healthy dinner since you known him to be a bit of a health finantic. You made use of a lot of vegetables and avoid using the meats. Maybe a veggie pizza sounds wonderful for him to come home too.

After a few hours, you heard a gentle click of a door and a tired Tighnari yawning in his fennec fox-like body language. You hopped up from your chair and ran to him excited. "Tighnari!" You hold the box to him.

Tighnari immediately held his hand up to you and waved you off. "Not right now. I am not in the mood for your jokes right now."

"Huh? Jokes? I am not joking about anything right now." You turned around. Tighnari didn't respond, he was busy reviewing his journal while he was sitting by his desk. His tail was messy with leaves and petals from the forest.

This was another opportunity for you since your present was for his notebook, so you tried again. "Tighnari, about your notebook, ther-"

"Please, give me a moment." Tighnari sighed and didn't move from his original position. You started to feel a little unhappy on how he was treating you. Of course you knew he was tired, but he could have at least greeted you and kiss your cheek hello. Seems like you completely out of his mind.

"Tighnari." You tried to call for his attention once more. Tighnari signed in a defeated manner, and turned his chair around to face you and leaned back and crossed his arms at you. "What do you want?"

"H-huh? Why are you being so rude and mean??" You started to feel unappreciated for your efforts and feel that it was uncalled for the way he was treating you.

"You kept calling my now, now you have my full attention now, what do you want?? If you have nothing to say, then I'm getting back to work. Don't bother me." Tighnari leaned back in his chair once more, with his legs parted, and knees hanging opposite way, and his arms crossed. A tired slouching position.

This was unfair, you did so much for him today, everyday. "Listen here. I understand you are tired, but I am no punching bag for you." You stated sternly, asserting some boundaries. "What are you even spouting about? You're wasting my time right now, is that all you wanted my attention for?" He responded harshly and uninterested. That was it. That was it? That was all?

"You know what? Forget it." You threw the present at him, and put on your raincoat on.

"What the hell do you think you are doing??" Slightly angered of you throwing a box at him, Tighnair was taken aback at your sudden throw. You ignored him. If he wants to be petty and rude, lets get petty and rude.

You went out the door and slammed it. You didn't need this. You ignored Tighnari's protest, since it was in the middle of the night in Sumeru. You decide maybe you could take some time for yourself for a while. Maybe Tighnari isn't the one.

Ayato: ..••°°°°•• °°••….••°°..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..°°••….••°°..••°°°° Today was the day that Ayato was working a heavy load of files due to a back up along the way in the initial submissions. There was an issue that had to be resolved which caused a surplus of documents to be sent straight to his desk. This load was taking him a week or even two at this point. He hasn't talked to you nor pay you any mind ever since. Thoma has tried his best to reassure you in the best way he could but Ayato was still sending out small commands to him and voicing his needs to him rather to you.

You sometimes go in and say hello, but will always be met with no response in return or mumbling about the documents in front of him. This time, you wanted his attention, you tried your best to make relaxing tea for him, maybe he can take a break a bit and finally talk to you and you can see if you can help him. You brought a tray of tea in slowly to his room and called out to him. "Ayato?" "..."

No response still. You gently placed the tea next to him and greeted him. "Ayato sweeite, you have been working for while, maybe talk a break and go for a walk with me?"

"..."

You sighed, and gave up. You decided to leave him be. You stood up until you nudged his desk, spilling his tea all over the documents he was working on. This was followed by a loud slam on the desk.

"What the hell is wrong with you?

You flinched at the sudden noise in silent room and panicked. "I'm sorry, I didn't think that would happen!" You took a cloth and wiped up the mess and gently patted the drenched document that he was working on.

Can you see that I am working? Please leave. If you want attention that bad, go pester Ayaka or Thoma."

You began to tear up right away as tears began to flow nonstop as you continued to clean up the tea from the desk and ground. Pent ip emotions and negative thoughts have all came to a wall at this very moment. You couldn't control it. All you saw was blurry and felt warm tears on your cheeks. You were trying your best to hold yourself together and not show weakness on how his comment has affected you. However, you were failing miserably, making it worse.

Ayato signed while face palming himself. "Listen my dear, I'm so-" He attempted to reach out his hand to wipe away your tears or hold your cheek as he was talking.

However, before he could even finish his sentence, you packed up the fine china quickly and walked out of his room, sliding the door shut behind you, to leave and to numb his voice behind you. Oh, now he wants to respond to you. You hear him calling your name behind you even still but you ignored it. You were feeling too much right now, you want to be left alone. After putting the tea set away, you went into your room and locked yourself in there, refusing to respond to servants, Thoma or even Ayaka.

Note from Admin Update: I fixed it up and added correct spelling and stuff. :) - Admin: Spicypepperohni

[leclerc-hs]

after hours - cl16

Pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader Summary: based upon ‘After Hours’ by the Weeknd….kinda? Warnings: angst? bad writing lmao, some smut Word Count: 1,955 Author's Note: Feel free to send in requests. I know I'm not the best writer but I have fun doing it anyways lmao kk love u all!!!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

IT WASN'T ALWAYS like this. This mess of a situation that had caused utter chaos and pain that now lays awake inside the both of you. You used to be happy.

“Without you I can’t sleep,”

In the midst of a restless night, you couldn’t help but toss and turn. You were thrashing around and the sheets were at complete disarray from your constant kicking and rolling around. The oppressive summer heat was merciless as it couldn’t help but creep in through your windows and into your apartment. You had stripped down into a mere spaghetti strapped tank top with the most diminutive semblance piece of underwear. One would question the classification of such a minuscule garment. Sleep, in these circumstances, appeared to be pointless.

You spent, what felt like hours, relentlessly scrolling on your phone in hopes you would eventually grow tiresome. And it was working at first. That is, until you saw the Instagram story of him. Him at the club with friends. While you lie here completely alone and restless. 

The initial reaction to seeing this story was to roll your eyes. By the time 5 minutes had passed and you were still staring at it, you couldn’t help but feel sick to your stomach. It just doesn’t make sense. How is it that he can be out partying while you’re in bed incapable of sleep. Did he not care? Did he ever even love you?

You began to laugh at yourself. Of course, he didn’t love you. If he loved you, he wouldn’t have kissed another girl. He would’ve fought for you more.

“Girl, I felt so alone inside of this crowded room,”

The swarm of heat surrounded him. But not from the humid summer air like you. No, his form of insufferable heat was from the crowd of drunken bodies that filled the club. His friends had dragged him out. Told him he needed to ‘stop moping around’. Told him that he ‘needs time with his boys’ to cheer up.

The irony of this all weighed heavily upon him. A relentless reminder of the gaping void you have left behind. It was as if you had woven yourself into the very fabric of his consciousness. A presence that refused to be ignored.

It had only been a few weeks since he saw you last. But still, you would never leave his mind.

But who is he to complain? Who is he to even care about how he feels when its him who had destroyed one of the only good things in his life. It was all a mistake. One he would absolutely take back and delete its existence if he had that kind of power. 

“I know I made you fall,”

“I just don’t understand how you could do this to me,” Your voice trembled with each shout of a word that you let out. The very walls that surrounded you felt as if they were caving in. It was unbearable. The act of betrayal was too blatant to ignore.

Your boyfriend in tabloids kissing another woman. Kissing another woman. Kissing another woman. Publicly. 

The words repeated in your head like a broken record.

“Mon amour,” he started. You cut him off almost instantly. You could not be silenced. 

It was too quick. So quick, you couldn’t even process the rage that was igniting within you. One second, you held his phone in your hand. The next second, it was shattered all over the floor beside him. Smashed from impact of hitting the wall. A mirror of what your trust for him looked like.

“Don’t call me that,” you seethed. You ached. “I’m not your anything.” 

His mouth opened ready to fight back. Ready to do anything for your forgiveness. He didn’t want to lose you. He couldn’t handle it. He needed you. 

“Not anymore,” you continued before grabbing your purse. “Don’t contact me. I can’t look at you.” You couldn’t even cry. Your eyes were red, puffy, and completely dry. Your body couldn’t even handle making more tears.

The worst part about this entire fight? Did you really want no contact, or did you just yearn for him to fight for you? The question loomed over you. 

Honestly, it’s a fine line. Deciding if the no contact really is the best option or if all you wanted was for him to show more effort for you. To try harder. Would you forgive him? Would you move on? 

