#land softly

[luminousbeings-crudematter]

land softly

Summary: Ghost & Soap are snowed in at a bed & breakfast. Fleabag voice: This is a love story. Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

Part 1 - Johnny meets a Giant

“Your destination is on the right,” the GPS chirps, and Johnny works hard to resist the urge to roll his eyes.  That doesn’t stop the involuntary cursing out loud, though, and with both hands on the wheel, Johnny sighs and looks at the rustic inn, cottage, whatever through the window.  

It’s…beautiful.  It stands starkly out against the white snow, looking like it belongs there, somehow, meek and delicate, yet like it knows how to hold its own, has had to hold its own against the dreary December weather.  

It’s no Marriot, but it’ll have to do. 

When he makes his way up the cobbled stone path leading to the front door and steps into the unlocked front room, he’s greeted by silence.  It’s toasty warm inside, attributable partly to the roaring fireplace, he’s sure, but also the cheesy 80s music that plays over an ancient radio.  Not a soul around, though and he walks up to the reception, but there’s no sign of one of those bells he can ring for someone’s attention.  Just before he can do something silly (like scream in frustration at his rotten luck), the front door opens and clicks quietly shut.

The man that walks in is less man and more giant.  He’s tall, but that’s like saying a bear standing up in front of you is tall.  Well, yeah.  

No, this man is tall and big, with broad shoulders and a massive chest.  A giant, truly.  A giant who’s currently glaring at Johnny.  A giant who’s glaring at Johnny…and who’s wearing a face mask ?

“Can I help you, mate?”  His voice is deep, rough, and it makes the hair on the back of Johnny’s neck stand up.  The man smells of smoke and spicy cologne, and his eyes take a leisurely pace looking at Johnny from top to toe.   

When the giant crosses his arms over his chest, Johnny’s eyes are drawn to how the movement dislodges flecks of snow from his shoulders.     

“Uh, ah don’t have a reservation, but have ye…got room for one?”

“Sign outside sayin’ we’re closed,” comes the short reply. “You missed it?”

Johnny sighs and rolls his eyes to the ceiling in exhaustion.  “No I–I didne miss it.  But I need somewhere to sleep tonight, alrate?  It’s cold, and ah’m lost.  Be on me way first thing in the mornin’.”

“We’re closed,” the giant insists, but his eyes flicker to the large windows anyway, and whatever he sees outside makes him sigh and his stance soften.  He uncrosses his arms, starts to take his coat off.  “Fine.  One night.”

“Thank ye kindly, mate,” Johnny murmurs.  He hands his own coat over when glove-covered and impatient fingers motion for it with another soft thanks .  “I’m John,” he says, while he hands over his drivers’ licence.  “Cold and lost, like I said.”

“One night, John.  Like I said.  Fill this out.”  While Johnny quickly jots down his personal information, the periphery of his vision shows the giant fidgeting with the edges of his gloves.  Tattooed skin peeks curiously out at Johnny, and when the fingers freeze, he quickly goes back to the form, a flush crawling up his neck in embarrassment.  

“King rooms are on the second floor,” the man says, giving the form a quick once over, and starts to walk deeper into the inn, though he freezes and whirls around suddenly to address Johnny.  “Need a hand wi’ those?”  Johnny looks down at his bags by his feet.  

Johnny could almost laugh.  “I’m alrate,” he confirms.  “You got a name?”

“Yes,” the giant says, and about turns, giving Johnny no choice but to follow.  

“Army?”  Johnny guesses, the giant’s posture and movements and rigidity a dead give away.  Also the muscles on muscles.  “Air Corps, meself,” he adds, and winces at the bitterness in his voice, hoping that he’s the only one who can hear it.  “Got out some time ago, though.”     

“Special Forces.”   

Johnny sighs and gives up, too exhausted to carry on the charade of being politely enquiring towards someone who clearly didn’t want the social interaction.  The big guy finally brings him to the end of the corridor, stopping and pointing at the two doors that he proceeds to open.  “Both king rooms, both the same.  You’re welcome to either.  John,” he adds, as though suddenly remembering his manners.  

