#that one is all story. its practically on rails its so story

[banukai]

totk critical tag is like 90% "why isnt the narrative good" like have you played a zelda game before. a coherent narrative is a bonus. these games are all derivative of the same kinda bland story. you're supposed to be here for the gameplay first, the story like 3rd or 4th. its okay. you dont have to like the story. but youre coming to the wrong franchise if you think the story was ever good...

[arolesbianism]

Band swap au and unit swap au being in the same universe barely matters for either's plots but I think it'd be funny if for some roselia story stuff Mafuyu is just there as "Yukina's honorary brother" and it's never elaborated upon further

[joelmillerisapunk]

Howdy Honey I. can't get you off my mind

series masterlist masterlist

wordcount: 6,709

summary: After a tumultuous fall from your horse that leaves you with a fractured wrist and bruised ribs, you find solace in the strong arms and gentle care of Joel Miller, the new ranch hand whose rugged exterior hides a tender heart.

warnings: mentions of falling, fracture, eventual smut, slowburn, age-gap, some fluff, two stubborn people falling in love, angst, from both your and Joel's pov

notes: First of all thank you to all of you for supporting the masterlist, I am absolutely blown away! I appreciate the heck out of you all so very much! <3 <3 Second thank you sm to @joelslegalwhre and @mountainsandmayhem for screaming with me about all of this ily both <3 Third I wrote this after my own experiences falling off a horse and being carried by a hot cowboy at work. K I'm gonna go panic, love you all bye. gif is by @tomshiddles divider by @saradika-graphics

The sun is high and unforgiving, casting a golden hue over the sprawling acres of your family's ranch—a place where the West still feels wild and untamed. The ranch, nestled in a valley surrounded by rugged mountains, is a patchwork of green pastures, dotted with grazing cattle and horses. The main house, a sturdy two-story structure with a wraparound porch, stands proudly at the heart of the property, its whitewashed walls and red roof are like a beacon for the lost amidst the vast expanse of land. You can always find your way back home.

To the east lies the stables, a long, low building with enough room to house two dozen horses comfortably. Its wooden walls have weathered to a soft gray, and the scent of hay and horse is always present in the air. Just beyond the stables is the equipment barn, filled with tractors, balers, and all manner of tools necessary for maintaining the ranch. The sound of metal clanging against metal often echoes from within as ranch hands tend to repairs or prepare for the day's work. A little further out is the chicken coop, bustling with activity as hens peck at the ground and roosters crow their morning greetings.

On the southern end of the ranch, a series of fenced-in training pens are set up for breaking in new horses or for practicing roping skills. It's here that you often find the newly hired ranch hand, Joel Miller, expertly mending a section of split-rail fence or guiding a young colt through its paces with patience and skill honed over decades. 

You've grown up with the scent of hay and the sound of hooves on dirt, a life that's as much a part of you as the blood in your veins. Recently, your parents brought on a few new ranch hands, a decision driven not only by their advancing years and a growing wanderlust but also, you suspect, by a desire to ensure you're well looked after in their absence. It didn't seem to matter how many times you'd promised that you and [name] the very first and only other person hired to help around, could take care of the ranch -  they never let go of the fact you weren't five anymore. 

Today you find yourself working a little less hard because of Joel Miller, the new ranch hand that looks like he stepped straight out of a Western movie. You watch him from afar as you make your way to take your horse out, his muscles straining against his plaid shirt as he repairs a section of fencing. He moves with an easy grace despite his age and broad build. His salt-and-pepper hair peeks out from under his worn cowboy hat, and you can't help but feel a pull towards him, something beyond the usual respect for a seasoned hand.

The ranch is alive with activity as you prepare Daisy for her daily run. The horses in the nearby pasture lift their heads at your approach, their ears pricked with curiosity. Daisy nickers softly, her tail swishing in anticipation as you lead her out of her stall and toward the open pasture. As you trot along one of the well-worn trails, you pass by landmarks that tell stories of your family's history; there's an old rusted tractor from your grandfather's time, now half-buried in wildflowers; a grove where you used to play hide-and-seek with your siblings; and further on, an ancient stone marker placed by settlers who once claimed this land as their own. Each sight brings back memories that are as much a part of you as they are a part of this place. 

But today, these familiar sights are merely blurs in your peripheral vision as Daisy gallops across the landscape. The wind whips through your hair, and you feel a rush of adrenaline as the horse's muscles move powerfully beneath you. It's in these moments that you feel most at peace, in harmony with the natural world around you.

Suddenly, a sharp cry from Daisy breaks the rhythm of her gait. You pull sharply on the reins as a jackrabbit darts out from the underbrush, its sudden appearance startling her. In an instant, your peaceful ride turns to chaos. Daisy rears up, her eyes wide with fear, and you're thrown from the saddle, the world a blur of blue sky and golden earth. The impact is jarring, knocking the breath from your lungs as you hit the ground hard. Pain radiates from your side and arm. As you lie there, struggling to catch your breath, Daisy gallops away towards the safety of the stables, leaving you alone in a cloud of dust.

The sun beats down mercilessly upon you as waves of pain wash over your body. You try to move but find that even breathing is a challenge. You try to push yourself up, but a wave of nausea forces you back down. It's then that you hear the pounding of hooves approaching fast and boots hitting the ground. 

"Easy there, easy," a familiar voice drawls as strong hands gently roll you onto your back. Joel's face swims into view, his brow furrowed with concern. "Looks like ya had a bit of a tumble, darlin'. Can you tell me where it hurts?" His voice is deep and soothing, cutting through the haze of pain. You manage to point to your side, wincing as he carefully probes the area. "Just bruised, I reckon," he says after a moment, his touch is surprisingly gentle for such calloused hands. "Your arm too. We should get ya back to the house. Might have t'see the doctor."

Over my dead body, you think to yourself.

With surprising ease, Joel scoops you up into his arms, cradling you against his chest. You can't help but notice the warmth radiating from his body. It's an intimacy that makes your breath hitch in your throat—a sensation that has nothing to do with your injuries.

"Gave me quite the scare there darlin," Joel remarks as he carries you towards his waiting horse. His tone is light but there's an undercurrent of something else—affection? worry? "What were you thinkin’ taking Daisy out alone after that storm last night? These trails can be treacherous."

You want to argue that you're capable and don't need help, that it was just a routine ride and something spooked Daisy but arguing takes energy—energy that's currently in short supply thanks to the pain radiating from your side and shooting through your arm. Instead you murmur a weak apology. "Didn't think it’d be a problem."

Joel chuckles softly. "Well, I reckon that's part of the adventure, ain't it? Never quite knowing what the day's gonna bring." He adjusts his hold on you slightly, his grip firm yet careful. "But next time, maybe wait for someone to come with you. Safety in numbers and all that."

As he settles you onto his horse, he keeps a steady hand on your back, “you okay darlin?” He asks, making sure you're secure before you nod and he swings up behind you as gently as he can. The closeness is overwhelming; his body is a solid wall of heat at your back, and you can feel the muscles in his thighs as they grip the horse's flanks. It's a strange mix of vulnerability and safety, being so close to this man who just (weeks/days?) ago was a little more than a stranger.

The ride back to the ranch is a blur of sensations—the rhythmic sway of the horse beneath you, the scent of leather and sweat mingling with Joel's unique aroma of woodsmoke and something undeniably masculine. You find yourself leaning into him without thinking, seeking comfort in his strength.

"Almost there," Joel reassures you as the house comes into view. His breath is warm against your ear, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. "We'll get some ice on those bruises and take a look at you."

Once at the ranch house, he carries you inside and sets you down gently on the living room couch crouching beside you to remove your boots. His fingers brush against your skin accidentally as he works them off one by one—a touch that sends sparks racing along your nerves despite yourself and despite any rational thought about how much older he is than you. You quickly blink them away.

"Ice pack," he commands firmly but kindly before disappearing into the kitchen. You hear the clinking of ice being scooped from the freezer. 

As Joel returns from the kitchen, the air in the room shifts subtly. He kneels beside you on the couch, his movements deliberate and gentle. "This might be a bit cold at first," he warns, his voice carrying a hint of gruffness that hadn't been there before.

You nod, bracing yourself for the shock of cold. But when he lifts the hem of your shirt to expose your bruised side, the brush of his fingers against the sensitive skin of your stomach sends an unexpected wave of heat coursing through you. It's a clinical touch, meant only to aid in your recovery, but the proximity of his hands to the curves of your body is not lost on you.

He places the makeshift ice pack against your side, the cold seeping your body. You can't help the sharp intake of breath as the icy chill envelops the tender area. Joel's eyes flick to yours, concern etched across his features.

"Sorry, darlin'," he murmurs, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary. "I know it's uncomfortable, but it'll help with the swelling."

You give him a small, reassuring smile, trying to convey that you understand—that you appreciate his attentiveness. As he holds the ice pack in place, his other hand comes to rest on your hip, a steady presence that seems to anchor you amidst the discomfort.

The room is silent save for the soft ticking of the grandfather clock and the occasional crackle of ice as it begins to melt against your skin. You can feel the heat of Joel's palm through the fabric of your jeans, and you find yourself acutely aware of every point of contact between you.

After a few minutes, he slowly lifts the ice pack away, his eyes scanning your side with a practiced eye. "How does it feel now?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that seems to resonate within you.

"A bit better," you admit, the pain having dulled to a manageable ache.

He nods, his attention still focused on your injury. With a gentle touch that belies his rugged exterior, he traces the edge of the bruise with his fingers, his touch feather-light yet firm. The sensation sends a shiver up your spine, and you find yourself holding your breath, waiting for his next move.

"You're gonna be sore for a few days," he says. "But I think you'll live."

As he withdraws his hand, you feel an odd sense of loss, as if the warmth of his touch had become a lifeline in the midst of your pain. You watch as he rises to his feet, his tall frame casting a shadow over you.

"Thank you, Joel," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. The words feel inadequate, but they're all you have to offer in this moment.

The corners of Joel's mouth twitch into a small smile, and he gives a nod, turning back towards the kitchen 

While he's gone, you take the opportunity to study him from afar as he walks through the open room to the kitchen. There's an air of quiet strength about him, a sense of resilience. You find yourself wondering about his past—where he came from, what brought him here to your family's ranch. But those questions will have to wait for another time; right now, just talking and moving is enough of a challenge without adding an interrogation into the mix.

Joel returns with a glass of water and some painkillers. "Here," he says gently, helping you sit up enough to swallow the pills before lying back down against the cushions with a wince at the sharp pain in your side again.

“Rest up now," Joel instructs. “I'll take care of things around here for the rest of the day. You just focus on healin.”

You drift in and out of sleep on the couch and everytime you drift out you see Joel lingering around keeping watch over you like some kind old west guardian angel dressed in denim. 

As the day wanes and the shadows grow long across the hardwood floors, you stir from your uneasy slumber. The pain in your side is a dull roar now, thanks to the medication Joel provided. You blink slowly, your eyes adjusting to the dim light of the living room. The ranch is quiet, save for the occasional creak of the old house settling and the distant sound of Joel's voice as he talks to one of the horses in the stable.

Your heart flutters at the thought of him—his rugged features, his gentle touch, and those eyes that seem to see right through you. It's a dangerous path your thoughts are taking, but you can't help it. There's something about Joel that draws you in, despite the years between you.

The front door opens with a soft squeak, and Joel steps inside, his boots leaving a trail of dust on the floorboards. He looks weary but satisfied, his shirt damp with sweat from a hard day's work. His gaze finds you instantly, and a warm smile spreads across his face.

"You're awake," he observes needlessly as he approaches. "How're you feeling?"