“It was simply a blessing waking beside you,”

He couldn’t help but reminisce on all the mornings you spent together. Even at the club. He was shameless. 

The morning sun slowly began peeking through the cream-colored curtains of your bedroom. It was one of your favorite times. The time where you’re on the cusp of being lucid but not completely there yet. This time full of raw love and passion.

His fingers slowly trailed up your ribcage and to your nipples before giving them a slight pinch. Goosebumps arose wherever his fingers trailed.

“Mon amour,” his hips started rolling slowly into you.  Your nipple still pinched in between the rolling of his two fingers. “Give it to me” he said.

You were a moaning mess. “Please,” you were begging. Begging to reach that peak you oh so needed. 

“Tell me what you need,” The pace of his hips increased. The sound of skin to skin slapping mixed with the sounds of both of your moans filled the room and only pushed you towards the edge more. 

“Is it me, amour?” He started. “You always take me so well. So, fucking tight mon amour,” Charles was relentless now. His hips picked up pace urgently. He was feverishly reaching for that peak as well. He fucked himself into you so hard it was as if he was trying to burn the memory of you here with him for forever. 

“What a fucking salope,” He edged you further. “My fucking salope.”

“Come on, mon amour. Make a fucking mess of me,” It was right then. Your orgasm hit hard and fast. Your own thighs squeezed tighter together as you pulsed around him. His orgasm following soon after.

Charles breathed heavily behind you and placed gentle kisses along the backside of your shoulder blade. 

“You did so well, mon amour,” He pecked more kisses. “I never want to wake up without you.”

“Sorry that I broke your heart,”

It was well late into the night. In the dimly lit room, you found yourself wrapped in an emotional embrace. Hard knocks were heard on the front door of your apartment causing you to jump up in surprise. 

“Mon amour,” you heard him speak first on the other side of the door. You immediately stopped in your tracks. Your throat felt constricted. Those two words burned in your memory. It was as if mon amour had become your name. You couldn’t even remember the last time Charles used your real name. 

The tumultuous mixture of anger, betrayal, and love clawed at you. Making it difficult to discern your true feelings.

You hesitated. Whether you should open the door or not. His knocking became insistent. Loud. Each moment that passed his fist against the door went harder. 

Out of respect for your neighbors, you let him in. At least that’s what you told yourself to feel better. 

Charles was leaned against the door frame for support. He looked tired. A look of anger was in his eyes. He wasn’t in the right state of mind. He knew he had no right to be mad at you. But he was. He was being completely irrational as he marched his way over here.

“You are going to sit. You are going to listen to me,” He demanded as he pushed into your apartment. He gripped your wrist as he pulled you into the apartment and to the couch. You accept it anyways. Not because he deserved it, but because you need closure.

“The picture looks wrong,” he began. “I just need to explain this to you. Even if it doesn’t change anything.” He kneeled before you, in between your legs as he explained himself. His green eyes, a tad darker with a reddish tint lined around them, were staring solely into yours.

With a slight nod of your head, you let him continue.

“It’s all wrong. It’s not an excuse, but I did not kiss her back.” His words were sharp. As if he wanted to burn those words into your brain. 

“Pictures say otherwise, Cha,” you felt like you were going to throw up. This conversation burned tears into your eyes, but you did your best to hold them back. 

“She was a fan. She came up to me and grabbed me,” his hands slipped onto your knees and squeezed them tightly. “She grabbed me and kissed me.” His voice was cracking slightly as he let his head drop and rest on your legs.

You knew this information wouldn’t change much. It was still a kiss. One that shouldn’t have happened. 

“Whether she kissed you or you kissed her. It doesn’t change. Don’t you see?” You moved your knee so he would lift his head up. “It’s not going to change anything.” You said. You weren't even positive if it wouldn't change anything. But it was all that could come to mind. “It shouldn’t have even happened.”

“Mon,” 

You cut him off by standing up. “Would you stop calling me that!” You were shouting now. Walking from the confines of his presence. It was too much. He was too close. You couldn’t think properly. 

“I can’t,” He arose from his knees and stood beside the coffee table. “I will do anything.” It was then. His voice finally cracked, and you could sense that tears have started falling from his eyes. He didn’t even bother to wipe them as he sat down on the couch. Exactly where you were last seated. 

In a moment that could only be described as naïve or perhaps even foolish, the depth of your love for him exceeded all rationality. You couldn’t even stand to see him crying, even if he was the one who ignited these issues into your relationship. You still wanted to comfort him regardless. He didn’t deserve it and you knew that. But in this moment, you couldn’t even care if it made you weak. Because you wanted to feel his embrace too. 

You trailed back across the room to sit beside him to wrap your arms around him. The two of you entangled on the couch seeking some form of comfort. He didn’t deserve it – the comfort. Most importantly, didn’t deserve you. 

“I need you to leave,” you began. His arms wrapped tighter around you. He didn’t want to let go. It was as if his grip onto you as if he was physically holding onto what remained of your tattering connection. “Please.” You were begging as your head rested in the crook of his neck. 

You only felt him shake more. Undoubtedly, crying. But he understood.

“I just need space,” your voice was a fragile whisper. “I still love you. I miss you. I wish this never happened to us.” His lips pressed to any inch of skin that was within proximity. You felt his hot tears slip onto your skin with each kiss he pressed. 

The plea for space, while still expressing love and longing, demonstrates the need for personal boundaries and self-care.

“I will keep fighting for you,” He pulled away before standing up from the couch. “I will do anything. I promise you that. You are the love of my life.”

It wasn’t until then, that you felt your tears spill out of your eyes. With a small nod of your head, he walked out of the apartment with his heart still latched onto you. Yours with his. It was a tapestry of emotions left in wake.

[joelalorian]

Petals of Affection - Part III

A floral mystery in three parts, featuring Jackson!Joel x f!reader

Summary: A secret admirer gifts you a different flower and a riddle ten times before you put the clues together and discover that he's been right in front of your face the whole time.

Written for @morallyinept's Flora & Fauna challenge. Please check out all the wonderful works created in Jett's honor!

Word count: 3,049

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, fluff, kissing, f!oral, unprotected p in v (it's 20 years into the fucking apocalypse), it's not stated, but I envision Joel having been snipped pre-outbreak, terms of endearment. POV flops around like petals in the wind. Reader has no established age or physical description aside from having hair that gets frizzy with humidity and often dirt-covered hands, because greenhouses, ya know? No use of y/n, none whatsoever.

Dividers courtesy of the wonderful @saradika-graphics. Gif chosen because of the wonderful floral wallpaper ;)

And this sweet little love story has come to an end. Thank you all for coming along for the ride! Your comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated more than I could ever say.

Part I | Part II | Masterlist

Jasmine Orchid Eustoma Lavender Magnolia Iris Lily Lilac Eucalyptus Rose

JOEL MILLER

Joyful moments shared; the answer lies in the air.

Overwhelmed by your grace, the answer hides in this place.

Endless thoughts of you, the answer is in the view.

Lost in your scent, the answer is present.

Moments with you, the answer rings true.

In your eyes, the answer lies.

Lost in your beauty, the answer is a duty.

Longing for your touch, the answer means so much.

Evergreen thoughts of you, the answer is in the dew.

Remember my love for you, the answer is in you.

JOEL MILLER!

Maria’s eyes roved over your scribbled notes, a broad smile slowly spreading across her face at the underline beneath Joel’s name. “Took you long enough. I was beginning to question your intelligence, girl!”

Heat warmed your cheeks as you laughed, though you weren’t sure if it was due to embarrassment or the wine. “The answer was right in front of my face this whole time, I just couldn’t see it.”

Flopping back on the couch, you felt a bit overwhelmed. Ducking your head between your knees as you leant forward, you sucked in a few deep breaths before baring your soul to your best friend. “I wanted it to be him. I longed for it to be him. But I didn’t dare to hope that it would be him. Do you know what I mean?”

“I do.” Maria’s voice held nothing but understanding. “Hope could lead to despair if not met.”

“Exactly!” you exclaimed, poking your head up to meet her dark eyes. “I couldn’t handle the despair, so I couldn’t dare to hope.”

Maria settled onto the soft cushion next to you, one arm reaching out to rub your back soothingly. “You have nothing to fear now. Joel did all this, for you.” Her free hand gestured at the flowers and notes scattered across the table. “His feelings for you are so deep, so true, that he came up with this elaborate plan to show you instead of just telling you, like any normal person would.”