Johnny glances inside and sees two pristine rooms, simple luxury in the middle of nowhere.  Only one has a bay window, though, and so he motions to that one.   He gets handed a key and his guide takes a step back.  “I’ll get out of ye way tomorrow mornin’, I promise.”

A stern good night is the only response he gets.  With that anti-climatic farewell, he hears the giant clomp his way downstairs, and then the inn goes entirely silent.     

For a fleeting minute, Johnny finds himself hoping for a blizzard.  There’s nothing he loves more than a mystery, after all.  He finds that, all things considered, he’s not too fussed about making it home in time for Christmas.  But there is someone he needs to call first. 

“Yer a fool, Johnny,” his sister chides before she even says hello.

“Hullo,” he says, chuckling, and she tuts in response.  

“Yer a fool,” she repeats.  “You’re not goin’ to make it home, pup, I know it.  I saw yer text!”

“Ah may not,” he admits.  “Ah’m so sorry!  I’ll try but the weather is just—”

“Dinnae fash, Johnny, ah get it.  Where are ye anyway?”

“This bed & breakfast in Yorkshire.  It’s alrate, I’ve got a roof above m’head for tonight.  And tomorrow, if ah need it!”

“But mam’s going to be—”

“Relieved.  Mam’s going to be relieved, she dinnae want me there in the first place.”

“Johnny…”

Johnny feels a little guilty making his sister endure Christmas with their parents, but at least she’ll have her husband and her toddler with her.  She’ll forgive him.  

Their mother?  Not so much.  

“It’s alrate, love, I get it.  I wouldnae make good company anyway.”  He grins.  “Give me little niece a kiss from her uncle Johnny, aye?  Tell her I love her.”  

“Tell her yerself!”  There’s a small pause, and Johnny’s grin drops, knowing what’s coming. “Ye’ll try ye best to come?”  Her voice is small and hopeful, and he feels a pressure inside his chest, making his heart squeeze painfully. 

“I will.”

They say their goodbyes and Johnny adds to the long list of promises he’s only been able to make.

[man-down-in-hatchet-town]

Girls don't want boys, girls want a higher quality rerecording of the Me And My Dick cast album.

[yakultii]

I’m actually trying really hard !! just not really really hard cause in my past experiences the landing hurts a lot more when I do that so I must subtract a really

[spnintheyearofourlord]

Okay Dean “You know I am not much for prayin’ ‘cause in my book it’s the same as beggin’” and “I prayed to you, Cas, every night” Winchester, I see you.

[writingsfromspace]

Context: Velociraptors have been bred, among other things, for cockfighting. Athanasios loves dinosaurs, like a normal person, and is currently a little unstable so breaking into a cockfighting arena and pissing of the entire audience and showrunners seems like a good and useful way to pass the time. The Velociraptors have been bred & trained to be bird-aggressive, as it were, not people-aggressive, so they're more baffled than anything by this interruption of their fight, giving Athanasios the opportunity to grab one and just. Throw it over the fence. Be free of the cockfighting life, I'm sure there'll be no consequences to this.

The only problem is I don't know how to integrate this into the plot though I'm sure I could maybe probably cook up something eventually

[leafy--bab]

My bf is so obsessed with totk that he'll wake me up in the dead of night to tell me fun facts about it.

He sleep talks.

And all the facts are wildly inaccurate.

[lary-the-lizard]

Racist motherfuckers can’t be reasoned with because to be anti-racist you have to be open to learning that you are the problem. The only way to help someone stop being racist is to get them to understand, not that they are being harmful, but that they’re too weak and stupid to be right in their beliefs and that their feelings are indicators of that. In order to do that isn’t to tear them down with verbal violence of aggression but to show it to them so gently they think they found it on their own.

[milimeters-morales]

Someone: Miguel you have a spider on your back 😨!

