#with a taste of its (lyrical) lips i was on a ride

[delopsia]

ride the lightning | rhett abbott x reader

Word Count: 7,200 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, slice of life, Rhett's shoulder injury, showering together, outdoor sex, unprotected sex, food, absolutely zero plot to this one. Brief Summary: What's more fun than a post-rodeo party? Running off and having your own personal rodeo right before the storm hits.  

"You've got to quit eyeing those cowboys," Autumn's already chiding you, her words distorted by the glass resting against her bottom lip. 

Hesitant, your gaze drifts back to her. Weren't quite done scanning the room, but if you don't stop now, then you'll lose the luxury of feigning stupidity. "What do you mean?" 

"You're not slick!" She pauses, taking a sip of the liquid gold that fills her cup, the taste so bitter that her nose wrinkles. "I see you looking over there." 

"Because I'm looking for someone," you chirp, your nail tapping against the table as you begin to look around again. 

There was no way that wasn't his truck out in the parking lot. You'd know that aftermarket lightbar anywhere. But you don't see him. Not by the jukebox or the pool table. Hell, he's not even with his buddy Archie over there beside the empty water trough. 

"It's that bull rider from the rodeo, ain't it." Autumn's hit the nail on the head, and she knows it. Swirling the ice in her glass, grin growing wider with every second that passes. "You sure have a type."

It's not as if you could ever defend yourself from that accusation, but you're leaning forward, voice low as you whisper. "Yeah, like you don't have a thing for blue-eyed blondes."

"Blue-eyed blondes with money." She tips her glass at you as if to further her correction. It's not until after she's downed another greedy gulp of beer that she opens her mouth again.  "At least we have the eye thing in common."

All the men in the world, and here you two have picked men that happen to be neighbors. Arch enemies at that. Classic, century-old feud stuff. At this point, they don't hate each other for a reason; they do it for tradition.

You reckon a family hobby would be healthier, but that's not your dog, and it's certainly not your fight.

...not yet, at least. 

"At what point are we obligated to hate each other?" Dipping a finger into your drink as you speak, mindlessly swirling the ice until it forms its own little whirlpool. It's pretty to look at. Blue in color, with a little cherry and framed in a dainty glass, but whoever mixed this gave you all tequila and no juice. 

She hums, looking at something behind your head. "Whenever someone coughs up a half-mil."

Your finger stops, feeling the alcohol keep spinning past your finger. The cherry stem scrapes your skin. "Our friendship is only worth half a million to you?" 

"No," her eyes finally dart back to you, glinting in the light, "but that's how much is in Luke's checking account."

You don't even want to know how or why someone would have that much money ready to spend at a moment's notice. Or, better yet, where the hell that money came from.

Whatever is behind you, Autumn seems pretty interested in it, and you've got a good enough guess that it's the face of a man you're not interested in seeing. If you make eye contact, he'll take that as an invitation. 

Music sparks to life, blaring from a pair of cheap speakers somewhere on your left. You vaguely recognize the start of the song, but you're too busy scanning the crowd to pay attention to the lyrics. There are so many cowboy hats that you can't even cling to your usual method of finding him. Fuck, and hardly anyone has taken off their rodeo chaps. How are you supposed to—

There he is, beside the coolers. Red solo cup in hand, full of what you can only assume is more cheap beer. 

He's already looking at you, the corner of his lip lifting as you meet his gaze. 

"Speaking of," Autumn's already beginning to get up, the plastic table jolting as her hip bumps into it. "I just found who I was looking for."

"Have fun," pausing to glance at who she's so focused on. You're not sure why you expected it to be anyone other than Luke. "Try not to show up on the Abbott ranch with another hangover."

"No promises!" And just like that, she's left you. 

If history is anything to go off of, she'll charm him into driving her around in one of those fancy sports cars again. You've got a feeling that she's gonna be up in Jackson before sunrise, nestled in a fancy hotel for the weekend. 

"'s this seat taken?" 

You recognize that voice.

You've got to tilt your head to see him. Towering over you like some kind of giant, all broad shoulders and scruffy as can be, rodeo dirt still decorating his unshaven jaw. He hasn't even bothered to change out of his flannel, the ripped upper sleeve falling open to reveal the thick bicep lurking underneath. The left one sits a little awkwardly. Higher. An old injury aggravated by tonight's ride.

You want to climb him like a damn tree. 

"Maybe it is." Coy.

"Oh really?" His head cocks off to the side, hair falling into his face. "Who's it for?"

You've already got an answer brewing, but you hold it on your tongue for a moment, feigning thought. "His name is Rhett."

He hums. "Never heard of him." 

Silence. 

And then—

Rhett's laugh twists through the air like a melody, the plastic chair squeaking as he all but falls into the poor thing. One of these days, he's gonna do that, and it'll snap in two, but today doesn't seem to be that day. 

His hand motions toward the lone drink resting on the table, with its obnoxious blue color and lone cherry still swirling from when you toyed with it. "What's that?"

"Something terrible," you're already lifting the glass, holding it out for him to take. 

It's strange seeing him sipping from a dainty cocktail glass. Looks so much smaller when it's in his hand. You're not even sure if he notices the severe lack of juice, entirely unphased by the tequila that greets him. The cherry slips between his parted lips, the stem catching between them. 

"I thought you didn't like cherries?" Your head tilts to the side, curious. 

"I don't." His brow furrows, all too focused on something that you can't see. "But I like doin' this." Before you can begin to process what he's just said, his mouth opens, a tied cherry stem resting on top of his tongue. 

And here you thought you'd seen it all from him. "Is this your new party trick?" 

"Somethin' like that," the stem falls, landing somewhere that you don't see. Maybe you would know if you weren't too busy watching him lean forward, eyes sparkling with something he has yet to share. "Hey, do y' wanna get outta here?" 

"Not having fun?" Your answer is yes, but you're not sharing that yet. 

"I am, but..." then, lowering his voice, as if there's a risk of someone hearing him over the booming music, "'s more fun when it's just us."

You don't know where he's planning to go after this, but you're sold.

"I still can't believe you!" The squeal of the passenger door nearly drowns out your giggles, plastic grocery bags rustling as you climb out of the truck. 

You haven't the slightest clue which bag has the popcorn and which contains the chips, but the weight of the drinks is painfully obvious, the plastic handles rubbing uncomfortably against your arms. Curse the cashier for cramming all the bottles into one bag.

"Yeah, like you ain't never distracted me so you could pay for somethin'." Rhett's still laughing, that big cocky grin plastered across his face.

"But I never pretended I lost my keys!" Raising your voice for added effect, rounding the back of the truck. 

He's already beaten you here, opening the beaten tailgate. "Maybe ya should've." Wink.

Your eyes roll so hard that it hurts. "I'll remember that for the next time we get snacks."

Rhett's shoulder nudges yours, pushing just hard enough to make you sway. "You'll forget." 

"I'll forget." Immediate acceptance. You've sung this tune so many times that even you know that you never follow through in the end. 

The back of his truck is a damn mess; square bales of hay, two empty gas cans, the shredded remnants of a flannel, a handsaw, and you think that's a bag of chicken feed over there in the back corner. The tailgate is the only open space for you to set the bags on, and it's only now that you realize how many snacks you've actually gotten.

"We probably should have gotten dinner at Odessa's instead," you find yourself saying as you poke through one of the bags. Where in the world are those candies you got?

He reaches past you, plucking a stray screwdriver out of the mess that is his truck bed. Something tells you that he's been looking for that. "What makes ya say that?" 

"Look at all the junk we got!" Opening up one of the bags for him to see, as if he wasn't there when you both picked out and bought these things. 

But Rhett just shrugs, "Don't see nothin' wrong with it."  

Hypothetically, it shouldn't take you that long to find your candy. There are only five bags, but even as you poke through them all, you don't see that brightly colored packaging anywhere. But you know they were rung up. They're on the damn receipt! So where the hell...did you miss them somehow?

By the time you find them sitting in the front seat, nestled up against Rhett's lost bag of sunflower seeds, he's already set up the blankets. Thick, old things layered on top of each other as a makeshift cushion, protecting you from the rocky ground lurking beneath the grass. One of the downsides of choosing a pasture to lounge in, you suppose. 

He's already sitting on the corner of his makeshift blanket nest, half-lidded eyes drinking you in as you settle down next to him, your knee clumsily knocking into his thigh. You'd pay attention to him if you weren't too focused on this box of candy, pushing your thumb under the thin cardboard edge, forcing it open. 

Weight appears on your shoulder. 

Those Western romances always talk about the allure of a stoic, gunslinging cowboy, weathered by the elements and the human definition of fearless. They always fail to mention the cowboys who blink up at you like a puppy, too shy to verbally beg for a piece of your snack. 

"Do you want something?" Dipping your fingers into the box, pulling out one of the candies.

Rhett hums. Not quite a yes, but not quite a no, either. It's one of those sounds that you've heard enough times to know what it means, already lifting the first piece of candy to his lips. The scruff of his chin tickles your skin when he takes it.

Blind, your hand feels along his face, stealing away the overwhelming warmth residing there, drinking in the soft drag of his facial hair, finally at that perfect length where it no longer feels like sandpaper but has yet to begin looking like the beginnings of a beard. His tongue presses on the soft inside of his cheek, pushing against your fingers.

"Quit that!" You squeal, yanking your hand back.

"'s it really feel that weird?" His head tilts, and you don't need to look to know that he's peeking up at you.

"Yes!" And there might be more to add to that, but you're pushing one of the candies into your mouth, the sweetness effectively shutting you up. Remaining quiet even as he tilts his head to press a prickly kiss to the side of your neck, such a simple gesture that should not have your lower belly twisting with something familiar.

You've got to think about something else. Something that doesn't involve jumping on and biting him like a flea. Sucking hard on that little piece of candy, eyes scurrying for something to look at. But all you're finding is darkness and more darkness.

No lampposts or porch lights or flickering campfires, just the pale glow of the moon and the speckling of stars hanging in the sky. There are so many of them up there. Almost looks as if someone has dumped a bottle of glitter atop a roll of never-ending black velvet fabric, twinkling proudly against their backdrop of nothingness. 

The weight on your shoulder disappears. Leaves behind an absurd sense of coldness as he gets up to fetch something from the truck. Odd, how you never seem to realize how warm he is until after he's gone. 

Even the poor lighting can't hinder you from taking him in. The rodeo spurs clinging to his muddied boots. The leather chaps that hang low on his hips, with the thin little buckles in the back that squeeze the thick meat of his thighs. You know there's a reason for them to be there, but the irrational part of your brain reckons they exist solely to make you dizzy. 

"Are you ever going to take those chaps off?" You find yourself asking, after a moment, dragging your gaze away from his ass. 

Rhett freezes, his hand still wedged in the plastic bag as he looks down at his own two legs. "Eventually," he pauses, cracking open one of the cans. You haven't a doubt in your mind that it's one of those spiked lemonades he's recently discovered. "Whenever my shoulder loosens up enough t' let me mess with it."

"Need help?" Words firing off your tongue before you can process what they mean.

The black and yellow can lifts to his mouth, poorly concealing the upward turn of his lips. "I ain't never said no to you undressin' me, doll."

One little sentence, and you've forgotten about your candy entirely, letting it fall onto the blankets without any care for whether or not it spills. You've hardly got to move; settling onto your knees is more than enough. He steps forward, standing right on the edge of the blanket, that oversized buckle glimmering in the moonlight. Your fingertips brush over the edge of it, dented from the hoof of last week's bull.

"I thought the clasp broke on this?" Audibly tapping a nail against it as you make your way to the much smaller buckle hanging underneath. Not thin or frail by any means, but the contrasting sizes isn't doing it any favors. 

Your fingers hook beneath the belt, tugging on the tiny strip of leather until he gets the hint.

He grunts, boots shuffling as you drag him forward. "Nothin' a little weldin' couldn't fix." 

It's easier to see the awkward hang of his left shoulder from down here, tense and lifted higher than the right one, like someone's wound the muscle too tight. Maybe that dislocation would have healed correctly if he agreed to that hospital visit. But...here you are.

All you've got to do is pull the leather strap backward, and the prong pops out of the hole. For such tough-looking chaps, they sure come off easily. One weak tug is all it takes to have them falling down his legs, falling as quickly as you'll let them, hands gliding down the sides of his thighs and past his bony knees, eating up as much time as you can.

It's a shame that you don't need to undo the buckles around his thighs, too; you wouldn't mind the tedious process of helping him buckle them back up, either. But it's too late for that. You've already gotten the leather past one of his boots, working it over the other just as quickly. 

Even as you set those old chaps to the side, Rhett doesn't make much of an effort to move, standing idle as you fold them. Eyes locked with yours, transfixed by the simple image of you on your knees, right in front of him. You know what he's thinking. You're thinking it, too. Memories so prominent in your mind that you're already beginning to act on them.

Something booms in the distance. A deep noise that rolls through the pasture like a warning of something more to come. You think that's lightning, you see, flickering in the corner of your eye, but you're not paying attention. You can't. Not when your hands are moving on their own whims, gliding up the sides of his thighs. 

Rhett's hum echoes into his half-empty can. Seems to carry for miles. "Didn't realize we were gettin' another storm."

His breath hitches. Eyelashes fluttering. 

Your hand drifts across the tent in his jeans once more. Warm. Growing heavier with every passing second. "Think we have time?" You ask as if you don't already know the answer. As if there isn't a sudden heat flushing between your legs, the voice in your head impatiently demanding that you hurry up and pinch open his belt.

"'n here y' say I'm the one with a problem," but just like that, he's sinking to his knees. Face to face, all too quickly. 

"It's not my fault that you look like...that!"  Floundering for an escape from the situation you've created all by yourself. 

One side of his mouth quirks upward, that lopsided smile so bright that it ought to put the sun to shame. Wind rips past, nudging his hair out from behind his ear and into his face, but it does nothing to hide his pretty face. Scruffy as it may be.

It must be the breeze that nudges you forward because you don't feel yourself moving. But you're leaning forward, mouth blindly clashing with his. A little too far to the right at first, and then his hair is in the way, and...

oh.

You've missed this. 

It's hardly been a few hours since the last time, but your heart argues that it's been a lifetime and a half. One little chaste peck, and then another, and another, and another, until you cease to part ways altogether. Those big arms wind around you, his palm pressing into the small of your spine, drawing you up against him.

And you're melting into him like ice cream in the summer sun, any semblance of control vanishing alongside it. Hands roaming up the broad expanse of his chest, tickling against his neck, curling around his prickly jaw, tangling in the curls resting at his nape. Your touch is nothing special, and yet he groans into your kiss anyhow. 

Callouses catch on the soft skin of your lower back, his hands shamelessly wandering beneath your shirt. Pulling it off is tempting, but Rhett's lemonade-flavoured tongue is licking into your mouth, and the wind whispers that you don't have the time for that kind of luxury. Not if you don't want to get rained on by another one of Wabangs popup storms. 

But you do have time to reach for his flannel, dragging your finger through the buttons, audibly snapping apart at record speeds. He needs to wear pearl snap flannels more often.

"Shit," he's gasping against your lips, breaking apart for the slightest of seconds, "'s a lil cold."

The world spins around you. Back hitting the ground with all the grace and ease of a newborn deer. A bolt of lightning tears across the sky, set off by the burning hands that appear on your hips, tugging at your waistband. Your body lifts, and they're gone. You're not even sure what has become of your shoes. Don't recall feeling them come off, but your socked feet are sliding against the blanket, fighting for purchase. 

Rhett's eyes snap shut, squeezing so tight that his forehead wrinkles with the effort. 

"What hurts?" You already know that look. Already have a vague idea of what could be bugging him. 

"Shoulder," speaking through gritted teeth, not bothering to ease up, as if relaxing his jaw could bring on another wave of pain. "moved it too fast." Slower this time, he leans forward, hands falling onto either side of you, and—

"Shit." He's hissing under his breath. Sounds more like a snake than a man. There's no way that he's going to be able to put weight on that left arm, not with his shoulder visibly twitching, sent into an angry spasm. 

"This isn't gonna work," you whisper, chasing the dwindling hope that your words will reach his ears but not his already sore ego. 

Rhett hasn't even opened his eyes, but he's already shaking his head. Stubborn to the end. You know what he's going to say before it even leaves his mouth. "Hold on, if you give me a second..."

You've already got an idea. "Lay on your back." Your hands find his chest, gently pressing until he gets the message, limbs awkwardly tangling as you exchange positions. Straddling his plush thighs, settled a little bit lower than you'd intended.

It's not quite what you originally had in mind, but you've never been one to complain about riding a cowboy, already beginning to reach for his belt buckle. You don't know how you found this difficult when you first got together; all it takes is the slightest motion, and it pops open. Then comes his belt and the crooked zipper that struggles to run down the tracks.

His hips jerk, thighs smacking into your ass. "Not that I'm complainin', darlin'," there's a weakness to his voice that wasn't there a moment ago. Like he's run a marathon in the time it took you to blink. "'s there somethin' rilin' you up?"

"No." Then, smiling, "Just you."

Blue eyes dart away. Looking off to the side. "Oh."

If it were lighter outside, you think you'd catch a whisper of a blush coloring his cheeks, but your vision has been reduced to dark blobs of color. Can't even tell what color his boxers are, even when your hand dips through the front of them, blindly reaching until—

Rhett sucks in a breath. 

It's hardly been a few minutes, and yet he's already so damn heavy. Thick in your grasp, a bead of precum running down the underside of his tip. Your thumb swipes across it, dragging it back up to his plush cock head.

"You're already so wet, cowboy," you muse, lazily tracing circles around his slit. There's so much of it. Dripping like a damn faucet, so much precum that you can see the glisten of it in the darkness. 

Thunder rumbles to your left. Closer now. But you just can't help yourself. 

Your mouth finds the underside of his cock. Pressing kisses onto the vein that runs along there, working your way up from his base. Tongue lazily poking out to swirl around his head, so used to the saltiness of his precum that you hardly even notice it. One of those advantages that comes with knowing him like the back of your hand. 

Like how you know that the delicate scrape of your teeth will make him—

"Ah!" Sharp. Pitchy. The closest thing you'll get to a squeal, the kind of sound that has your thighs trying to squeeze together, suddenly warm. 

Something in your jaw pops as you take him into your mouth. Sucking lazily, like you're savoring a piece of candy, not even making an effort to stop the drool from slipping past your lips. The wetter the better. Because you're pretty sure you know the answer to the question you're about to ask.

"Condom?" Pulling off of him with a soft 'pop.' 

Rhett's head tilts toward the truck, brow furrowing, visibly thinking for a moment. Then, his lips flatten into a line. "'s in my jeans at home."

Thunder rumbles once more, urging your already racing thoughts to scramble even faster. Pulling out could be an option if not for the fact that it's never worked out for you in the past, always seeming to forget in your final moments. Riding in that bouncy passenger seat with his cum leaking out of you has never been the most comfortable thing. Cleaning up is the worst, but...

Fuck, you really can't seem to make yourself care about any of that.

Rhett's belly flexes with the effort to sit up, his right elbow bracing his weight. A familiar blob of black peeks out from beneath his open flannel, that old bucking bull tattoo. Under the thin veil of darkness, it's easy to convince yourself that it's brand new. That the poor-quality ink hasn't caused it to fade quicker than it should have. 

A kiss presses to your cheek. "What're ya thinkin'?" 

"A little mess never hurt anyone," you don't know if you're talking to him or yourself. Maybe both. 

You don't realize how close you are until your noses clash, knocking together as you squirm up to settle in his lap. His left hand finds its way to your hip, burning against your chilly skin. Doesn't do anything more than rest there, touching you for the sake of touching you. 

It's a bit crude, reaching down to pull your underwear to the side rather than pulling them off entirely. But then you're guiding him up, and his dripping tip is dragging through your folds, and you can't think about anything else. 

"You're just as bad as I am," Rhett's laugh is so much bigger than any of that distant thunder, rumbling through you in delicate waves. 

"Like this hasn't been a known fact for years," and for that statement of his alone, you're stringing this out even longer. Bringing him back up before he can begin to sink into you, selfishly rubbing him against your clit, sensitive from lack of attention.