Pausing, Maria waited until you met her gaze again with a watery smile, wanting to make sure you understood the point she was making. Her eyes earnest and smile broad, she added, “He was afraid to hope, too. But he did and look what has come of it.”

Tears built up, threatening to spill over as you absorbed everything. Joel loved you, just as you loved him, his grand gesture proving it beyond a shadow of a doubt. He dared to hope when you didn’t and thank goodness he did. You two would still be dancing around each other for who the fuck knows how long otherwise.

You stood suddenly, feeling revived and eager to see Joel at once. “I need to see Joel. I need to tell him I feel the same way.”

“Well let’s go then! He’s probably at my house with Tommy.” Maria led the way out of your house after you both scrambled to put shoes on, marching with purpose down the quiet road under the cover of a clear, starry sky.

Despite the late hour, you needed to see Joel, to return his declaration of love now that he bared his heart and soul to you in such a clever, romantic way. Crisp air filling your lungs as you walked, you felt the effects of the wine wear off. You never felt so clear-headed, so full of promise, so full of love.

“Do you know what you’re going to say to him?” Maria asked as you neared her house. Bright lights shining through the curtains showcased the shadowy movements inside of the two men inside.

“Not a clue,” you admitted, suddenly nervous. “My brain hasn’t gotten that far yet. Fuck! What am I gonna say?”

“Well, you could always just walk in and kiss him. Just lay a big wet one right on his lips,” Maria suggested, the nearly full moon reflecting mischievously in her dark brown eyes. As your mouth dropped open, she added, “Yes! That’s exactly what you should do!”

“Well, in the absence of anything better…”

Laughter still bubbled from your bellies as you followed Maria up the front steps and into her home. Nearing sensory overload, every cell of your body vibrated with the burning need to lay eyes, hands, lips on Joel.

“Is that you, honey?” Tommy called from the living room. The two of you turned the corner into the room, and Maria made a beeline right to her husband.

Ignoring the married couple, your attention focused on the other occupant of the room. Joel sat on the couch, leant back in a relaxed pose, one arm slung across the back cushions. His thick thighs spread wide, just begging for you to step between them.

Wide and unblinking, his burnt umber eyes watched as you stepped further into the room. Head tilting quizzically, he licked his lips as you approached with an impossible slowness. Neither of you could look anywhere else, gazes locked, bodies pulling together like magnets.

Joel’s pouty lips parted in surprise when you didn’t seat yourself next to him, electing instead to climb onto his lap. He blinked owlishly at you as your face moved closer, centimeter by centimeter, until your lips met his in a delicate first kiss. However brief, that initial press of your lips against his ignited an inferno within you both. You mouths came together urgently the second time, as lips, teeth, and tongues clashed. Your fingers carded through his silky soft, thick curls, nails tenderly scratching itches on his scalp he didn’t even know he had. He preened under your touch.

So absorbed in each other after months and months of longing and pining, dancing around feelings you hid for each other, the rest of the room blurred to nonexistence. Your ears picked up soft murmuring from Maria and Tommy, but you ignored it. Your world revolved around Joel, and Joel only, at that moment. You shifted, trying in vain to bury beneath every layer of his skin, until you straddled his lap.

At long last, you pulled back as the need for oxygen became unbearable. You and Joel had been pressed so close together, noses smushed as you kissed, that neither of you could even breathe.

“I take it you figured it out.” Joel’s eyes searched your face, voice rumbling from deep in his chest, the sound like velvety chocolate to your ears.

You nodded, lost for words at first and his lips slowly tilted upwards at the corners until his smile reached its limit and the precious dimple in his cheek poked through. “The flowers and notes were so beautiful, Joel. I’m sorry I didn’t figure it out sooner, your riddles were just too good,” you grinned. Tears pricked at the back of your eyes at the look of complete adoration on his handsome face. Sincere happiness welled within you. “The notes, each one more beautiful than the last, I read them over and over. I feel all of that, too.”

Joel’s eyes took on a different shine at your confession, the fire from the hearth glinted in the sudden wetness glazing over them.

“Can I take you home?” he asked gruffly, the need evident in his glossy gaze.

“Fuck yes,” you breathed, giggling as he shifted you both to your feet and practically dragged you from his brother’s house. Neither of you had the wherewithal to say goodbye to Tommy and Maria. They watched the two of you leave with matching satisfied grins before locking up behind you.

“Yours or mine?” Joel questioned urgently as his large hand grasped yours.

“I don’t care,” you replied breathlessly, “whichever is closer.”

“Yours then.” His long legs led you down the deserted street, boots crunching on the hard ground, stopping only once you reached your front porch. He stared into your wide eyes, taking in the vision of your blown pupils and pursed lips. “Are you sure about this?”

“Joel,” you drew his name out in a long sigh, one hand caressing the scruff on his cheek. “I have never been surer of anything in my entire life. Take me inside and make love to me. Please.”

The pitch of your plea shot straight to his cock as he once again nearly dragged you behind him. Grateful that you forgot to lock the front door, there were no impediments to your journey into the house and straight up the stairs to your bedroom.

The urgency slowed once the both of you reached the center of your bedroom. Facing each other as you stood next to the large bed, Joel’s gaze tangibly seared your skin with the absolute heat of it.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, one thick fingertip tracing the ridge of your brow and down the slope of your nose. His bedroom eyes captivating as he pulled at your plump bottom lip with his thumb, lips twitching when your tongue darted out to taste the salt on his skin. “I think I fell in love with you the day we met.”

“Me, too.” Mesmerized by Joel’s touch and thoughtful words, you leant forward, slanting your mouth against his. The kiss tender yet scalding hot as your hands began to slowly undress one another. Part of you could not believe this was happening, while another part of you kept repeating fucking finally.

Once you were both fully stripped of clothing, Joel eased you back onto the bed. The broadness of him hovered over you, legs entangled, and he caressed your skin with one large hand. There was no piece of you he left untouched. Your own hands were drawn to his luscious curls, fingers threading through the locks and massaging his scalp.

Joel soon replaced his hands with his mouth, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses down your body. He paid special attention to your breasts, pausing to lave and nip at the hardened peaks of your nipples. A surprised gasp flew from your mouth when he settled his face between your legs, darting his tongue out to taste your sweetness.

He feasted on you like a starving man, tongue laving at your clit before dipping inside to slurp at your juices. You were so wet for him. Only him. His mouth a form of heaven you didn’t know existed, you mewled and squirmed, muscles twitching as he drew you closer and closer to the cliff’s edge.

“Fuck, you are so good at this, Joel.” The half-moaned words fell from your lips when he slipped a thick finger inside you, quickly followed by another. His mouth continued to work at your clit, licking and sucking as you writhed beneath his ministrations.

A man possessed; Joel drew two orgasms from you before letting up. Easing back, he grinned at you, his facial hair glossy with your juices. “You taste fucking delicious. I could stay down here all night.”

A dewy sheen of sweat covered your entire body from being worked over so well. “Any other time, I wouldn’t stop you. But I want your cock inside me, right now.”

“Is that so?” Joel smirked at you, climbing up your body to settle his hips between your legs. Of their own accord, your hands soothed over the warm skin of his back and down to his ass, where you grabbed handfuls of the meaty flesh.

“Fuck, yes. Please, I need you.”

His eyes sparkled at your plea, but he didn’t move an inch. Your right hand reached between the two of you, grasping hold of his cock and gasping at the sheer size of him. Long and thick in your hand, your mouth watered at the thought of tasting him sometime. Joel grinned again, his expression quickly going slack as you tugged once, twice at his hardened length, running the head between your folds before lining him up with your entrance.

Dark eyes hooded with lust; Joel met your gaze. “You want this?” he questioned one last time, needing confirmation of your consent. The last thing he’d ever want to do is push you too far, too fast. He wanted this to last forever.

“Joel, I promise. I have never wanted someone more than I want you, and only you, right now.” You poured every emotion, every feeling for Joel through your eyes as you pulled him impossibly closer. Angling your hips up, he finally started feeding you his cock, inch by delectable inch. Your mouth dropped open at the stretch when he bottomed out.

“You’re taking me so well, pretty girl.” Joel began to move his hips in a slow, steady rhythm, his arms bracketing your head.

“Ahhh, I’ve never felt so full before. Please don’t stop.”

Soon enough, the only sounds in the room were the gentle slap of skin against skin, your breathy moans, and Joel’s rumbling grunts. Joel kissed you passionately as he fucked into you with deep thrusts, his eyes remaining locked on yours.