"Sore," you admit with a small grimace as you try to sit up straighter on the couch. "But better than before." You didn't want to admit how bad your arm was actually killing you.

Joel nods in approval before disappearing into the kitchen again—a man of few words but many actions. He returns a bit later with a steaming mug in hand and offers it to you carefully so as not to spill any on your lap. 

"Chamomile tea," he explains gruffly when he sees your questioning look at what seems like an unusual choice for someone like him, someone who seems more accustomed to strong black coffee than herbal infusions. "It'll help with any lingering pain and help ya sleep." 

You take a tentative sip; making sure to grab the cup with your good hand it's sweetened just how you like it—a small detail that makes your chest tighten unexpectedly because it means he's been paying attention even when he didn’t have to be.  The warmth seeps into your hands as much as into your insides making everything feel less daunting all at once despite your injuries.

The evening settles in, casting a cozy glow over the living room. The ranch is quiet, the animals bedded down for the night, and the chores all done. Joel lingers, his presence a comforting constant in the otherwise empty house. He settles into the armchair across from you, the lines of his face softened by the dim light.

"You should eat somethin’," he suggests, already rising from his chair. "I'll fix ya up a plate."

Before you can protest, he's back in the kitchen, the clatter of dishes and the smell of food wafting through the air. You can't help but smile at his insistence. It's been a long time since anyone has taken care of you like this.

Joel returns with a tray balanced in one hand—a simple meal of soup and a sandwich, cut into manageable pieces. He sets it down on the coffee table, pulling it closer to you. "Eat up," he urges, his tone gentle but firm. "You need to keep your strength up."

As you eat, he watches you, his gaze never straying far. It's an odd sensation, being the focus of such intense attention, but you find yourself not minding it. There's a sense of security in his watchfulness, a feeling that you're not alone in this big house.

When you've finished eating, Joel takes the tray away, leaving you to sip your tea in peace. The painkillers are starting to wear off, and as you move to adjust your position on the couch, a sharp, stabbing pain shoots through your arm, causing you to yelp in surprise and discomfort.

Joel, who has been quietly cleaning up the remnants of dinner in the kitchen, is at your side in an instant. "What is it?" he asks, his voice laced with concern. "Did you move wrong?"

"It's my arm," you admit through gritted teeth, cradling the injured limb with your other hand. "I think I might have aggravated it."

With a nod, Joel gently takes your arm in his hands, his touch firm yet gentle. He probes the area with practiced ease, watching your face for any signs of pain. When he reaches a particular spot, you can't help but flinch, a hiss escaping your lips. “Shh, I know. Easy, easy," he soothes you like a wounded animal, before releasing your arm. His brow is furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. "I don't like the look of this. Could be broken, or at least badly sprained. We need to get you to a doctor first thing in the mornin’."

"I'm sure it's fine, Joel," you argue weakly, not wanting to cause a fuss. "It's probably just a bad bruise. I'll be okay after a good night's sleep."

But Joel is having none of it. "No, it ain't fine," he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You could be doin’ more damage by not getting it checked out. I'll drive you to the clinic myself in the morning. This ain’t up for debate."

You know that look on his face—it's the same one he wears when he's dealing with a stubborn horse or a difficult piece of machinery. There's no point in trying to dissuade him when he's made up his mind. And truthfully, the idea of having a professional assess your injuries is somewhat of a relief.

"Alright," you relent with a sigh, the fight draining out of you. "I'll go to the doctor in the morning."

Joel's expression softens, and he gives your good shoulder a gentle squeeze. "That's the smart choice, darlin'. We'll get you fixed up in no time."

As he moves away to finish tidying up the kitchen, you find yourself watching him, a mix of gratitude and something deeper swirling within you. Despite the pain and the uncertainty of your injuries, you can't help but feel a sense of safety and comfort with Joel around. You're taken from your thoughts when Joel comes back into the living room. "I should be gettin’ home," Joel says after a while, his voice low and reluctant. "But I'll be back first thing to check on you."

You nod, trying to hide your disappointment. The house feels too big, too empty to be without him in it. "I'll be okay, Joel," you assure him, trying not to worry him, though the words taste like a stale cigarette on your tongue. "Thank you for everything."

He gives you a long, searching look before nodding slowly. "Alright then," he says, rising from his chair. "You remember what I said about not pushin’ yourself too hard?"

"Yes," you reply with a small smile. "Rest and recovery."

"That's right," he affirms, pulling on his jacket. "And don't hesitate to call me if you need anything—no matter the time."

You watch as he heads for the door, his silhouette framed by the night outside. Just before he steps out into the darkness, he turns back to you, his eyes reflecting the soft light of the living room. "Goodnight darlin," he says, his voice carrying a hint of something unspoken.

"Goodnight, Joel," you whisper back, the words hanging in the air long after he's gone.

The house is silent once more, save for the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the corner. You finish your tea and carefully set the mug aside, the warmth of it still lingering on your lips. With a sigh, you settle back against the cushions, the pain in your side a dull reminder of the day's events.

As the night deepens, you find yourself reaching for your phone, your fingers typing out a message before you can second-guess yourself.

Hey. Just wanted to say thank you again for today. I'm okay, just wanted to say thanks. Hope you got home safe.

What you really meant was, “please come back I'm fucking scared being alone.”

You hit send before you can change your mind, the message disappearing into the ether. Minutes tick by with no response, and you chide yourself for expecting otherwise. Joel is probably already asleep, or at least on his way to getting some much-needed rest after the day he's had. But just as you're about to set your phone aside and try to get some sleep yourself, it vibrates in your hand, startling you. A notification lights up the screen—a new message from Joel.

Of course. That's what I'm here for. Got home just fine. How are the ribs? Any better with the meds?

You can't help but smile at the concern in his words, the gruff affection that seems to come so naturally to him. You reply, telling him about the tea and the meal, about how much better you feel with him looking out for you.

His response is quick, as if he's been waiting by his phone for your message. 

Glad to hear it. And remember, there's no rush to get back in the saddle if you're not feeling up to it. Everything will still be here when you're ready. Your health is the priority now. If there's anything I can do for you, just holler. I've got your chores covered. Take care of yourself and don't hesitate to reach out if you need anything or just want to talk about what happened.

You read his words over and over, each one a balm to the lingering ache in your side—and to the unexpected emptiness in your heart. With a contented sigh, you finally set your phone aside and close your eyes, the sound of the ranch at night lulling you into a peaceful sleep.

______________________________________________________________

The next morning, you're awakened by the sound of a vehicle pulling up outside. You rub the sleep from your eyes and glance at the clock—it's early, barely past dawn. With some effort, you manage to sit up and swing your legs over the edge of the couch, wincing at the stiffness in your muscles.

The front door opens, and Joel steps inside, his hands full of a large wicker basket. "Brought you some things," he announces, setting the basket down on the coffee table. Inside, you find an assortment of items—fresh fruit, a few paperback novels, a soft, hand-knitted blanket, and a small potted plant. "I figured you could use some company," he says, gesturing to the plant. "And the books are from my daughter's collection. She loves a good western—thought you might enjoy them."

The revelation that Joel has a daughter is something that catches you off guard, a piece of him that he kept carefully tucked away, a piece you want to know more about. 

You're touched by the thoughtfulness of his gifts, each one carefully chosen to bring you comfort during your recovery. "Joel, this is... it's too much," you protest half-heartedly, even as you reach out to run your fingers over the soft wool of the blanket.

"Nonsense, darlin’," he replies with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

The way he calls you darlin’ brings heat to your cheeks, and you quickly look away, busying yourself with arranging the items in the basket. When you finally gather the courage to meet his gaze again, you find him watching you with a soft smile on his face and you assume he's forgotten about the doctor until he speaks up.

“Alright let's go.” Joel's stands up and holds a hand out to you. 

You look up at him and chuckle “It's fine Joel. It barely even hurts.”

The argument is brief but intense, with you stubbornly insisting that a trip to the clinic is unnecessary despite the pain in your arm. Joel, however, is just as adamant, his concern for your well-being overriding any protests you might have.

"I ain't gonna stand by and watch you suffer when there's somethin’ that can be done about it," he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way."

You cross your arms defiantly, wincing as the movement sends a jolt of pain through your injured wrist. "And what's the hard way?" you challenge him, though there's a hint of amusement in your voice.

Without warning, Joel strides toward you, scooping you up into his arms before you can react. You let out a startled yelp as he hoists you over his shoulder with surprising ease, his strong hands holding you securely in place.

"Hey! Put me down!" You pound on his back with your good hand, your cheeks hot with embarrassment and indignation. But beneath the surface, there's an undeniable thrill at being so close to him—at feeling the muscles in his shoulders and back move beneath his shirt as he carries you effortlessly toward the front door.

"As soon as we get to the truck," he replies calmly, unfazed by your struggles. "We're going to see Dr. Simmons whether you like it or not."

You continue to squirm and protest as he carries you across the yard to where his truck is parked. The other ranch hands look on with barely concealed grins but wisely choose to keep their comments to themselves. They know better than to get between Joel Miller and something he's set his mind to.

With a gentleness that belies his gruff exterior, Joel sets you down on the passenger seat of the truck and buckles your seatbelt for you before closing the door and heading around to the driver's side. 

Joel.

He grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white as he navigates the familiar dirt roads that lead away from the ranch. He can see you out of the corner of his eye, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the passing landscape. A vision of stubborn beauty, your jaw set in a way that makes his heart do things it hadn't done in years. He can feel the tension radiating off you—a mix of pain and frustration at being manhandled against your will. He can't blame you for being upset. If someone had picked him up and carried him off like a sack of feed, he'd be mad too. But when he saw you lying there in the dirt, hurt and vulnerable, something inside him shifted. It awakened a protective instinct that he thought had died along with Sarah.

Damn it, Joel, he chides himself. She's young enough to be your daughter. But the thought feels hollow, a weak defense against the pull he feels toward you. You’re strong, fiercely independent, and yet, there’s a vulnerability to you that calls to something deep within him, the need to care for someone - for you. He glances over at you again, taking in the delicate curve of your jaw, and the way your hair falls in waves around your shoulders, taking in the way the morning light plays across your features. You’re a sight to behold, all fire and spirit wrapped up in a package that is far too tempting for his peace of mind. Every time he looks at you, all logic seems to fly out the window. There's an undeniable connection between you, a spark that ignites whenever you're near each other. It's terrifying and exhilarating, you make him feel young again. 

He risks another glance in your direction, and his heart skips a beat when he finds you watching him with those big doe eyes of yours. Joel swallows hard, forcing himself to look away before his thoughts can wander any further down that dangerous path. He needs to focus on getting through this day without letting his guard down completely.

The clinic is just up ahead now, its whitewashed walls gleaming in the early morning sun. He pulls into the parking lot and kills the engine, turning to face you with a stern expression that belies the turmoil he feels inside.

"Ready?" he asks, though it's clear from his tone that it's more of a statement than a question. He's not going to let you talk your way out of this one—not when your health is at stake.

You nod reluctantly, your gaze fixed on the clinic entrance. You're nervous; he can see it in the way your fingers worry at the hem of your shirt, in the slight tremble of your chin. He wants to reach out and wrap you in his arms, to offer some semblance of comfort, but he holds back. It wouldn't be appropriate—not here, not now. Instead, he climbs out of the truck and comes around to open your door for you, offering a hand to help you down onto solid ground.