Lightning flickers. Rhett's hips shift, slipping back down your cunt, stubbornly nudging against your entrance. Manages to lift himself enough to create a blooming pressure there, the very tip of him slipping inside. 

Fuck, you're still aching from the bit of fun you had before the rodeo. Tangled up on the couch, too wrapped up in each other to pay attention to the rapidly ticking clock. Or maybe the discomfort is from the severe lack of lube. Nothing but spit, precum, and your own wetness to soothe the drag of him as you begin to sink down on him.

"Mmph," Rhett's head tilts back, pale throat exposed. "How're you so—shit. How're you still so damn tight?"

On its own, something in your lower belly loosens, almost as if it didn't realize it was doing it in the first place. Allows you the fleeting courtesy of a breath of air before his tip fully slips into you. Heat jumps up your spine, swirling around in the back of your head. 

"I should ask you the same thing," your voice comes out weaker than what you anticipated, "why are you so damn big?"

And all that's done is make him laugh again. Nose nudging your cheek as he leans in to press another kiss to your lips, his smile too big for it to be anything more than a peck. But you want more, chasing after him as he tries to lean away, helpless to do anything but fall forward. 

Gravity quickens the glide of your body, his cock sinking further into you. The curve of him rubs into a set of nerves, never has taken very long for him to find them, thick length incessantly dragging against it. 

A heavy fist strikes the land to the west, the resounding boom washing over the surprised grunt that wrangles its way out of Rhett's throat. The only reason you catch note of it is from the way it rumbles against your bottom lip, pulling the corners of your mouth up into a giddy smile. 

All too quickly, you're fully seated in his lap, fitting against him like a puzzle piece. Bodies carved to fit seamlessly against one another, lost in the blending of limbs, tangling until you can no longer tell where one of you begins and the other ends. A shiver races up your spine, pussy involuntarily spasming around his thick cock. 

"Didn't think I was gonna be the one gettin' ridden tonight," there's no reason for Rhett to be grinning up at you like this, with that healing split in his lip and those glistening eyes. Mesermized. As if he's taking in the sight of a precious painting lost for centuries. 

If you didn't know any better, you would think he was looking at the stars behind your head.

But he's only looking at you. 

It's got you lifting yourself a little too quickly; haven't even begun to adjust to his size yet. "You'd better hope it lasts longer than eight seconds."

Something sharp digs into your knee as you lift yourself, but it's impossible to pay attention to. So fucking full of him that your every racing thought has wrapped itself around the shape of his name. Oh, and it's not helped by the burning drag of his cock; a little too big for you to be riding him without lube. 

You're sinking back down when his hips lips, snapping up into you midway. Fuck, you're burning alive out here. Growing wetter from that little motion alone, that tingling heat climbing your spine and settling into your cheeks. 

"Impatient," you're huffing, lacking any bit of the conviction you'd hoped you would have.

"Them bulls buck, y'know," that smug grin of his falters as your hips swivel, readjusting yourself, "'m just playin' my part."

So annoying. 

So, so annoying.

Something about the change in an angle has him rubbing up against something he hadn't before, air catching in your throat as he presses directly into it. Shit, it's too early for your thighs to be shivering like they are, and it's all you can do to flatten your palms against his chest, forcing yourself to remain upright. 

"Keep—mmh keep doin' that." Stupid cowboys and their stupidly pretty whines. Has no right to be squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head back and forth like he's trying to shake the feel of you out of his head.

And he just keeps rubbing against those little nerves, over and over and over. Stars sparkle across your vision, so many of them that you can no longer tell which hang high in the sky and which stem from your own imagination. Whether or not that's thunder or the hammer of your own heart, you're not even remotely sure. 

A stray hand meanders up your back, his touch so feather-light and ticklish that it's got you arching away from it. Unintentionally angling him into those soft little spots even more, your pussy clenching around him so tightly that you nearly freeze in place. 

You hardly feel yourself reaching for his wrists. Only recognize the feel of them in your grasp, thick and strong from years of manual labor, yet so willing to be pinned over his head. Falling into place like they always longed to be there.

"Fuck," Rhett's teeth sink into his bottom lip, stifling a noise that you wish you could have caught, "so fuckin' pretty on top of me." 

"And here I thought you were marveling at the storm," panting into the open air like a damn dog, breathless all too quickly. As if the slow rise and fall of your hips is simply too much for you to handle. 

Rhett's biceps flex, muscle visibly rippling as the thunder crackles. "Nah," grunting, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, "could watch y' ride me all fuckin' day." 

God, what is it about sex that makes him so fucking talkative?

Your hand darts out to the side. Blindly patting the blankets until you find one of the candies that spilled out of the container, shoving it past his parted lips before he can utter another word.

His mouth wobbles. Torn between a smile and something he wants to say. Neither manages to win the upper hand, instead beaten by a secret third thing. Because now he's sitting up, wearily bracing himself on that good arm, eyes falling shut midway as he leans in to kiss you. Knocking into each other so abruptly that your teeth audibly clatter.

But the wind is twirling past you with a kind of ferocity that wasn't there before, and in the back of your mind you're convinced that you've inadvertently caused it to happen. Distant storm falling into a rage as you tumble forward, forearms resting on either side of his head, hands in his hair, drowning yourself in the lemonade and candy that paints his tongue. 

Something sparks behind your eyes. "Rhett..."

He doesn't respond. Doesn't need to. The lift of his hips is more than enough of a reply, so sudden that it rips a sharp noise out of your throat. A decade of bull riding has made him too fucking strong for his own good, pushing up into you with devastating ease. 

This...thisis something. His breath tickling your skin. Your chest against his, nails scraping at his scalp. Helpless to do nothing but whine as he brushes against those little spots once more. Long, heaving motions that jostle you with every thrust, your eyes already struggling to remain open. 

"Rhett," repeating yourself like a broken record, panting into his ear like you're getting paid to do it.

The ground shakes. Lightning strikes somewhere in the distance, volting through the soil, up through your knees, and into your belly. Or maybe it's not lightning at all, simply the dizzying sensation of his cock driving up into you with a sickeningly wet noise. You can't help the way your legs squeeze impossibly tight around him. Can't stop the familiar tingle from settling into your core, spreading down into your thighs. 

You don't remember when the babbling started, but you can hear the sound of your name twisting through the air, chanting beneath his breath like a melody. His prickly cheek rubs against yours, and you just know that it's going to leave your skin raw, but you can't bring yourself to pull away. 

"'m gonna..." the rasp of his voice has you clamping tighter around him. A whimper slips off his tongue. "I—"

He doesn't need to finish that sentence. One look is all you need. 

You are, too. 

There's no need for you to reach down and touch yourself. His cock alone is enough to have you crumbling like a house of cards, burying your head into the crook of his neck, unable to muffle every little noise he punches out of you. Downright merciless as he rubs into those sensitive little nerves over and over and over and—

A ghost of wind is enough to push you over the edge. Tumbling over the edge and into the abyss, the world around you going quiet as you cum around his cock. Not a sound breaking past your lips, head swirling round and round until you can no longer tell which way is up. 

You're only distantly aware of the sudden stalling of Rhett's hips, pushing up into you so hard that he lifts you up. Can't miss the sensation of his cock twitching, his cum spilling into your pussy, rope after rope of it, so much that you think you can feel it pooling inside of you.

A drop of rain hits your shoulder. Cold. Biting into your skin with its sharp little teeth. 

The storm is so much closer now, thick clouds hanging overhead, blocking out the stars entirely. Electricity arcs across the sky as you begin to lift yourself up before your body is even ready to move. 

Rhett's cock slips out of you with an awkward noise, slapping audibly against his belly. Shit, you can already feel it beginning to spill out, don't know how you plan to get home without making a mess of your clothes. 

A groan sounds from below you. "So fuckin' full of it," the soft tip of his cock presses back into you, and you don't need to look to know that Rhett's eyes are fixated on the obscene sight of his cum leaking out of you. "God damn."

"Well, don't...mmh, don't keep pushing it in," but your complaint is futile, and you're making no effort to try and stop him. No point in it, you suppose; it's not as if you can clean yourself up out here. 

He chuckles at that. You think the stars have secretly gathered in his eyes, sparkling in those deep blues. "Can't do nothin' 'bout it now."

"Hold on!" Your giggles echo through the kitchen, wet feet stumbling across the tile. "I can't move that fast!" 

But Rhett's hand keeps tugging you along, sliding around the corner and into the hallway. Water pours from his hair and shoulders, speckling across the floor, leaving a trail in his wake. A mess that you'd complain about if not for your own soaked clothes, so cold that you've gone entirely numb. 

Lights flicker overhead, power fading in and out as the storm rages on. Rain striking the windows so hard that you can hear it, even as you fumble down the hallway. Wet socks slide against the tile as you try to turn, your shoulder bumping into Rhett's. His hip smacks into the door frame. Your feet tangle. 

"We ain't never doin' that again," he's stumbling toward the shower, reaching for the knobs. Twists until he can't crank the hot water up any hotter. Something, anything to melt away the ice that's about to freeze over your skin.

You reach for the hem of your shirt, the fabric clinging to you like a second skin. "I thought you liked having sex outside."

"I do," he pauses, pulling the material over your head. It audibly hits the floor, the beginnings of yet another mess. "I don't like downpours 'n hail!" 

The red mark on his forehead is only just beginning to bloom, sure to darken as the night rages on. It's a little too high up to be blamed on a bar fight, but you're sure he'll find a way to play it off when his momma asks about what happened. 

Your pants are on the floor before he can finish getting his flannel off, not a care in the world for where they land. Your mind only has enough room for one thought at a time: hot water. A cloud of steam greets you as you step into the shower. The water has yet to hit your skin, and yet you can already feel yourself melting, the heat eating away at the invisible frost that has long since settled upon you. 

It's almost too hot, the spray seeming to burn little holes straight through your chest, and your toes sting. Such a sharp contrast compared to the heat that you wonder if it'll eat you alive.

A firm chest presses against your naked back, familiar arms settling loosely around your waist. "Y' jus' gonna leave me behind like that?" His attempt at sounding irritated doesn't miss your ears, but it dies before he can finish the sentence. Isn't helped by the kisses that appear on your shoulder.  

"If you can ride bulls, then you can climb into the shower by yourself," leaning back into him, your eyes fall closed. It might be the first time you've blinked since the rain began to fall, starting the moment you'd begun gathering the blankets into your arms. Mother Nature's punishment for not taking her warnings seriously.

Rhett hums, the vibration tickling the side of your neck. "Then." Kiss. "I should probably." Kiss. "Tell you." Kiss. "That we didn't bring any clean clothes..." Kiss. "Or towels."

...the towels. 

Your groan bounces off the tile walls and out into the hallway, probably even ventures past the closet and out into the living room. Why did it never occur to you to grab towels and clothes before you climbed in here?

"We'll rock paper scissors it after we rinse off," it's the same solution he uses for every conflict, but you find yourself agreeing with the idea anyway. 

He loses. Never deviates from playing rock, even when he knows full well that you will forever play paper. You're not sure if he's waiting for the day that you crack and play scissors or if he's intentionally losing, but you've got the sneaking suspicion it's the latter. He's way too content to dart into the hallway for towels, returning with more than either of you could possibly need.

"Did you grab every towel in the closet?" You laugh as you pull one of them around your shoulders, hugging it to yourself like a blanket. It's too damn cold in this house.

"No," then, grinning, "I left one behind."

He's gone before you've finished drying off, comes back one more time with your favorite pajamas in his hand, then disappears into the darkness of the house. Where he's gone, you're not sure; it's hard to tell when he never turns any of the lights on, navigating based on muscle memory alone. 

But you can hear the television turning on, your forgotten movie picking up right where it left off. 

"Rhett?" Calling out as you mosey out of the bathroom.

Damp carpet squishes beneath your feet, frigid and not at all what you expected to find yourself standing on. Only seems to get worse as you make your way down the hall, hopelessly soaked with rainwater. The old fan is already out, cool air blowing across the worst of it, licking at your heels when you step past.

Rhett's pale shoulders stick out like a sore thumb in the living room. All too visible as he moves around, hands audibly patting something down on the couch. Blankets. The ones off the bed, out of the closet, hell, he's grabbed the decorative one off the rocking chair. All to build an oversized nest, high around the edges, like he's trying to keep something out. So focused on the task at hand that he doesn't notice you until it's too late.

"Jesus!" His naked back jumps away from you as if burned by your kiss.

"Watcha buildin'?" Your speech mimicking his just a little more than usual, already leaning in to press a second kiss in between the knobs of his spine. Rhett twists in your arms before you can land a third, the swell of his chest mere inches from your lips now.

You'll smooch him here, too. 

"Our last line of defense," his giggle rides on the coattails of another roll of thunder. "Jus' in case that storm knocks out the power 'n steals our heat."

You don't realize his arms are around you until he's falling toward the couch, taking you right along with him, landing in a messy heap on top of the blankets. A box of candy rattles behind your back. Someone bumps into the remote, the movie pausing on the television screen. 

A piece of the candy bounces off your chin, narrowly misses landing back in Rhett's hand. You find it squished between your chests, pushing it between his parted lips. 

"Y' gonna keep force feedin' me candy?" He asks, that little candy rolling across his tongue as he speaks. Wonder if you'll be able to taste it if you kiss him. 

You lean in, nuzzling your noses together. "It's my new party trick."

His eyes roll so hard that you hope they'll get stuck. 

[logansargeantsbabymom]

Hi heart I would love an order of Paul aron with the song Renegade Aaryan Shah smut plis 😻

Paul Aron x Fem!Reader

Follow my instagram account (THATS STRICTLY FOR THIS BLOG) for updates on when i post and fun stuff like that!

Instagram

As the opening bars of Renegade thumped through the speakers, I felt the bass vibrate through my body. I was at the club, my body moving to the music, the lights flashing, and the alcohol coursing through my veins. I spotted him across the crowded dance floor; his blond hair shining under the strobing lights, those intense blue eyes fixed on me. His name was Paul, a Formula 2 driver, and he oozed confidence and sex appeal. I felt my pussy clench as our eyes locked, a jolt of electricity coursing through me. 

The music took over, and I let my body move with the beat, my hips swaying, my hands running through my hair. I could feel his eyes on me, burning with desire, and I knew he wanted me as much as I wanted him. The lyrics thumped out, "I'm a renegade, built this kingdom up from ash and clay," and I imagined Paul and me, building our own kingdom of pleasure, our own world of taboo desires and erotic adventures. 

As the song reached its climax, I felt a hand on my waist, and then his lips were on my neck, his breath hot against my skin. Paul whispered, his voice deep and husky, "Let's get out of here." I didn't need to be asked twice; my body was on fire, and I needed release. We pushed our way through the heaving crowd, hands brushing, lips almost touching, the anticipation driving me wild. 

We fell into the back seat of his car, our lips finally crashing together, tongues dueling, hands exploring. I felt his hard dick pressed against my thigh, and I moaned into his mouth, grinding my hips against him. Paul broke the kiss, looking at me with fiery desire. "I've wanted you all night," he growled, his hands squeezing my thighs. "You're so fucking sexy." I smiled, biting my lip, my hands reaching for his belt. "Then what are you waiting for?" I teased. "Take me." 

With urgency, he pulled me onto his lap, my legs straddling his waist, his hands grasping my ass. I could feel his dick, hard and throbbing, and I lowered myself onto him, moaning as he filled me. Paul's hands gripped my hips, guiding my movements as I rode him, my tits bouncing, my hair falling around my face. I leaned back, giving him a view of my body, my hands reaching behind to squeeze my ass as I rode him harder. "Fuck, you feel so good," he grunted, his eyes fixed on my breasts. "Keep riding that dick, baby." 

I sped up, my pussy clenching around him, the car rocking with our movements. I felt so full, so alive, and I knew I was going to cum hard. As if reading my mind, Paul reached between us, his thumb finding my clit, rubbing it in circles as I bucked my hips. "Cum for me," he demanded, his voice hoarse. "Let me feel that tight pussy squeeze me." And I did. I cried out, my body shaking, my pussy pulsing as wave after wave of pleasure washed over me. Paul groaned, his dick twitching inside me, and I felt his hot cum filling me up, our juices mixing together. 

We kissed, breathless, our hearts pounding. I sat back on his lap, his dick still inside me, feeling deliciously full. "That was just the start," he whispered, his hands stroking my thighs. "Now, I want to taste you." With that, he lifted me off his lap and laid me back on the seat, spreading my legs wide. I felt the cool night air on my hot skin as he lowered his head between my thighs, his tongue flicking my clit, sending shocks of pleasure through me. He ate me out like a starving man, his tongue and lips working me over, his hands gripping my thighs tightly. 

I moaned, my hands tangling in his blond hair, guiding his mouth to my sensitive spots. "Mmm, you taste so fucking sweet," he murmured, his breath hot against my soaked pussy. I cried out as he sucked my clit, his fingers entering me, curling inside to hit that magic spot. I bucked my hips, my body tensing, and I came hard, my juices flooding his mouth. Paul moaned in appreciation, lapping up my cum, his fingers never stopping their delicious assault. 

After I came down from my high, Paul kissed his way up my body, his lips marking my skin, his hands caressing my breasts. I felt his hardness against my thigh again, and I smiled, knowing he wasn't done with me yet. He positioned himself at my entrance, teasing me with the tip of his dick. "I want to fuck you doggy style," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "I want to watch that perfect ass as I take you from behind." I shivered with anticipation, getting on all fours and presenting myself to him. 

Paul entered me slowly, filling me up, his hands grasping my hips. "You like that, baby?" he asked, his voice low and sexy. "You like my cock deep inside you?" I nodded, biting my lip, feeling his length stretch me deliciously. "Fuck yes," I moaned. "Now, pound that pussy. Make me yours." With that, he began to thrust, his hips slamming into me, his balls slapping against my clit with each deep stroke. "Damn, your pussy feels incredible," he grunted, his hands squeezing my ass cheeks. "It grips my cock like a fucking vice." 

We found a rhythm, our bodies moving together, the car rocking with the force of our passion. I cried out with each thrust, feeling his thickness stretching me, his balls slapping my sensitive clit. "Cum for me again," he demanded. "I want to feel you explode around my cock." And I did, screaming his name, my body shaking, my pussy pulsing as I rode wave after wave of bliss. Paul grunted, his fingers digging into my soft flesh, and I felt him explode inside me, his hot cum shooting deep. 

We collapsed in a sweaty, satisfied heap, our hearts racing, our breath coming in ragged gasps. I felt Paul's cum leaking from my well-fucked pussy, and I smiled, knowing we'd created our own kingdom of pleasure, our own renegade world of uninhibited sex and passion. "That was incredible," I whispered, turning to face him, our foreheads touching. "I can't wait for the next adventure." 

As the song says, "We be riding 'til the sun up," and I knew that Paul and I would ride this night out, exploring each other's bodies and pushing the limits of our sexual desires. It was just the beginning of our erotic odyssey.

[just-some-random-blogger]

hello!! would it be possible to request a daemon/reader inspired by ‘wildest dreams’? like they’re in a secret relationship or something,, the lyrics just really fit with him i think🤭 thank you<3

Red Lips

Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Summary: The prince had a taste for things he couldn't have. Whoever knew he'd see the day he'd have to work for something to get it.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: Fem!reader, i made up yn's house, enemies to lovers lol jk emenies to enemies, angst?, daemon annoying af, pining, typos, etc.

A/N: i put the second part of your ask below the gif cos i wanna see his goofy face when i get notes T_T and nah you're so right i love this song as a prompt. i think slay. i wanted to write while listening to wildest dreams (taylor's version) but i was jamming too hard T_T also nonnie, i tweaked your req like a lot T_T cos i was focusing on the music to much and the music told me make it angsty just a lil bit ig idk if its angst at all tbh. if anything its taylor's fault ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i hope you like it <3 Tagging: @pinksirensong @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony

"Hello, bitch," he mutters, smiling, as his fingers trace the rim of his cup. I release a sigh at the unfortunately familiar sound. Suddenly, the open air was ruined by the foul scent of dragon.

I turn over my shoulder, raising my brows, "funny of you to address yourself, ser."

"Prince," he snips in correction, leaning in against my hair.