Your orgasm built as his cock grazed that perfect spot inside you with each thrust, and the words you’d been too afraid to admit to finally fell from your lips. “I love you, Joel. I love every single piece of the puzzle that you are.”

“And I love you, my angel,” Joel replied, voice gravelly. His hips snapped harder, throwing you both over the cliff. His deep moans were music to your ears as you pulsed around him, drawing every drop of cum from him until he settled heavily half atop you, breathless and sated.

“I can’t wait to do that again,” you blurted, chest heaving, drawing a chuckle from Joel.

“Imma need some time before I can do that again, angel. I’m not a young stud anymore.”

For the first time in many months, you fell asleep in your bed, the vastness of it decreased by Joel’s warm body cuddled up against you.

“You have everything you need, brother?” Tommy asked, helping Joel load up the saddlebags. “Maria tucked a bottle of wine and some glasses in here for you.”

Doublechecking the supplies, Joel nodded. “I think that’s all of it. Thank your wife for me. None of this would be happening right now without you, Maria, and Ellie.”

Tommy patted his older brother on the shoulder. “Being in love has really softened your edges. I actually like this version of you.”

Joel scowled back at Tommy’s teasing for a moment before his face transformed into a glowing, warm smile at the sight of you. Backpack slung over one shoulder, you wore fitted jeans, a tee shirt, and boots with Joel’s green flannel tied around your waist. To Joel, you’d never looked sexier.

“Hi boys,” you greeted, eyes lingering on the older Miller brother as he winked at you. Turning to Tommy, you batted your eye lashes. “Any chance you’ll tell me where he’s taking me?”

Tommy guffawed. “Not a chance in hell, doll. I don’t wanna get my ass kicked by this lug.”

Oh well, you had to try. Shrugging your shoulders, you climbed up into the saddle of a light brown colored horse. “Fine then. You better make sure my greenhouses are still in one piece when we get back.”

“Yeah, yeah. Off you go lovebirds.” Tommy patted your horse’s hind quarter once Joel mounted his horse and led the way through the town gate.

The horses settled into a canter, covering the landscape at a good clip. “It’s a couple hours ride, but I promise you’ll love it, angel.”

“I trust you, Joel,” you replied, lips pressed into a small smile. “I’m just happy to spend time with you.”

The pair of you chatted about anything and everything as you rode, sharing stories about your pre-outbreak past and the struggles faced since. You already knew about Sarah and how hard Joel took the loss of his beloved baby girl, but Joel felt comfortable sharing more stories of her with you. The conversations were interspersed with occasional comfortable silences as you took in the landscape and kept an eye out for trouble. The hours and miles passed in no time and Joel led you to a stop in front of a rusted-over fence. Dismounting the horse, you swiped a hand over a warped sign which indicated the property was a botanical garden in its former life.

“Joel,” you breathed, touched that he thought of taking you to such a place for your first official date. You had no idea it even existed.

“It’s rundown, obviously, but nature has completely taken over in a way that I think you’ll love. There were flowers everywhere when I first discovered the place. This is where I found some of the ones I gave you,” he explained. Pulling a section of fence open, he led you and the horses onto the property before closing it behind you.

“Tommy and I cleared the placed a while ago, but there may still be some cordyceps lingering around. Keep an eye out.” Joel handed you a pistol, checking first to make sure it was locked and loaded, and swung the rifle from his shoulder.

The grounds were quiet except for birdsong and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. Plentiful flora grew in every direction you turned, overtaking dilapidated benches and buildings alike. The grounds were a vibrant sea of colorful flowers and plants, and a mix of floral fragrances nearly overwhelmed your senses. Joel led the horses into a small area cordoned off on three sides, leaving them to graze while the two of you explored.

Joel reached for your hand, entwining your fingers as you walked the grounds. Even overgrown and unkempt as it was, the garden left you in awe. You strolled, recounting information about every flower you recognized. Joel listened, enraptured, as you spoke about their meanings, falling in love with you even more with every brilliant word that came out of your mouth.

He surprised you with a late lunch in a field of wildflowers on the way back to Jackson, gathering a small bouquet in his hands while you ate. Joel tucked a bright yellow flower with long, thin petals into your hair before handing over the bouquet.

“When you’re ready, I’m going to ask you to marry me, my beautiful wildflower.”

fin

[sinnerdolly]

Good loser—Nagi Seishiro

Minors do not interact. Nsfw/Smut.

word counter—1160.

Plot—Nagi's just lost a game, so now he wants to claim his consolation prize... you.

warning— stable relationship, soft!dom Nagi, kinda public sex. Y/n has a bit of a pedantic personality with everybody except Nagi.

English isn't my mother language, if you see any error you're welcome to correct me.

People are complex, attraction even more so, added to attraction we have monogamy, which we want to make independent as well. Because holding someone else is a symbol of little commitment, but the separation of assets is logical.

Toxicity is quite abundant these days, or so I see walking the university hallways. Fights between boys over some bimbo with a nice ass, a primate situation; hippie allies philosophizing to fuck her "friend", plot twist she's going to fuck the biggest idiot of all. Because, I repeat, instinct chooses.

And, unfortunately, I found myself in the same situation. My eyes went to one boy in particular, Nagi Seishiro, my recent boyfriend. Five months of relationship, thanks to my desire to sleep at a party and him playing video games in the same room when I woke up.

For a prejudiced critic like me, not deciphering him made me interested in knowing him. Nagi was such an odd chap. At first glance he was lazy and listless, but losing somehow highlighted a passionate fire in his eyes that made me wet.

Like this moment, he had just lost to Ryusei Shidou on penalties, and he was heading towards my place in the stands, his gray eyes focused on me, sweaty and frustrated, desperate to claim me as a consolation prize, knowing how much I love to be it.

He stood out in the crowd, the imposing manner of his walking causing people to step out of the way. Pretty funny since he's the gentlest person I know.

“I want you right now”

I nodded like a fool, hypnotized by that aura of a caged beast that his pores gave off. The heat in my belly spread to the inside of my legs, the desire awakening in anticipation. The words he had just said meant one thing... he was going to fuck me in the first lonely corner he saw. So I went down the steps, taking him by his narrow wrist and we disappeared through the doors of the main bedrooms.

When the door closed, I couldn't continue on my way, Nagi grabbed me by the left thigh, and carried me only with the strength of one hand. Our noses touched, and his eyelids were no longer half-closed from laziness, but from desire. My mouth was watering from kissing him.

With each step the kisses became more intense, the touch had a purely carnal objective. My hand went under his shirt, feeling the smooth sculpted skin on his abs, while he dryly rubbed his erection against me. Sighs and ragged breaths, interspersed between lips and tongues.

The laundry room didn't have a key, so Nagi soon slammed the door to lock us inside. My feet met the ground again, while his hands caressed my buttocks in search of the condom that I always bring to his games.

I threw my blouse somewhere in the room, unbuttoning the fly of my pants afterwards. With impatience consuming him, Seishiro lifted me by the waist and sat me on one of the washing machines, finishing the job on my jeans.

Now with complete freedom of my joints, he placed me like a rag doll around his hips, pressing me against his chest. The warmth that his skin gave off took away the cold of that humid room.

He opened the condom with a slight tug between his teeth. And he scattered desperate kisses along my neck and collarbones, while he spread the latex along his cock. My fingers tugged at his white hair a little, drawing a few gasps from him.

It was enough to move my panties aside a little for him to slide between my rubbery walls, so lubricated that they didn't even need prior stretching. Of course, with or without games, it's always hard to take Nagi, if it weren't for his softdom nature, I probably wouldn't be able to handle him.

His thrusts were deep, as were his lips devouring mine. My body was pressed against his immense figure, while my legs were held in place by those large hands.

It didn't take long for the moans to spill out into the darkness, our gazes connected, expressing the sated lust for the other. I could feel his racing heart pounding against my chest.

The moment was so intimate that it was difficult not to come from the pleasure, Nagi blinded my senses, the chemistry between us makes the most ridiculous situations passionate, like now, fucking on a washing machine; but at this moment, with his member stimulating every erogenous zone inside me, it seemed like a scene worthy of a Shakespearean novel.

Nagi twitched between my walls, signaling that he was close. I let out a little cry of surprise when I was in the air again, holding on tightly to Sei's shoulders, who, with just the strength of his arms, began to fuck me with fervor again.