The interior of the clinic is cool and sterile-smelling—a stark contrast to the fresh air and open spaces of the ranch. Joel checks you in at the reception desk while you sink into one of the waiting room chairs, wincing as even that small movement sends a twinge of pain through your side and arm.  Joel takes a seat beside you in the waiting room, his hands clasped tightly between his knees. He can feel the tension emanating from you, a coiled spring ready to leap to action at the slightest provocation. He knows that look—it's the same one he's seen on injured animals over the years, a mix of fear and defiance. It tugs at something deep within him, a primal urge to protect those he cares about most.

He wants to say something to ease your discomfort, but words seem inadequate in the face of your pain. Instead, he reaches out tentatively, his hand hovering just above your knee before he gives in to the impulse and rests it there gently—a silent promise that he's not going anywhere.

You startle at his touch, your gaze flicking to his face in surprise. But as you meet his eyes, you see nothing but sincerity and concern reflected back at you. Slowly, deliberately, you place your own hand over his.

The waiting room is filled with the soft hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional rustle of magazines being flipped through by other patients. Joel's thumb traces idle patterns on your leg as you sit there together in silence.

"Joel," you say finally, breaking the silence that has settled between you. Your voice is quiet, but it cuts through the ambient noise like a knife. "I want to thank you - for everything."

He shakes his head dismissively, though there's a warmth in his eyes that wasn't there before. "No need for thanks," he replies gruffly. "I did what anyone else woulda done."

"No," you insist firmly, turning in your seat so that you're facing him fully now—ignoring the twinge of pain it elicits from your injuries. "Joel," you say again, your voice steady despite the pain you're clearly in. "I mean it. You've been... you've done so much for me. More than I could have asked for."

He opens his mouth to respond, to downplay his role in your care, but the words die on his lips as the nurse appears in the doorway, clipboard in hand. She calls out your name, scanning the room until her eyes land on the two of you.

Reluctantly, Joel withdraws his hand from your knee, the connection between you severed as you rise to follow the nurse. He stands as well, intending to accompany you, but the nurse shakes her head. "Just the patient for now, please," she says with a polite but firm smile.

You shoot him a reassuring look over your shoulder as you follow the nurse down the hallway, leaving Joel alone with his thoughts. He sinks back into his chair, his hands clasped tightly between his knees again as he waits for you to return.

The minutes tick by slowly, each second stretching into an eternity. Joel's mind races with worry and concern. He knows the ranch like the back of his hand, can handle any crisis that comes his way—but this is different. This is about you, and the thought of you in pain, of you being afraid, is more than he can bear.

He can't shake the image of you lying in the dust after being thrown from Daisy, the fear in your eyes when you realized you couldn't get up on your own. It had been years since he'd felt that kind of raw terror, the kind that gripped your heart and squeezed until you couldn't breathe. But in that moment, with you hurt and helpless, it all came flooding back. Joel had always prided himself on his strength, both physical and emotional. He'd had to be strong after Sarah passed, but with you, he felt something shift inside him—a crack in the armor he'd spent years building up around his heart. He cared about you, more than he should. It was a truth he couldn't ignore, no matter how hard he tried. You were young, vibrant, full of potential and promise. And he, well, he was just an old cowboy with more yesterdays than tomorrows. But when he looked at you, when he saw the fire in your eyes, he felt alive in a way he hadn't in years.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when he hears your name called again. He looks up to see the nurse beckoning him forward with a gentle smile.

"You can come back now," she says, her voice soft and reassuring. "She's asking for you."

Joel's heart skips a beat at her words. He rises quickly, his boots thudding against the linoleum floor as he follows the nurse through the maze of hallways to the examination room where you're waiting. His mind races with possibilities—none of them good. 

Why would they need me if everything was fine? Had something happened while you were back there? Was the injury worse than they initially thought?

The door to the examination room creaks open, and Joel steps inside, his eyes immediately going to you. You're sitting on the edge of the examination table, your face pale but composed. The relief that washes over him at seeing you unharmed is palpable; it leaves him momentarily lightheaded as he crosses the room to your side.

"What's goin on?" he asks urgently, his gaze flicking between you and the doctor who is standing nearby with a clipboard in hand. "Is everything alright?"

Dr. Simmons gives him a reassuring nod before turning his attention back to you. "I was just explaining to your friend here that it looks like she's got some bruised ribs and a fracture in her wrist," he says matter-of-factly as he jots something down on his clipboard. "We'll need to keep an eye on those ribs—make sure there's no internal bleeding or complications—but I think she'll be just fine with some rest and proper care.We gave her some pain medication before the x-ray. It may make her tired so she will need to be watched. No driving, etc. And she will need to come back in three weeks from now to get an updated x-ray of her wrist."

Joel lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, relief flooding through him like a tidal wave crashing against jagged rocks. He reaches out instinctively, taking your good hand in his own as he listens intently while Dr. Simmons goes over your care instructions.

Once the doctor finishes his instructions and hands over the prescription, Joel helps you down from the examination table, his hand at the small of your back providing a steady, reassuring presence. "Let's get your meds and then getcha home," he says softly, guiding you out of the clinic and back to his truck.

The drive to the pharmacy is quiet, the air between you thick with unspoken thoughts and emotions. Joel keeps stealing glances at you, noting the way you're cradling your injured wrist against your chest, the way your breath hitches ever so slightly when the truck hits a bump in the road. He wants to say something, to offer some words of comfort, but he's never been good with this sort of thing. He's a man of action, not words.

At the pharmacy, Joel takes charge, handling the paperwork and payment while you sit quietly on a nearby bench. He can see the exhaustion etched into your features, the way your eyelids are starting to droop. He knows you're running on fumes, and the pain medication will likely knock you out soon.

He heads back to the ranch, the truck's engine humming softly beneath the weight of the silence that stretches between you. You're fading fast, the medication they gave you at the doctor taking its toll. He can see you struggling to keep your eyes open, your body swaying slightly with each turn of the vehicle.

Once he reaches the ranch house, he parks as close to the front door as possible and hurries around to your side of the truck. You're already half-asleep by the time he opens your door, your eyelids fluttering as you fight to stay awake. "Easy now," Joel murmurs, unbuckling your seatbelt and scooping you into his arms with a tenderness that surprises even himself. You let out a soft sigh as he carries you into the house, your head lolling against his chest. The trust you place in him is both humbling and terrifying and the sweet little noises coming from your mouth don't make any of this easier. 

He settles you onto the couch, propping pillows behind your back to keep you comfortable. You smile sleepily up at you, a smile that sends a jolt straight to his heart and many other places. "Stay with me?" You ask quietly. 

How could he possibly say no?

Joel nods, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face, “‘course darlin, just gonna make you somethin to eat real quick.” Joel heads into the kitchen to prepare something for you to eat. An Eggo waffle seems like a safe bet—simple and comforting in its familiarity. He pops one into the toaster and waits impatiently for it to brown, his thoughts consumed by the woman lying on the couch.

Joel returns to the living room, the scent of warm waffles wafting through the air. He sets the plate down on the coffee table, along with a glass of water and the bottle of pain medication the pharmacist had given him. "Here you go, darlin'," he says softly, offering you a small smile. "Eat up, and then we'll get you settled in with a movie or somethin."

You nod, managing a weak smile in return as you reach for the waffle with your good hand. The simple act of eating seems to revive you somewhat, though Joel can tell you're still in a considerable amount of pain. He watches as you take a tentative bite, followed by a sip of water to wash it down.

"Thank you," you murmur between bites, your eyes meeting his in a silent exchange of gratitude and concern.

Joel nods, his throat tightening unexpectedly at the sincerity in your voice. "Anything for you," he replies gruffly, the words slipping out before he can stop them. He quickly clears his throat and changes the subject. "What do ya feel like watchin’? There's some old western tapes layin around or we could find somethin else.”

“Hmmm” You think about it for a moment before responding with a slight shrug of your shoulders—a movement that causes you to wince slightly, “I'm not picky. Whatever you want cowboy.” 

If only I could tell ya what I want darlin’

Taglist: @mermaidgirl30 @maried01

[giamee]

𝐅𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔!

ཐི♡ཋྀ featuring -> luocha, blade, dan heng, jing yuan, gepard landau, welt yang

ཐི♡ཋྀ contains -> soulmate!au, no warnings just fluff (?) and maybe a bit suggestive for welt. ALSO LUOCHA'S IS SO ANGSTY AND FOR WHAT IDK IM SORRY

ཐི♡ཋྀ gia's notes -> ok so you know that soulmate au thing where the moles on ur body are where ur lover in a past life kissed you the most? yeah. i opened star rail for the first time in like 2 weeks today cos i rage quit after getting silver wolf while trying to build pity for luocha and then i did the story quest thingy and brainrot happened. sorry for being gone for so long. have this <3 (ppl who requested stuff two months ago i see you i hear you i'm just a slow writer)

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ LUOCHA has a particularly noticeable mole on the right side of his neck. with his high collar and serious expression, that remains another guarded secret of his that is privy to only his own searching eyes, a secret that raises colour in his cheeks at the insinuation of its placement.

having spent more time around the dead than the living these past few months, love and human connection is not exactly an occurence that can happen naturally within his profession.

and for the most part, that's alright.

yet there are some lonely nights where luocha finds his gloved fingertips grazing the dark spot on his neck, wishing that he could be graced with the same tenderness in this life that he had received in his previous one. if he closed his eyes and concentrated hard enough, he could almost feel the ghostly brush of a pair of lips against his cool skin, the feathery sensation sending a soft shiver down his spine, accompanied by the distant giggle of a past lover in his ear before it slips his grasp and he rolls onto his side in frustration.

that damned spot might as well be placed directly over his heart, considering the amount of influence it held over him.

he could only hope that his dreams tonight would reunite him with the figure that haunts his conscious mind too now, and continue his fruitless search to find them once again in his waking realm.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ BLADE has moles on his chest and back littered amidst the scars that mar his porcelain skin. always a skeptic, the man has never been one to believe in the fanciful stories of soulmates destined to be, sneering in the face of such notions as fate, preferring to keep his head resolutely on his shoulders and feet planted on the ground.

and in some sense, he's right.

because when he met you, in this current life, you joined him in his rejection of a perfect other half. and then, slowly but surely, you had wormed your way into his heart, and his insistence on not having any such thing as a soulmate seems like such a flimsy rebuttal to the way you gaze at him in adoration, fingers trailing in your lips' wake as they brush over each individual mark on his chest.

he tries not to shiver when he feels your warm lips descend upon the skin of his back, your fingers tracing the faded marks that depict his life story with a silent promise that you'll be there for him, and to count every mark on his skin with tender care.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ DAN HENG often finds himself staring in wonder at the moles which litter his arms. starting from his wrists, there is a dusting of them that creeps all the way up to his shoulders, placed upon his skin with such deliberate care that it's almost a foreign concept to him.

in the later hours of the night, he allows himself to muse over the possibility of a soulmate, a lover in a past life destined to find him again, trying to solve the mystery of their identity by peering at his arms as if their face is etched into them.

and when he meets you, he feels breathless all over again as your hands interlink with his own, clasping them so fervently that lightning practically runs up his spine as your lips reunite with his skin, once again staking their claim as you make your way from his wrists to the rest of his body.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ JING YUAN bears his mark with pride, the distinct spot residing comfortly underneath his eye, attracting his attention to it every time he paises to study his reflection.

he wouldn't call himself a vain man, so he appraises that one mole before continuing on with his day, but it's not until you have his face cupped in your palms, and your eyes study his features with an intensity he had not felt until now, that you mention that he has two other moles on his face, albeit fainter.

and you make a point of reaffirming their existence at every chance you get, with you and jing yuan's morning routine involving your lips brushing against the faint mole on the apple of his cheek and bridge of his nose before landing a last one underneath his eye.