Miguel: yeah that’s my cousin dw he’s just a bit tired

[caracello]

ive been so verbal today and im sooo thankful for it . ii am almost certain it will be back to barely talking tomorrow but i literally Spoke. like OUT LOUD. a few sentences today

[luminousbeings-crudematter]

land softly

Summary: Ghost & Soap are snowed in at a bed & breakfast. Fleabag voice: This is a love story. Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

Part 2 - Johnny performs a chore

When Johnny opens his eyes in the morning, he checks the time (0600), whips his head towards the bay window for a quick inspection (pure, blinding, snow white), and then groans.   The weather app on his phone confirms what he’d suspected: there’s no way he’s making it to Glasgow—he’s not even making it out of Yorkshire.

But he does need to figure out his situation at the inn, and groans aloud at the idea of convincing the grumpy innkeeper to let him stay another night.  Two, if the horrid weather persists.

His unasked question is answered when he ambles his way down to the kitchen at 0700, freshly showered, and the masked fella’s already there cooking streaky bacon.  The table’s been set for two and the smell of fresh coffee entices Johnny to take (what he thinks) are sneaky steps, but he gets caught out anyway.

“Morning,” the grump mutters, and Johnny carefully returns the greeting.  “Can’t leave in this weather, can ya, mate?”

“Uh…”  

“It’s fine,” the man mutters.  “I ain’t goin’ anywhere either, looks like.”  He turns around and motions to the empty chair.  “Sit.  Eat,” he orders, brusquely, and sets a full English in front of Johnny.

Johnny can’t help but wonder about the abrupt 180 in the giant’s mood from the previous evening, but he lets it go, considering he’s being fed a mighty big breakfast.  He’s shovelling eggs into his mouth with all the gentle decorum of a mountain bear pre-hibernation, when the giant takes the seat opposite him and stares.  No food in front of him, no coffee.  

Johnny squirms from the unblinking attention, on edge from the dark mask that hid his lower face—a mask adorned with the bottom half of a skull.  Eerie and fucking weird, but who was Johnny to judge.

In his line of work—ex line of work, he corrects himself bitterly—he’d seen much worse.

“You dinnae have to do all this, ah appreciate it!  Ye must have family tae go visit for Christmas and I’m holdin’ you up here, ah’m so sorry—”

“No family, s’ fine.”

Johnny’s eyes slide carefully to the ring on his left hand and back to his face, only to flush when he’s clearly been caught looking.  “Ah, ah’m sorry, I just saw the ring and thought ye were married, sorry, that’s—”

“I was.”

“But the ring—” Johnny blurts, before he can help himself.

“Ring stays.  Name’s Ghost,” the man says without missing a beat.  

“Yer name is Ghost?  Did your mam hate ye?”

“Dunno.  She’s dead.  Eat.”

Johnny nods absent-mindedly, and picks up his forgotten cutlery, sneaking glances at the—at Ghost.  

His attention remains unwaveringly on Johnny, though, and he stares intensely at Johnny through the whole thing. 

“I work ‘ere,” Ghost continues, as if the conversation had never stalled.  “Maintenance ‘n that.”

“Okay…”

“The kitchen’s stocked, if y’need to eat.  Help yourself anytime.  There’s coffee, tea, all sorts in there.  Stay as long as you need, there’s no drivin’ in this weather.  Give me a shout if you need me, I’ll be around.”

Ghost flings facts at Johnny at hyper-speed and Johnny’s unsure about what to do with this information.  

“Do—do ye need help?  Ah’m no’ doin’ anything anyway.  Be happy to help for yer lettin’ me stay—”

“Place needs a Christmas tree.”

Johnny chokes on his coffee.  Ghost merely leans back on the chair and waits him out, while painful, hacking coughs leave his body.

“Ye want me to put up yer tree?”

“Christmas in a couple days, innit?  Boiler needs lookin’ at too,” Ghost states and then narrows his eyes.  “I’ll sort that,” he says quickly, when Johnny looks like he was going to offer to do that instead.  “Pulled the tree ‘nd that outta the attic, it’s in the main room.  If you want to help.”    

“Alrate, I can decorate a tree.”