My moans turned into a kind of hiccup between jumps that made him put his hands on my butt. Stunned by my boyfriend's actions, I looked into his eyes, to find that obsessed look that only appears on the court focused on me... tss and I thought I couldn't get any hornier.

My lungs were suffocating, and my eyes were watering from the pleasure. I think my lower lip was bleeding from how hard I bit it, trying to reduce the screams. Almost impossible when his sturdy tip hit so deep, and his thickness stretched me so well.

"Sei..." I gasped desperately, tightly wrinkling the collar of his t-shirt. “I'm going... I'm coming”

He kissed my lips one last time, before convulsions shattered my stability and pleasure exploded throughout my body. My eyelids closed, and the waves of heat seemed eternal along with his attacks against my center.

I was so sensitive that I could feel the condom being filled inside me. Now still, Nagi held me while we caught our breath, still hit by the intensity of the orgasm. A minute or two later, he placed me on the washing machine again.

And, with a somewhat cooler head, we managed to talk.

“I'm sorry you lost, are you okay?”

I caressed his cheeks gently, while he replicated the action on my thighs. He gave me one of his taciturn smiles, Nagi is one of those people who smiles with his eyes and barely moves the corner of his mouth, an adorable detail from my perspective.

“Good? I couldn’t be better”

Sei pushed his weight forward, ready to kiss me. Apparently during our intimate time we pressed several buttons by accident, because the machine below me started to move, scaring the shit out of me.

Nagi laughed when he saw me clinging to his chest like a terrified kitten. I hit his shoulder, feigning offense, but he continued laughing... so I had no choice but to kiss him while laughing.

What can I tell? The other couples are shit next to us.

[formulaforza]

—the seasons of love

or: the enemies to lovers situationship fic charles leclerc x female reader summ. and all of the sudden it was summer. minors dni. nsfw warnings under the cut. 5.9k part one part two part three part four part five

18+ because: public sex (not caught, not almost caught. just. public), dry humping, language.

“Please,” he begs, voice cracked and half-broken. His fingers dig into the fabric on your hips, pulls you down harder, moves your hips faster. You love feeling him grow under you. You can feel his dick, hard under you in his shorts, and you can feel yourself, hot and bothered and soaking wet. He pushes you impossibly further down against him, sinks his teeth into your shoulder, around the strap of your tanktop and the material of your sports bra. 

It’s so hot. So hot and steamy and everything is sweaty and flushed. You think you might have to drink a gallon of water after this, that it’s the only way you’ll be able to accomplish another task all day. The sauna had to be the worst place to do this, to finally break after all this time. It’s hot and it’s dangerous in more ways than you can count. 

You barely hear him over the thick heat covering both of your bodies, over the dehydrated ringing in your ear. “What?”

“Enough,” he breathes, thumbing at the waistband of your shorts, trying to slip you out of them, to have you all the way. “Wanna be inside you.”

“Mm-mm,” you hum against his lips, smile out of the kiss because you know your words will piss him off. Your hand covers his, practically intertwines between his fingers, holds him still at your waistband. He’s pouting before you can even tell him. “No, this is all you get,” you mutter, moving his hand further down, until it’s resting where the fabric of your shorts meet his, where you grind against him, against his hand. “Anyone could walk in.”

He pulls your shorts to the side, lets his thumb slide between the fabric and your underwear, slides up and down over your slick, all messy and wet through your underwear. It makes him shake his head, how much of a mess you already are for him. You relish in it, watch him with a sick smile. “Let them.”

You laugh, elbows on his shoulders while your hands run through his hair, all sweaty and salty and lacking the familiar scent of his shampoo. No, no, it just smells hot. Everything smells hot and humid. “You don’t mean that.”

He leans into your fingers, lets your nails drag across his scalp gently with fluttered eyelids. He looks pretty and content and you hate it. “I might,” he mumbles into your shoulder, kisses the skin just past your clavicle, nips a bruise on top of a bruise on top of a bruise. Just in case you forget. 

“If you did,” you hum, sitting up, raising your hips off his and reaching behind your body, under your ass to palm him through his shorts, to put the outline of his dick just where you want it–where you need it. “You’d let them hear how good you feel instead of biting off my fucking shoulder.”

“You want to hear me?” 

“Yes,” you nod. He takes a deep breath, almost spits it out in a laugh and you can predict his actions before he even starts. “FU–” you smack your hand over his mouth before he can even get the vowel sound out, head whipping around to look at the door, to wait for the handle to jiggle against itself and for someone to push it open to see what all the commotion is about. When nobody does, you turn your attention to him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” You scold, a laugh tickling the back of your throat through the muffled rage. He’s such a fucking idiot. He licks a long stripe across your palm and he about curls over in laughter when you yank your hand away disgusted. 

He shrugs, toothy, dimpled grin on his face. “I was making sure you could hear me.”

He thrusts against you, fingers digging into your hips, flat hands spanning your back, your sides, groping at your boobs through far too much fabric. He agrees with your assessment, he does, because he’s pulling up the hem of your tank top, of your sports bra, pulling them up over your chest so he can properly play with your tits. You know you should keep them covered, stay as clothed as possible just in case, but every nerve in your body reacts to his touch, his gentle fingers over your skin, and you’re in no place to be sensible.

You kiss him, hard and deep and not very mean at all, nothing like you usually do, all noses bumping and half giggles and foreheads resting against each other. “I hate you,” you whisper into his mouth before kissing him again.

You swallow his laugh. All of this is entirely too laugh-ey for your comfort. It’s weird. It’s all so weird, this new dynamic; the way you both stumble back and forth, swing like a pendulum from one side of the line to the other. One minute, you wish you could strangle him with his own tongue. The next, you’re lavishing in the taste of his laugh. “You wish you hated me,” he says. You don’t say anything. You do wish you hated him. You do, because it would be so much easier. If you hated him the way you used to, you wouldn’t be here like this, fucking his lap, desperately tugging on the waistband of your shorts to pull them tighter across your cunt. Nothing you do will make it close enough, not as long as you refuse to actually fuck him, to let him fuck you. “Cat’s got your tongue now, does it?”

You shake your head, kiss along his jaw, nibble his ear and his neck and his shoulder; you give him a taste of his own medicine. “Mm-mm, just feels good,” his skin muffles your words, makes them short and lispy.

He laughs. You’re so fucking sick of the fact that you aren’t sick of his laugh. It exhausts you, the way his dimples dig into his cheeks, the way his shoulders shake and his abs flex and you get to watch it all up close. It’s fucking infuriating. “You don’t think I’ve fucked you enough to know that sex doesn’t shut you up?”

You smirk, grind down onto him and God, it feels so fucking good. Better than it should. “And what does shut me up, Charles?”

“One of my life’s great mysteries,” he says, and you don’t know how long it’s been since he last met your eyes. He’s so glued to the two of you it’s bordering on pathetic, loose jaw and half-lidded eyes watching every movement of your bodies. He looks at you like he’s starved. It makes you fucking crazy, and he’s the only one that does it–which is that much more annoying. Nobody looks at you the way he does. 

It’s just the time. The reason he watches you the way he does. It’s time. Time apart, a lot of it. It’s just the time, you tell yourself again and again. “I missed this,” you tell him, and it’s because of the time. 

“Arguing with me?”

“No, no. Missed you.” Because of time. Because of time. Because of time. You think maybe you’d gotten addicted to it all, to the push and the pull and the promise of things never going anywhere. That you grew reliant on it, on him, to be there when you needed him to be, when nobody else was good enough for a quick fuck. You’d become an addict, a sloppy drunk who’s favorite drink is him. The orange juice is gone now, and you’re back to consuming him and it’s like you never stopped. 

He grabs at your ass, at your shorts and your underwear and your thighs, at anything that might possibly force you down onto him harder and quicker. The pace is fading fast, and you’re both losing the fight to keep being smart. “Fuck,” he groans, the same way he always does when he’s close. 

“I know,” you whine, nodding, fucking against him like your life depends on getting off. “Me too.”

“So good, baby,” he coaxes you. You hear the pet name, you always hear the pet name. You always tell him to shut the fuck up because it makes you mush, putty in his hands everytime. This time, though, this time you’re silent, breath pausing against his skin. “Sorry, sorry,” he corrects before you can. You weren’t going to, not this time. 

“No, it’s okay. God—it’s okay,” the conversation gets harder and harder, your mind cloudier with each passing moment, with each thrust bringing you that much closer to the tantalizing edge. 