those only serve as a mere guidline, though, as you do not hesitate to pepper the rest of his unblemished face with kisses as your symbol of affection.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ GEPARD does not know what to think of the moles that litter his collarbones. they're rather prominent, and if he lets himself think about them for too long, he'll start blushing.

even the thought of someone kissing him there makes his brain short circuit, so the sensation is definitely one that he will have to get used to with you.

the slightly sadistic part of you revels in the way his blushing face hides itself behind his hands when you kiss him on those marks, a muffled boyish giggle escaping his lips at the ticklish sensation of your lashes brushing against his skin when you lay your head against his chest.

you decide to place a few additional marks for his next life when you kiss the backs of his hands, until your lover relents and reveals his face to you once more, letting you place a final tender kiss to his lips.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ WELT finds the little triangle of moles on his hipbone more humorous than anything. there's a certain intimacy to their placement that surpasses the more innocent and easily visible marks a person may have been granted by their soulmate, and he fonds himself wondering what kind of person his soulmate is for there to be the most frequent place they kiss.

and it's a pleasant surprise, really, as to how right it feels when you see those marks yourself and giggle, continuing their tradition by dropping a kiss to each in quick succession before grinning up at him with a smile so endearing that welt finds himself desperately committing the scene to memory.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY: bound 2 fall in love!

honkai star rail masterlist ♡⸜(˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝

[sstrwbrryccke]

I SAW UR SUGAR BABY!SOOBIN FIC AND IT'S SO FUCKING HELLO ?!? could u possibly write something similar for hoon :00 (n could it be male reader :00)

HIIII thank you im glad you enjoyed it ahhsagds !!! and i have so many thoughts for sunghoon <3 i think he would be a bit more smug compared to soobin, not as obedient but playful and cute in his own way!

the ending is a little rushed because i wrote this on the airplane to shanghai 💀😭 (also not proofread so its probably really bad)

— sponsor | sub park sunghoon

tags: aspiring skater!sugarbaby!sunghoon x rich!reader, amab reader, power dynamics, praise kink, unconventional settings to have sex, soft sex, shower sex, frottage, thigh fucking, body worship

you were old money, the kind that people call 'disgustingly rich'. the type of rich family that throw galas instead of family gatherings, and that's where you met him in the first place. it was one of your many cousins' birthday, excessively wealthy and extravagant, a golden gilded hall decorated with a specially laid ice skating rink for performers. you heard your cousin had been an avid ice skating fan and wanted a live performance for his birthday.

the night had been smooth, dull as you would expect out of a bunch of old-money conservatives whose idea of humour is joking about tax evasion. but you notice just by the off-chance, a lean man clad in all black, bumping into a column, a word slips from his mouth; which you can only guess was a swear word. it was strange, he was clearly out of place. but this wasn't some wattpad story about you sweeping a mysterious man off his feet, so you shrugged and continued sipping on your champagne glass.

you only really notice him during the performance, the mass was seated in the grand hall, lights dimming as the spotlight shone; and it was seriously strange. because he wasn't even the main lead, in fact, he was one of the many backup dancers. yet you just couldn't take your eyes off him. there was something so enchanting about his elegance, you could feel his genuine dedication and passion from where he skated. when the show finished, you find yourself clapping, eyes still mesmerized as the boy leaves for the backstage.

a crowd gathers around the main leads, interested sponsorships and words of praise exchanged. while your eyes drift to the man walking off, taking a scone from the buffet stands before disappearing into the balcony. naturally, you follow after him— which in hindsight was slightly creepy because you've been practically eyeing him down. but you really wanted to spark up a conversation with this pretty boy.

when you reach the balcony, you find the backside of the man leaning on the railing. you lean next to him and he was visibly startled— so much so he dropped the scone in his hand. he does attempt to catch it— horribly, and the dessert tumbles into the void, his mouth agape. "aish..."

"ah, sorry."

"no, it's no problem! really! sir!" he quickly rectifies, aheming into his fist and waving his other hand around before looking directly in front of him. occasionally glancing at you with his eyes only. he was visibly nervous, definitely embarrassed too. he straightens his back and raises his chin, probably trying to seem professional in front of you; but you could tell with the way he clenched his jaw that he was tense. and you don't blame him, it looks like this was his first time coming to such a luxurious gala, surrounded by tons of powerful men and women who could either make or break his career.

"well, what's your name?" you offer a conversation starter, since it didn't seem like he was budging.

"i'm park sunghoon, sir!"

"nice to meet you park sunghoon, how old are you?" you ask smoothly, stretching a hand out for him to shake. he couldn't even look you in the eyes, what a shy and polite man.

he wipes his sweaty hands on his pants, before taking your hand with both of his, bowing. "nice, nice to meet you too! i'm 21 turning 22, sir."

"we're the same age, that means you don't need to call me sir."

"yes sir." he replies without much thought.

you give him a pointed look and he quickly shuts up. he was endearing in his own way though, the interaction made you smile. this man who had previously been so elegant and precise on stage was actually very timid.

"you caught my eye in the performance."

he lights up at this, turning his head to you with a small bashful smile on his lips. "thank you so much, i'm surprised you remember me."

"of course i do, couldn't keep my eyes off you in fact." you advance, tilting your head as you subtly flirt. you were into him and you wanted him to understand that. "oh." he mouthed, and it seems like he was starting to recognize the connotations of the conversation. he was still smiling, but you could see a pink tint on his pale skin.

"no, seriously. you're super talented, i want to sponsor you."

his smile drops, a shocked expression on his face instead, soon he's ecstatic. "really?"

you chuckle, "yes, really."

☆★☆

perhaps, your definition of sponsor was just sugar baby with extra steps. because soon, the two of you fall into that type of relationship. it started with a bouquet of flowers after his practice (which you went to weekly), then it became a dinner invitation, and eventually you were lavishing him with gifts and luxury items. okay, perhaps you were just courting this man in the form of presents.

you watch on the sidelines as sunghoon does his usual practice on the ice (a private ice rink you hired for him), he glances towards you with a mischievous grin before doing a silly spin. you just chuckle, shaking your head. when it was over you sling a towel over his neck like usual, handing him a water bottle. he stares at you, rather proud of himself.

"did you see the spin?"

"nah, i was looking at the wall." you joke, there was literally no one else but sunghoon to look at. "issh" he shakes his head, lightly punching your arm.

after, you treat him to a nice dinner in this expensive restaurant, he’s used to your dinner invitations, but he still can't settle his nerves coming to such a high-end restaurant. chatting with you soothed his anxiety though, and shortly he was joking and laughing like usual.

the first course was served, and you took this opportunity to slide over the blue container with the tiffany and co logo. sunghoon takes it shyly, glancing at you, you give him an encouraging look. at the beginning of this dynamic; he did try to refuse the expensive gifts, but you were insistent and sunghoon secretly enjoyed receiving the presents too.

he feels his heart thumping with excitement as he unwraps the case, a genuine surprise in his eyes when he pulls out the silver wire tiffany t bracelet. he’s been wanting it for a while now, mentioning it once casually. and you remembered! he tries it on for you; because he knows you like seeing him with your gifts. the bracelet glints in the light and he looks at you with a reserved smile.

"thank you so much... i don't know to repay you—"

"by being mine." you interrupt him, the words come out before you can even comprehend it, baffled by your impulsivity. "i'm sorry it just came out— if it makes you uncomfortable i apo—"

"yes."

you blink slowly, while he looks at you with full seriousness. and that's how sugar baby sunghoon came to be.

☆★☆

navigating the dynamic was like navigating any other romantic relationship, though sunghoon treated it like a contract at the start. unusual, but usual for sunghoon. it made you chuckle about his seriousness of the entire situation. the whole circumstance was bizarre but silly. what an endearing man. he would sit you down one day, hands clasped together.

"what are your expectations for me?"

and you snicker. he said it like it was a full-time job, which maybe it could be.

"recieve my gifts, and enjoy your best life."

he looked determined, continuing on. "is sex on the table?" he was surprisingly straightforward. it's always the quiet ones who were unexpectantly bold huh...

"if you're comfortable with that, yes." you give him a firm nod.

"i see." he pulls back, shy again.

"so, are you?" you tease, because he didn't outwardly give an answer.

he pauses, and you spot a glint in his eyes. his tongue darts out to wet his lips and his mind runs rampant. how cute.

"i am."

☆★☆

and wow was that quite literally the best decision in your entire life. everything remained the same, except now you have an extremely hot and sexy ice skater whose libido was as high as his talent. life was good. life was great.

training went as you expect, sunghoon absolutely smashed through his routine. running back to you with a proud smile, hands on his hips.

"i did pretty good, didn't i?" he always asked similar questions, pridefully, wanting to be praised.

"did you? didn't see." you would always tease him, and he would respond by playfully hitting your shoulder. the sass doesn't last long though, because the moment you two are alone in the locker room that's when you go down on him, embracing him as his lovely quiet moans seep out from your kiss.

it should be classified as an addiction at this point, the amount of unconventional places you guys had done it in. collecting locations like pokemon cards. it was tame at first, or tame for your standards anyway. the first time was in the hotel, of course, but after that, you went straight for the ice rink. its not exactly public, as you had rented the entire private rink for your beautiful ice prince, but the setting itself was scandalous. just imagining the sanction that housed many hours of his talent, being dirtied by his sweat in another sense was downright sinful. sunghoon never complained however, because as long as you praise him, he was satisfied. boy was he a sucker for praise, he keens when you whisper in his ear, almost over the moon when you compliment him on his skating. he would moan unashamedly, (normally he would block his moans or whimper) and you respond by spreading his legs in clear view of the ice rink. slam him down and feel his back arch prettily against your chest.

sunghoon was contradictorily both shy and straightforward when it came to his words and actions during sex. he's quiet and sometimes downright refuses to moan or beg. yet when he's close he would straight-up demand things from you. when you fold his flexible body in half and ram into his sensitive hole, he would spread wider for you (which you thought was physically impossible but he proves you wrong), yet bashfully hides himself when you praise him. he was a man full of contradictions, but it really drove you wild.

but it wasn't all about sex anyway, sex made up barely half of it, because it was really all about him. sunghoon just had a soul that was born to attract you. he's introverted and reserved with others, which explains why he doesn't attract sponsors or gain lead roles, but underneath it all was such a uniquely endearing man with a strong ambition for his passions.

you absolutely loved spoiling this boy and watching his reactions; him wearing the items you brought for him just gave you that extra dose of serotonin. when the two of you made it official, he was just so much more ecstatic with each gift he received from you. it wasn't even the gifts themselves that pleased him so much, it was the care you gave that really hit the mark for him. that burberry scarf he eyed for a few minutes? woke up to it on his lap. the prada bag he briefly mentioned he thought was fashionable? on the kitchen counter. you just paid so much attention to him, and he felt so loved.

you supported him in his ice skating career too, attending every competition he's been in and always making sure to watch over at least one of his daily practices a week. he had big ambitions and eventually wanted to compete in the olympics, which you had no doubts he would achieve.

gradually, you wanted to integrate him into your life too, though it was hard to explain to your parents the logistics behind taking a 'common ice skater' with you everywhere. you two managed to keep a low profile.

and by everywhere, you meant everywhere. you brought him to tennis and golf practices, he struggled with golf but had fun with tennis. and you brought him to basically every single gala and ball your family tree hosted. it was enjoyable at first, but introverts do what introverts do and he gradually voiced how he preferred quieter, more intimate meetings with you. in which you decided to only bring him to the important galas. (maybe every single one was a bit overkill) but he was so right because intimate stay-ins with him were so much better and more peaceful compared to your hectic everyday life. he was a very mindful and health-conscious person, so you often find yourself doing stretches and going to the gym with him. it was absolute zen. plus, there was the bonus of you slowly snaking your arms behind him, kissing his neck and lips as much as you want without worrying about public perception.