***

Johnny finds that he cannot, after all, decorate a tree.  He really struggles with it, really struggles with a fuckin’ Christmas tree—he can’t remember the last time he’d done this, which comes as a nasty shock—and decides that a change of strategy might be in order.  

He’s determined to do this right, though, and so he acknowledges (with a cringe) exactly what he needs to do.  

He bounds up to his room and grabs his phone.  It only rings twice before his sister answers.  “Too early, Johnny!  Wake my child and I’ll kill ye.”

“Sorry,” he laughs.  “Alright love?”

“S’ all good, pup.  But ye’re not gonna make it fer tonight either, the weather’s stirred up somethin’ awful.”  

“I know!  Never seen snow so bad this time o’ year.”  Johnny has to pause at the irony.  “Mother Nature herself isnae wantin’ me to meet my mother.”

“Yer not funny.”  He hears his sister sigh.  “Gonna be strange without ye here, y’know?”

“Ah know.”  But Johnny knew what his sister was too polite to say—that it might be weird without him there, but not necessarily bad.  He didn’t blame her. 

“Anyway.  Why’re ye calling so early?”

“Ah need your help…with a Christmas tree.”

“What?”  His sister’s voice had taken on an incredulous tone, two octaves higher than usual but when he explained to her what he wanted to do, and about the mysterious weirdo Ghost that ran the bed & breakfast, she was beyond intrigued.  “...kind of a name is Ghost?  His mam hate him?”

“‘S what I said!  But he’s lettin’ me stay here, even though the place is closed.  Fuck, ah’ll decorate his tree for ‘im.  Whatever.  Doesnae matter, can ye help me?”

“Such a brat, Johnny.  Fine.  Here’s what ye need to do.”

As she speaks about tinsel placement and an even bauble to tree ratio, Johnny  realises with a start that he hasn’t looked forward to a project like this for a long, long time.  Johnny’s only looked out for Johnny for so long that something as trivial as putting up a Christmas tree for someone else’s benefit felt like an undeniably selfless act of charity.  The thought disgusts him, he has to shake his head to distract himself from the dark line of thought.

The occasional glance out of the window reveals the constant, seemingly endless snow falling from the skies, but he’s grateful to at least be warm.  And while he separates the baubles from the tinsel from the tree lights, exactly as instructed, Johnny finds his thoughts straying from him.

Nothing’s caught his attention, nothing’s made him want to do something for someone else for a while.  Or maybe it’s just the gruff, stoic, kind of charming innkeeper.   And that thought comes as a surprise, seemingly out of nowhere. Huh.  

The only other constant apart from the snow seems to be the 80s music playing softly from upstairs.  Johnny knows it’s where Ghost is fixing the boiler, and occasionally, he’ll recognise the cheesy song playing from the vintage radio that Ghost seems to carry around with him along with his tool box.  It’s…beyond strange.  

Come afternoon and Johnny finds that he’s still not made as much progress as he’d  have liked to.  The front room of the inn is so messy, he’s thankful for the lack of any other guests at the place—there was hardly any place to walk around in the room.  

He doesn’t find that he has too much of an appetite—too engrossed in planning where he’d like the wreath to go in the room—but he hears Ghost rummaging around for something in the kitchen anyway.  And of course, it seems like where Ghost goes, so does the radio.       

And that’s it, isn’t it?  Johnny finds himself completely intrigued by Ghost.  He’s gorgeous under that mask, Johnny’s confident of it, but if he’s being completely honest, there’s only a few facts that he knows for certain about Ghost.  Special Forces.  Inn-keeper?  Listens to The Police a lot.  Cooks a decent breakfast.  Ah, he’s worked with less in the past.   

“Yer going to clean up after y’self, yeah?”

He’s a bad soldier for how the voice startles him and Johnny’s resentful to admit that he almost jumps a foot in the air from it.

“...yeh yeh, ah’ll clean up.  Almost done here, how’s it looking?”

Ghost stands up straighter, almost like he didn’t expect to be asked, but he crosses his arms over his chest and uses his chin to motion at the tree.  “Lights.”