“Yeah?” He moves you quicker, finds the space somewhere to rut up off the hard bench and into you. “You like that shit now?”

  You nod, eyes pinching shut, fingernails digging into the skin on his back. “From you, baby, fuck, I do.”

He sighs, pained, half-whimpered. You don’t know how you aren’t coming yet, how the fuck you’re still having a conversation. You’re blindingly close. He’s closer. “Stop saying shit like that to me, gonna make me–fucking… fuck,” he sputters out, and you feel his dick twitch in his shorts. God. Next time–fuck. Next time, you want him dripping down your leg. 

The thought of it is enough to unravel you, to leave you following right behind, thinking maybe, maybe you can fit in another smart comment, something to still manage to assure that you’ve got the upper hand. Something that, when the two of you walk out of here, you’ll be able to replay back as the moment you won the battle. You’re wrong. “But it makes my jo…” your words trail off into a laugh, a stuttered moan that’s lost all semblance of the joke. 

(twenty-two minutes earlier)

You'd decided to take some time after Monaco, to separate yourselves in an attempt to untangle the mess of webs you’ve wrapped yourselves in. You’d turned to the gym to blow off all that excess steam left behind in his wake. Only problem is, your gym is his gym, and you’ve spotted each other from across the place more than once. 

As you entered the sauna, the steam enveloped you, wrapping you in a cocoon of warmth and relaxation. You were looking forward to some peaceful time alone, a chance to unwind and forget about the newfound complications of your life. 

The tranquility is short lived, however, when you notice Charles sitting on the other side of the room. 

Your eyes meet for a split second, and in that fleeting glance, a myriad of emotions pass between you. Surprise, annoyance, that same third thing you’ve been trying to kill for months. Both of you.

You didn’t have time to dwell on his presence, not with strangers in the sauna with you. 

You took the farthest possible seat from him, trying to focus on the hot air working your muscles instead of the irritating man glaring at you. You can feel his eyes, their stare only dueling your frustration. 

Minutes pass in tense silence as you both pretend not to notice each other. The other people in with you, acting as a silent buffer, your own personal sauna Switzerland, get up and walk out, leaving the two of you alone. The moment the door closes behind the last person, he’s jumping down your throat, his annoyance no longer restrained. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, tone laced with irritation. 

You rolled your eyes. It’s been so long since you’ve gotten to play your little game, no way you’re backing down this early. “I could ask you the same thing,” you retorted, crossing your arms defensively. 

He let out a humorous chuckle. “Maybe I wanted some peace and quiet,” he shot back.

You scoffed. “Peace and quiet? You’re the last person I expect to want that,” you said, unable to hide your disdain. 

Charles glared back at you , clearly unappreciative of your sarcastic wit. “Well, we can’t all be perfect like you,” he replied. The tension was thick between the two of you, thicker than it had been in a long time. “Can’t you find another gym to steal?” 

You huffed, tired of his complaints. “I can go wherever I want. It’s not my fault you’re so inflexible with your workout schedule,” you shot back, trying to mask the unease you felt. 

He leaned back in his seat, a hint of smugness in his voice. “And can you at least wear something a little more… decent? You’re not leaving much to the imagination,” He comments, eyes flickering over your outfit. He’s just a douche, you’re wearing a sports bra and running shorts. 

You annoyance flares. Who the fuck does he think he is, acting like a boyfriend—an overprotective one at that. Fuck him. Fuck him. “Oh please, I don’t dress to impress you,” you retorted flatly. 

He seems unphased by your rage, which only makes you angrier. “It’s distracting,” he mumbled.

Fed up with his attitude, with everything he decided to represent by waking up and coming to the gym and walking into the sauna, you decide to call his fucking bluff. You got up from where you were sitting, moved closer to him, hands on your hips. 

“You want to see how revealing my clothes can be?” you challenged, folding over the waistband of your shorts, revealing just a bit more skin. 

He blinked, caught dumbfounded by your move, by your sudden proximity. “That’s not what I meant,” he stammered, bravado faltering. You took a step closer, gaze locked with his. 

“Then what did you mean, Charles?” you asked, voice softening just enough to let him think he’s going to get off easy. He’d never be that lucky, not when he’s talking like he owns you, like he has any right to your body or the clothes you put on it. “Did you mean to criticize everything I do, everything I wear, or just assert some kind of dominance over me?”

He looked taken aback by your words, and honestly, you didn’t blame him. Your tone surprised even you. It was clear he hadn't expected you to challenge him like this. “No, that’s not what I meant at all,” he replied, voice softer now. 

“Then what is it, Charles?” you pressed, refusing to back down. “What is it about me that’s bothering you so much?”

He hesitated for a moment, and then finally spoke, his voice tinged with frustration. “It’s not that I’m bothered by you,” he said, “I just… I don’t know how to be around you.”

You took another step closer, closing the distance between the two of you. You roll your eyes, huff and puff and almost groan because he’s only reminding you of why the two of you agreed to keep your distance in the first place. He can’t hang, can’t get with the program and understand that you just can’t deal with the implications of him.  “What do you mean?” you ask, voice cooling, wanting to understand him. 

He hesitates, gaze locked on yours. “It’s like… every time I’m with you, everything is just. It’s different,” he admitted. “I can’t pretend it’s not.”

You can, you can pretend. You like pretending. Pretending is easy, far easier than facing the facts, facing the feelings. Your heart skips a beat, his words resonating with the feelings you’d been trying to bury. “So, what are we then?” you asked, already gearing up to refute any claims he goes making about us, about we, about any other multitude of pluralities he wants to stutter out. 

He has no sort of a clear answer. “I don’t know,” he replies, harrowingly candid. You don’t think you’ll ever be faced with him being this vulnerable and not feel like throwing up.  “I wish I did, but I don’t.”

The vulnerability in his voice breaks any and all anger you’d managed to carry to this point. You almost felt bad, a pang of sympathy tearing through your chest. You knew he was struggling as much as you were. “I don’t know either,” you admitted, voice threatening to fall into silence. You both stand there for a beat too long, heavy with the weight of it all. And then, in a moment of impulse, you reach out and take his hand, intertwine your fingers with his. 

His thumb moves over the back of your hand, but he says your name like you’re hurting him, like he’s truly pained to hold your hand. “I can’t lose you. I won’t,” he whispers. “I can’t, I can’t keep running from it.”

You were taken back by the sincerity, but rather than pull away, recoil into safety like a scared turtle into their shell, you squeezed his hand gently. “I don’t know if I’m ready,” you spoke honestly, more generously than you had yet allowed yourself to. “But I. Yeah, I can’t lose you.”

And just like that, the months of rebuilding the barriers and the boundaries has all gone to shit, all the walls melting to the floor in a steaming puddle. The tension that had been built, destroyed, redbuilt, for so fucking long that it felt like a tightly wound spring just begging to snap. 

Without another word, you leant down, closing the distance between you and pressing your lips against his. There was no fight, no anger or frustration or game to win, it was just a kiss. It was no longer a hookup, a friends or enemies or… frenemies with benefits situation. It’s not an itch that needs to be scratched anymore. It’s a gap, begging to be bridged, to be explored after so long. 

You moved to straddle him, out of pure convenience–no distraction, no battle for domination. Just you, sitting on his lap, and him, kissing a smile onto your lips. 

As you pulled apart, breath heavy and hearts pounding, you looked at him, searched his eyes for the same fear you felt, gentle fingers making a half-hearted attempt at styling his hair. “I don’t want to ruin this,” he says. You don’t know how it could possibly make any sense, how you could possibly feel like you do, but you miss him. He’s right here in front of you, and you miss him. 

You nodded, “I don’t either,” you confirmed. You don’t know which one of you moved first, who started it all. Just that you were the first to speak again. “We shouldn’t.” Push.

“I know.” Pull. 

“But I want to.” It’s pained, just like everything else. You know better. You both know better. 

“I know, I know.”

You gathered at the entrance of the trailhead, the air full of laughter and excited chatter as all of your friends caught up, planned for the hike ahead. It was Marta’s idea, and she’d swore to you up and down that Charles wasn’t going to be there, that he had too much to focus on with summer break coming to an end in just a few days. 

It has been so long since the whole group got together, and when you’d gotten the text it sounded like the perfect excursion, the best way to spend a warm evening. You beam talking to them, catching up on work and romance and family and other friends. Your gaze sweeps over the group, stopping dead at the sight of him. Either Marta had lied to you, or Ricky had lied to Marta. 