☆★☆

you can tell something was bothering him, with the way he fidgeted and dazed off in your shared hotel room. anyone in his position would he nervous, after all, he was competing for the olympics! through much hard-work from his side and endless support from yours, he qualified for the olympic team after winning nationals with flying colours. you knew he had it in him, you knew since the first day you met.

“hoon, you nervous?” you ask, coming up behind him to rub at his shoulders. he gives you a small smile before sighing. “a little.”

you pull him into a hug, your chest pressed towards his back. he relaxes slightly. “want to talk about it baby?” you stroke his stomach, trying to soothe him.

“it’s silly,” he gives you a half smile. you slap his thigh lightly “issh!”

“it’s not silly, tell me.” you pout, kissing his neck. he laughs as you lavish his neck with lovebites.

“i’m just worried that i’m going to lose.” he says in-between giggles. you temporarily stop your assault in his neck, lifting your head to look at him.

“you won’t lose baby, and even if you do, just being in the team is already an amazing feat. most people go their whole lives without even touching olympic level.”

he seemed a little reassured by this, but you could tell his mind was still swirling with other thoughts. you kiss his cheeks, waiting for him to open up about it himself.

“it’s just, if i lose, im wasting all your effort and money.”

you finally pause at this, giving him a look. “what? how am i wasting effort and money on you?”

he seemed a little nervous, gulping down his saliva. “i mean, you invested so much into me, the least i could do is win.” you were shocked, was he dense or stupid? maybe a little bit of both. you roll your eyes as you lift him in your arms. he lets out a startled gasp as you bring him to the bathroom. you face him towards the mirror, grasping at his chin so he looks directly into his eyes.

“do you see this? what a gorgeous, beautiful, godly man.” you whisper in his ear and you watch his cheeks blossom a scarlet red. your hands trail down to his chest, unbuttoning the top.

“wow, look at that. so pretty, so soft and perfect.” you knead his chest, flicking at his pink nipples before moving down, massaging his toned stomach. he was staring at the parts your hand were drifting to as you fondle him. you kiss the shell of his ear, making him shiver “hngh…”

your fingers trail down, you lick your lips at his delicious reactions. palming at his erection. “every part of you is so pretty. such nimble arms and thighs, no wonder you’re so good at ice skating. everything about you is just so lovable.”

he was trembling, glancing into your eyes in the mirror and you could tell he wanted you to continue. “don’t you get it already? you really think i brought all those gifts, paid all those lessons and sponsored you because it was an investment?” you whisper, he turns his face to meet with yours, taking your lips desperately.

“i love you.” he whispers breathily into the kiss, that was the first time any of you said that sentence. he freezes, anxiety filling his face.

“i love you too, hoon.” you french kiss him, your tongue darting out to lick at his bottom lip, he reciprocates gladly.

“i love you i love you i love you so so much.” he stammers, grinding his ass against your hardening cock. “i love you too baby, you have no idea how much i love you.” you grunt into his ear, sliding your dick out from your underwear. the both of you were barely clothed in the first place.

“hngh put it in already please,” he’s never been this vocal before, you felt your cock twitch just at the desperation in his voice. but you controlled yourself, he had a skating competition tomorrow after all.

“hoonie the olympics is tomorrow.” he whines and you chuckle fondly. spoiled brat.

“put your thighs together.” you give his ass a light slap, he listens and puts his thighs closely. you could see his dripping cock through the small gap. “good boy.” you praise and he rubs his thighs together.

not waiting any longer, you slip your hard cock between his thighs, groaning lowly at the sensation. god it felt so good, he clearly thinks so too because he immediately whimpers, pushing back at your dick. you let him adjust to the sensation before slowly thrusting against his thigh.

“angh... ugh… so good… love you… love you…” he whimpered, panting softly. you pull his head to the side to kiss him again, hand grasping at both of your cocks and he cries into your mouth. you thrust harder and faster, he reciprocates happily by clenching his thighs tighter. soon his stomach was squeezing and his pants became breathier.

“gonna come, can i come? please? please?” and who were you to resist your prince?

“come for me hoonie, come for me.”

his thighs stutter and he clenches his teeth as a strangled voice comes out. he came in spurts, long and thin. you wish you could taste his pretty semen as well but thats for another time. you slip your cock out from his thighs, jerking yourself off and coming all over his ass and back.

it was arousing and you could almost go again, but he needed rest so you tenderly kissed his back, cleaning him up.

“i’m going to win for you.” he says breathily while you were wiping him down, you look at him amused, chuckling.

“don’t do it for me, do it for yourself.”

“no, this seriously motivated me to win. i’m going to win the olympics and then we’re going to have the most mind-blowing sex ever.”

you guys share a look before laughing.

☆★☆

everyone could hear the thumping of their own hearts as they waited for the results to unveil. sunghoon grasps your hand and you give him a squeeze.

before you could process it, you were ecstatically cheering, turning to sunghoon. the man beside you was in genuine shock, staring at his high score as if it was an alien on earth. holy shit, he got the highest score and he’s in first place!!!

snghoon lunges for you, tumbling you out of your chair as he tightly hugs you. not like you cared about the people staring, because you shared the excitement. you hug him back just as tightly, stroking his back. you feel the crook of your neck and shoulder wet.

after a few seconds, you help him stand and he wipes his eyes with an embarrassed smile. you couldn’t stop grinning as he received his medal.

☆★☆

sunghoon was able to keep both of his promises that day. the moment you two arrived in the hotel, you had a very needy sunghoon clinging around you neck, drawing you into a deep kiss as you navigate around the room.

you manage to peel him off for a second, to undress him and yourself, stumbling into the shower. you adjust the water while sunghoon unrelentlessly grinds against your cock.

“hn, god please! ive been wanting this since yesterday, ive been so good, so good, please reward me” he whimpers quietly and you melt. you grasp his hips tightly, pulling his back flush against your chest and you grind down his ass. he groans, hands propped on the shower wall for support.

your finger plays with his rim and he whines, prodding the hole before inserting. you were careful, treating his body like porcelain as you coo into his ear. he was so desperate, willingly giving up his sweet voice for you to hear. you add another finger and he was now fully rutting against you, eyes closed as he fucked himself on your fingers. it was an endearing sight, but you pull out, slapping your cock on his ass.

“what do you want again?” you play innocent, chuckling at his offended expression. he groans, frustratedly pushing back at your cock.

“you know what i want! i want you inside me please!” he whines out and you laugh. you give him what he wants, slipping your cock into his tight hole, groaning as you feel his gummy walls enclose around you.

“you feel so good sunghoon, such a pretty boy.” you coo into his ear and he clenches his thighs tighter. you thrust into him, each one faster and harder than the previous one and he was in actual heaven. tongue lolling out as he groans with each motion, it didn’t take long until he was crying out a strangled coming.

you weren’t done with him yet though, you prop his flexible legs up, making him sink deeper into your cock as he chokes. before he could protest you start nailing into him, hitting his prostate so well and on point that he visibly crumbles, hands desperately grabbing at anything as his cock sputters out another load.

his eyes were wide as he watches his dick cry uncontrollably, while you adjust behind him, ready to piston into him all over again. oh boy was he in for a wild ride…

that’s how the night progressed, you plummeting his ass in the shower, and then at the bathroom counter, then you moved him to the hotel bed, forcing him to ride you until he couldn’t prop himself up anymore.

his body slumps over yours, exhausted and overstimulated, thighs trembling and nerves sputtering. but you still moved beneath him and he cries “can’t! can’t, hurts please it feels too good.”

you grin into his skin, jerking his cock a few times and he comes again. body limp. you pull out and the warm semen in his hole dribble out. just as you try to move to clean him up, his arms tightly wind around your waist.

“stay here.” it was a demand from your ice prince and you snicker.

“anything for the olympic winner.”

[lookforsomeoneelse]

New Simulated Universe Update (SAHSRAU btw)

Can you tell i made a d in english? because I didn’t. Sorry about that. Anyway, I had some brainrot about how busted our blessings would be in sahsrau SU, because, like, everybody and their mother in that au would basically throw everything they love out of the window for us to throw a single glance at them. Also, this takes inspo from other works. Yeah, yeah, I’m a plagiarist, I know.

Let’s say you play Honkai: Star Rail. You’re a big fan- you’ve been playing since launch, have an excellent team comp, and have cleared all of the story and side content.

However, the game’s been… in a content drought for a while, roughly about 3 months without a single update- not even a patch or bug fix! That’s odd. Hoyo would have normally announced at least a single character by now, wouldn’t they?

And, getting extremely bored, and with nothing else to do, you seriously consider taking a break from the game. After all, there’s nothing to do.

Except farm. And you’re getting tired of even that.

But just then, a miracle happens- or at least it’s a miracle to you. The game finally gets an update. You’re confused- they should have announced that in some shape or form, but you also get excited. What have they added this time?

And then you find out, much to your dissatisfaction and/or disappointment, that they just doubled down and just added in a new version of the Simulated Universe, called “Simulated Universe: New Game +” to “fix” the lack of content- they’re just making you do SU again- but hey, they also added another Aeon along with it, so that should count for lore!

So you go and wait for it to download and open it up.

When you do, you’re notified in game of a text message from Herta. Uncharacteristically, its tone is noticeably off from how she normally acts- practically begging you to please please please come to her office- because apparently, she’s dug up some info on this new Aeon that’s apparently been around for the longest time, and she’s finally managed to obtain enough data to create a simulated version of THEM- thirsty for something to do, you oblige, using a space anchor to reach her. Surprisingly, there’s only one available for your use.

Once you actually arrive, a cutscene plays, depicting Herta, once again very much out of character, grabbing on to the trailblazer’s arm and practically dragging them across the space station to her office, the widest grin on the puppet’s face. “Huh,” you think to yourself, “She must have struck gold if she’s acting all crazy like this.”

Once you actually make it inside- Herta finally gives you a complete explanation of what’s happening- she’s “finally” dug up enough information about this Aeon that you “should already know” and that you should also “start immediately.”

You do, and you’re met with a new path for blessings- Guidance, and holy cow, is-is that 300% break effect and 180% damage and 50% crit rate boost? What? That’s insane- what is the dev team doing with their game???

Obviously, you pick it- it’s the only option available, and even if there were other options, this one would likely be the best.

As you and your party traverse through the station, and obtain absolutely absurd blessings- all damage dealt will have the character gain a shield equal to half of that permanently, follow up attacks trigger twice, all characters gain a self-revive- it’s really bad balancing on Hoyoverse’s part, and it’s the greatest power trip you’ve had while playing this game so far. But it’s also getting boring. One shotting everything isn’t exactly the best thing to do on loop, and the game throws you a bone in the form of finally meeting the Aeon that Herta was talking about.

However, before that happens, Herta pulls you aside- and you can’t believe it, but she’s even more out of character now- hell, she’s fangirling, saying stuff like “I’ve been waiting for this moment ever since I was a baby” and urging you to give the Aeon the absolute utmost respect- and to never forget to do it.

As it turns out, the so-called “interaction” between you and THEM is just dialogue describing how you will always serve and praise them for all eternity- and you seriously take into consideration getting whatever the hell the writers have been smoking over the past couple months to put this down on paper and call it a good idea.

Weirded out by very strange design choices, you decide that it’s time for a break after all is said and done, and close the app.

If this is the legitimate road that Hoyoverse is going down, you’re worried about the future of the game.

You should really be more worried about your future, sweetie. After all, they’re all working so hard to bring you to them through that screen.

They love you. So so much.