“Aye, sir,” Johnny mumbles, rolling his eyes at the barely concealed command, and turns the lights on.  When he does, Ghost’s eyes widen slightly, and Johnny has to turn away to hide his smile.   “And?”

Ghost doesn’t say a word, but it’s like Johnny can see his entire frame melt.  It starts up at his shoulders, makes him uncross his arms which fall down to hang limply at his sides.  It’s like the entire tough demeanour falls away to the side, while he watches the lights of the tree and the decorations in the front room, and when he inhales, it’s shuddery.  He appears shaken up by what he sees, and Johnny can’t even begin to guess why. 

“Would ye like to put the star up on—”

“L-lunch is in the kitchen, help yourself,” Ghost mutters, then strides out, aiming for the front door.  Just before he leaves though, with a hand on the door handle, he pauses, and turns halfway to address Johnny.  “Thank you.  I, uh.  I appreciate it.  You didn’t hafta.”

“It’s no’ a prob—”  But Johnny doesn’t get to finish the rest of his sentence because the front door slams shut, and Ghost is gone.  “Steamin’ Christ,” he mutters.  

It’s only two hours later, when Johnny’s picking at his food in his own room, when movement outside the window catches his attention.  He sets his plate down and walks over, only to choke on his own breath like someone had punched his throat, hard.  He stands there, frozen, staring, wondering what on Earth was in his food that’s made him lose his mind.  

But, no.  Ghost stands there below his wind,  his all-black attire contrasting starkly against the blanket of snow.   In the middle of a snow storm, Ghost stands outside Johnny’s window, axe in hand, chopping wood.

It’s hypnotising, mesmerising,  Johnny finds, watching Ghost and his movements.  It’s surprising how none of it is surprising to Johnny—not the action, not the fact that Ghost is outside in a snowstorm to do it—but Johnny finds himself unconsciously holding his breath and clenching his fists while he observes the movement of Ghost’s body as he does it.  

There’s nothing lean about his body.    

He’s all powerful, rippling muscle under a healthy layer of fat, his chest gorgeously broad, expanding under a black hoodie that strains and relaxes under the movement.  Even from two storeys up where Johnny looks down at him, nothing about Ghost fits in.  Nothing about him looks like it belongs in this picturesque scene, and nothing about him can be glanced over.  He demands Johnny’s absolute attention, even when he doesn’t know it.  Especially because he doesn’t know it.  

Johnny takes a deep breath, and runs shaky fingers through his hair with his exhale.  The movement catches Ghost’s eyes because sharp eyes turn up to look at Johnny instantly.  Johnny’s caught unawares and regrets his finger-wave and chin-nod combo as he does it, embarrassed at having been caught ogling at the man while he’s on the job.  

And while Johnny can’t confirm it, not being able to see Ghost expression from the distance, when he gathers the logs of wood and walks them to the back entrance of the inn, Johnny’s sure Ghost stands taller and walks cockier.

It feels like the atmosphere in the inn becomes a bit more hospitable, and the ice between them melts a little.  At least…that’s what the knock on his door on Johnny’s door in the evening indicates.  It’s tentative, like even Ghost can’t believe he’s doing it.  Except, unlike Ghost, Johnny has had an entire afternoon to accept that he’s got a stupid crush on the hot innkeeper, and he’s flinging the door open.  

Ghost looks uncomfortable.  There’s no other way to put it—Ghost’s open hands twitch at his sides, his foot taps a quick staccato on the floor and he looks at anywhere but Johnny.    

So Johnny waits.  

“I, uh, wanted to know.  You want some dinner?  We got some.”

“Bit early fo’ dinner, Ghost.”  Johnny’s smile is wide, only widens when his hip leaning against the door frame catches Ghost’s attention. 

“Got a bar we can raid.”

 Johnny’s eyes sparkle with interest, before he pushes off the door, agrees easily.  “Must warn ye though, Ghost,” he says, as they make their way down the stairs, Johnny trailing the bigger man, enjoying the view.  “Best have a stocked bar.  I’m a Scotch man, meself.”