I side eye him, "no actually, I take that back. I'm horrified," I look out to the field where lord what's-his-face, was standing, telling a story about himself on his nameday; it didn't make his story any more worth listening to though. Surely the people were only listening out of pity.

"You should have the maesters check your sanity."

I turn to the wretched muggins, who downed his drink and chucked the cup over his shoulder. I away not wanting to burn my eyes more over the sight of his repulsive topaz tunic and stupidly long hair, "what was it they said about your kind?"

He scoffs a dry chuckle, "my kind?"

"Flip a coin and you'll determine if they're mad or not.

He chuckles louder.

I wave him off, grimacing at the sound of his laughter mixed with celebrant's, "you should go and do that. I'm sure your brother broke the backs of enough serfs to get a coin for youself"

He mumbles something in High Valyrian but then he cuts himself off when lord what's-his-face, who thought standing on his chair was a good idea in all his drunkenness, falls over on his back, making everyone gasp and circle around him.

I eye the felled man in annoyance, lips curled in disgust as the oaf beside me cheers, clapping his hand, "now that's festive!" He turns to me, "I'm sure you'd know nothing about merrymaking whatsoever with how high that stick up your arse is."

I offer him a pulled smile, bowing mockingly, "Prince Daemon."

The twat does not get the hint and follows after me when I walk away. He places his hands behind his back, "what's say we steal the bloke's mounts and ride off to the city?"

I roll my eyes at him, "good luck with that. I wholly express my wishes for you to fall just like him and break your spine along the way."

"Hmm," he says, grabbing a drink from a random person, who was about to protest but then bit his tongue upon seeing the thief. Daemon downs the liquid and throws the cup away haphazardly, "sounds like something you want."

I turn to him like face twisted with incredulous annoyance, "I would want nothing more."

"For yourself," he leans in, grabbing my arm, making me growl at him, "I can break your back if you want it so bad."

I pull away from him, grunting and groaning as I did, "qogralbar hen, doru-borto."

Also know as fuck off, stupid, in his very own mother tongue.

Daemon laughs as I walk away, gathering my skirts tightly in anger. He follows still, like the irritating fly that he is, "I'm honored to have gotten you to learn my language, gevie riña."

The sound of his boots crunching against the rocks riled me up twice as much when I could hear him fucking breathing behind me. I shoot him a glare, shoving him away from me, which he evades, "stop following me, Daemon!"

"I'm not following you," he lies, pursing his lips plainly, brows raising.

I stop in my tracks, "fine then! where are you going?"

"Wherever you're going."

I rip out a sharp, exasperated huff through my cheeks, wiping my face in annoyance, "I'm not in the mood for your games today."

"Tonight then."

"Pah! You've clearly need help," I scoff, storming away, far enough to reach the lake nearby. I am fooled that I am alone because of how he silently trials behind me in his momentary silence.

I stop in my tracks when the fucker kicks water towards my dress.

"You're the only one that can help me."

"WITH WHAT?" I snap, digging my heals into the ground as I turn to him. Daemon stills, hair blowing back with the wind as mine flies onto my face, "what makes you think I would ever help you, cretin?"

"You owe me," he mutters, walking forward, "you cannot think to kiss me and pretend like nothing happened."

"Why would I owe you?! I did not kiss you, your grace," I shake my head, "you kissed me!"

Daemon's lips quirk as he counters, "you were the one that was drunk, not I."

"Then leave it at that!" I shriek, "you'd get away with so much more if you used that excuse!"

"I will not excuse a lowly troll such as you for committing treason."

"Treason?!" I scoff sharply. I turn away from him, crossing my arms, "you are, by far, the most dramatic-"

"YOU MAKE ME ILL!" he barks, grabbing my shoulders. I jolt at his actions. He seethes, "YOURE FUCKING KILLING ME!"

In all his life, through our family's feuds, and our childhood hatred, he never once touched me, thus my perturbed reaction. My breathing becomes strained, my heartbeat was racketing in my ribcage.

"I am slipping into madness-" he continues, "-because I cannot get you out of my mind!"

If my pulse was not quick enough before he said that, it was surely quick now.

I take in the sour expression on his face, lifting my eyes up to his stupid eyes, stupid nose, stupid jaw, stupid- ugh! How did anyone ever think that he was handsome? There was nothing at all pleasant about this- this- this fiend! This- this ninnyhammer! This-

Daemon crushed his lips against mine.

Time stopped, as so did my breathing.

He was warm, as were his palms that found my cheeks.

And he smelled good, gods, he smelled so, so goo-

I shove him away. I heave arudously.

What the fuck am I saying?

Daemon was heaving too.

My mind is spinning. I cannot believe I allowed myself to think what I did.

"I cannot get that night out of my mind," he breathes heavily, "I must," he points, "have you," he noted, "I will die if I do not."

I gulp the bile rising up my throat. My lips curl in disgust. I wipe my lips with my wrist, "then perish."

[jungle-angel]

The One Where They Go To Florida: Part 2 (Frat!Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: The Delta Taus take off for spring break in Florida and the shenanigans are only beginning

Warnings: Frat boy shenanigans etc.

Tagging: @floydsmuse @attapullman @callmemana

You groaned a little when you felt Rhett's warm lips kissing your cheek, his arm still wrapped around your waist, pawing a little bit at your boobs.

"You awake?" he mumbled, his voice deep and gravely from sleep.

You shook your head. "Don't wanna get up."

Rhett kissed you again, hoping that it would help you wake up a little bit. Outside it was still dark but already you could hear the rest of the Delta Tau house waking to life. You rolled over and looked at the screen on Rhett's phone......5:30 in the morning. You whimpered a little, still groggy and sleepy from having been woken earlier than normal.

"What time does the flight leave?" you asked him

"Eight-thirty," he whispered.

"Can I go back to sleep for a little bit?"

Rhett kissed your cheek again. "Half an hour," he told you. "Not a minute later."

He set the alarm for another half hour in the hopes that the extra sleep would help you wake up a little. It did and once the two of you were up and in the shower, you were both fully awake and smelling of Rhett's Irish Spring body wash that he let you use any time you stayed the night.

You took the back staircase that wound its way down into the kitchen where all the other Delta Taus were busy pouring their coffee in a styrofoam to-go cup. Kayce looked like a mess, his hair sticking up at a weird angle and his grey t-shirt possibly the same that he had worn the day before.

"Alright idjits," Kayce announced. "Grab your bags and toss'em down by the front door, bus will be here in twenty."

Rhett grabbed the pot from the coffee maker, pouring you a cup of the steaming liquid that smelled of cinnamon. "My lady, one for you," he chuckled.

You kissed him, letting his tongue dart out a little to catch the lingering taste of cinnamon on your lips. "Still sleepy?" he asked.

"I think we're gonna need to grab Dunkin when we're at the airport or something," you answered. "I've got the hungry shakes."

Rhett pulled you in, your bodies swaying a little as he kissed the side of your head. You both stayed like that, lost in each other and breathing in each other's scent until a loud *CLUNK!* reverberated off the floor at the bottom of the stairs in the front hall.

"The hell was that?" you asked.

"Fuckin Kelso's bag," Rhett yawned.

Oliver Scott was the last to come back down the kitchen stairs, setting his bag on the chair before grabbing a coffee. Rhett laughed a little when he saw the Delta Tau Sex Manual poking out from a pile of his neatly folded clothes.

"What?" Oliver asked.

"Bruh if ya'll haven't memorized it by now, I'm afraid you're a lost cause," Rhett laughed.

Oliver smiled and rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry, I thought I'd bring some reading material with me," he chuckled.

Finally it was time to roll out. The vans had pulled to the outside of the house, everyone clambering in with their bags stowed way in the back. You sat in between Rhett and Kayce, your rightful place as the First Lady of the frat, with Rhett's thumb gently rubbing circles on your thigh where his hand had come to rest.

"Alright shitheads," Rhett said to the gang. "We've got less than a fifteen minute ride to the airport, six hours on a plane and two weeks in the Florida Keys.......how shall we kick off?"

Bo laughed as he hauled out his phone, pulling up Spotify as the beginnings of "Colt 45" by Afroman filled the van, much to the delight of the others. The whole way there, they belted out the filthy lyrics, you yourself more than happy to join in with them until the small buildings of Bozeman International Airport came into view.

Everything went off without a hitch with everyone blowing through security clearance with ease. As soon as everyone had gotten to the gate, you, Cairo and a few of the others decided to go and scrounge up something to eat.

"Ugh, my God, iced coffee so tasty!" Cairo groaned.

"You'd think you hadn't had any since the Reagan Administration," you laughed.

"That's what it feels like," Cairo told you. "If we're gonna be on this monster of a flight, I'm gonna need all the rocket fuel I can get."

"You didn't get any sleep did you?" you asked him.

"Oh hell no honey," Cairo answered. "I came in from work, Foster was already dead in bed and let me tell you, nothing sucks worse than having to walk home in cha-cha heels, but it was worth the tips."

"What was it this time for the show?" you asked him.

"Ancient Egypt of course," Cairo said. "Can't tell you how many people thought I looked good in my Cleopatra wig."

You, Cairo and the rest of the group made your way back to the gate, passing out the Dunkin Donuts orders to the rest of the gang. You were pretty sure that such a large order would have gotten you banned, but the workers had greatly appreciated the business.

You and Rhett were relieved beyond words when you could finally board the plane, leaving everyone to get settled. Thank God you and the others had slipped extra bottles of Dramamine into everybody's bags or you would have all been screwed elsewise.

You and Rhett settled in to watch an 80s comedy movie while the others found other ways to keep themselves occupied. It wasn't long before you and Rhett were listing off all the shenanigans that would most likely ensue once you were all there.

"How much do ya'll wanna bet somebody fucks a flagpole again?" Rhett chuckled.

"I'm not betting anything," you told him, snuggling further into his chest. "You KNOW that's bound to happen."

Rhett made a face knowing it was bound to be the apple pie incident all over again. "Just promise one thing darlin?"

"Hmm?"

"If we're all hungover you'll drag us to the nearest diner for a hangover special and Bloody Marys?"

You leaned up to kiss his lips. "For you?" you said. "Anything."

Rhett smiled into the kiss. It was times like this that he was lucky to have you as his First Lady.

[gaoau]

Love Spell

Wicked Witch warnings — none. word count — 3.9k

prev.

"Wanna go to Sendai, help me manage an Onigiri Miya booth there?" Osamu asked out of the blue one night during dinner. [Name]'s rice dropped from her chopsticks when she froze at the question. Sparkles seemed to radiate off him as she found his gaze. He stared into her with bright eyes and a common simper, practically forcing her to accept the invitation since he expected so much from her.

She cleared her throat and swallowed a gulp of water. With every passing day, her ability to refuse anything that came from him—from simple, spontaneous offers to grab a coffee even if she was on a time crunch, to those damned love discounts that rose to fifty percent off—grew weaker and almost unavailable. "I—" a sigh, "—Fine." She simply couldn't bring herself to reject him anymore.

He pumped his fist in celebration, prompting her to roll her eyes at the childlike side of his personality rearing its head. Admittedly cute, undeniably adorable, and when he coupled it with a chuckle, it became too much to handle. She couldn't go as far as to call it the experience of falling in love, but she was definitely falling into every one of his traps.

It was their first ever train ride together. Osamu guessed correctly when giving up the window seat for her. His earphones fit perfectly in her ears while she whispered praises to his taste in music—most of which he had built upon her recommendations. He lent his shoulder when she dozed off and fixed her neck so it wouldn't become sore by the time she woke up. Once in Sendai, she gratefully grinned at him for preparing snacks in advance as her stomach growled to complain about its emptiness. [Name] found he was a wonderful travel partner, although those were nothing more than words.

As she molded onigiris with her palms, her regular humming intensified into nonsensical lyrics and then morphed into high notes that echoed through the kitchen. Osamu gazed in awe and adoration while she manipulated her voice with years of experience on her back. Her singing trembled in a fit of laughter when he spontaneously joined in despite never having sung in his life aside from karaoke nights. He followed her from her head voice all the way up to her falsettos, trying to imitate how easily she belted without struggling.

His own voice cracked and his lips clamped shut, cheeks burning in mild embarrassment. [Name] cut off her singing solely to cackle loudly at him. Osamu cast his eyes away from her, mumbling, "S'hurtin' my throat."

She chuckled once more as she fixed his posture with cold, humid fingers. "Your voice isn't really warmed up, you know? You shouldn't try to belt like that."

"Ya make it seem so easy."

"Try lower." Her pitch dropped considerably to guide him by the hand through his singing attempts. He followed her once more, but still failed miserably. [Name] muffled her chortles with her palm. "Well, at least you can cook."

"Oh, wow, encouragement, thanks."

He chucked a few grains of rice at her face, one of which bounced off her eye. Impaired, she retaliated by flicking water at him as he shielded himself with his arm. Moments like these, where time froze for everything outside the closed doors and they had full control over their existence. They could choose honesty and music and one another. His shoulders vibrated while he laughed, and [Name] hoped time would stop for her as well so she could assimilate her feelings for a second.

Osamu was a fantastic person she actually liked.

It happened one regular morning when [Name] was scrolling through her social media feed without an ounce of sleep. A picture of a plate of fluffy pancakes popped up and caused her stomach to grumble. Her brain immediately thought of Osamu. Before she could even process her own actions, she was already knocking on his door at seven o'clock in the morning.

When he opened up with his bedhead and hazy eyes, Atsumu's words swam through her ears again. Genuinity was something she had never struggled with. Her gaze unfocused for a brief moment as she processed the sight before her. Osamu yawned as he allowed her inside without a care, muttering, "Good mornin'."

She swatted Atsumu's voice out of her head while following after him. "What's your best pancake recipe?" Osamu halted and turned towards her, one of his brows raised. His hand reached underneath his shirt to scratch his back. [Name] smiled the softest of simpers. "I'm in the mood for pancakes." His eyes sparkled almost instantly upon hearing her words. It was the first time she could handle it without looking away.

He whipped up the batter in less than a song and she took care of the flipping with her trained wrists. Laughter and music and smiles and the way the early sunshine poured in through the window, glistening a thousand different shades of comfort and melted his eyes into honey. Charming domestic bliss that filled her heart with a softness she'd never experienced before. Was this what home felt like? Thinking of Osamu's face before anyone else's when anything happened, giggling to herself because she remembered Osamu's voice cracking a joke from six months before, groaning when she woke up alone because Osamu wouldn't drop by until the following day.

Osamu, Osamu, Osamu, Osamu. Everything was Osamu. Osamu this, Osamu that.

She admired the fluffiness of his pancakes, prodding them with her fork to make them jiggle. From the outside, her intense glare communicated she absolutely loathed those pancakes. From Osamu's eyes, she was floating aimlessly in an ocean of her thoughts. "What are'ya thinkin' of?" He stole a bite from her plate to drag her out of the waters before the waves drowned her into its depths.

[Name] met his adoring gaze. How safe you make me feel, echoed in her head, dripping in hypocrisy. She reclaimed the bite he'd stolen. "How great these pancakes are. I'll be stealing this recipe. Needs a bit of cinnamon, though." Another bite, another taste of home, another hint of forever.

"I'll tweak it for ya."

For her. All the things he did, he did for her. The efforts he poured into their relationship, the daily calls to wake her up, the breakfasts he had no need to make every time he stayed over yet still he did. His love originated from genuinity; he loved her so much. He thought of her and she thought of him. What else did she need? What else did she want? What more could she hope for when she knew Osamu would give her all?

Honesty was something she had never struggled with. What are'ya thinkin' of? Her eyes zeroed in on him with a drive of steel. "Hey, guess what."

"What?"

She clicked her tongue quietly as she watched him inspect a piece of pancake he'd sliced. Of course he was. "'Samu," she called again, voice pristine and demanding attention.

Osamu froze immediately, his breath hitching in his throat in sheer stupefaction. His pupils shifted from his fork to her intense glare. There was absolutely no way she had just called him 'Samu. "Is it… cold?"

"No, I'm—" [Name] puffed out a chuckle, "'Samu, Osamu, Miya, whatever you want me to call you." Her eyes stabbed right into his as she clearly pronounced her declaration, "I love you."

Osamu couldn't tell if his heart had stopped beating or if it had picked up so much speed he simply didn't feel it anymore inside of his chest. For all he knew, his blood had ceased its course and his lungs had collapsed onto themselves. He had died and was merely rejoicing in a mirage of his paradise before the afterlife claimed him. Had it not been for the rush of warmth rising to his cheeks, spreading a red-tinted blush he hadn't worn since high-school, he would have accepted death.

[Name] pursed her lips, still holding his stare as he processed the sound of her voice. His silence pierced into her ears and pressed down on her shoulders and snaked around her throat to strangle her and she wondered if he had suffered this same pressure when he confessed. He didn't speak, didn't blink, didn't breathe, didn't move.

"Say something."

He shook out of his stupor with jolting shoulders. "Hold on, 'm thinkin'."

"Ah—About?"

"Kissin' ya."

"What?"

"Can I?"

"Can—What?"

She had little to no time to react as Osamu sprang from his seat and leaned across the table, knocking his—fortunately empty—mug over in the process. His palms, warm and careful, cradled the sides of her face, tilting her head upwards so he could place his lips upon hers. Short and quick and fleeting, but despite time not freezing or fireworks not setting off, he could at last bask in the accomplishment of his life finally being completed. Even if they had been wolfing down sugary pancakes soaked in whipped cream, the only flavor he could taste was the bitterness of her coffee coating her lips.

When he pulled away a second later, he was breathless and overflowing with mirth. [Name] blinked up at the excited grin digging the corners of his mouth into his burning cheeks. Still relishing in the natural warmth of his touch on her face, all she could manage was a simple, "Oh."

"Thank you."

"Oh. You're—You're welcome. You're very, very welcome." She rose from her chair to round the table, her cold fingers reaching behind his neck and settling on his nape, shooting shivers down his spine at the contact. With a tug of her hand, she pulled Osamu closer to properly kiss him like she didn't know she'd been waiting. There was not much Osamu could do against the deadly vines of enchanting magic [Name] trapped him with; there was not much he wanted to do anyway. He gave up control and allowed her to squeeze the rationality out of him with just one kiss. The pancakes and her coffee and the world of lying pains vanished into the calloused coldness of her fingertips on his skin.

"Never met anyone less romantic than you two," Ginjima exhales as he massages his temples.

[Name] gasps for dramatic effect. She clings onto her husband to protect him from their friend's insensitive observation. "Excuse you, Gin. Don't listen to him, 'Samu."

"He's right," Suna pipes in with his trademark deadpan, "he confessed to you under a lamp post, you confessed to him while eating pancakes."

Osamu cackles, "Wait 'til ya hear the marriage proposal."

A few months after establishing a shift in their relationship, working out its kinks and quirks on the down low, Osamu decided he was more than ready to inform his friends and family about his change in status. While [Name] finished coating the popcorn in homemade caramel, he flicked through the channels in his mind to bring it up to her. He finally settled for the most casual way he could think of, "We've been datin' fer a while."

[Name] replied with pondering silence. She attempted calculations in her head, but the passage of time seemed an unreal concept at this point. "Yeah, we have."

Osamu hummed. "We should tell people."

[Name] replied with panicking silence. When he looked over to make sure he hadn't accidentally thrown her into cardiac arrest, his body traveled back to the night he had confessed to her. The expression on her face replicated the same one she'd painted on herself underneath that lamp post. Part of him was relieved she was a musician and wore her nails short as she dug them into her palms.

She inhaled deeply before stabbing him with her eyes. "Okay. Dinner with your brother."

His gaze flickered around the room to avoid her intensity burning into him. "I was… thinkin' 'bout my parents."

"Ya tryna murder me?"

"They'll love ya!"

"…Okay…"

She agreed in a fit of confused fear, but in retrospect, her brain could only relate parents to pain. Stepping out of the plane to breathe in the pure air of her home prefecture, Osamu witnessed the instant regret shadowing her eyes. With a playful shove to her shoulder, he reminded her she was safe by his side and set her back on track.

Meeting Osamu's parents was possibly one of the best decisions of her life. She became comfortable in their presence much faster than she'd grown to accept Osamu. His father was lovely, but his mother, a wonderful woman that welcomed her with open arms and the warmest of smiles she'd ever seen on any human alive. Tears gathered in her eyes as she melted into Mrs. Miya's arms when she found peace in the embrace of motherly love she didn't know she'd longed for.