“What’s he doing here?” you asked her, and she followed you gaze. 

“Who—oh. I don’t know, honest.”

As if he can feel your eyes on him, his gaze meets yours for a fleeting second. The shared surprise, the shared irritation, it tells you that he didn’t know you’d be here, either. There’s something else there, too, something about a reminder of shared history, an acknowledgement that no matter how hard you two try, there’s no escaping each other. 

You set off on the hike on opposite ends of the group, as far away from him as you can manage. Maybe, maybe you’ll be able to put off the inevitable for just a while longer. You’re not naive enough to think you can make it to the viewpoint without ending up next to him, without being forced into conversation. 

It lasts all of fifteen minutes before you, Marta, Charles, and Ricky have all been relegated to the back of the pack. You’re not surprised it’s the three of you—Ricky has Chiara strapped into this little backpack carrier, and it weighs him down. Marta spends more of the hike snapping pictures of the baby than watching where she walks, while Charles is attempting to be a professional photographer at every possible lookout point, grabbing a picture of each and every interesting thing he sees. And you, well. You’ve always been a slow hiker. 

The two of you still stand with Marta and Ricky between you, walking four wide through the trail. Marta’s already planning Chiara’s first birthday, trying to work around everyone’s schedules to make sure the whole friend group can be there. Ricky talks Charles’ ear off about work, about if they choose the best possible hiking trail and whatever else it is straight men talk about. 

Despite your separate conversations and the couple between you, your eyes continually find his, drawn in by the laughter and animated gestures that always annoyed you so.  There’s just something so. So painfully familiar about the unspoken and impossible to ignore tension between the two of you. You feel like a child, the way your mind blanks and time stops for just a second every time you meet eyes. It’s stupid. It is.

“Aimez-vous cette randonnée?” Enjoying the hike, Ricky asks you, oblivious to the tension floating around him. 

You tear your eyes from Charles, offer a distracted nod. “Ouais. Excellent moyen de passer la soirée,” Yeah. Great way to spend the evening, you reply. 

You hear the rest of the group before you can see them, huddled off to a decent-sized lookout point, one with a clear view of the entire country. The sun is just starting to set, casting a warm, golden glow over your home, sparkling off the calm sea. 

The group dispersed around the opening, snapping pictures of the view and with each other. You find a seat-shaped boulder to sit on, silently appreciating the sights, irritatingly aware of Charles’ proximity. You can always tell when he’s nearby, can feel him like he;s electrically charged. 

He’s only a few feet away, carefully crafting away at an Instagram story when he speaks to you for the first time all evening. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he speaks softly, mumbles almost, and doesn’t bother to look up from his phone. 

“Always is,” you reply, eyes fixed on the horizon. 

He nods in agreement, and the air is so heavy. So, so heavy. 

Marta cuts through it all with a photocall, and because of the laws of nature, you and Charles find yourselves side by side. Like you said, electric. Magnetic, maybe; the pull. 

The camera clicks, captures the smiles and the shared experience and he’s looking at you again. It’s like it’s just the two of you, sometimes, all muddy history and lingering potential. 

With the picture captured, conversations resume, groups disperse, and everything is back as it was; even the innate awareness of where Charles is. 

As the hike continues to the summit, you and he move together in step. The familiarity is like a blanket, something comfortable amidst the messy chaos of emotional turmoil. 

“I used to love sunsets like this,” Charles began, snapping the silence of shoes on dirt and half-crunched leaves. 

You turn to him with piqued curiosity. “What changed?”

He hesitates, locks his gaze on the path ahead. “Life, I guess. Responsibilities, expectations, the weight of it all. It’s easy to forget to appreciate the simple things.” He shifts his steps slightly, brushes his arm against yours and makes you shiver. He makes you so nervous. You fucking hate that he makes you so nervous now. He’s looking at you, and you’re the one fixed on the trail. It’s a simple swap, but it feels heavy, it does. “Hey,” he says, soft. Comfortable. 

You pick at your nails. Anything to avoid his eyes. “Yeah?”

You can hear it in his pause before speaking that he’s choosing his words carefully. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” he began, gaze never leaving the side of your head. “About us, about everything.”

Your heart races the same way it does everytime he tries to have this conversation. You know what he’s referring to. You always know, even if he doesn’t say it outright. “Yeah,” you nod, meet his eyes and dare him to continue.

He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing when he does it. “I just. I think we owe it to ourselves.”

His words sink into your skin slowly, poisoning your every cell like he just has to put voice to every thought that haunts you. “Charles,” you start, voice soaked in uncertainty and longing. He holds up a hand, stops you before you can continue. 

“I’m not asking you for an answer,” he says, and a lump is already forming in your throat. “I know you need time. I don’t understand it,” he chuckles, “but I know it.”

“Charles,” you whisper, voice barely audible. 

His fingers brush against yours in the space between your bodies. It’s so small, such a minute gesture, but it speaks volumes, gives you permission to feel, to open up to the possibility that lies before the two of you. 

“I know you’re scared,” he says, dares to hold your hand, to run circled over the back of yours with his thumb. “I don’t have answers, but. I don’t know,” he admits, “I don’t know, maybe we can figure them out together.”

You have to look away, you do. Because if you don’t watch the cotton candy sky, the watercolor oranges and yellows and pinks and blues, you might just cry right there on the hiking trail. He always does this, it’s his go-to move recently; make you feel all safe and stupid and like it’s okay to be vulnerable. 

You huff, think carefully before nonsense tumbles from your lips. “How did we end up like this?” You’d asked, as if it wasn’t obvious. The two of you had stumbled your way into this situation the same way you’d stumbled through the rest of your lives, bouncing from opportunity to opportunity just hoping, praying, that someday it would all work out the way you thought it would. 

“Does it matter?” he replies. 

This isn’t how you thought it would end up with Charles. You thought things would always stay the same—they’d made it this far, through this much in the past two and a half decades. What could possibly change the irritation between you two now? If you hadn’t softened with Jules, with Herve. If none of it had made you budge, why on God’s green Earth would a single drunken night change everything? 

It shouldn’t. There’s no reason that the cards should have fallen like this, but they did. They did, and now everything is so fucked up because you’re soft for the one person you’d counted on never being soft for. 

“No,” you finally say. “No, I suppose it doesn’t.”

He doesn’t fill your silence, the two of you just sit in it, continue up the trail, following the sound of your friends’ voices, of the music playing from someone’s speaker. 

L’appel du vide. The call of the void. The French and their incessant need to make everything sound more romantic than it is. Only they could romanticize the impulse to be destructive. You’re faced with it at the trail peak, standing on the edge of the cliff next to him. 

You could push him, solve all your problems and create half a dozen more. You could jump, solve all your problems and leave one big one for the rest of them to deal with. The problems would be solved, they would. 

“Okay,” you say, the toe of your shoe twisting into the gravel. 

“Okay?” He asks, in the middle of taking a picture of the sun. It’ll be dark when you get back, the sun is disappearing into the horizon as he photographs it. 

“I guess we,” you sigh. He shoves his phone in his pocket. “We can figure it out together.” It’s a terrible admission, an agreement that something does exist, that there is a thing, glaring at you with a third eye and needs to be dealt with, sorted out, controlled. 

He nods, doesn’t poke or prod for anything he knows you can’t give. “Alright.”

“Yeah.”

You don’t give into the call of the void that summer night. You couldn’t, even if you wanted to. The void had left you a voicemail in the early hours of the year, before the sun rose and after the moon set, lost somewhere in the dawns. The void had already called, and you’d already answered. 

(1 hour later)

You were right, it was dark when the group of you had finally made it back to the parking lot. You’d separated yourself from him again, somewhere on the way down the trail, and had taken Chiara from Ricky. You carried her on your hip and talked with Marta the whole way back. 

“Is there something going on with you and Charles?” She asked, and your heart rate doubled instantaneously.  You focus on the baby in your arms instead of looking at your friend, know that one glance in her direction and she won’t wonder anymore, she’ll know every detail without a moment and a half of eye contact. 

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “You guys have just been weird all year.”

Your stomach drops. You’d thought the two of you had been so good at hiding it, and here you are finding out that what… everyone has known for eight months? For almost nine months, they’ve all been looking at you and Charles and knowing the two of you were fucking behind closed doors. “All year?”

“Yeah, I mean,” she laughs. “Ricky and I figured the two of you hooked up on New Year’s.”