“Shocking.”

“What?  Not a fan?”

“I drink bourbon.”

“Like a good ol’ boy…”

Ghost’s sharp inhale makes Johnny hold his own breath for a moment, before they both relax.  “I like Kentucky,” comes the small whisper, almost a defensive after-thought.  Ghost rounds the corner into the kitchen with a quick stride and Johnny, rather unconvincingly, hides his sudden laugh as a cough.

Ghost’s scoff from the kitchen tells him how unconvincing that really was.  

***

“Ye got me right pished,” Johnny accuses, finger pointing to where Ghost’s form doubles and triples in front of him.   

“Only so I could ‘ave my way with you.”  The completely deadpan response he receives sets Johnny off, and only the crinkles around Ghost’s eyes make the ugly snort that leave his mouth worth it.  

They quiet after a while and then Ghost’s eyes lift and fixate on the hundreds of tiny lights around the room.  They looked gorgeous, and Johnny was proud of himself.  “You did well.  With the tree and that.  Thank you.”

“Ye…looked like ye didnae like it.  Earlier.”

Ghost scoffs, but the sound is sad.  “Sorry ‘bout that…didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.  About yesterday too.  It’s, er…’twas a strange day.  Wasn’t you.  Sorry.”  

Johnny melts at the awkward sincerity in Ghost’s voice but freezes when Ghost turns his face to look at him.  Oh.  Oh holy fuck.  His eyes aren’t brown, Johnny realises, horrified.  He’d looked at them earlier, dismissed them as a generic “dark,” but fuck.  

Holy fuckin’ shit, they’re not fucking  “dark,” they’re actually—

“Green!” Johnny blurts.  He’s sure getting shot at has been less painful than the hot, searing feeling of embarrassment that crawls up his chest and manifests as bright, embarrassing, pink across his face. Ghost stares at him blankly, and fuck, if Johnny isn’t in the most awkward three seconds of his life.  “Alright, that’s enough of that,” Ghost mumbles finally and stands up, wincing at his cracking knees as he does.  “Dinner?”

[runawaycarouselhorse]

[foreignobjecticus]

Unpowered gliders are really just planes for people who decided they want to do simulated engine failures for the whole flight.

[jellys-compendium]

Imagine Nanami Kento waking up from anesthesia after surgery, his bleary and unfocused gaze landing on you (his wife) standing beside him and holding his hand in yours. You smile at him warmly, softly reassuring him that he's okay and that you're right here beside him as he stares at you silently.

Nanami looks down at your joined hands, his gaze seems to focus on the wedding band adorning his ring finger. He stares at it for a moment before looking back up at you.

"Who are you?" He slurs, his words sloshy and imprecise. So unlike him, and so very adorable. "Are you a nurse?"

You giggle at Nanami's question.

"No, I'm not a nurse."

Nanami seems puzzled at your response. His brows furrow as his fingers move against yours, thumb stroking across your knuckles in that gentle motion he always does to soothe you. Your smile widens. Looks like there are some things that even ketamine can't erase.

"Wow. You got the most gorgeous smile. Are you a model? You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my whole life. You got really pretty teeth too..."

Kento's fingers tighten around yours, his voice falling into a groggy whisper.

"But...I think I'm married. We shouldn't be holding hands like this."

You bite your lip, fighting against the bubbling laughter in your throat and failing.

"O-Oh?"

Nanami nods, his expression shifting from one of appreciative awe to adorable seriousness.

"I want to be a good husband."

Well that just about melted your whole damn heart. Even the hospital staff in the background can't repress their "awww"s and "that's a keeper"s.

"Don't worry, you are a wonderful husband, Kento. I know that for sure."

He's confused again, those unfocused honey brown's searching yours, trying to figure out the situation as best as he can given the circumstances.

"How do you know?"

You raise your left hand, bringing it into his line of sight and wiggle your ring finger, the golden band surrounding it captures Nanami's attention in an instant.

"Because I'm your wife."