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Guarding your name from the fae in folklore

The idea of fae stealing names is quite recent (I’m a big fan of new, modern folklore, x, y), but the idea that you have to guard your name so no one could (supernaturally) us it against you, is definitely a widespread folk belief. However, I’ve never encountered an actual folktale that says the fae or fairies in particular could have power over you if they knew your name. I’ve been looking for one for a long time (and if you know one please let me know!) but so far I’ve only come up with one example. So let's take a look:

The power of names

Like I said, the power of names is an old belief that shows up all over the world. Sometimes it’s linked with naming ceremonies like baptism. Sometimes hiding the name from others (witches, djinns, etc.) is what will protect you, sometimes the name itself will protect you (like being named after a saint or in reverence of a deity or spirit). Edward Clodd published a huge essay in 1898 investigating how widespread this name guarding practice is and how it links to folklore. Which, while obvioulsy dated, certainly gives an impression of how deep this belief goes (Tom Tit Tot; an essay on savage philosophy in folk-tale, Clodd, E., 1898).

Not all folk beliefs show up in folktales though and protagonists who refuse to tell their name are not a staple of European folklore, whether it concerns fae or other entities. In “The Soul Cages”, collected by T. Crofton Croker it’s even quite the opposite, as the protagonist and a firendly merrow deliberately call each other by their full names (Jack Dogherty and Coomara). And for ages I wasn't able to find a story that actually incorporated the belief of guarding your name against fae, until I read that huge essay.

Hiding your name from the fairies

In his book, Clodd mentions a single folktale in which it is mentioned that the fae are trying to learn someone’s real name. Sadly he does not tell it in full, but since it is the only real example of this concept I’ve able to find so far, I will give the full quote:

While these sheets are passing through the press, my friend Mr. W. B. Yeats hands me a letter from an Irish correspondent, who tells of a fairyhaunted old woman living in King's County. Her tormentors, whom she calls the "Fairy Band of Shinrone," come from Tipperary. They pelt her with invisible missiles, hurl abuse at her, and rail against her family, both the dead and the living, until she is driven well-nigh mad. And all this spite is manifested because they cannot find out her name, for if they could learn that, she would be in their power. Sometimes sarcasm or chaff is employed, and a nickname is given her to entrap her into telling her real name, — all which she freely talks about, often with fits of laughter. But the fairies trouble her most at night, coming in through the wall over her bed-head, which is no laughing matter; and then, being a good Protestant, she recites chapters and verses from the Bible to charm them away. And although she has been thus plagued for years, she still holds her own against the "band of Shinrone." (Clodd, 1889, p. 83-84).

This story fits the concept of keeping your name away from malicious fairies so you cannot truly fall under their power perfectly. Sadly I haven’t been able to find this story in Yeats’ own folklore collection, but it fulfills my criteria even so.

What I have been able to find many examples of, however, is the reverse trope. Namely that knowing a fairy’s name will give you power over them. I thought this only showed up in Rumplestiltskin-type stories, but it seems a little more widespread than that. Which is very exciting to me, and merits its own post. So stay tuned.

[coolshadowtwins]

SVSSS System Reveal Fic round up!

If you know one that hasn’t been recc’ed, then please put it in the comments/tags! I’ll add it to the post!

A Transmigrator and a Time Traveler Walk into the Bamboo House by VeryCharismaticDragon

Over a year after Shen Qingqiu's death, Luo Binghe consults his servant's servant, concurrently his disgraced martial uncle, for a way to bring the love of his life back. Shang Qinghua sends him in the direction of a certain time-traveling artifact, which supposedly brings one to the day they first met their soulmate.

Odd, though, that the artifact ends up missing the destination by just a few years…

A story in which post-Abyss Luo Binghe relives his disciple days, while juggling his secrets, traumas, and some unexpected revelations about the man he loves on top of that.

What is Seen by CaveteDracones

…is not [always] the real truth.

Truth-compelling artifacts in the hands of an enemy to one side, SYSTEM-mandated silence on the other, and Shen Qingqiu caught between the two. Is it too late to go back to the Water Prison? (NOTE: This one was recommended three times, and I have personally reread it multiple times. It’s one of my favorites and I really do want to read more fics in a similar vein lol)

open my lungs to let you in by ghostybreads

Shen Qingqiu had a secret. So, naturally, it was only a matter of time before he was hit by a truth serum wife plot.

//

“How are you?”

“Horny. Kind of want Binghe to rail me, I guess. But it’s manageable.”

Liu Qingge’s hand on his forehead froze, and he was close enough that Shen Qingqiu could hear his breathing stop. He stared back expressionlessly, the mortification distantly crawling up the back of his neck. Honest One-Horned–

The frustrated scream that he usually vented in his head, came out straight from mouth.

“aaAAAAAHHHH GODDAMNIT AIRPLANE–”

Futility in Practice by TGP

When Luo Binghe is fourteen years old, his shizun suffers a terrible qi deviation and fever that completely changes who he is.

and judgment is just like a cup that we share by Kieron_ODuibhir

The blob finished rotating into place in a way that wasn’t quite compatible with geometry as Shen Qingqiu understood it, and cleared a throat it didn’t seem to have.

“Greetings,” it said, somehow clearly addressing him in particular more than the room as a whole despite its total lack of features other than blueness and translucency. “I’m here on behalf of the Hyper-Celestial Peace and Order Enforcement Bureau. Crime scene secure, proceeding to interviews. Beginning with Subject One: You are Shen Qingqiu, formerly Shen Yuan, also known as Peerless Cucumber?”

First, do no harm by Terias

Shen Qingqiu has been acting especially erratic since awakening from his three day coma after a severe qi deviation.

Mu Qingfang investigates and discovers a great many things about his new shixiong. (NOTE: This one has Shen Yuan and Shen Jiu as the same soul, technically, but it still works I think!)

Show The Screenshots by A_Non_ymousWriter

When a rogue foreign System sends out a subtle virus, some outsiders are shown chat messages between a certain two transmigrators and their Systems.

AirplaneBro: nah dude shen jiu would never lay a hand on his female disciples like that, hes gay

Liu Qingge tripped on thin air while Mu Qingfang choked on his tea as Shang Qinghua (their god? creator??) casually shattered their view of their original Shen Qingiu. The fake Shen Qingqiu at least, was sharing their shock.

CucumberBro: EXCUSE ME WHAT??

CucumberBro: The fuck he is?!?! He literally GOES TO BROTHELS! LIU QINGGE FOUND HIM IN BED WITH A WOMAN THAT ONE TIME?

AirplaneBro: aight bro buckle the fuck up cuz imma take u on a joyride all about shen jiu >:)

—————-

Binghes#1Fan: I don't want to send Binghe into the Abyss...

System 2: User must comply, if User cannot do the task User will be punished and the account will be terminated.

Mobeis #1Fan: sorry bro unless ur okay w being ded af u gotta push binghe into the abyss

Ning Yingying's fists clenched. Okay, so trying to get Yuan-ge and A-Luo together would be harder than she thought.

[firelordsfirelady]

II. Banishment

Author: @firelordsfirelady

Imagine: When Y/N—a princess of one of the Water Tribes—is told she’s leaving her tribe, she never expects that she’s to be betrothed to the Fire Lord’s son, nor was she prepared to be exiled the very day she arrived at the Fire Nation. With her life in the hands of her new fiancée, how will life change for the princess? 

Pairing: Zuko x F!Reader

Trigger warnings: arranged marriage, feelings of fear, banishment, mentions of burns/abuse, frustration, violence, betrayal

Word Count: 2119

Destined to be Yin and Yang

I own no rights to Avatar the Last Airbender or any of the characters/story. 

Author’s Notes

The characters as all aged up so Zuko’s banishment happens when he’s 16 

Keep in mind I am bringing a unique world with inspiration from ATLA in their characters, some of the events that happen, bending, etc. Not many things may align or occur with what happened in the show. It’s intended that way, so I hope you enjoy it regardless.

See Y/N's inspiration here.

Destined to be Yin and Yang Soundtrack (YouTube)

I had been fearful my first week or so aboard the ship to practice my waterbending. Since I now had no regular practice, I feared losing the knowledge of my element. As the full moon approached, the urge grew strong to waterbend, and I couldn’t stand to deny myself further. I devised a plan to sneak out on the night of the full moon to practice my waterbending.

The night of the full moon, I put my plan into action. Using small amounts of oil to grease the hinges of the door, I silently opened the door and peered into the hall. When silence greeted me for a satisfactory amount of time, I tip toed into the hallway and pressed my ear slightly against the door across from me. Once again, silence greeted me, and I crept away from the room containing the Fire Lord’s son. Sticking to the shadows, I crept through the corridor and peered through the little window of the door. None of the crew was on the deck, so I slipped out of the door.

The cool breeze of the open seas at night greeted me as I leaned against the wall as I faintly picked up the sounds of laughter and drunken shenanigans happening below deck. The crew had settled for the night to relax, and I felt some tension leave my shoulders. With light feet, I crept to the center of the deck and glanced up at the sky. The clouds parted to reveal the moon in all of its beautiful glory as I smiled at the display. Glancing around once more, I was satisfied to see no one else. 

Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes as I let the pull to waterbend flow through me. Taking a small stream from the ocean, I water whipped the air over the railing on the other side of the boat. I slid my feet horizontally across the deck as I turned the stream to an ice sculpture before closing my fist to rupture the sculpture I just made. A genuine smile settled on my lips as relief flushed my system. Fighting back a small laugh, I danced with streams of water and ice as I embraced the power of the full moon. A sound from below brought my moment of joy to an end as I returned the water back to the ocean and quickly made my escape to my room. I slid into my bed with a smile on my face.

Closing my eyes, I made a promise to myself: I will be doing that every full moon.

The next morning, I was surprised to see Zuko present at the table for breakfast. I gave a polite nod to Iroh as I sat down at my usual spot and fixed a plate of some eggs then made a cup of tea. Zuko sat at the table quietly eating his own plate of breakfast, but he never looked at or acknowledged my presence. Iroh cleared his throat as he gave Zuko a certain look. The loud clatter of Zuko’s fork roughly hitting the ceramic plate as he let out an annoyed huff.

“Good morning, Princess.” Zuko practically growled as his face twisted in annoyance. My former title didn’t sound well coming from the former prince, so I gave him a soft smile.

“Y/N. You can just call me Y/N.” The young man across from me scuffed as he crossed his arms across his chest.

“Father cannot seriously expect me to marry someone as improper as you.” The soft smile on my lips wavered slightly at the prince’s harsh words, but I maintained my composure as I looked at Zuko’s scar. It looked fresh, but healing the best it could. Whatever caused the burn must’ve caused serious damage to his eye, and I speculated the wound had caused some problems for his sight; however, I kept my gaze only briefly on the scar as I shifted my gaze back to my eggs.

“Forgive me, Prince Zuko.” Iroh shook his head as I spoke, but the Prince did not look at me as I continued. “I was just trying to--”

“I told you that you won’t distract me from my mission.” Zuko let out in a burst of anger. “I don’t care about whatever you were trying to do. It won’t help me find the Avatar!” My heart sank to the bottom of my chest as I forced myself to take deep, calming breaths. I could feel tears threatening to gather in my eyes, but I excused myself from the table before retreating out of the room.

“Nephew--” I heard Iroh’s voice as I left the room.

“Do not nephew me! I am not wrong! She’s no use to me in finding the avatar.” Zuko’s angry words caused my eyes to burn more. I blinked away the tears in a desperate attempt to clear my blurry vision as I made haste to my bedroom. Once safe in the four walls I shared with no one, I collapsed on the bed and cried into the pillow. 