[Name] loved it, truly. She loved the family, she loved the home, she loved the feelings. She loved Osamu and she wanted to be a part of it all.

It was when Atsumu arrived later in the day, she remembered he was also part of the family. He walked into his house, tired out of his mind, rehearsing the pleasantries he would offer to Osamu's girlfriend once he met her. He had prayed his brother had finally let the Wicked Witch go once and for all. Setting his sights upon [Name] as soon as he entered, made him drop his bag with an ear-splitting thud. [Name] hid herself behind her glass of water, downing gulp after gulp in hopes of Osamu doing all the awkward talking with his brother.

"No."

"Yeah."

"No, this ain't happenin'."

Osamu limited himself to sneering at his twin with a taunting grin while wrapping an arm around his girlfriend to pull her closer. He planted a chaste kiss on her cheek. "We're datin'."

"Ya sure are… Congrats…!" he pushed out his practice through gritted teeth. Osamu gave [Name] a quick peck once more before heading into the kitchen to help out with dinner. Atsumu glared the sharpest of daggers into [Name] while she resumed her panicked drinking. "Ya hurt him with that pissy Wicked Witch attitude of yers an' my connections'll remove ya from the face of the Earth."

She swallowed her water to give her brain time to process his threat. Instead of retaliating, she set her glass down onto the table. "I wouldn't dare." Her resolve glimmered in the color of her irises.

"I'm countin' on ya."

"Rest assured."

He knocked his fist on her shoulder to settle a truce between them until the end of time. [Name] rolled her eyes and linked their hands in a handshake. Atsumu flashed his iconic smirk and flung his arm across her shoulders. "Well, c'mon, my cute lil' sis, make yerself at home!" his voice rose both in volume and pitch while dragging her with him to the rest of his—their—family.

She forced a strained giggle from between her teeth. "Don't push it, 'Tsumu."

"Don't call me that."

"Good, we're even."

Boxes upon boxes filled with new opportunities that their shared future was meant to bring. It was a home for themselves. A place where comfort was far more than guaranteed, where [Name] could wake up to breakfasts made with love and doze off to his warmth, where Osamu could bask in her presence and feed into every last one of her enchantments.

Blowing out a sigh, she stepped back to gaze at the shelf she'd just finished setting up and decorating with their high-school accomplishments. Osamu slipped a mug filled with coffee into her hands, reminding her to mix it so the pepper spread evenly. "That looks sturdy, darlin'."

"I sure hope so."

The first chortles in a series of endless ones flowed into their home to fill the rooms up with joy and harmony. Osamu turned their bodies towards the mirror she'd set up by the door earlier in the day. The light above their heads shone on the faded scar crossing [Name]'s brow. He kissed the spot, then kissed the taste of spicy bitterness off her lips.

Onigiri Miya had closed for the night as Atsumu whined to his brother about one of his teammates. [Name] clutched the tiny box hidden in her pocket as she contemplated whether she wanted to go through with her impulses while Atsumu served as audience. She'd come this far, she wasn't going to back down because of some idiot with a swelling ego.

"'Samu."

"Oh, hi, love."

"Atsumu."

"Yeah, hey, whatever."

She settled down on one of the empty stools beside Atsumu, kicking his ankle with her heel to make him sit up properly. The snarl he wanted to smack her with disappeared down his throat when he saw her clenching fists on the counter. Her face portrayed her as a composed woman, collected with flat lips and narrowed eyes. Osamu almost radiated sparkles as he smiled to himself while setting two of her favorite onigiri flavors for her.

Her accent slipped when she asked, "D'ya wanna get married?"

Both twins blinked only once as their eyes enlarged into stupefied stares to bore a hole on her face. Like mirror images, they froze and halted their breathing in sync. Atsumu's onigiri, jaw, and heart dropped all at the exact same time. Osamu's stomach filled with billions of butterflies fluttering in excitement and his heart skipped a beat, struggling to breathe underneath all the squeezing she did with just one glimpse of her.

[Name] grumbled to herself at the lack of response. Her hand shot into her pocket and she pulled out the small, velvety box, flicking it open with her thumb. Osamu beamed at the two identical steel rings, simple but classy. "I don't do jewelry, but I wanna get married. Whaddaya say?"

"Of course, let's get married." He chose the ring that he knew with one glance would perfectly fit her finger. He leaned over the counter as his heart beat out of his chest at the prospect of becoming even closer to [Name]. Every kiss became sweeter in the sea of bitterness that was her lips, because the way she charmed him with one single touch had him crawling back for more.

This information is mostly new for everyone at the table. From Osamu's friends and family to [Name]'s sole cousin, the only one aside from the newlyweds aware of this proposal is Atsumu—who muttered Right in front of my onigiri as his brother sucked face with his girlfriend.

Ginjima stares flabbergasted at the couple. "Really? Just like that?"

"Imagine my surprise when this crazy bitch walked in an' proposed to my brother."

And imagining is all they can do, considering that the only evidence of [Name]'s proposal ever actually happening exists merely in the form of security camera tapes. She cackles at their faces, giving a nonchalant shrug. "Yeah, that was about a month ago."

"Now, last but not least—for now—" Osamu calls for the attention to return to him. His arm is tightly wrapped around his wife as she rests her head on his shoulder. His words make a promise for a never-ending future filled with more anecdotes for another dinner table. "I never talked 'bout this, 'cause it just happened, but the story continues like this."

Arrangements didn't take long, mostly because [Name] refused with every cell in her body to abide by traditional rules and make a show out of her wedding. The guest list was quite limited to close friends and Osamu's family—aside from [Name]'s cousin—which in turn allowed for the chosen venue to be relatively small. Osamu covered the catering, his mother covered the simple yet fitting dress, and Atsumu had more fun than he cared to admit while covering the decoration.

Watching her walk down the aisle by his father's arm had Osamu's breath vanishing into his throat. It might have been the atmosphere or the rush of emotions or the mere fact that he loved [Name] with every last inch of his body and mind and existence. He wondered if pronouncing their vows would bind his soul to her for all eternity and beyond, allowing her to do with it as she pleased, like she had done even before holding complete control over him. He didn't care anyway.

He gazed right into the glimmer of her eyes as he announced to the audience and the wind and the world just how much he adored his soon-to-be wife. "I do," he spoke, a voice so pristine and confident because he had no doubt about his feelings.

Hearing her answer back, "I do," sealed the deal for him forever. He knew right then and there that his bet with Atsumu was already won, his life was set, his life couldn't get any better. Her lips tasted as bitter as her personality had been ever since he first heard her sing more than a decade before. They moulded with frightening perfection to his. They stole from him the air in his lungs and the love in his heart. Osamu relinquished his everything to [Name] without hesitation.

Both [Name] and Osamu wear realized simpers as they wrap up the tale of their relationship. From a lovesick crush on her voice, to the intentions behind his friendship, to their respective confessions coming in to slap one another across the face. They've come a long way and they still have a long way to go.

Osamu kisses her brow, and her nose, and her cheekbone, her cheek, her jaw, the bitterness of her lips that he's yet to find out whether it's the wine or [Name] herself. She leans back into her chair, putting up a weak fight to pretend the PDA gets on her nerves. He refuses to cease his barricade of drunk kisses until she bites him. A small peck is all it takes to prevent his pout from forming.

Her fingers snake around his and hold him tightly to never let go. With her free hand, she raises her glass into the air. "Cheers, because now here we are, married to my best and only friend." She downs the last bits of wine that managed to survive through their endless history. "Moral of the story, persevere and you'll succeed."

"Love ya, [Name]." Red-cheeked, his head falls onto her shoulder and buries in her neck. He knows he'll never grow sick of the scent of her skin.

"I know. I don't understand, but I know."

"Don't understand either. Ya might actually be a witch fer all I know."

[Name] can only chuckle, "Love ya, 'Samu." She plants a gentle kiss atop his hair and his heart still skips a beat after years of holding her close. He will forever be wrapped in deadly vines that squeeze the love out of him; all for her, all to fuel her, to enrich her, to feed into her so she carries on. Osamu wouldn't have it any other way.

—あごす (agosu) • 2021

[berryless]

Dead man's dead name

Boothill x @lefossile's Original Female Character Fanfiction (PWP, NC-17 || 1.5k words || smut, fluff, dream sex, a tiniest littlest sprinkle of dirty talk which is really just normal Boothill talk with synesthesia beacon turned off)

Summary:

If intellitrons dream of electric sheep, what should a man mostly dead, mostly metal, very little of flesh and skin dream of? Boothill keeps to himself when it comes to dreams, because what is there to talk about, anyhow, it's not getting the present any different, and why are you asking anyway, you son of a nice lady? What he dreams of is not anyone's motherfudging business to know. … He dreams he is a real man, of blood and flesh, all limbs and organs present; he dreams of being able to feel with his whole body, and not just remembering what a thing it is to feel. He dreams of Taylor. And none of those things are for her to know about.

Read this work on Archive of Our Own.

Taylor flinches when his teeth scrape the nape of her neck, and he laughs into her skin, palms casually picking up and holding her breasts.

"Would you look at that… Someone's damn eager, ain'tcha."

He catches her hardened nipples between his fingers, feeling the way she shudders, squeezing into him from delicious friction between fabric and skin.

"██████…"

His name falling from her mouth is sweet and moist like a freshly baked cupcake. When she calls on him, her mouth opens up in a pretty circle, then stretches, teeth biting on her lower lip to say it right.

"Say it again," he asks without a thought, and Taylor listens.

He frees one hand for that, to catch her chin, finger pressing her lip down.

"Again."

"██████."

"Again…"

She moans the name into his mouth as he leans in to kiss her, stealing it from her lips, licking it clean with his tongue, swallowing it inside and keeping it in his stomach, a beating pulsing thing, his own living music box playing the same maddening melody on repeat.

"You say it so good," he whispers into her ear, arm squeezing her in his embrace, pressing Taylor close to his chest, skin to skin, bodies glued to each other until the barrier between them melts, connecting their flesh together. "So fucking good, baby…"

She laughs, but chokes on a sob as soon as his hand finds its place between her thighs, and he cannot help but hold her tighter when he feels how readily she spreads her legs for him.

She calls him more, moans it, stretches his name until it becomes one long trembling sound, a high note, a song without lyrics that hits the apple of his heart all the same.

"Yes… Yes…" he sighs into her shoulder, into her neck, her ear, lips pressed hot against its shell. "I know, I know. Like it, don't you? Your pussy's dripping wet. Melting right on my fingers… Heh. Bet it tastes just as sweet, hmm? Lemme check it real quick."

He drags his fingers out of her and catches them in his mouth, sucking in the taste of her, and Taylor gasps into his forearm, bites into it, eyes wide and dark, glued to his lips, hungry, eager. It's impossible not to strive to impress the audience that watches over him with such rapt attention he feels the heavy weight of her gaze on his skin. So he makes a show of licking clean each finger for far longer and more thorough than it was ever necessary, and yet Taylor still eats it up.

Fucking adorable.

He squashes her cheeks and drags her in for a kiss, messy and quick, a swift punch of affection against her puffy bright lips.

"What does your sweet pussy want, hmm? Ready for a ride? Or should I stretch you some more?"

His hand cups her stomach, giving it a light squeeze.

"Promised me…a ride of my lifetime," she reminds him, breathless, pushing closer until her lips are kissing his palm. Such a gentle thing she is. Hard for his heart to take it without cracking open.

"That I did," he hums, gaze caught in the trap of her tender warm eyes, drowning like insect in amber.

He lifts her up, holding under her knees, spreading her open.

"Lend a helping hand, will ya?" he asks, kissing her shoulder. "Guide my cock where you want it, sweet."

Her roughened palm rubs against him, the scratch of her callouses forcing him to flinch and curse into her skin, sucking the swear right in mixed with her sweat, leaving only a red dot of it like a censored ink mark.

"Such nice hands you have… I don't mind 'em 'round my thing all year 'round."

She laughs at half-assed compliment and covers him, pressing against her wet pussy. He rocks her lightly, cock dragging slowly between her folds, delicious mix of soft flesh, and thick slick, and rough touches.

"Fuck, feels so good…"

"Don't come yet."

"I won't, I won't. Have to save 'at till I'm inside you."

"Mmn."

"Scared I'll be done too quickly? Don't fret, baby: if I promised, I will deliver. You're not getting off this ride so soon."

She squeezes around him as soon as his tip enters, and he kisses her shoulder again, whispering for her to take her time, because he's not going anywhere, and that she's doing so well, taking him in strides, a literal handful. Taylor laughs a little, this kind of moist, almost sobbing sound, and sinks onto him, ass firmly sitting on his lap. She presses a hand against her own abdomen, and he waits, letting her get used to him, mouth never shutting up, spitting praises.

"Such a good girl," he drags into her ear, and Taylor shivers, falling onto his chest, palm hugging his neck. "You're ready?"

"Yeah…"

"It's okay, I'll start slow."

He moves her with ease, like he's used to the weight, like he's so thoroughly, achingly familiar with the feel of her in his arms it costs nothing, except it's everything—her pliable flesh hugging him snuggly, squeezing so tight, her soft sweet mewls sobbed through raspy gasps, his name on her tongue again, chewed gum between her teeth, filling her mouth same way his cock fills her, lewd and hot. Slowly they fall into motion, action so natural like they've done it dozens of times, connection of bodies echoing into sparks, little burns against their hearts, emotional love bites that scar the flesh, dance of blanks and dots that spell this moment into a silent song for later, for when they're not one solid piece anymore, but still want to remember the now, the present, the moans and the curses, the little tune of names knit into one another, picture perfect still of the moment they're in.

* * *

Boothill wakes up in the middle of it, mouth hot and dry, mind still foggy from pleasure. It's goddamn inconvenient in moments like this that he can't just jump right back into the vivid picture in his head and complete it right, helping himself rubbing it out of his system. He grabs the hipflask and takes a swig, thoroughly swishing his mouth with malt juice. Not the finest kind, this one, but to find it in those boonies at all is already a feat like no other. Though his tongue's still working alright—one of the few things that works of what's left of his flesh—the booze ain't hitting the same those days. There's no effect to it other than the taste, the blissful cloudiness of mind and thought it used to grant him stays forever out of reach no matter how much of it Boothill pours down his throat.

"██████."

The sound falls from his mouth like a rusty bent screw, useless and unrecognizable.

Boothill winces the same way a person with acute bad tooth does—one of the few things he won't experience that he's actually grateful about.

On her tongue it sounded so right. Like it was meant to be put in her mouth.

Before he can think this through, Boothill pulls out his smartphone.

"It's sunrise soon, so rise and shine, baby. Or fall asleep. Not sure what planet you're on right now, so I'll trust you'll choose right thing to do by yourself. You're a smart one, right? Right. No need for me to tell you the obvious. Don't have much else to tell ya, though. Just…thought to leave you something to wake up to. Or to sleep with. Again, whatever you need. That's all. I'm going."

He doesn't say he misses her or something equally sticky and presses send without adding a goodbye. He's not a big fan of those, not that he has lots of people to say them to.

"██████," he tries again, a barely audible whisper as he stares at his phone, waiting for message to be delivered—the connection in those backwoods crawls slower than half-crushed caterpillar. The signal wriggles slightly, sending signs of life, and the annoying running circle continues to spin, spin, spin.

It still doesn't sound right.

It's a dead word, dead name of a person long gone. Ghosts shouldn't say it. Of course it won't fucking sound right.

He puts the phone down, chin pressed against his knee, eyes staring at the wall before him like it's covered in holy scriptures. There's nothing on it, save for a little hole left by a fly he shot with a toothpick evening prior that zooted around the room, not giving him a chance to power off and refill the batteries.

It will never sound right. He knows. He knows it all too well.

And yet a part of him, a little one that Boothill tries to choke and squeeze into the furtherest corner, still wants to hear same thing spelled by her lips.

[alovesreading]

Constant Repeat Teaser 2

A/N: I have realized that I’m just way too impatient to wait until I’m done with Constant Repeat to share it with you so here’s another little taste of what’s coming to you guys on February 3rd!

Posted the first teaser last month but now I’ll leave you with a bunch of little excerpts that I love from this story. 

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist if you haven’t already! See you on the 3rd! x

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She chuckled and turned to him, hugging herself a little bit tighter, “So easy for you to say, Mr. England.”

He fully laughed this time, her smile getting bigger after the sound left his lips, “Fair enough, Ms. California.”

At that she looked at him, a slight smirk on her face and shook her head, “Ms. Tennessee, actually.”

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Alex took his chance then to interrogate her, “So Ellie, I couldn’t help but notice how you knew all the lyrics to the songs…”

She rolled her eyes at him, blushing slightly but this time because she had been caught. “Well, after filming Brick by Brick I started listening to your music. You aren’t that bad, I guess.” She smirked and shrugged, downplaying it.

He shook his head, puffing his chest out to say, “We are very far from bad, actually.”

She nodded and then sarcastically added, “And from humble too.”

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Matt followed the trail of his eyes and smirked, “Alexa would get on with her quite nicely, don’t you think?”

Alex turned quickly at the mention of his girlfriend and then rolled his eyes at his friend’s antics, “Piss off, Helders.”

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Matt opened his mouth, seeing the perfect opportunity laid out in front of him so he asked in a tone that said he was up to no good, “Ella! Have you ever ridden a motorbike?”

She shook her head, “Nope, but they seem fun though.”

The biggest, most satisfied grin made its way to the drummer’s face then, “Oh I’m sure Alex would love to take you for a ride.”

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

He squeezed her to wake her up and whispered in her ear, “Ella, darling, let’s go inside.”

Humming, she gave him a lazy nod. “Five more minutes please,” she mumbled against his chest before resting her chin on it to look up at him, and smiling softly with her eyes struggling to stay open.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

“Really Ella? You couldn’t get more American.” Matt had said the second he saw the turquoise Natural American Spirit cigarette pack.

Alex giggled, “What does organic cigarettes even mean?”

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

Alex’s heart dropped, thinking about all the possibilities of something happening to her, “I’m gonna text her and see if she’s okay.”

“Well, she probably isn’t after she’s played cupid against herself.”

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

Alex took a long sip of the beverage before he cleared his throat, “You should get ready, we’re going out in a little bit.”

Ella frowned, the cup slowly leaving her lips. “But–” she turned to Jamie then, who was still standing beside her, “Didn’t we not have plans?” 

Jamie smirked, looking from Ella to Alex, “We didn’t.”

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“A picture would last you longer, Alex.” Ella played, as she scrolled on her phone. 

His cheeks heated slightly, “It would. Quite gutted I’m driving right now.”

She blushed but leaned into the console to get closer to him and kissed his cheek, “Your memory better do then.”

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

Alex shook his head, walking a few steps to try and grab the bottle from her hand. “Ellie, you’re not, I pro–”

The interruption was now a loud and short laugh, like she was making fun of his attempt of an answer. “Don’t even lie, Alex. You did the same thing.”

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

Ella sighed, almost tired but she wasn’t gonna back down now, “Miles I think someone needs to teach you to put your mouth to a better use. I can think of a few things.” 

That made gasps and laughs break out inside the room, Ella giggled along because she was surprised she had actually said that. 

Miles tried playing his cards then, “Wait– are you– are you offering? Because I'm down.”

That made Ella laugh hard, but not loud enough to miss Alex’s stern, “Fuck off, Miles.”

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

“I cannot believe I’m actually going to the UK.” She said breathlessly. 

Matt chuckled, “Ellie you’re fucking seeing us at Glastonbury, it sounds cooler like that.”

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

The speakers blasted the song all over again, making Ella sway her hips softly to it. Mumbling the lyrics under her breath, she went to stand beside Alex and nudged him gently with her hip, “This is a banging tune.”

Alex smirked looking at her and then back to where Ben was working his magic with the camera, “Oh well,” he shrugged nonchalantly, “You’re a great muse.”

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

“You are about to get married,” she pointed at the bassist first and then to the guitarist, “And you just got engaged, so don’t talk shit when you’re the same.”