Of course. Of course they knew. You weren’t exactly subtle about it that first time, the two of you drunkenly disappearing, just the two of you, walking hand in hand off into the night. Of course they knew, how couldn’t they when you’d made it so fucking obvious.

“We didn’t,” you still lie. If you can’t sort out your own feelings, rationalize anything internally, how are you supposed to attempt to explain the situation to anyone else, much less your best friend and his. Even if you could—maintain some sort of composure about any of it—you owe it to Charles to talk to him about it before anyone else.

Despite all of it, you owe it to him. 

“Yes you did!”

You get defensive quick, and Marta’s insistence that you did sleep with Charles (even though you definitely did, and she’s more right than she knows) gets under your skin and rubs you in the wrong way.  “And what if I did?”

Marta purses her lips, presses them into a thin line that reminds you of your sister, of your mother. “Nothing. If you did, it means nothing.”

“Right,” you sigh, nod, raise your voice half an octave and talk to Chiara more than Marta, squeezing her little leg. “It means nothing.”

She matches your tone. “Unless it means something.” You glare at her. “If there’s anything there, you can tell me.”

 “I know,” you nod. She continues to pry. 

“So?”

“I…” you sigh. It would be so much easier to just tell her she was right. That she couldn’t be more right and there are a million and one things going on between you and Charles. It would be so much easier to tell her, just like it would be so much easier to tell Charles, but. You can’t. No matter how much easier it would be, you can’t. “No. No, nothing is going on.”

“Okay,” she says, clicks her tongue on the roof of her mouth to remind you just how much she doesn’t believe you. “I better not see you getting into his car tonight.”

You smile, weak, but a smile nonetheless. “You won’t.”

You managed to maintain your distance, somehow, against all the polarizing forces of the universe, but trying to stay away from Charles is like running against a rubber band. You can only go so far. 

He’s parked two spots over from you, in one of his more… under the radar cars. It’s why you didn’t blink when you’d parked by it, because it wasn’t the Monaco National Anthem on wheels, it was just a car. Anyways, you’d parked two spots over and now here you were, walking side by side to the back of the lot. 

“So,” he says, drags his feet against the blacktop, scuffs on the bottom of his sneakers with every step. 

You can feel Marta’s eyes on you, look over your shoulder to confirm her position on the other side of the parking lot, and drag your own feet. The faster you walk, the faster you get to the cars. “So…”

The silence is half-suffocating, the wavering dare to break it hanging in the air above you both. You never can start the conversation. You never know what to say. “You wanna come back to my place?” He offers, and you think that maybe the reason so much between you is said in silence is because he doesn’t know how to start the conversation, either. 

“Uh,” you’re at your car now, fingers moving over the shimmering paint. You glance at Marta, still watching your interaction while Ricky straps Chiara into her carseat. “I do, but,” you sigh, eyes finding their way back to his. “I can’t.”

“Okay, yeah,” he follows your former sightline. “You alright?”

You nod. “What about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’s good,” he says, and then, with a dumb look on his face, “Are we gonna fuck?”

You laugh. “Probably.”

“Are we gonna talk?”

“Probably not.”

He purses his lips into a smile, runs his hand through his hair once, twice, three times. “Saw that coming.”

You’ve slowly—slowly—been making your way to the car door, backing away from him at the back end. “It’s settled, then,” you say, unlock the car door and open it, lean against it while you continue your conversation. 

“Yeah, settled,” he nods, fidgeting with one of the bracelets tied around his wrist. “See you tomorrow.”

You smile, annoyingly endeared. “Goodnight, Charles.”

He smiles back, at his bracelet and then at his shoes and then finally at you, stepping backwards toward his own car.  “Goodnight.”

You watch him walk away, because anyone would, and just when he’s about to vanish from your eye line, you call after him. “Hey!”

His head shoots back to you, eyes wide and brows raised. “Yeah?”

“Fuck you!” You tell, stand on your tip-toes to make sure he can see your middle finger over the cars. He shakes his head and winks back at you before climbing into the car. 

[littlewigglers]

Okay I’ve never asked on tumblr but I just found your page and I’m OBSESSED!!! I want to get/make a Vivarium/bioterrarium for millipedes and isopods and I can’t WAIT!! Please please if you have any advice at all, I’d love to hear it! Where to get supplies, the buggies themselves, how to handle them, what do you do if they get sick, how much space to they need for how many there are, etc? Your buggy babies are so cute!!

First off thank you! I love all my little guys as well <3

I ramble kinda a lot so I'll put this under a read more.

For advice I'm still very much a novice when it comes to keeping but I'll tell you what I can!

For tanks I got my glass ones second hand or ones made my the store I buy used to buy my millipedes from, you'd be surprised how cheap you can get a nice big one! For Acrylic THESE are the ones I've had the best luck with not warping BUT they sometimes have kinda blurry parts on the plastic, but still I'd say good for the price if you can't afford glass. I tape up some of the ventilation holes to keep more moisture in.

For soil that ISN'T bought from a specialist stores(Sometimes I can't afford it) I use Peat free compost, paired with leaves and rot wood I buy off ebay stores that sell bug/reptile products, I mix them together with some water and leave them in a tub for 1 week to soften up the leaves. Some people go out and get their own leaves and wood but I'm not really in an area to do that so I can't give advice on that. It's important to keep it moist BUT NOT WET!

Heat mat! You want one to put on the SIDE of the tank and not under it, just one would be enough. I have a timer plug for mine so they're on a few hours a day on and off all day. If you REALLY wanna spoil them then I've seen a few people use reptile headlamps.

For moss and plants I again just buy it off ebay in sheets and give it a cheap over to make sure there are no hitchhikers on it before I put it in the tank. It needs watered and looked after for a while for it to take to the tank. Carpet moss is mostly for looks while sphagnum moss is used to keep moisture in areas and should be water/sprayed often. I have a little fern plant in my tank rn they seem to leave alone. I know a lot of people use fake plants as well for decor!

You should make a point to put a little temp and humidity monitor in your set-ups as well. The special reptile ones can be expensive so I just but the little ones you put in rooms and have had no issues with them.

Don't forget to give them hides! Cork wood/bark or coconut shells are nice and cheap. You can also use man made items just make sure they can handle the moisture and aren't made of anything toxic to your new friends. Also give them little sticks and things to climb up on. Just make sure the lid is secured so they can't escape.

For food I just use kitchen scraps like carrot peel, cucumber, apples and melon, give them a cuttlefish bone and some dried tiny shrimps in small amounts once a week or so, but you can also use fish flacks instead. But remember! Leaf litter and rot wood is meant to be their main diet for most species.

For the millipedes I would recommend Ivory millipedes as a good starter one, they're lovely in colour and are often up top, hardy as well, and usually you can get them captive bred which I've had much higher survival rates with vs wild caught. For each species you'll have to look up their needs yourself though, there isn't a 100% catch all set up for all species. Woodlice/isopods I'd suggest dairy cows as they're lovely and also very easy to get a hold of. I will say species of Armadillidium(roly poly/pill bugs) are my fave and I'm very biased and want 500 of them.

For handling just be gentle! I wear gloves in a lot of my videos but that because I've incredibly sensitive skin and can't stand soil under my nails. The worse they can do to you is them staining your skin(not all species), or give you a little nibble. Make sure if you're handling to wash your hands off BUT be careful what hand soaps you use! Wash hands after as well some can be toxic to bugs from what I've heard.

For tank size hmm that's hard, usually you want soil as deep as their body but that can be hard, 10-15cm is what I aim for my BIG boys and 7-10cm for my others, deeper is better but sometimes you'll also just never see them again! You'll want a tank at least a few times longer than your pets body or at least big enough for them to filly stretch out in if you get really big millipedes like giants and a 120cm tank is just kinda unrealistic haha.

I do not have a lot of advice for if they get sick sadly, it's kinda of hard to tell honestly and usually when you can it's too late. I would just say don't beat yourself up too much if some pass away sometimes bugs just do that especially if you don't know their history.

Where to get them depends on where you're from and what you want. A ton of reptile/specialist stores will have wild caught which isn't great but they will have the largest range of species and usually also sell all the stuff you need to tank care of them. Ebay is where I've gotten most of my captive bred and I just message people if I've questions about their bugs there.

I think that's everything I can think of,

Again I'm a big novice when it comes to bugs, @onenicebugperday and @crevicedwelling likely know way more than me, though idk if they're open to questions but they likely already have a lot of info on their blogs.