Nanami's eyes instantly grow wide, his expression morphing into one of childlike wonder.

"You're my wife?"

You laugh.

"Yes."

He squeezes your hand with a surprising amount of strength given that he was knocked out cold not that long ago.

"We're really married?"

"Yes."

"Wow..." Kento breathes, drifting off for a moment before asking you another question. "Have we kissed yet?"

His innocent yet hilarious question sends you into another fit of laugher.

"Y-yes! Many times."

Nanami rewards you with a dopey smile, his gaze so utterly loving, enchanted by your unrestrained joy.

"My wife." He murmurs adoringly, his fingers reaching up to caress your cheek.

"I love hearing you laugh." His palm cups your face. "You really are so beautiful. I hit the jackpot, didn't I?"

Grinning from ear to ear, you press a tender kiss to Kento's fingertips before guiding his hand back down to the bed.

"Alright sweetest man alive, you need to stop talking before you make every person in this room fall in love with you. I'm going to grab a snack for us for later. I'll be right back, okay?"

Kento nods.

"Okay. Can I get another kiss when you come back?"

[fairy-angel222]

𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

He’s so cocky at first, smirking when you bottom down on his length. “Think you can handle it baby? Take your time if you need to kay? I know it might be too much f’ you.” He chuckles.

You raise a brow in amusement. “Oh i can handle it baby, can you?” Was what you’d first said. And that question hadn’t changed since.

His lips parted in breathy groans and heavy breathing as his hands find your waist. Lips red and swollen from biting them as his eyes looked up at you almost pleadingly. “F-fuck baby.. you’re— shit, going so f-fast. Wanna slow d-down hmm?”

You smile widely, back arching as you lean down to kiss his jaw softly. Giving a false hum in thought. “Mmm.. you can take it.” He lets out the most cry like moan, head falling back into his pillow as his hips jerk upwards. Body trembling lightly when his eyes met yours.

“Shit— please baby. You d-don’t know how fucking- haah.. how fucking tight she’s grippin’ me right now.” He was referring to the way your snug walls stroked up and down his length with every harsh bounce of your hips. “I’m gonna— o-oh fuck, gonna cum again.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at the crack in his voice. Your head tilted to the side as you coo teasingly. “Yeah? Gonna be a good boy n cum f’ me baby?”

He chuckles shakily, chest rising and falling at a rapid pace as his cock twitches inside you. “God i fucking love you— ahh, even when you’re milking my cock like you hate m-me.” His senses were heightened, ears picking up the every squelch on your sopping pussy and his cock feeling every ridge of your gummy walls.

He lost it when you began rolling your hips sensually. Your thighs sticking to his at the mere amount of slick that joined you two. Your wetness and his cum seeping between your folds and down his girth, turning your skilled movements sloppy as you rut your hips.

You brought a hand to his face, using your nail to brush his hair off of his sweaty forehead. “C’ mon.. let it all out.” You smiled sweetly, eyes holding a dark glint when his eyes turn teary. Small beads of water pooling at his lids before he’s crying out your name.

Overly sensitive cock aching as he spills yet another load into you. Pumping the thick white substance till you’re pumped full. The rest of the substance spurting back onto him at the lack of space.

You let out a moan, “Wow baby- there’s so much. Might.. might just be your biggest load yet.” You were getting tired, but you’d never let him know that. You swear you hear him whimper when you capture his lips with yours slowly beginning to rock your hips again.

“Shit— don’t think- d-don’t think i can give you any more baby. Feels like my cock’s gonna f-fall off.” He panted, trying to keep himself together when he felt you jerking him off with your smug walls again. A small tremble raking through his body each time your ass landed back down.

His hand left your waist to cover his reddening face. Unable to hide the cherry shade of his ears and neck as he whimpered yet again. Choking out a string of moans with tears staining his cheeks when you shush him gently, “‘S only one more baby, give me one more.”

You were the only one with the ability to truly break Satoru if you tried.

[wispexists]

WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD DISCOVERED: dropping ur phone on ur kity :(