“Well I didn’t just suck my boyfriend off in the bathroom, so I can definitely talk shit.” Jamie was quick to reply back, making her roll her eyes.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

A/N: Words cannot describe how fucking excited I am to share this all with you!!! I’ve loved writing this story for the past nine months and it continues to make me screech every time I add more to it or read back to my favorite moments. 

I’ll be posting Part 1 on the 3rd, Part 2 will be coming on the 10th and after that you’ll have a new part every other week, just so there’s plenty of Constant Repeat to last us for a while :)

Thank you so much for reading and I’ll be very eagerly waiting for February 3rd to arrive! 

[liquidluckdrabblechallenge]

Liquid Luck Drabble & Art Challenge | Survey Results

Hi!

First of all, a big thank you to the people that filled out the survey! ❤️

Here are the results! If you don’t feel like reading it all, scroll to the bottom and there are the results/changes in short.

1. Favourite / Least favourite prompts

The least favourite type of prompt turned out to be songs. I am not saying we will never have a song prompt again, because I still want to keep the option open for people to send in songs. But, because of it being the least favourite prompt, and phrases and quotes being one of the more popular prompts, I have decided to change things up.

From now on the prompt I post on the 16th won’t be ‘photo/art/song’, but ‘photo/art/song lyric’. Might sound like the same thing, but with song lyrics I mean one or two sentences. Say I pick Toxic by Britney Spears, the prompt could be for example ‘A guy like you should wear a warning’, or ‘ With a taste of your lips, I'm on a ride’. If you like the quote/phrase prompts, see it as a random quote/phrase, absolutely no need to use the actual song or its meaning as inspiration. If you like song prompts, definitely feel free to use the whole song as the prompt. Hopefully this gives you more of a choice! And feel free to send in any lyrics you’d like to see as a prompt (preferably just one or two sentences).

2. Do you want to be tagged when there’s a new prompt?

So turns out most of you see all of the prompts, so that’s good! No need for a tag list just yet. But if Tumblr decides to change things up again and you start missing prompts, let me know and we’ll see again if a tag list is needed.

3. Do you prefer an ongoing challenge (like the Liquid Luck Drabble & Art Challenge) or events with a deadline (like Liquid Luck Never Have I Ever / Liquid Luck Roll The Dice)?

Most people answered both. So we are definitely keeping the Drabble & Art Challenge, and we’ll still have some of our inbetween events. Also, most people didn’t seem to prefer either a 1-month challenge or a longer challenge. So as I’m planning events, I’ll figure out what works best for each challenge.

4.  Would you like to see another round of Liquid Luck Roll The Dice Challenge or Liquid Luck Never Have I Ever?

Answers were split between Roll The Dice, Never Have I Ever, neither and both. So seeing as Roll The Dice got the most answers for now, we are definitely doing another round of that. We’re actually pretty close to starting the Winter Edition, so keep an eye out for that! And as for the rest, we’ll figure it out later. Maybe we’ll do another Never Have I Ever, maybe not. Maybe we’ll find a new challenge. Who knows. 🤷

5.  What would be your preferred time of the year to have an event with a deadline?

Most people answered ‘I don’t care’, but a few people mentioned that they’d like there to be an option to combine it with other challenges. That is always an option for Liquid Luck challenges, so feel free to combine it with anything else you see (if the other mods are okay with it too). And the Winter Edition of Roll The Dice will be a longer challenge so hopefully it can be combined with a few other challenges over the coming months!

5. Any other thoughts?

I so appreciated your kind words, so thank you for that!! I also appreciated the negative feedback, and I will definitely take them on board. I’ve changed song prompts, I’m trying to plan things that are most liked. So hopefully that will make a small difference. There was, however, one comment I’m not sure what to do with. Maybe others can help out with this? People mentioned that there is just not enough interaction with het/gen works in this challenge. Now, I’m posting prompts and sharing this challenge everywhere I can think of, hoping that it will make people come to the blog and check out all the works. But, unfortunately there is indeed very little interaction (likes, reblogs etc.), and not just for gen/het works, but for 99% of the works. I have no idea what else I can do, so maybe I can ask people to share the works they like, or to share some prompts to hopefully help grow our little challenge and make more people come to the blog and check out the works? Or if anyone has other suggestions, definitely let me know! I don’t want people to create something and feel like it’s not appreciated, so if anyone has suggestions, please let me know.

In Short :

Song prompts will be song lyric prompts from now on, for now there will be no tag list, and a new round of Liquid Luck Roll The Dice is coming soon!

Thanks again, and if you have any other thoughts, feel free to let me know in a message or an (anonymous) ask.

❤️

[yukiakaren]

Kpop title track ranking: THE BOYZ

In this series I’ll be ranking kpop groups/soloists title tracks based on my taste.

This one is more for me to actually listen to all of these songs fully. I have actively only listened to two of these (spoiler: the top two xD) but had listened all of them before at some point and remembered at least the choruses for most of them.

Reveal - This time at least picking the favorite was easy. It's Reveal without a question. It was the first The Boyz songs I actually started listening to and it has held up its place at the top this whole time.

Roar - I have to say I was very positively surprised when this was released. I liked it immediately and it does show in this list as well. Very nice song with this dark-type of concept. Definitely up my alley and deserves this second place.

Watch It - Well this one took me by surprise as I listened to it after it was released but didn't think much of it. But now after couple listens I have to say I really like it! EDIT: So... I became obsessed with this one xD Let's see how that impacts the placement in a long run but I had to move it above The Stealer, hence the edit.

The Stealer - I guess I had too high expectations after Reveal to have something similar and hence I did not like this originally. But now listening to it I can say I've changed my mind and really like it!

No Air - Simple but also catchy and easy to listen. Very nice, very nice.

Giddy Up - Oh this is a fun one! Very enjoyable for sure.

Right Here - Another fun one. Also catchy which is something I tend to appreciate xD

Bloom Bloom - Somehow quite adorable and it ended up passing couple others that I expected to be above it on the list.

D.D.D - Cheerful and catchy.

Boy - A perfectly fine debut song.

Thrill Ride - Yup, not the type of fun song that I like from them. I don't really know why but it annoys me more than anything else. I guess it's the sound in the chorus?

Lip Gloss - For this one the downfall are the lyrics. And to many of them are in English so they are hard to ignore. However, I'd rather listen to this one than the next two so I guess I can forgive the lyrics more than the problems in the next ones.

Maverick - Unlike with The Stealer I did not change my mind about Maverick. It just isn't my thing. The raps starting the verses aren't for me but the chorus is truly the worst offender here.

Whisper - Well this one is even worse on the annoyingness scale than Thrill Ride. No thanks, I'm good without this one.

I have to also mention Drink It. It was such a cool one but got wasted by being released on that Universe app.

[bloodletterepicness]

Troubled thoughts and an unhealthy amount of angry drinking lead me from the pit and in the direction of the caverns...This was a mistake, one to surely cause me problems later and yet I keep my feet moving as I sloppily tilt a half empty bottle of Goose to my lips. Maybe that was where I took a wrong turn tonight...seven bottles of vodka and making horrible fucking decisions. Not the best combo but what the fuck, why not? So here I am, half fucking lit, a letter in my pocket and another crate of liquid mistakes tucked under my right arm. My feet slow to a stop when the scents of the cavern below waft up and fill my nostrils, bringing back memories I’d rather keep locked away. The hairs on my neck stand on end, a rough growl resonates in my chest as the emotions battle within. To distract myself from these memories I hastily switch the bottle of Goose to my right hand and pull earbuds from the pockets of my black jeans with my left. I put them in my ears and just hit play, letting the shuffle of my phone randomly pick a song. My shitkickers make contact with the smooth ebony marble floor and I uncaringly drop the crate of booze to the floor not giving two fucks as glass shards spill out across the glossy finish. I do however snag an undamaged bottle from it, better to have too much than not enough. I open the bottle and lift it up as my head falls back to let the burning liquid funnel straight down my throat until not a drop is left. A wicked grin curls the ends of my lips up showing a hint of lethal canines as a raging inferno spreads throughout my veins, causing a burning hum just beneath my flesh in a way that only copious amounts of alcohol can cause. My eyes slowly close while I let the first notes of the song wash over, the truth of the lyrics and the beat hitting me in a way that music has never done to me before. 

‘Insane, inside

The danger gets me high

Can't help myself

Got secrets I can't tell’

The music falls over me and my fingers, locked safely away under the specialized leather, start moving in rhythm with the beat and then onto my broad shoulders covered only by my black T-shirt move in tune. I drop the empty bottle to the ground, the sound of breaking glass echoing in the cavern but not loud enough for me to hear. I remove my hand from its leather captivity and toss the glove onto the altar. I chuckle into the music filled silence while flames burst to life from my palm.

‘I love the smell of gasoline

I light the match to taste the heat

I've always liked to play with fire

Play with fire’

I've always liked to play with fire’

My head falls back between my moving shoulders, crystalized white eyes closed and I let the beats feed me like the Goose previously had, mingling with my blood, pounding with my heart, energizing me. Before I knew it I was belting out the words, hitting the chords with a roll of my hips and an exaggerated drunken swagger. At this moment I became motherfucking Freda Astair…Or at least in my skull I was. I raised my head and let my body sway to the sound and then my booted feet matched the sentiment. The cave turned into a blazing inferno as I swung around, letting my flaming hand match the highs of the chorus. If anyone chose this moment to visit the caverns, death would greet them in an incinerating way. 

‘I ride (I ride) the edge (the edge)

My speed goes in the red

Hot blood (hot blood), these veins (these veins)

My pleasure is their pain

I love to watch the castles burn

These golden ashes turn to dirt

I've always liked to play with fire

Play with fire

Play with fire

Fire, fire

I've always liked to play with fire

Oh, watching as the flames get higher

Oh, I've always liked to play with’

Before I even realized there was an added glow to the room, my diamond eyes decided to join the musical and they cast a wicked shadow across the budding walls of fire around me. In my present state, realizing anything wasn’t going to fucking happen, hell I was dancing and who the hell thought that was a possibility? In this space of time nothing mattered, there was no one, or a single existence that could penetrate. I allowed myself to unload in a way that I never had. The deity power within me was at an all time high and if this was any other time, I would almost worry that my mere flesh and bones couldn’t contain them, but now I let them have free reign. It all happened in unison, flames, eyes blazing and my body slid to the bass coming up through the soles of my feet and making every hair on my six foot, eight frame to stand on end. Broad shoulders kept in tune to the pulse of my eardrums being filled with musical gold. 

‘Right of passage classic maverick

Match in the gas tank oh that's wretched

Unstoppable legendary animals

Digital justice

Now you're gonna know us

Hail to the king and queen of the ruckus

Yacht Money wired

No denying

I've always liked to play with fire

Play with fire

(I've always liked to play with fire)

Play with fire

(I've always liked to play with fire)

Fire, fire

I've always liked to play with fire

I've always liked to play with fire

(I've always liked to play with)’

I licked my lips before spitting out the next part, I’m sure that I sounded like hell but again, no fucks given. It was the painfully elongated fangs that scraped over my already cut up mouth while the words ripped from me, that left a trail of thick red to slip down my stubbled chin making a mess in my wake, and the mind numbing scent intensified the whole scene. My skin fizzled as the fire licked away at me, leather heating up to almost unbearable temps and yet the cave walls could handle everything I threw at them. I could almost see my silhouette as I did another somewhat graceful glide along the ground and came back to where I started. I braced my hands on the altar and hoisted myself up on it, standing with shitkickers braced apart and me performing as if there was an audience before me. I guess in a way there was, my very own blood, light and fire, overfilled the hollowed out space. I was a one man motherfucking show and I played into it hard on this night. The connection to the words had started something and I had every intention of finishing it. With my hips moving in time and my own deep voice almost breaking through the earbuds, I let my neck get in with the action and by the time the end was coming, and I could so fucking feel it in my gut, I landed on my knees, slamming down hard enough that the solid foundation shook and both hands gripped at the edge with a deathhold. 

‘Right of passage classic maverick

Match in the gas tank oh that's wretched

Unstoppable legendary animals

Digital justice

Now you're gonna know us

Hail to the king and queen of the ruckus

Yacht Money wired

No denying

I've always liked to play with fire

Play with fire

(I've always liked to play with fire)

Play with fire

(I've always liked to play with fire)

Fire, fire

I've always liked to play with fire

I've always liked to play with fire

(I've always liked to play with)’

I was breathing heavy enough the spit coated my sore lips and my rib caged protested with the deep heavy gasp tearing from my overused lungs. I felt alive and drained all at the same exact moment. I wanted to rip each misshapen rock from the walls, while needing to hibernate and go comatose for several solid hours. It was my body that finally decided the mental war as my legs gave out and I landed on my back laying on the cold hard slab. I locked my piercing white eyes on the curved ceiling and watched as the shadows of my powers slowly calmed, just as I did, flames lowered to a sizzling degree and the illumination settled to an eerie level. It was the most deliciously epic type of exhaustion that encompassed me and I gladly gave into it right there on the altar of the Brotherhoods Secret caverns.

[worldsover]

Neither Here Nor There ft. Karina, Winter

length ✦ 4875

genres ✧ what if “Next Level” were a threesome; strangers!Jimin and Minjeong

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Now, the world turns serene.

This strange electric pang hits the heart of collective humanity. A fallen power line in a pool and all men shed a tear. All men would bawl if they knew you only learned their names halfway. Jimin. Minjeong. Jiminjeong?

And the halfwayness is so half-baked that you only half-grasp halfway as between somewhere and somewhere else: the bar and your apartment; the elevator and your front door; the full and empty glass bottle, its glassy liquid burning down to your stomach like molten silica dioxide.

They partake in a few. A third for one, a third for two, then a third for you. Must burn for them too. On your tip, two small red lips dab their hue. Neck deep, you feel a brilliant gray and see the same view. On your bedroom floor, black dresses match, one spotted and one strappy. On your cock, Jimin jiggles with a happy, lyrical bounce. Naturally, her breasts draw attention to themselves, free of tight fabric. She soars and settles back down on the base of your shaft, her grippy pussy doing its grippy thing.

Your neck hurts. Lying on the bed, you have to watch the sight unfold before you. It's watching fireworks at sunset, her tits and clingy folds both attention-seizing images. Her face too. She leapt straight out of manhwa then back into naughtier comics. Jimin becomes an archetypal perverted work of art—her eyes cross, tongue droops, cock splits her long lissom legs on either side of the bed. And her ass?

It's for Minjeong, submissive and on her knees, bowing for her object of worship: Jimin's tight delectable butthole. You only had a wet ring finger in there earlier, an ideal engagement, but Minjeong the lucky girl gets a whole tongue. A syzygy occurs when Jimin is at the peak of her bounce, her cunt around the head of your dick. Minjeong makes eye contact with you then presents her tongue which drips with slick from your shaft before she sends it back inside that addicting asshole.

Who's to say who's in charge? The moon should be responsible for the tides, but that’s just one interpretation. Earth keeps the water down and the water keeps itself together. Harmonic resonances of ins and outs, ups and downs, peaks and valleys of bliss synchronize naturally. "I need a taste of that right now," you command, but don't get it confused; you're at the whims of the seas.

Jimin and Minjeong both race to your mouth. You aren't done with Jimin's pussy though, so you smack her ass. The first strike is too playful, so you slap again with more force. “Wh-what’s wrong?” she asks, and you tell her to get back to her place on your cock. Instead of her previous cowgirl, she rides you reverse, flaunting that butt, your pale red handprint, and her asshole, winking and reminiscing Minjeong’s work.

Minjeong shows that work off, and you mostly detect the familiar tang of Jimin's pussy, though the subtlety of flavor is lost on less discerning chefs like yourself. Minjeong and you drool into each other's mouths with an aggressive kiss. Now it's all salty anyway. She scoots her adorable ass from the side to sitting on your tummy, her mouth never leaving yours.

Apace like a valve to your piston, Jimin fucks herself onto you until every image is a blur, until her lungs have no air to give. And at that limit, Jimin unsheathes your cock.

Slowing down, she and Minjeong form a mirror of sweaty bouncing asses, your dick as the plane of reflection. Her fingers rub her folds while her pert asscheeks push against Minjeong's to trap you in sinful pressure. Your shaft’s sole respite is when it pokes out between the two butts, and its cry is a shot of precum. You'd cry some primal growl or groan too, but Minjeong captures all of your vocalizations.

Jimin lets your dick breathe some more and gets on her knees by the foot of the bed, the same as Minjeong earlier. Her hands are little reprieve though: the slow massage on your balls isn't careful enough for how sensitive you are. Everything is sensitive. The LED clock is the sun, the crickets are stadium roars, and each finger is a prod into your soul whenever Minjeong digs into your back. She bucks her cheeks down until your cock moves forth on Jimin's pristine face. Minjeong smirks.

It is an unfounded smugness: Jimin's makeup is already ruined and Minjeong floods from a little friction.

Like waking up in the morning, like wasting time on your phone, it's all so natural, almost choreographed. Minjeong’s cunt is cozy despite the asphyxiating snugness. But it's so comfortable, you can't just lie down in your bed anymore, especially not as Jimin toys with herself on the floor.

"Up here," you say as you straighten your posture.

It's a tight fit, but they're tight women. Jimin finds a way to grind herself on your thighs while Minjeong locks you with her legs. You've never met the girl, but at any moment, your willpower could slip and you could end your night inside of her, then end your life as you know it becoming a father. Your mind only concerns itself with these intricacies for a flicker, then moves on because of the two girls that straddle you and use your body to orgasm.

After all, there's plenty of other places to cum. For example, two pretty faces. An intimidating beauty with sharp eyes and perfect proportions for cum to drip down and an adorable visage with a button puppy nose, soft peach mochi cheeks, and tiny lips that want to pout and pucker.

And who are you to deny what Minjeong wants? When she lifts herself off your dick, she exhales with a shiver, as though her nakedness is in the stark winter. One of Jimin’s eyebrows falls, but Minjeong replaces the confusion with a renewed lust when they kiss. Your erection doesn’t go down even if you’re just a chair for two strangers to make out on. The inevitable has never been so arousing; the idea that those sloppy mouths are going to do the exact same thing on your shaft. Then again, it’s not a covenant written in stone or words. It’s just a premonition, an inkling that fate was always going to conspire to turn your cock into the third member of some three-piece smooching band.

Between quivered moans and tongues tied, Minjeong says, “You’re such a good kisser.”

“Thanks,” Jimin says. “I’m wondering, do your lips taste better? Or his cock.” She shoots a concupiscent glare at you. Your dick throbs.

Wait.

Gray haziness becomes the planet Mars crashing down, lips like its ferrous regolith drowning your dick in spit, washing away its pre-cum. Premonitions are supernatural assumptions; this is a rotation in your mind. They already sucked your dick, or maybe all the cowgirl stuff happened before that. Close your eyes and focus.

But that’s the very thing.

Magicians are experts at showing one hand so translucently that you have to look at the other hand. However, that second hand hides no secrets either. That was all part of the trick, to ensure that you aren’t looking at the hole in the table. Alcohol is like a magician. You’ll pay for the show tomorrow morning with a splitting headache. Haphazard kisses around your cock and red herrings of tonight’s chronology make you unable to name the minute they started doing it. Even further than that, alcohol distracts you and makes you care about dumb things like continuity of consciouness when you're getting a double blowjob.

Minjeong continues her mouth’s assault, particularly focused on the leaky head of your dick, and Jimin starts twisting. Not only do her hands twist around Minjeong, exploring the irresistible lithe body, but she also twists her tongue. There is no single, tasting lick. At once, she endeavours to have your whole erection clean.

If she licked your whole body and slathered you in spit the same way, would you give up your showers? Steeped in constant pleasure, your mind can’t help but wander like this. Especially since Minjeong’s stopped kissing—oh no—and started sucking on your tip with the same desperation as a parched woman in a desert.

“Oh yes.” You groan and shut your eyes. It doesn’t last long, visual temptations abound.

Antarctica is a desert. It doesn’t get any rainfall. You shiver and your mind wanders these strange cold places again. Air conditioning blasts too high in the interrogation room where Minjeong and Jimin could be the good cop and the bad cop routine. “You’re fucked either way,” Jimin would say with her acerbic tongue. And after a moment to let the tension stew, Minjeong would dismiss the bad cop and say, “I can help you get out of this.” They would both leave, more heat would stew. Then the two female investigators would put their heads together for a solution. Then their lips, then their tongues.