A series of soft knocks sounded on my door a few hours later. I sighed heavily as I granted permission to whomever was on the other side to enter. The door opened to reveal Iroh standing there holding a tray of hot tea.

“Would you care for some tea?” Iroh had a soft smile on his lips as he spoke in a gentle tone. I closed the book I had been reading as I gave the older man a soft smile.

“Only if it’s jasmine tea.” Iroh let out a belly laugh as he set the tray down on the small end table next to the bed.

“I am glad to have met someone else who has an appreciation for jasmine tea like myself.” His jovial tone immediately set my nerves at ease. “It is also Zuko’s favorite tea as well.” My heart clenched in hurt at the mention of the prince’s name, and Iroh’s eyes softened at me.

“I must apologize for my nephew’s comment earlier.” I looked at Iroh as he continued. “Not that it excuses his behavior, but would you like to know why Zuko was banished?” I raised an eyebrow at the older man with the long beard as he sipped on his cup of jasmine tea.

“Yes. No one on the ship seems to know why he is banished.” I admit quietly. “I’ve been curious since we boarded the boat.” I sipped on the warm liquid of my cup of jasmine tea, and sighed in content as the warmth spread within my chest and down to my stomach. The older man smiled as he took a seat on the small chair in front of the desk. 

“My brother has quite the reputation for military conquest. There is nothing and no one he wouldn’t sacrifice if it meant meeting his ultimate goal—to be the sole ruler of all the nations.” I nodded along as I listened to Iroh. “Zuko—being the next in-line for the throne—was present at this council meeting with Ozai and his generals. They were discussing a plan to invade and attack, but the crew was made of fresh recruits.” Iroh looked out of the window as he continued.

“When Zuko mentioned that the new recruits were not able to handle the task and would die in the battle, the general merely agreed while Ozai said that war comes with sacrifices.” A heavy sigh left the older man, and I felt I knew where this was going. “Zuko challenged the order, and his father said it would need to be settled with Agni Kai.”

I knew a little about the Agni Kai from the book I had just been reading. Even though Zuko was banished at this moment in time, I had wanted to learn more about the Fire Nation and their customs. Agni Kai were traditional firebender duels that occurred when one’s honor was challenged, and they only ended when one opponent burns the other. I felt the color drain from my face as the reality of how the burn got on Zuko’s face dawned on me.

“Zuko was prepared to fight the general, but when my brother stood across from Zuko at the Agni Kai….” Iroh’s voice trailed off as I closed my eyes. 

In my month aboard the ship, I had learned that Zuko was the same age as me. I couldn’t imagine how he felt when his own father challenged him in a battle of honor, nor could I imagine how he felt when his own father burned him. My heart ached for the young man, but I opened my eyes again to look at the older man who watched me with saddened eyes.

“Zuko hesitated one moment in the Agni Kai, and his father burned him for his weakness.” My thoughts briefly moved towards my own father, and how different mine and Zuko’s upbringing had been. My father would never have challenged me to such a fight, nor would he have caused physical harm to me. I couldn’t imagine what he endured as a child, nor the pain he must feel now. “His father exiled him and told him the only way to restore his honor is to return with the avatar.” Iroh and I exchanged knowing expressions. 

“What a cruel punishment.” I spoke without thought, which caused Iroh to chuckle. “Forgive me. I spoke without care.”

“Oh no.” Iroh smiled at me. “It is quite alright. I fear that I share similar thoughts.” His eyes softened at me. “Forgive me, my dear, for it appears that you too have been unfairly punished by this situation as well.” I shifted my gaze down to my hands as I fiddled with the empty cup.

“I had no clue what was happening the day I was told that I was to be betrothed to the Fire Lord’s son.” I started off in a low voice. “Mother and Father looked hesitant to tell me what terms the Fire Lord had accepted for peace.” 

“I barely had time that morning to say goodbye to everyone before I was rushed away to the ship and on my way to the Fire Nation.” My eyes blinked away tears as I recalled my parents’ somber expressions as I left, and I let out a humorless laugh. “I honestly had no idea what awaited me when the ship docked that day.”

“Part of me wondered—based on the stories they’ve told of the Fire Nation—if I was even going to be alive once I set foot on Fire Nation soil.” I played with a strand of my hair that dangled into my lap. “Lord Ozai said only to follow him, or I’d miss my boat.” Looking up at Iroh, I found more sadness in his eyes.

“I was so relieved to not be dead upon arrival, but I had a new fear that I wouldn’t survive three seconds on the boat.” I gave a small smile at the memory. “I am glad that my fears were just that—fears. I couldn’t imagine what Zuko must be feeling or what he’s thinking about.” 

“You are far wiser than most adults are:” Iroh said with a smile. “The Prince does not yet know how lucky he is.” My cheeks felt hot at the comment, but I shrugged away my embarrassment. 

“Mother and Father always told me to never judge someone before you get to know their story, and to always try your best to show kindness to strangers.” I shrugged as I looked out of the window in the room. “I was to be a ruler one day, and I wanted nothing more than to be a kind ruler like my father.” Shaking my head, I looked at Iroh. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”

“You’re welcome.” Iroh nodded. “I know it doesn’t excuse Zuko’s behavior—“

“No, but it does help me understand this situation a bit more.” A sad smile found its place on my lips as Iroh gathered his tea tray. “Thank you for the tea and conversation. I really enjoyed it.” 

“If you ever need tea, I am always willing to make some.” He sent a small wink my way before he left, closing the door behind him. 

As I sat in the silence of my room, I felt a heavy feeling sink in my chest. The Fire Lord probably sought out the engagement as a source of embarrassment to place upon his son—as if he hadn’t been embarrassed enough. Instead of wallowing in self pity, a new idea slowly crept into my head, and I smiled at the thought.

I need to speak with the cooks.

Tag List @chevysstuffs @puttyly @hypnoticbeing

[blossiewossie]

— Lawless Affair .02

pairing : gojo x reader x geto genre : business men au (lawyers), smut rating : explicit word count : 3.5k+

— note : i told myself (and my friends) that i'd post a pt. 2 if i got 10 notes, but im so overwhelmed that i got more!! thank you, beautiful readers ♡ i started working on this after i posted pt. 1, so i hope y'all enjoy reading this as much as i did writing it, teehee!

— special thanks to @junqkook and @trshpando for helping me revise my work ♡

Two weeks later...

You’ve had enough.

The maddening frustration of being teased has been going on for far too long in your eyes. The past two weeks have gone by with you practically running home to jump into the shower to take an ice-cold one every. Single. Night.

While you scrub your skin harshly, your mind thinks back to all the countless ‘innocent’ moments that made your knees buckle.

~

The first incident was on your third day at work, when you decided to get up and walk over to the vending machine in the downstairs lobby to stretch your legs and grab a quick snack. The doors on either side of the stairwell had to be closed at all times for security purposes, so you made it a point to open the door and swivel back around to ensure the door at the top of the stairs had closed softly.

As you turned around to make your way down, you see the downstairs door open up and lo and behold, Mr. Gojo himself comes stalking through, shutting the door behind him with his foot as his hands stayed put in his slack pockets. Tilting his head up to look at you through his circular sunglasses, he grinned and leaned back onto the door, crossing his arms. He was once again wearing a suit, but this time, it was all white with a black button-up shirt underneath. His hair was the same as ever, white as can be.

“Well, well. We have a habit of running into each other,” he said in a teasing tone.

You cleared your throat as you descended the stairs carefully, keeping a hand on the rail as you approach the man hindering you from continuing to your destination.

“Hello to you too, Mr. Gojo.”, you said, not liking how breathless your voice sounded.

Is that because of the stairs or because of the man in front of me? you thought to yourself as your steps slow to a stop on the second step. You don’t allow yourself to invade his space as you look at him questioningly, wondering why he’s still leaning on the door.

His eyes meet yours, softening your questioning gaze. He takes a step forward until the tip of his shoe meets the bottom step, bringing his face much closer to yours. His eyes go back and forth between your shocked ones, and then they snap down to your lips before he raises them again to meet yours.

Swiftly, his right hand finds its way to your hip and around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. You gasp suddenly, taken aback by how direct he was being. Your hands find their way to his chest, barely pushing but still maintaining a safe distance between you both.

“Now, ____. I don’t remember asking you to call me Mister before. Is that something you like to do?” he asks softly, his eyes a different story. The iciness in them seemed to become ablaze as he awaited your answer, licking his bottom lip slowly.

You feel yourself blushing as you look away from his heated gaze, hands trembling against his warm chest. You don’t quite know how to respond to his question. Surely he knows you can’t possibly address him with his first name, right? As you try to conjure a coherent thought, his left hand comes up and grips your chin, turning your face towards him again.

His hot gaze wiped away any other thought in your head, so you blurt out the first thing you can think of.

“I like to respect my superiors, Mr. Gojo.” you stutter out, watching his face for his reaction to see if your answer had satiated his question

His eyes, now hooded, sparkle as if he was happy with your answer. He removes his hands from you, letting you inhale a breath, but he hovers near you as he takes a step up the stairs.

“Good girl,” he says with a smirk, before pushing his sunglasses back up his face and making his way up the stairs as if nothing had happened.

You watch his retreating form whistling up the steps while you grip the railing hard. He opens the door you had just closed, looks back at you with a wink, and makes his way in, letting the door slowly close behind himself. You hear him call out to the other coworkers, not having a care in the world, as if he did not just say the naughtiest thing to you.

You, on the other hand, have slumped against the wall, breaths coming out unevenly. The tingling in between your legs had you struggling down the last step before you rushed towards the bottom door, ripping it open to welcome the cool air from the lobby.

You beelined straight for the vending machine and pressed a random candy bar before shoving in the change feverishly, craving the distraction that sugar could give you. The candy dropped and you bend down to rummage through the slot, grasping whatever it was that you had chosen. Ripping open the packaging, you took a big bite out of it and the sweetness of the treat had you sighing with relief, as if it would cure the turmoil your body was going through.

~

Back in the real time, you realize you’ve been scrubbing the same spot on your chest for too long, creating a tender spot in between your breasts. Cursing under your breath, you rinse out your loofah before making the warm water a bit colder, throwing your head under the water.

As you rinse the shampoo out of your hair and slap in some conditioner, your mind wanders once more, this time to the second incident — and you try to decipher if what had happened back then was something you imagined or something that actually took place.

~

It was the weekend after your first week of working, and as much as you were looking forward to relaxing and watching your roommates play their video games, you had decided to take on one of the clerks’ weekend shifts to let your coworker spend time with his wife and kids. He had been droning on and on about it all week, complaining about how he always has to work the weekend every other week and that he was looking forward to watching the game, but had forgotten it was his weekend this time around.

You had volunteered to work it, partly because you wanted to get on your coworkers’ good graces, partly because on your first day, after bumping into both of the bosses, you had been so distracted that you didn’t get much work done, which snowballed into you being a bit behind in your work. Plus, you had thought to yourself, I don’t have to worry about either of them being in because, surely, they don’t work on the weekends either, right?

You were told that on weekends, the dress code policy was more lenient. After throwing on a pair of light blue jeans and a white long-sleeved shirt, you made your way to the kitchen where you grabbed a light breakfast before slipping on a pair of white sneakers and making your way out the door, hollering a farewell to your roommates. You didn’t get an answer back which didn’t concern you too much, as they had spent the night before playing fps-games or whatever they had called it.

After taking the shuttle bus and walking a few blocks, you arrived at the building and walked in with a bright smile, ready to start the day free of distractions.

As you made your way into the office area and settled down into your cubicle, you realized just how deserted the workspace was.

Maybe I should take the weekend shifts more often, you thought.