They act as though they were always in love and always needed somewhere to release that tension. Whether they were best friends, sisters, or strangers, you neither know nor harbor a hunger to find out because your cock is in the way of their kiss regardless.

Jimin’s tongue slides around, right under your cock’s tip’s edge, and Minjeong stops trying so hard to get her prize from your sensitive slit, her lips verging downwards to receive Jimin.

They could be the master and apprentice. Certified, expert dick sucker and doe-eyed rookie. Jimin’s earlier skill with her fingers on your ballsack is no outlier. Her mouth sucks and licks up all of her own spit that drips down and gargles so deliciously on your swelling flesh that she must be the expert.

But Minjeong couldn’t possibly be the rookie. She backs up and starts her performance. The face Minjeong makes is too perfect, like her bashfulness is merely an act. She looks at your dick all curiously, almost cross-eyed. In a trance by the same hypnotic danger as a black mamba. She starts with an experimental lick. The tip of her tongue pokes out between her lips; it leaves a tiny wet spot of spit on your shaft. That short yet eager tongue makes a simple line up and along your length. And then, she stops. Right under the cockhead, her eyes flutter, as though she's asking whether she's doing this right, but soon she nods, paints a little more saliva, and answers her own question—yeah, I'm doing this right, this is it.

All she's said out loud is "Ahhhh."

A round of applause is almost appropriate for the adorable thing. But you haven’t cum yet.

Past all your inventions about these two people you’ve never met, they become equals with one gag, then Jimin’s eye twitches. Two gags—Minjeong spends a little longer—coughs up a whole dribble of saliva—Jimin again, she closes her eyes this time—breaks a barrier in the back of her mouth. It’s a shift—a satisfying click—and then a more satisfying sight of your dick giving her neck a prominence. Not to be outdone, Minjeong does the same. They fight and tussle, your dick whips left then right as it pops out of one mouth—finds its way to the other.

One breath, then two, but it’s back to one held long.

For all of Minjeong’s innocent enthusiasm, Jimin is the inexorable conductor to make your body sing. Minjeong watches in awe as Jimin’s gags become calculated maneuvers. Her throat milks your cock in each tightening choke to the same rhythm that her head bobs up and down. It’s slow, but it wins the race with steadiness. Your climax doesn’t come at you fast; there is no exponential growth to pierce some fragile ceiling. It’s that unwavering wavering of your every muscle and joint. Minjeong stops being a bystander and starts following her teacher in cleaning up the mess of spittle and pre-cum that Jimin inevitably lets slip past her mouth.

Then a gun rings in the distance.

Kilometers of photographic words of carnality too much for your susceptible senses to truly comprehend the pillows of lips which never end or the wild pressure and wet pleasure of gravity that shoots you into orbit and swirls your head like the spirits tonight and swirls your hormones so restlessly that you want it to stop but you don’t really and you can’t really because what you want doesn’t matter since it’s up to them to lead your exploding soul through the promised land past the impenetrable blackness before the ardent shout of exultation towards a duo of mellifluous seraphs who suck so thoroughly wantonly though it would’ve been just one as the other couldn’t wait in kingdom come to let the dumb king cum alone or to let the fallen seraphim exercise her kind's sin of sharp tongued greed for your bracing load yet somehow you descend further than that morning star ever has where damned be the heart you thump to bump to shake to release all that sticky and white half into a throat then you slip out to a gag of that gun half cocked while half goes into two mouths as though three halves turned whole when two holes become one with three people from the relentless viscous globs of spit and semen as they collect their tithe while you writhe like a bad fish flopped out of water on the stained bed on the next level on the floated clouds that patter and pepper and crash with thunder cracks without lightning flash because this will never end and nothing is promised but if the universe had to make a promise then it would tell you that this infinity was inevitable and the only thing that could be promised when everything is false as if a tree of lightbulbs instead of leaves leaves leaves when it shouldn’t have and it stings its galvanic sting at a short circuit in the series like muscles and nerve are resistors and wire, why’re you still here.

You don’t cry when that power line falls anyway.

“Fuck that was a lot of cum,” Jimin says. It comes out gurgled with the semen in her throat. The furrow in her features display a slight frustration—this cum should’ve all been mine.

“Hey, you good?” Minjeong asks you, cum coloring her lips white.

“Yeah, that was just intense.” But the answer goes in one ear, out the other as they’re off again in their own land, kissing, this time with your load as a further distraction. They swap back and forth, dilute it with spit while still keeping its sticky slovenly essence.

It’s in that very act that your cock doesn’t lose an inch, even with all the semen you provide, even if your balls should shrivel up and beg for rest. When Jimin and Minjeong beg with their eyes and a string of cum between their lips, your body is not as interested in worldly limitations.

They both get on their hands and knees on the bed. Minjeong backs up, makes sure her ass sticks out just right, while Jimin wiggles and stretches her toes and feet. At a crossroads, unsure about whether to turn left or right, you ignore the stop sign and go straight, bringing each hand to their pink folds.

Under closer examination, you make note of the differences. Minjeong is a rough, slippery thing. A simple circle of your thumb around her lips is swallowed up by her pussy quickly with one false move. It’s quicksand; you could be stuck forever in that hole. With Jimin’s cunt, you really have to unearth it, an innie you have to spread apart to get a full feel of her flower.

Alternating between the two, the decision isn’t that important because you’re in paradise either way. But it’s so unimportant, you’re in the middle of fucking Jimin, pulling her long hair and bringing her head up so that you could see a sliver of her eyes as they roll over in ecstasy—and you don’t even know when you started doing it, if she’s the one you started with.

Again, the alcohol plays tricks on you. It does not matter. Pound and plunge. While your one hand twirls dark hair, the other tries not to fall into a dripping snare and rubs Minjeong’s clit with the same vigor that you give Jimin.

Jimin whimpers, moans and mewls. A high-pitched whiny noise and it brings you out of this world as much as her tightness does. Now you have two pets, or at least slutty kinky girls who play the part. A coquettish kitten who pounces on you when you find her in heat, now she wraps your shaft in silken cream with each shove of her ass backwards. She purrs and lets her head fall to the bed while her cat-curious hands reach back and search for her little death in orgasm. Meanwhile, your puppy feels lonely. Clingy little things, they feel time pass much faster—besides, Jimin’s already playing with herself and gets to have your cock filling her up—so when Minjeong whines and weeps for some attention, you give it to her. One smack. Two. Bad puppy.

You’re a bad owner, because you reward bad behavior. Leave Jimin and dip your cock in Minjeong. Her desperate cunt holds your shaft for dear life and you fuck her in the doggystyle she pleads for. Paws scratch and dig at the sheets.

“Tsk. Bad girl.”

And so you dip again into Minjeong. Sometimes it’s minutes of the same pistoning position, sometimes you give one prod to the left, one shove into the right, a brand-new concoction mixed on your cock, stirred by loud and wet sounds. Of all the drinks to inebriate you…

Every voice, already tired and low, becomes muddled by the sploshing whenever your hips hit their ass at your deepest point. Weak, they stop bothering with the animalistic hands and knees position, both lying prone on the bed. You continue your short dunks of your tip, longer dives of your cock for a single ripple of flesh.

Memories resurface, the pictures of every girl you never asked out with fear of rejection. You imagine having been classmates with either one of these girls. You could see Jimin as the president of some haughty club with all the popular girls, Minjeong, a shy quirky girl who sits next to you in the lecture hall but is just as out of your league. Your cock finds the best angles to stimulate them—the full length into Jimin while your Minjeong-lubed finger teases Jimin's dark ring further, the tip taking shallow baptisms into Minjeong to provide as much friction as possible.

Those fears seem so unfounded now. More earthly realities pull you back in. You figure they’re tired, but when you stop for a breath, you hear protests.

“Keep going.”

“Please, I wanna cum, let me cum on your cock.”

“Not… enough…”

“Fuck me. Fuck me, fuck, ff… fu—”

You pluck one of them out. It takes too long for you to realize it’s Jimin, a choice you made at random. The length of the night must be getting to you as well, even as you sober up in exercise. Though Jimin rests her head on your shoulder when you pick her up, she gives a smile and a nod, setting her feet down on the ground. The two of you stand. Even if you have inches on her height, she glances up in a way that makes her seem as face-to-face as possible. You kiss her, and two of you become a pinball around the room. Eventually, Jimin ends up on the wall. A few thrusts between her thighs smother the upside of your shaft with her pussy, but it’s so late in the night, everyone on some crumbling edge, there isn’t a point to foreplay. Insert.

You bring all your strength to your core, down to your loins, so that every journey of your cock inside her walls travels up into her womb, so that she feels vividly the wall behind her. Up, and up, and up, the flesh on flesh on wallpaper reverberates throughout the room.

It catches the attention of a crawling puppy.

At first Minjeong kisses you at your heels, nips at it. She was lonely before, but now she’s mad. Her master abandoned her, threw her away for another pet. It’s funny, any semblance of roleplay is gone from you and Jimin’s minds. All you’re thinking about is cum, her cum, your cum, any cum is welcome while everything else is deleted. It’s that focused force, the relentless rhythm that makes Jimin’s eyes gloss over. Minjeong kneels beneath the two of you, and her exploratory tongue licks every so often between your shaft and Jimin’s gripped lips. Yet you worry for naught but Jimin’s walls which constrict and tremble around your dick to an accelerating beat. Therefore, to expedite the process, your mouth takes in Jimin’s svelte neck.

With enough lip suction to leave a world map of purple on her tender flesh, you overload Jimin's nerves. For the many motions to tantalize her erogenous zones, your two hands clasp into hers and the subtle grip becomes a grip unto her whole body. She cries out, "Fuuck! Cumming!" as though some hold on her lung is released. But what surprises you and Minjeong the most is the dam that breaks and outflows a clear liquid that wets your crotch while it almost drowns Minjeong on land. You do not abate your thrusts into Jimin’s pussy to ensure that her orgasm and subsequent squirting lasts forever. Minjeong does a good job of keeping up, even as she has to close her eyes and hold her breath to continue lapping up Jimin’s wetness.

Slacken the pace as Jimin locks her legs around you. Despite the slowed rhythm, avarice still has you fucking her spent pussy while you carry her to the bed. It takes a final, covetous plop to unwrap her from you. Cream drips with clearer fluids on your shaft. Jimin shuts her eyes and unwinds the last bit of tension in her body while Minjeong looks up at you with doe eyes.

“C-can you carry me like that too?”

“Of course.”

You count three blinks; that’s the time you keep your gentleness as you park Minjeong’s feet on your shoulders, her cunt all over your cock. When you open your eyes that last time, you’re ramming Minjeong into the wall with even more force than Jimin. Maybe those flowers might fall from the bedside. You have enough sweetness in Minjeong’s sweat and musk. Any coyness in her voice is soon replaced with a singer’s laments, impressive moans and whimpers, almost as impressive as Jimin sleeping through the ordeal.

As a cramp begins to exhaust your legs, you bring Minjeong to the mattress, then drop her. A quick nod from her, and you shove your hips. Again, her legs are up, but this time with her back on a cushioned surface, you can use every last mote of stamina to honor the name of the mating press.

In this fervor of plunges, groans, and sweat drenching your sheets, Jimin’s eyelids widen. She frowns a bit but she gets up and approaches from behind the two of you. Look back, and you find Jimin enthralled by the way you manage to drive into Minjeong. Jimin approaches, her inquisitive hand feeling your balls, your ass and Minjeong’s, and you realize she is an omen.

While she nears, pulsations and flocks of rhapsody looms as well. “Fucking, cum, inside you,” you murmur.

“P-please.” Minjeong’s puppy eyes. That’s all you need.

Your cock pulsates. Faster. faster, more, because this is the finality, the second or third but certainly final finality. Make this one count. Make Minjeong’s petite tits red with your slaps, make her toes curl, make her mouth sing your name with the profane before you bend down and take that mouth into yours.

Then close your eyes.

You’ve never met Minjeong before tonight, but you fuck her like you miss her, like it’s your first time, your last, and your only. The systemic collapse starts with a spark in your loins, soaked and pressed and pumped by Minjeong’s tightness. From there, the spark spreads out, and your legs shake, and your arms grab her tight as your kiss. It ends in your brain, but it stays and ricochets around in your skull, with bursts that recreate every fantasy in one burst. Her mouth slips from yours, trails up your cheek, kisses and sucks on your ear.

This is how you cum.

Cum again?

Cry in striations and fly high in lightning and dine on chimeric beasts of lust and temptation with a climax, like you die alone then revive in elation lest exhalation is last and everlasting until gasps exact passing your passing and pressing and throttling your cock with the walls of pink satin which patinas its passion and rising in paschal passion not passive at all but impossibly active so past any practical action your past axed and nixed and null and void and toyed with fingers in prickles and blistering skin which ripples, and bask in the limelight and the sour and sweet of it all as a musk and pulse and skip and impulse that skips your better thoughts for letters which have to spell out that you will breed and you will pump until the brim and even more as you pervade and permeate her very skin which wraps as taut as unyielding as her hole as renitant as a vice that suffices to clasp and clutch and couple and feed on your shaft that begs and begs and pleads and sends the moon down to earth to your heart which swears it’ll give out but the profane cannot supplant nor sunder the pure of heart or the promise of very time that led to this one moment and swore first those words so foul that at least one will make it through for the sacrifice of everyone left behind, sperm the first hero’s journey, as instincts curse your instincts instruct the distinct instincts to shut the fuck up and sink into the sinkhole while the quiet watches in replete awe as you keep cumming inside of her to forget the morning to forget the next day or the next year or the next moment in time inevitable for indelible white coats her intelligible inside and outside blubbering and kissing and ignoring the air that she needs to breathe because everything she needs is inside and she needs it outside and needs it inside until every repetition of glory can’t fill up an essay word count limit but that still is insufficient to describe the indescribable despite every attempt so why try and just say cum and tight and throb and tight and wet and cum and load and warm and creamy cum coating pussy coating cock but end. Exeunt you.

“That looks delicious,” Jimin says, eyes fixed.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank...” Minjeong’s voice becomes so small as she fucks herself onto you for all of your drops of semen.

Your balls shift in every thrust, your tumescent cock gushes and overflows Minjeong’s pussy until it’s milky and filled, until your erection is but an echo of what once was even a minute ago, unstiffening and retreating almost on its own out of her hole. Take your break on the side of the bed and watch as Jimin pounces.

She eats the cum out of Minjeong’s sore hole, the same way she sucked it straight out of your cock, and makes no show of swilling down the whole load because she doesn’t need to. There isn’t much of a threat of wasted cum on the sheets since Minjeong’s legs have Jimin’s head in a bind.

The winding down only lasts for two seconds like a couple paragraphs read fast. It’s a deflating balloon. With your head in a different kind of bind, you let sleep win.

You’re not sure if they’ve even put on clothes, brushed their teeth, or drank a glass of water. The good cop, the bad cop, the master, the apprentice, the kitty, the puppy—when you wake up, the girls leave the same trace as those contrivances in your brain, aching as you feel each pump send blood back down.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AFF, AO3

Written in multiple hazes, less fueled and more oiled with the maximal motto, "Style over substance," to really get the creaks out of my typing joints.

[maizumis]

LOVE IS NOT FOR EVERYONE - suna x fem!reader smau

part 5: the date

summary: after years of not talking to each other, your childhood best friend decided to reach out again, how will everything go?

note: heavy make out session with suna, he says ily as the stupid boy he is, thanks to @sunalma cos one of the songs is out of her playlists<33

series masterlist - part 6

An elevator ride couldn't feel so long and short at the same time, biting your lip, scared of seeing that person after so many years.

Clumsily taking your keys out of your bag, you open the door and there you saw it, perfect, handsome boy you fell in love on the young years of high school

“you look beautiful, as always” He told you with his deep voice that made you shiver on spot, he seemed more mature now, with features no longer like the ones of a teenage boy. You were out of guard when his arms wrapped comfortably around your waist, still leaning into it

Looking at him, at his eyes, that same green eyes that made you fall in love when you were a child and that green eyes that were making you fall in love, again “Rin, I missed you” you whisper with a soft tone, your head resting in the comfiness of the crook of his neck, his left hand came to cup your cheek, taking in how fucking pretty you looked like that

“I missed you too, so much, do you want to know what did I plan?”

“yeah rin, I'm sure I'm gonna love it" he took your hand in his, leading the way to the passenger sit in his car "you're not gonna found out until we are there, so you better be patient" he slid the seatbelt in front of him and pecked your hand before starting the car "okay, I can handle that"

"the aux is yours then, pretty girl"

your eyes widen after hearing that pet name "do you want me to call you daddy too?" it was supposed to be funny, you thought he would only call you pretty girl in texts, apparently not

"if you like"

Pretty Please by Dua Lipa starts playing in the background, gradually turning up the volume until it was hard to hear your own voice

Suna thought the sight was pretty, the window on your side rolled down with the wind all over your face, happily singing by the lyrics not giving a single fuck about the world, just as he loved to remember you

"This makes me remember of the old days but instead of the car, you in my room giving me a concert that, in fact, didn't ask for"

his comment took you back down to earth, old days, just old days, no feelings attached at the moment; you were praying to any god up there to make the butterflies go away in your gut go away, you were one hundred percent sure he could hear your heart beating from where he was sitting, not even the loud music could hide it

“old days? We should make new memories I think”

"yeah, we can make new memories but we shouldn't let go of the ones we have, hand me your phone" you did as you were told, suspicious of what he was about to do until you saw him open Spotify, oh okay, he is gonna change the song.

Fluorescent Adolescent was now blasting from the stereo "umm, love this song, gives me the dancing in front of a mirror with a brush vibe"

He chuckled at what you said "and you did that? would like to see it with my own eyes"

"We are almost there, babe, close your eyes"

"Babe? we are not dating, Rintaro"

"maybe we should"

maybe we what? that did take you back, choosing for peace, you shut your mouth and closed your eyes, anxiously waiting for what he had

"you have your eyes closed, right"

"yes, rin, they are closed, I didn't know you were blind"

he opened the door of your seat, interlacing your hands so he could guide you behind a tall tree "I need you to stay here until I have everything done, okay? it's not gonna take more than ten minutes" he didn't give you time to answer that he was already walking back to his car.

"better be something good" you murmured under your breath, turning on your phone to scroll through social media until he called you.

he called you exactly eight minutes after he dropped you behind the tree "if you don't like this, then I don't know what should I do"

The scene in front of you was dreamy to say at least, the back of his car decorated with fairy lights, lots of blankets that seemed so warm, and pillows in all their forms that you knew for a fact they were comfortable as fuck, you were quick to wrap your arms around his neck, chanting like a mantra 'rin, this is beautiful' and 'im so thankful' he gladly took you in his arms, his nose behind your ears, landing a sweet peck right there

"you ready for movie night, pretty girl?"

"bet your ass I'm ready, Rintaro Suna" and with that you were off, running to his car ready to spend the best night of your life

Or perhaps the beginning of the end, who knows

Howl's moving castle last scenes were on the screen of his laptop, a weird feeling in your heart after he remembered it was- no, is your favorite; you two stared sitting beside the other and now he has his arm protectively around you, his back straight against the backseat while your head was on top of his underarms, cheeks smashed to his collarbone "you did remember it, rin" your eyes still locked on the screen in front of you, watching the movie credits.

He looked down at you with soft eyes, deciding to close the laptop and pull it aside "how could I not? hand me my phone"

you did as you were told, searching for the little device under the huge blankets "here! take it"

he quickly searched for a song and toss it aside, I Wanna Be Yours playing inside the car from the 11-inch phone "come here" he signaled, patting his lap.

it took you a good minute to realize what he meant but now you're on top of him, looking at his emerald eyes in search of a hint of what he is thinking

he took his time analyzing your feature, looking at your cheeks, forehead, baby hairs, nose, lips, and finally your eyes, he could see the past in them, and a little of his future too

"not as much as you, rin"

he didn't answer, to lost in the paradise of your face, he was now focused on your lips, how would they taste?

to answer his own question, he leaned into your face, into your lips that he knew that were begging to be touched by his own

your eyes were wide, taken by surprise by his action, even if you saw it coming, it was something you were dreaming for years now

he looked at your eyes again for a kind of permission, and when he saw you nod, his hand was in the back of your neck in a matter of seconds while yours found home on his hair, tugging it slightly

"a kiss and you're all whiny and needy"

"shut up and fucking kiss me-"

he took the chance of sliding his tongue inside your mouth, exploring every single place he could, his free hand now on your lower back to move you back and fort his lap, he took the flavor of the artificial coconut lip balm you were wearing, he took all he could, in fact

"not only you look good but you taste good too" you hear him groan before going into it again, soft pants coming out of your mouth, whimpering his name as a mantra r-rin, r-innie, arching your back to be closer to him, you could feel his smirk on your now puffy lips with every movement of your hips, the hand on your lower back now going down to grip your thigh

pulling out to catch a little air, you rested your head on his large neck, you two were in comfortable silence, your head rested against his chest and his hands caressing your cheek

maybe ten minutes passed while you were cuddling until your phone screen turned up after a notification- you didn't care about it but the time, past two in the morning "rin, would you take me home? is getting late" he gave your cheek a sweet kiss before standing out the car, extending his hands to help you do the same "of course I can, pretty girl"

the drive back home was quiet, you could hear Apocalypse in the car radio, looking by the window to the beautiful night lights in the city, suna's hand on your thigh, playing with it from time to time, using the other one to drive

"We are here"

"Thanks for bringing me home, rin, I had fun"

he stepped out of the car with you- not letting you out that easily, his hands with a firm grip of your waist and silence was around the two of you, just appreciating the presence of each other, your hands going inside his jackets to hold his waist too

"good night, I love you" he told you and sealed his words with one last kiss

taglist [open]: @arrogantsonofabiscuit @sakusasbitch @souco @minamihrs @sunasexual @boba-duckie @discountkiyoko @shoyotime @sunalma @kuroohoeee @cubbluv @astrqmi @triniteaaa @zukoslosthishonor @iheartkuroorin @kac-chowsballs @akaashiwife @lilith412426 @loveprisms @eunoiwa @gladly-olus @its-the-aerieljeane @smackmyasslikeavolleyball @bakugouswh0r3 @mydandydays @erens-piss-cleaner @call-me-lulu

[sofiaaaaaaaa03]

Teaching Din Earth Music

Pairing: Din djarin x earthling!gn!teen reader (platonic)

Word count: 1,151

Rating: G

Scenario: You try to teach Din about earth music during one of your trips.

Authors Note: Hey lovelies, I hope you're having an amazing day. Please remember to drink water and eat something. I hope you guys enjoy this, sorry it's a bit tiny :)

Ever since Din caught you listening to earth music you’d grown more comfortable playing it while he was on board. On particularly long trips you made it a habit to put on some music to make the ride more entertaining. It was really only used when the two of you were too exhausted from chores or missions to bother making conversation. You enjoyed it, really. It reminded you of your home and your time on Earth. Now more than ever, wherever you go you notice the absence of music in the strange, hostile planets Din takes you compared to where it always seemed to follow you on Earth, playing in the air of cafes, stores, restaurants, and oh the car rides you and your friends used to share.

A tight lipped smile spread across your features. You wondered how they were doing. It’s not everyday your friend mysteriously disappears, let alone getting stranded in space in your case. But you consider yourself lucky. You glanced towards the Mandalorian beside you, piloting the ship. He’s shown you kindness in many ways, and took you in while you try to find Earth. It was a planet Din was unfamiliar with, even going as far as to say that it was considered a myth across many cultures in the galaxy. It would have been a waste of time for him to go out of his way to follow a silly fantasy. However, you could only assume something about you reminded him about himself when he was young, because despite this, he trusted your word, and genuinely wanted to help you return home.

In some weird trade off, you taught Din things about your home planet that were foreign and honestly strange in his opinion. A world where a majority of its denizens remain on-planet the entire time? He couldn’t believe it. He simply refused the concept of social media and antagonized the habits of posting oneself on vacation. Something about exposing your location. You didn’t mind it all too much to be honest.

Your favorite thing to teach him was earth music. It was so much more distinctive to the music you heard around the galaxy, where saloons played Jizz like there was no tomorrow. It was good music, you’ll admit, but nothing was like the variety of the music back home.

The data pad Din lent you laid on the ship’s mainframe, “Okay okay. You’re probably not going to like this since you have the mentality of a 40 year old man, but hear these out. A lot of people my age enjoy these songs back at home.”

It was natural to begin with songs that were trending the last time you were on earth. Din enjoyed some of the more upbeat songs, like Tongue Tied by a group called Grouplove.

“This is what we consider a coming of age song.”

Din gave you a questioning look and you continued. “On Earth we pass our time watching movies, stories acted out by humans that are recorded on a camera.”

“Your planet has too much time on their hands…”

“C’mon Din it’s not like everyone does it!” You defended, “People do it for a job, and only qualified people can. Anyways, that’s not the point. Some movies I grew up with have a point where the main character suddenly grows up, not age wise but mentally. Usually it's through conquering a fear or obstacle in the movie, and when that happens we-”

“Put a song like this in the movie?”

You made a little scoff, “Yeah, in the movie.”

“I suppose… it does evoke emotions like it wants you to. Put on another song, maybe one adults listen to.”

You paused for a moment to recollect the songs your parents would play back at home. They had a variety of artists that they listened to, but you smiled and tapped the data pad to play a song you think Din may like.

It seemed that The Chain by Fleetwood Mac intrigued Din, who tilted his head as the melody began. You waited until the chorus ended to ask Din of his opinion. He gave a nonchalant shrug and claimed that it was interesting before asking you to put on another song.

“Is this really what people my age listen to?”

“Honestly most men I’ve met your age listen to hard rock, but it’s their taste!”

“Earthlings listen to a rock?” Din turned to you in surprise and shook his head. He took the data pad from its place and looked through the playlist you were making. “No wonder you haven’t been off-planet yet.”

You took the data pad back from him and stuck your tongue at him, “I’ll have you know that 553 of us humans have been to space, thank you.”

You tried a couple of Journey songs, some that Din asked you to write down for him to listen to later, and showed some Queen classics. You noticed that Din wasn’t much of a fan for songs that were fan favorites like We Will Rock You or Bohemian Rhapsody (You genuinely thought you’d get him for the last one. All of your schoolmates would go nuts for that song) , but he did enjoy other classics like Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy, Fat-Bottomed Girls, and Radio Ga Ga.

“What were some songs you heard growing up?”

“Hm… to be honest I don’t remember all of them. The music all seems like a blur to be honest, guess that’s what happens when you grow up, things become a blur. Anyways,” You listed off some songs, making small talk about it but caught Din’s look of confusion and decided to play some off for him.

The razor crest was filled with a large assortment of music, ranging from ABBA to Harry Styles. Some songs, Din could get the concept very easily by listening to the lyrics while in others he asked you about its meaning. Songs about love, you’d noticed, were the hardest for him to decipher, even if the lyrics were plain as day.

After some time, you decided to ask him about it while Dancing Queen was on.

“I don’t understand,” You turned your attention to Din when he spoke, “If they want to dance with someone they should just go find someone. What’s the point of singing about it?”

You “They’re not singing about dancing with just anybody. They want to dance with someone who will be with them for the rest of their lives. Their special somebody. Y’know?”

“Hm.” He didn’t make another comment. There was nothing to fill the void aside from the occasional beeping of machinery. You wondered what was on his mind as you stared at the helmet that obscured his face. Come to think of it, you don’t know what he’s thinking even when he has his helmet off.

You broke the silence.

“Din?”

“Hm?”

“Have you ever found your special somebody?”

...

Tag List:

@sagedgeek @kiara-is-gay @jupitersmooneuropa

[lcksndkys]

Title: Official

Pairing:  Namjoon x reader

Rating: 18+, smut, fluff

Genre: secret dating au

Word count: 1,467

Summary:  You can only hide your new relationship from your friends for so long.

Warnings: oral (m. receiving) + a ruined shirt RIP

A/N: This lil smutty piece was written for the ghostie drabble marathon. Song lyrics:  “Because all of this is not coincidence.” (DNA). Inspired by @jinpanman ​ ‘s post about "Namjoon fixing his zipper in the middle of the performance”. Also, by law, tagging @sahmfanficbts <3

You grunt quietly as Namjoon presses you against the wall, mouth sealed tight against yours as he kisses you deeply between racks of clothing.

Hand pressing against his chest, you push his heaving body off yours.

“You have to go on in like,” you look down to check you watch, “15 minutes.”

“Mmm, that’s ok, plenty of time,” comes his low rasp as he continues to lick into your mouth, grinding his hips into yours.

You let him kiss you languidly for another minute, basking in the pre-show privacy. No hiding from curious friends or judgemental peers. Just you and Namjoon for these precious, fleeting moments.

Namjoon had begrudgingly agreed to keeping your relationship private upon your request. What had started as a drunken hookup months ago had evolved into under-the-table hand holding, sneaky kisses, falling asleep on nightly phone calls. 

“Ah, Joon, you- they’re gonna come lookin for you,” you pull back, panting and trying to reason with him.

Instead of replying, he ducks his head burying face first into your neck where he suckles at the soft skin he adores so much.

Whimpering, you claw your fingertips up and down his sides, feeling the silky material of his top. You pull his shirt free from his pants and send your hands underneath to feel his bare skin. 

“Fuck,” you whine. “No marks, Joon” you gasp, feeling the sudden increase in suction against your pulse point, losing himself to the taste of your skin.

You feel the rumble of displeasure in his chest as he yields to your command. 

He knew you were exclusively dating him, but when no one else was privy to that information, it almost seemed negligible. He was tired of biting back his frustrations when your mutual friends would try to set you up on dates. (Not that you would ever agree to any.) He was tired of pretending the two of you weren’t more. He was ready for the world to know about your relationship, but he knew you were still hesitant. 

Namjoon detaches his warm lips from your neck to peck lovingly at your forehead.

Pressed against the length of him, you feel the evidence of his excitement prodding against your abdomen.

“And how exactly do you plan to hide that?” you giggle, cocking an amused brow at him.

He brushes your hair aside and lets his large hand rest against your throat. Possessive, yet gentle.

“Mmm, it’ll go down,” he mumbles as he reattaches his lips to yours. 

Kissing across his mouth and planting a few along his jaw, you make your way to his ear.

“Or I could help you,” you whisper seductively, cupping his clothed erection.

You smirk when you feel Namjoon shiver at your gentle fondling. His body is like a live wire, crackling and exposed at your electric touch.

“Oh shit, I- I can’t return the favor though,” he pants.

“Take care of me after the show,” you purr, hands unbuckling his belt and reaching for the zipper. “You want this?” you ask one last time to which he nods vigorously. 

Impatient, he pushes your hands away to free himself from the confines of his pants. 

You wrap an eager hand around his length and swirl a thumb around his flushed tip. You gather the moisture there and spread it in slow circles around the rim of the head making Namjoon groan deep in his chest. 

You spit generously into your hand to avoid chafing him.

Skin smooth and soft, you pump him quickly to jerk him to his full potential. 

Thunk. Namjoon’s head falls back against the wall, eyes closed in bliss, as you tighten your grip around him.

“Eyes on me, big boy” you whisper, sinking down to your knees for your man.

His gaze follows you all the way down until you settle comfortably between his parted thighs. 

Your hand continues jerking his cock as you pepper open mouthed kisses to his groin and lower stomach. Your otherwise unoccupied hand pins his hips against the wall.

“Love these,” you muse.

Caressing the supple skin of his powerful thighs, you feel him throb wantonly in your hand.

You sink your teeth into the muscle. All pressure, no pain. 

There’s a garbled groan from above you.

“Baby, please,” Namjoon pants, “We don’t have much time”

You inspect his cock as it pulses in your grasp. “Oh, I think you’re only gonna need a few minutes,” you cackle.

An endearing flush spreads across his cheeks, dimples flashing as he chuckles along goodnaturedly. “Well, my girlfriend is very hot,” he argues.

You gulp, trying not to go rigid while holding his length in your hand. Neither of you had explicitly labeled your relationship, opting to silently agree that you were exclusively seeing each other.

Rather than stutter out a response, you stuff his cock deep into the wet heat of your mouth, wrapping your lips around him the way he likes. 

Namjoon’s hands immediately push your hair back and hold it in a makeshift ponytail as you sink down his length. He’s not about to miss the visual of you blowing him.

Holding him by the base, you bob up and down, gagging lightly as he slides down the back of your throat. You try to relax, inviting him into the depths of your mouth and coating him in a sheen of saliva.

“Fuck,” he moans, feeling you increase the suction around his shaft.

Your hand begins pumping what won’t fit in your mouth, suckling around the crown and urging him towards his climax.

“Baby, look at me, eyes up” he pants over you, unraveling quickly with your enthusiastic servicing of his cock.

You lift your heady gaze up to meet his desperate eyes. Brows pinched with his lower lip held hostage between his teeth. He’s so close.

Your mouth focuses on his sensitive tip, hand furiously working his shaft. His legs quake with his impending release.

With an obscene groan, Namjoon cums, erupting in your mouth. You continue to suckle at him, hand slowing down but pumping leisurely to help him ride out his high.

You do your best to hold his load without immediately swallowing the unsavory fluid.

“You know what I wanna see,” he whines, encouraging you to open wide.

Namjoon moans in appreciation, seeing his seed fill your mouth as you swipe your tongue through his cum to lick at your lips. You swallow most of it and let the rest dribble down your chin and onto your chest.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Namjoon-ah! Are you still changing?” comes the tinkling of Jin’s voice.

Fuck. 

You urgently flip through the rack of Namjoon’s clothing to find something to clean up with. Pulling a semi-plain shirt from its hanger, you wipe down his wilting cock and leave him to tuck himself back into his briefs as he pulls up his pants.

Cleaning off your mouth and chin and the residual cum off your chest, you haphazardly replace the top on its hanger and try to shake feeling back into your feet.

You check your watch again. Six minutes to show time. You smirk.

“Break a leg, bubs” you smile up at him and push him toward the door with a parting good-luck-kiss.

You watch happily from backstage as the group performs another stellar show. The crowd cheers when Namjoon makes a joke about his opened fly. Choreography and vocals all flow smoothly as the night unfolds, leading up to the final few songs.

The seven men pile into the dressing room for a final change for the encore when there’s a ghastly shriek.

“What the actual fuck,” Jin hollers. 

Several pairs of eyes look over to Jin as he gingerly inspects an article of clothing.

Oh no.

No, no, no.

Jin looks from his soiled shirt, to you, and back down to the shirt he’s supposed to change into.

You had forgotten you had worn lipstick tonight. And it was smeared all over Jin’s top along with residual ejaculate and spit that had begun to flake as it dried.

Incriminating at best, evidence at worst.

“What’s your lipstick and whateverthefuckthisis doing on my shirt? Why was Namjoon’s zipper down all through the first half of the show? And why did Namjoon-ah get all pissy when I tried to set you up with Sejin-hyung last week?” he fires off suspiciously, eyes darting back and forth between the two of you.

The room falls dead silent and all you hear is the pounding of blood between your ears.

“Because all of this is not coincidence,” Jin continues, gesturing wildly.

“I'm with Namjoon,” you confess quietly. 

The room erupts in hoots and hollers, I told you’s, and all you see is Namjoon beaming at your admission, happy to finally love you officially and publicly.

[blahkugo]

Manual

Terushima Yūji x Reader (Haikyuu!!)

Word Count: 4.5k

TW: dub/noncon (noncon filming & voyeurism), manipulation, drugs (weed and alcohol), implied virginity, degradation, exhibitionism, daddy kink

A night of danger and debauchery with the city’s infamous drug dealer. 

It was a simple enough text that started it, but you’re not even sure how he got a hold of your number. A few days ago, a plain ‘hey’ had flashed across your screen and before you knew it, you were agreeing to go for a ride in his speedy car. ‘How fast is it?’ you had asked as an attempt to stall the conversation. But it was his reply that settled it for you: ‘As fast as you want it.’ 

It’s stupid how easily swayed you were, but the words left a knot in your stomach that you had never encountered before. Like a ship setting its anchor on the seafloor, though not one of anxiety nor tension caused by any of the usual stressors of your life—something entirely alien. The real issue wasn’t its unfamiliarity, but how much you took pleasure in it. And as ships do, the feeling set sail as quickly as it appeared, and you were left wistful and aching for its return. 

Never had you been like your classmates at the private school, who used familial wealth to excuse week-long benders and avoid lengthy jail sentences, because never had you felt that depravity necessary. But as you make your way down the block, you envision daddy waking up to find his little girl simply vanished, and you can’t help the wicked smile that spreads across your face.

When you arrive at the grimy, red sports car— music blasting through the open windows despite the dead quiet of the block— that ball of thrill settles in your gut yet again. As long as you’re in the company of Terushima Yūji, you’re well aware that the feeling isn’t going to go away.   

The car is low. So low, in fact, that you have to balance a hand on the roof and slide in legs first. How does he even drive around in this metal death trap without scraping the asphalt? Your leather skirt bunches and slips further up your thighs no matter how hard you tug it lower. 

“Alright?” It’s the only form of greeting he calls out to you over the ear-splitting music. Terushima eyes your lustrous, bare legs resting in the passenger seat of his beat-up Camaro, but doesn’t bother turning down the tune. He’s not very polite, but you didn’t exactly accept his offer to be drowned in refinement, did you? 

“I’m okay,” you shout, struggling to be heard over the booming voice rapping about ‘drugs and bitches.’ Typical. “How are you?” You’re not sure if it’ll break the ice, not even sure he wants to speak at all, but anything’s better than fidgeting awkwardly in your chair with nothing but the god awful music to drown out your anxiety.

He mumbles back a simple reply, fixing his gaze on your breasts straining against the tight, low cut tank. You fished the two-piece outfit out of the depths of your wardrobe, a revealing number borrowed from a friend that you never even bothered trying on before tonight. His stare has you itching to cross your arms over your chest, but you hold out. You can’t have him thinking you’re a prude, even if it is the truth. 

His hand grips the stick shift lazily and before you know it, the engine is rumbling and you’re peeling away from the curb. Terushima’s driving is every bit as reckless as you assumed, stop signs appearing to be soft suggestions rather than mandatory decrees. The residential roads are practically deserted, but the lack of caution has your heart racing wildly all the same, fingers clutching at your seat. As the adrenaline rushes through your veins, your stomach sinks further into the frayed leather seat. 

When the music is shut off abruptly, you believe he must finally want to speak to you, perhaps even exchange pleasantries— but the next words out of his mouth are a sly, 

“Do me a favor, yeah?” You nod, before realizing his eyes are still fixed on the road ahead. It’s not like it matters anyways, because he continues on as if you had answered him. “Grab the bottle under your seat for me, princess.” Princess. It’s uttered so nonchalantly, but there’s a certain edge to his tone— the tiniest hint of a teasing lilt. You don’t like it, but logical as your brain may be, your stomach still swirls with butterflies. 

Swiping at the floor, you search until your fingers make contact with glass. Low and behold, you pull out a bottle of– 

“Smirnoff,” your eyes scan the label intently, attempting to place the emblem among the liquors you’ve seen at the country club. While you weren’t exactly expecting a water bottle— that’d be much too off brand for Terushima— you aren’t too keen on the idea of reckless and intoxicated driving. He glances towards you once, but doesn’t make a move towards the drink at all. 

Only a few seconds later, he shoots you another look, single brow raised in quiet anticipation. The long-forgotten burdens of high school peer pressure washes over you again, fingers quivering as you unscrew the cap. 

You’ve never had vodka straight out of the bottle, never had vodka in general except for when it’s mixed into your cocktails. But his expectation weighs heavy in the confined space. So, fuck it. What did you come out with him for if not to live a little? 

Nail polish remover, children’s cough syrup, and liquid fire. That’s all you taste as the lukewarm fluid glides down your throat. The burn is unbearable, but a pool of warmth oozes through your chest and your hand relaxes a bit on the edge of your seat. You don’t even realize that you’re coughing.

“First time drinking?” He offers you a lazy smirk, tone edged in ridicule. 

“What?” Holding your breath, you silently beg the itch in your throat to disappear. “No, I- I have wine with dinner.” 

The laugh that rumbles through his throat is deep and hoarse, much too loud to be laughing at your comment— and thus, is only perceivable as taunting. Even so, you can’t deny the seduction threaded into his smoky vocals, or the wire deep within your core, pulled taut and ready to snap at any moment. 

“Wine,” he snickers again. “You’re funny, you know that?” He swipes the booze out of your hands and chugs. If there’s ever a proper time to start worrying, it’d be now. But at least he stops for lights? 

Besides, you can’t say you’re not enjoying the view. Terushima’s defined jaw ruts outward with every swill, his lips puckered towards the bottle as if his life depends on it. As cautious as you should be, he’s too pretty to keep your eyes focused anywhere else; your mouth surely knows it, practically salivating at his Adam's apple, bobbing as he gulps. If you reach your hand out just a few inches, you can run your fingertips against it and–

“Gross,” he pushes the bottle back towards you. 

“Black cherry,” you counter, as if it’s an explanation for the disgusting taste. 

“Is that the flavor I nicked? Damn, wasn’t paying enough attention,” he shrugs. 

“Nicked?” Mouth agape, you stare intently at the side of his face and hope for a valid answer. 

“Bottle looked lonely, so I swiped it,” he brushes a finger at the alcohol trickling down his lip; one of your own digits twitches in envy. “Is that too criminal for you, princess?” 

So he is mocking you. The vodka must be melting your brain, because all your body comes up with in response is a wind chime of a soft laugh— an entirely foreign noise to your ears. It must be a mistake, or the music playing tricks on your hearing, because you don’t giggle. 

Still, according to Terushima’s awful pet name, you have something to prove. Not sure how else to shut him up, you opt for the easiest way out. 

“I’m not drunk enough for this.” The bottle meets your lips and liquid fire waltzes through you again. Seconds pass as you chug, the haziness of your last sip urging you to down just a teensy bit more. Just enough to get you tipsy, just enough to prove him wrong, just enough to drown out the voice in your head claiming this is a terrible idea. 

This time, you don’t cough. 

“‘Atta girl.” 

Then, you’re drinking, and he’s drinking, and the two of you are having the grandest of times. Never mind the fact that he’s consumed far less alcohol than you have, or that lines are blurring and you’re no longer able to see straight. Gone is the anxiety you were plagued with upon meeting him and the worries that shadow you day and night in your regular life. And that’s all that really matters. 

He blasts the music once again. Maybe it isn’t as terrible as you originally thought. A deep, pumping bass resonates through every bone in your body and Terushima seems to be pressing the pedals harder with every beat. 

Up you go, higher, higher— higher?

Your eyes have been scouring the mischievous man next to you so intently that you never bothered to ask where you were going. But can you blame yourself? Even now, as you round up the side of a cliff, every thought passing through your murky brain pertains to him. 

His lazy half smile that won’t drop, as if he’s keyed in on a secret that’s all his own, lidded eyes that make him look entirely apathetic and alluring all at once. Hell, even his fingers are beautiful. Slender and graceful, one hand is placed leisurely at the wheel and the other is shifting the gear stick with meticulous precision. Terushima Yūji has always struck you as raw and vulgar, but now you see there’s a sense of finesse to him as well— and of course, you’d need to be halfway into a drunken stupor to truly notice it. 

You’re shaken from your thoughts once he cracks the windows, hair whipping around violently. If you only knew the lyrics to any of these songs, you’d be singing along. Instead, you settle for kicking your legs out the window and tapping your fingers to the beat. Who cares that your fingers are moving too slowly to match the rhythm? 

Terushima says nothing at your erratic behavior, only smirks when your head leans against his shoulder and you stare idly up at him. Relief. It’s the only identifiable emotion you’re able to place in the midst of this haze. Yes, the world is foggy and black spots take over half your vision. But you hold onto that feeling— the breeze, the weightlessness. All the while, the anchor in your gut makes its home further into the sand. 

“We’re here,” he chuckles, pointing at your windswept hair when you turn to him. It’s the first time his laugh sounds genuine, bubbling up naturally instead of forced and vicious. And he’s finally looking at you; not in stolen glances, with eyes glazed over in mockery or lust, but truly looking at you. You break out of the murkiness clouding your brain to catch what ‘here’ is, only to gasp at the sight in front of you. 

He’s brought you to the very top of a cliff, overlooking the city. Cars and buildings seem nothing more than blips on a map, insects to your God-like view. 

As beautiful as they are, the dazzling lights of the world below you pale in comparison to the deity seated inches away. It’s difficult to believe that you had never once taken notice of him, though your younger self filed him away as a troublemaker—an invaluable waste of space— based on gossiped knowledge and without a second glance. 

“Y’know what I never noticed?” You’re well aware the words tumble out a whine, drawn out and a bit slurred, but proper diction is the last thing on your mind. “You’re really pretty.” As soon as you’ve said it, your face is set ablaze. Control yourself. 

“Pretty? Haven’t heard that one before,” he throws his head back and you’re struck with that gruff, raspy laugh once again.

“But you are,” you’re unable to contain yourself at all now, all proper thoughts replaced by the cut of his cheekbones, the messy bleached hair tumbling over his sleek undercut— and best yet, the tiny piece of metal prodding through his tongue and now balanced between his teeth. “A pretty bad boy, with pretty teeth, and a pretty piercing, and you texted me why?” With the hurried words, another wave of heat spikes your body. 

Perhaps his eyes brighten at your little confession, or perhaps his face gives away nothing. You can’t really tell much of anything.

“You really wanna know?” You nod hungrily at his whisper, his hushed tone teeming with temptation. Terushima creeps closer, so much so that you feel his breath fanning your face. Underneath the overwhelming scents of cigarettes and booze, he smells a bit like tea leaves. Strange, but pleasant. “Are you sure?” He’s smirking now, obviously finding your curiosity entertaining. 

At the same time, one of his hands inches towards you— cautiously, deliberately, like a predator creeping towards its skittish prey. You tremble in your seat, unsure why the proximity has your heart beating out of its chest. 

All at once, his hand shoots past you and towards the glove compartment. Terushima lets out a snicker, flashes you a brilliant set of teeth, and proudly offers you nothing: “Sorry, not tellin’ you.” 

Your slurred gripes do nothing to sway the tease, who’s now engrossed by the itty bitty ziploc baggie he pulled from the glovebox. Though your head is spinning, you yourself can’t help but feel enthralled by his movements— staring shamelessly as he sprinkles the weed onto paper. His fingers prove precise yet again as he rolls the greens into pretty little cylinders. 

Almond eyes meet yours only when he brings the wrap to his lips, gazing directly at you while his tongue slides across the paper. A chill prickles across your skin, but there’s only heat within the parked car. 

Before you know it, he’s extending a large hand towards you, silently willing you to take the first hit. Somewhere far away, you hear your own voice mumbling, ‘I don’t know how to.’ As hard as you try to put up a front, to exude sex and confidence in front of this well-versed man, you’re not quite sure you can pretend your way through this one. 

A wispy laugh, a sly comment and a wink later, two of his fingers have the joint pressed between your lips. ‘I’ll teach you,’ he promises, instructing you on precisely how to breathe. You barely register the palm fastened at your chest. Is he being a creep? Maybe he’s just trying to help. Either way, you don’t pay it much mind. 

And then, smoke fills your lungs, fills your head, fills the already-depleting air of his tiny car. You’re coughing again, but he warned you of the burn this time, and ‘besides, it’ll get you higher.’ 

You were hoping to see chalky hues of pinks and blues, but the drug does nothing but provide you with lidded eyes and a tingle that runs from head to toe. A single stroke of your finger against the leathered seat sends waves of shivers throughout your arm. Your palm splayed against your own thigh feels unfamiliar and ticklish. 

The buzz is only truly worth it when you finally turn to look at the wicked man next to you; Terushima has a slick smile dancing across his face, eyes heavy and probing you for any sort of reaction. The bleached blonde hair at the top of his head pales under the moonlight, suddenly seeming impossible to resist. When you reach out to grasp a strand, he moves quicker, gripping your fingers tightly between his. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” His low drawl is lazy, more amused than genuinely angry. But your fingers twitch beneath his grasp all the same, completely embarrassed and still itching to touch his locks. “Princess doesn't know how to ask for things politely?” You don’t have to look into his eyes to feel the smugness radiating off of him. 

“No, I-” There’s no saving face now, and he knows it as well as you do. 

“Or are you just so used to getting what you want?” Even as he taunts you, his digits thread through yours, pulling you towards him so that your hands hover over his lips. “Is this what you wanted?” 

You shake your head, but the thought of grazing his pillowy lips— of your trembling fingers exploring that tiny metal ball in his mouth— is now etched into your clouded brain. 

“No? What about here?” He trails your digits down his crisp t-shirt, stopping only when you’ve reached his midriff. You should stop, should adhere to the yellow tape bound around this entire encounter; instead, you stare at the blonde with wide eyes, tongue poking out of your mouth as you debate your answer. He breathes an airy laugh, “use your words.” 

But before you can, his lips are meshing into yours. And here are the hues of the pinks and blues you so desperately wished to see, hidden in his caress all this time. There’s heat, and heat, and more heat— and a quiet hum traveling from the very tip of your mouth to your toes, as you melt together. 

When he releases your hands, they fly towards his hair, finally tugging at the soft pieces. A simple clasp of your waist and you’re moaning into his mouth, a warm welcome for his tongue to slide in. Embers spread through the tiny space, setting your lungs ablaze far quicker than any drug could. His cool, metal piercing tickles the roof of your mouth; if you were coherent enough, you may wonder what it would feel like skimming other stretches of skin. 

But your thoughts are cotton candy melting at his touch and allowing one, singular thought: him, him, him. 

Your sugar-spun mind loses track of the time he spends pressed into you. Seconds, minutes, hours later, he finally pulls away, the long string of saliva between you the only remnant of your lip-locked endeavors. 

“It’s getting late,” his words are a whisper, a break in the heavy silence of heaving chests and spinning minds. You’d have thought the infamous heartbreaker would urge for more, and a part of you wishes that he would. But instead, he drives you back down the cliffside in silence, his hand on your thigh rooted in place, keeping you longing for another taste. 

Only when you’re coming down from the high, still a bit tipsy, do you realize you’re almost home. Terushima’s fingers still play at the hem of your skirt, stroking at the fire deep in your gut. With all his teasing, you figure you may as well make your move now. 

“You can pull over here,” you instruct, happy to have found your usual domineering voice. Perhaps it was buried under the weight of weed and wandering lips. 

“Your house is another block away,” he refutes with a grumble, but heeds your demand anyways. When he turns to you, you’re caught in that bewitching gaze, finding yourself at a loss for words yet again. “Anything else you need?” The words are laced with possibility, a dangerous challenge. But any gall you felt coursing through your veins has vanished without a trace. 

“No- I- I should get home,” your eyes drop, staring at a loose thread on his pants— and all at once, moving to leave the car. “Daddy’ll be mad if he catches me out.” The words are barely out of your mouth before he’s chuckling, repeating them.

“Daddy will be mad? You still call your father daddy?” And there’s the Yūji Terushima you thought you knew, mockery and taunts always at the tip of his tongue. You throw a weak punch against his chest, huffing in confusion. 

“What’s so wrong with that?” 

“Nothing,” He exclaims a bit too smugly, climbing out himself.

Next thing you know, you’re caught between his body and the hood of the car, sturdy arms trapping you in place. Chilled air nips at your bones; a single skim of his knee against your thigh and that cold is forgotten. You really should be at home. 

“Terushima.” It’s funny how a single word— a person’s name— can contain a thousand different meanings. You’re not even sure how you say it, questioning the inflections of your cracked voice and wide eyes. He whispers your name right back, the gleam in his eyes magnifying tenfold. 

You’re well aware he has you right where he wants you, a little bird caught in a cage, though you’re more than happy to be singing any song he asks. 

But there’s only silence as you stare at each other beneath the flickering street light. So much so, you can hear your hearts pump blood, can hear the engine of a car rumbling by, can even hear your neighbor’s pesky dog barking a block away. 

“Do you need something, or do you just like saying my na–”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in. 

It feels different now. Perhaps your nerves aren’t frenzied, and you don’t attain euphoria with every graze. But you feel him. You can taste the smoke on his tongue as it knocks against your teeth. Black cherry floods your brain, the same flavor that drifted you up that cliffside to begin with. 

Terushima’s hands grab at your waist before you’re hoisted up and placed on the hood of the car. Gone are the lazy kisses of two heads in the clouds. His movements are quick and decisive, aggressive even. A hand roams your body, trailing under your tank and across your breasts. The other shoves aside your panties, nimble fingers circling your bud. 

A low whimper leaves you when he runs a digit across your slit. 

“Careful,” hot breath fans your lips as he chuckles, “too loud and he’ll hear us.” 

But you can’t stop your wanton mewls. Not when he dips into you, curling his fingertips to hit a spot that has you seeing stars. Not when his teeth nip at your jaw, your neck, the shell of your ear— leaving soft marks behind. And most certainly not when you can feel his cock straining against your thigh. 

“Fuck, Teru I–”  Within minutes, your entire body trembles, hands clutching at soft hair as you chase your high. 

“Tell daddy what you want,” his eyes pierce into yours, completely unashamed of his perversion of the pure term. You try to shake your head no, to refuse his order— but he simply flicks his wrist quicker, pumps into you faster. You’re so fucking close, too near the edge to care, so you simply allow the words to tumble out, 

“Daddy p-please, I want to cum.” 

A few circles on your clit, and you’re putty in his hands. The high hits you with a loud, leg-shaking cry— far more dizzying than any of the debaucheries of hours past. 

You’re flipped over without a moment to breathe, breasts rammed into the frigid car hood. Terushima pulls your skirt up with one hand, the other nudging your cheek firmly against the metal. 

Never would you have thought you’d be one for such public indecency, but the elation of your last orgasm still hasn't even completely resided. For the third time tonight, you find yourself drunk off the ambrosia of this wayward god.  

“Beg for it,” he slides his cock up your slit, coating his thick member in your slick. 

“Please Teru,” you whine helplessly. A loud slap echoes through the empty street as his hand meets the globe of your ass, the pain more shocking than painful. 

It reminds you that anyone could walk out of their homes to see you being railed against a beat up car— and the thought of one of your neighbors waking up to that sight wracks your body with a twisted pleasure. 

“What was that?” The bastard actually laughs, gruff and hearty, as you writhe against him. 

“Daddy, I need you.” And then he’s thrusting into you, pushing into the tight ring of muscle. Though he prepped you, you claw at the car, searching for any sort of relief from the overwhelming pain. 

A few snaps of his hips later, you relax as the stretch becomes bearable. He takes his time rutting into you, spreading your legs further, making sure you feel every inch of him deep inside you. 

Only when you begin bouncing back to meet his drives does he quicken his pace, a single hand gripping your waist— five finger-shaped bruises you’re sure will be evidence for days to come. You barely recognize your own voice; high-pitched wails spill from your lips, curses and pleas and cries of ‘daddy’ like a broken record on replay. 

“Look at the little slut, creaming all over me,” a particularly hard thrust sends you reeling, tears flowing freely down your face as you blabber mindlessly. “Who’d have thought the city’s very own ‘prude princess’ would be blacking out over some dick?” 

You should be ridiculed, would be utterly offended by the insult, if not for the fact that his cock has you teetering the delicate line of consciousness. Those words are precisely what send you over the edge for the second time tonight. 

“Fuck, stay right there,” a low, gravelly groan as Terushima continues pounding into you. Then, a few more prods and he’s following suit, pulling out to spill his seed all over your backside. 

Vision still spotty, you finally turn to look at the beautiful man, hoping for rosy cheeks and that soft smile you believe is a secret saved just for you. Instead you’re met with a dull frown and a look of pure apathy. 

He won’t even meet your eyes. 

“Can you walk the block or should I drive you?” Though he poses the question, the lack of his typical liveliness tells you everything you need to know about his preference: he doesn’t have one. 

Somewhere far away, you hear yourself tell him you’ll walk. Your head’s still caught on cloud nine, or perhaps it was only ever the ninth circle of hell—twisted and contorted by black cherry and rotten greens.

“Are you sure? You look a little shaken,” he laughs, that same hoarse tone you once thought charming now seeming gnarled and vicious. The taunts once endearing, now simply malicious. 

From the corner of your eye you spot his phone, unlocked and teeming with messages. A flash of a familiar black leather skirt bunching, a flip of your hair, pieces of your purity plastered across his screen for the world to see. 

You walk back home in silence. 

[kenmolly]

Hello! Here’s my request for the event ^^

main dish: Frito Pie

beverage: Espresso, Mikey/ Manjiro Sano

personality: I am very sweet, I like to spend time going out on weekends, I also love to write, and I listen to music a lot…like a lot 😅

Thank you and congrats!

-G

thank you so much, customer! i hope this meal will be to your liking <3 (psst, you're a special anon now, g annon! hehe)

⠀⠀⠀

H0W Y0U M3T ?!!?1

⠀⠀⠀ the garden has always been your place to write new songs for your band. it always brings you the motivation to, not to mention, the surrounding is beautiful as well.

right now you're seated against a tree at the garden, on a saturday morning. there you were, holding the guitar that you treasure the most. headphones one, humming to the tune of the song that's playing on your headphones. from time to time you would pick your pencil up and scribble down some notes, and replay it on your guitar.

a line of notes soon turns into a full sheet of music, a proud smile found its way up to your lips. you took your headphones off, stuffing it back into your bag and took your guitar back into your hands once again.

"now for the lyrics.. the hardest part" you sigh, reaching out for the pencil you placed beside your bag.

"heyy! you're y/n, right? the leader of [band name]?" manjiro popped out of nowhere, his smile as bright as ever as he waved at you. that startled you, of course; you squeak in surprise.

"fu- a-ah, yes! i am; you're.. mikey? oh my god- mikey?! the one who leads the band toman?!"

"haha yep! that's me! the one and only mikey!" mikey jabbered about himself, hands placed on his waist proudly. you invited him to sit beside you without hesitation, heart doing multiple flips in your chest. you never thought mikey — someone as famous as him would be here sitting right next to you, talking to you.

"soo i'm here because i heard someone playing the guitar, and it sounded amaaaazing! and then it led me to you; and here i am! you seem nervous?"

"a-ah, it's nothing! it's just.. i'm so happy that i'm able to talk to you, you know? you're so famous and, so many people actually wants to talk to you like this" you babbled with a nervous little laugh. mikey's attention moved to the paper you're holding. he curiously snatched took it from your hands and read it carefully.

"hm? what are you working on? the song seems perfect now?"

"oh, it's still lacking lyrics.. it's the hardest to think about"

"oh! well, I can help! if.. you need it, of course"

⠀⠀⠀

H0W 1S Y0UR R3LAS1ONSHIP ?!!?1

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manjiro would always listen to music with you!

but expect him to make lots of judgments on your 'taste of music'

just mikey being mikey 🤷‍♀️

he would also visit you very often!

whether it's him craving for attention, bored, bringing you food, or wants to help you out

he doesn't need a reason to come over, let him in or he'll throw a tantrum

since he's also a leader of one of the most famous bands, he would definitely write songs about or for you, as well as helps you out to make new songs for your band!

mikey definitely reveals your relationship to the public, despite knowing that he'd definitely get some hate towards his and your band

there'll still be a ton of supporters though ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

since you're very sweet and kind, he would definitely adore you very much!

he admires how you're always able to be so sweet; unlike him

spoils you to bits, doesn't matter if it's kisses, cheap gifts, or expensive gifts

you eye on something, you'll find it on your table the next day <3

mikey would always follow you out on the weekends!

he's basically your shadow now; wherever you are, he's always there

manjiro is very protective, and when i say very, i mean it

he wouldn't hesitate to beat someone up for you if they're harassing you/making you uncomfortable

doesn't stop until at least two of their bones are broken, and that's just the minimum

mikey would bring you on late-night rides!

he'll call you randomly, tell you to meet him at your front door, tell you to hop on his bike and he'll drive off to god knows where

he just wants to enjoy the quiet moment and the breeze with you

he would call it a date <3

[ make another order/make an order. ]