Taking out your phone, you sent a quick text to Iori and Mei Mei, asking if they had any plans for tomorrow since it was a Sunday and you wanted to grab some food with your new friends. Clicking your phone off and putting it on silent, you scoot your chair in closer and start working.

Halfway through your shift, around what you assumed was lunch time, you heard a door open and close. Glancing away from your computer, you look around, trying to find the source of the noise. Hearing footsteps, you look back towards the boss’ office to seem him standing idly by on his phone, typing casually. You sucked in a breath as you took in his form.

His usual business attire was now replaced by a black shirt, showing off every inch of his muscular arms, chest, and abs. Paired with it was a pair of dark jeans and white sneakers. You could see how long his hair was now, as it was down from his usual bun and instead, resting softly atop his shoulders. He was looking too good for someone wearing a casual outfit.

Clearing your throat to make your presence known, you look back at your computer as you call out to greet him, hoping he was just stepping out to take his lunch. You couldn’t bear his presence standing there, so you crossed your fingers that he’d greet you and be on his merry way.

Luck clearly was not on your side, as he glanced up in your direction and smiled, slipping his phone into his back pocket as he sauntered his way over to your cubicle. You prepared yourself to look up at him, but he did not stop walking and instead came into your space and stood right behind you.

Leaning down your left side, he looked curiously over your shoulder as you tried to continue typing out emails and organizing files. You jump a little as his right hand reached over your right shoulder, grabbing onto your hand holding the mouse as he whispered a quick, ‘Let me see this for a moment’, before clicking onto a folder.

After double-clicking it, he leaned more into you, his face almost touching yours, as he read the documents listed in said folder. Turning your head away from the screen to give him a sense of privacy, you take in how the veins in his arms looked. Stealing a secret whiff, you inhale his scent, relishing how woodsy he smelled.

As you turn your head back towards the computer, he lets go of the mouse, leaving his hand there, resting atop yours. His mouth hovered right by your ear, as he asked you what exactly you were doing there on your first weekend off. Gulping, you recant the story of your fellow clerk wanting to stay home, your mind hyper focusing on the fact that his hand lightly squeezed yours every time you mentioned your coworker’s name. He hummed for a moment before finally standing up straight.

You pull on a tight smile as he bid his farewell and walked away, pulling his phone out once more. You wait for the door to the stairway to close before breathing out a heavy breath. You let out a shiver and pull your trembling hand to your chest, remembering how warm and big his hand felt around yours. You bite your lip and close your eyes to remember just how deep his hum was, right by your ear, his lip brushing against it for a second too long. Did he mean to do that so sensually? you thought to yourself.

~

Groaning in real time, you reach back behind yourself and twist the knob further towards the cold side, your breaths coming out slower than before. Your mind was swirling with your memories, making your pussy ache with need. You think back to the last time you had anyone else besides yourself touch it, and you can’t believe how long it’s been. You close your eyes to rinse out the last of the conditioner in your hair, your mind going back to the most recent incident that had you mewling with frustration and heat.

~

There you were, at your cubicle twirling a pen in your left hand and clicking away at the computer with your right hand. You felt anxious, as if you were waiting for something to happen. Looking down towards the task bar of your screen, you realize you have 2 more hours left in your shift. Sighing, you place the pen down and stretch your arms up high. 2 more hours, that’s like 2 one-hour chunks, which is like 4 thirty-minute chunks. I can do this, you thought to yourself. That’s like, girl math.

You leaned back against your chair and rubbed your eyes, feeling a wave of fatigue. You had woken up a couple of times last night by your roommates screaming back and forth about someone being ‘one shot’ or needing a ‘revive’. You had tried to fall back asleep to no avail, and them howling into the night was definitely not helping. Two more hours and I can just go home and sleep, you said to yourself, motivating you to sit up straight and zone into your work.

Just when you were about to place your hands on your keyboard, the boss’ door swung open and Mr. Geto poked his head out while he scanned the office space. Landing his gaze on you, he closed his eyes with a smile and called out, “____, could you come to my office for a second?”

With a small nod, you rise up and head over to his open door, giving him a smile as you walk in. He closes the door as you look around his office, taking in his space. The main office area, where everyone else’s cubicles were, was light and had splashes of earthy tones everywhere. His office, however, was a different story.

His walls were painted black and the furniture in the room reflected that, including his desk, the chairs in front and behind it, and bookshelves. As it was at the edge of the building, the wall opposite the door you had just entered was covered in floor-to-ceiling windows, giving you a breathtaking view of city. The only pop of color in the room was his crimson red sofa in the middle of the room, where you noticed a familiar face: Mr. Gojo.

Remembering the stairwell incident, you blushed deeply as the other man flashed you a smile with amusement and something else dancing in his eyes.

“Please, have a seat at my desk,” said Mr. Geto, placing a hand behind the small of your back, guiding you forward. He pulled the chair out for you and pushed it in under you, then made his way around to sit in his own chair across from you. He sat down and maneuvered over to his computer, tapping a couple of keys and clicking his mouse a few times.

“I called you in today to ask how your first week and a half at work have been. I’d like to know if you’re settling in well and garner any feedback you may have concerning the workspace and your workload.”, Mr. Geto said, now looking directly at you with his hands clasped on the desk.

You tell him how honored you are to be working under him, as his law firm held quite a reputation in the city. You explained that you were getting along well with your fellow clerks and paralegals, as well as enjoying the challenge of handling various cases and their files. While talking, you noticed how intensely he was looking at your lips, drinking your words in. Your words trail off into silence as you realize how much you had been rambling.

After a beat of silence, Mr. Geto nodded his head and exclaimed loudly how happy he was to hear that you haven’t been having any trouble. You heard Mr. Gojo chuckle behind you, but assumed he had been looking at this phone or something. Mr. Geto sent him a subtle glare, making the latter stifle his laugh, before turning his attention back at you.

“Just to update a few things on your record here, I’d like to ask you a question, ____.”, he said with a serious tone now.

“Sure thing,” you said back, wondering what it could be. You were sure to have included any relevant details to Mr. Yu when he had filed your paperwork the day you came in for your orientation, but maybe they had missed a detail or two.

“Your marital status.”

Your eyes widened as you looked at your boss, not exactly understanding what the miscommunication was. You had previously told Mr. Yu that you were single, but maybe he had entered it in incorrectly or misheard you. You shyly tuck a lose strand of hair behind your ear before answering, stating that you were not married.

His eyes did not leave yours as he added on, “Hmm… is there a potential for your marital status to change in the near future? Perhaps a boyfriend waiting to propose?”

Shaking your head at his added inquiry, you answered back, “Uh, no, sir. I do not have a boyfriend, so that’s not a possibility.” Blushing at his questioning gaze, you break eye contact and ask, “Is that all, sir?”

“Now, how could a woman like you be single?” you heard Mr. Gojo ask gruffly, his voice much louder than previously. It seemed that during Mr. Geto’s questions, Mr. Gojo had gotten up from his spot on the sofa and made his way closer, now directly behind your chair.

You feel his hands settle on your shoulders, making your heart race. Looking back towards Mr. Geto, you assume he’ll scold his friend for making such an inappropriate statement. He doesn’t. Instead he rises from his own chair and walks around the table slowly, before stopping in front of your now turned chair, facing towards him thanks to the handsome man behind you spinning you slightly.

You can’t help but glance down towards his pants, now eye level with your eyes, where a growing bulge had formed. Gasping, you stand up abruptly and move to sidestep him, but he had other thoughts. Grabbing your waist with both hands harshly, he pulled you flush against himself, thrusting his growing bulge directly against you. A small moan slips out of your lips at the impact, making his dick twitch against you.

Another set of hands touch your back, sliding their way under your arms and wrapping themselves around your breasts. Mr. Gojo, now flush against your back, let his hands wander around the shape of your bosoms, finding your nipples and squeezing them softly. Another small moan escapes your lips as he grinds his dick right against your ass. Your body felt like it was on ecstasy and your mind was on cloud nine. Every fiber of your being wanted to be taken right there and then.

Gojo leaned his head down to your left ear, kissing it lightly before speaking up.

“Would you be a good girl and stay single for us?,” he whispered.

Geto, doing the same to your right ear, whispered as well.

“We don’t like to share with others, princess.”

You let out a tiny squeak before nodding vehemently, swearing under your breath that you had no interest in getting a boyfriend any time soon. The two men grunted in approval and both gave you kisses and licks on your ears and neck before backing up slowly, their grips loosening from your body. You found yourself licking your lips, missing their touches all too soon. Your nipples, now hard as rocks, poked through your blouse as you adjusted your clothing carefully. Your body hummed, wanting more of them. The men adjusted their slacks as well, keeping an eye on you as you stood their, waiting for them to dismiss you… or do something else.

Geto nodded his head towards the door, letting you know your time in his office was done. A disappointed feeling surged from within you, but you tried to ignore it as you made your way towards the door. As your hand reached for the handle, Gojo’s voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he said, as he loosened the tie around his neck a little. Looking back at him and Geto, who now was leaning against his desk, you wait to see what he has to say.

“When alone with Suguru and I, address us by our first names or you will be punished.”

You gulp and nod once more, before turning back towards the door and exiting, leaving without another look back.

~

You snap back into reality, hearing a knock on the bathroom door. The ice-cold water was still raining down on you as you took in how breathless you were.

One of your hands had found its way down to your pussy, rubbing your clit slowly, while your other hand was squeezing one of your breasts. Shaking your thoughts and calling out to your roommate that you were almost done, you rinse them both and turn off the shower. Sighing in frustration, you dry yourself off and slip on your robe.

Trudging past your roommate and telling them there was still some hot water, you made your way back to your bedroom and threw yourself on the bed. As you laid there, all you could think was:

What am I getting myself into?

[romanarose]

Awake

Fem!Reader x Santiago Garcia, Francisco Morales, Ben Miller, Will Miller Santiago Garcia x Will Miller Ben Miller x Francisco Morales

All TF boys and reader mix except Miller Brothers

Awakening Series masterlist

YOU DO NOT NEED TO READ ANY OF THE OTHERS! There's a good story here about coming out, bisexuality, literally "awakening". This is the finally, where everyone is awake.

Written for my (day late lol) Oscar Pedro Pride Event, week 3, Sex/kissing!!!

Summary: You take Santi, Will, Frankie, and Ben all inside you at once. That's the fic.

Warnings and content: Literally everything. BJ's, triple penetration, double vaginal penetration, bukake, just like. im not listing everything happening but its a lot. everything bisexual. Then aftercare!

A/N its been NINE MONTHS!!! since i updated. I get it if no one cares anymore lololololol. Anyway THIS IS IT!!! the end!!!!!

*********************

It was amazing how, after all these months, the stretch of Will’s cock still got to you having to catch you breath.

Things were good, really fucking good these days. You, Will, and Santiago had a discussion about the relationship; firstly, between you and Santi where you both agreed that yes, you both wanted Will involved. You weren't sure how or if he really wanted to, but he meant too much to both of you to just keep pretending it was the same as when Ben or Frankie were inside you. Then, you talked to Will. He agreed that yes, he had feelings for both you and your husband. However, he was not at a place right now; he didn’t want to move too quickly. So you didn’t. Will came over sometimes and stayed the night, fucked you and Santi and got fucked in a tangled up mess on the bed… no labels, just taking it easy.

On the other side of things, Ben moved out of Will’s and in with Frankie a week after the camping trip. They were completely inseparable and 2 months later, engaged. 3 months after that, you were standing as a witness in a courthouse for their wedding and cooking multiple hot plates for a backyard potluck reception. Frankie was not one for being in the spotlight, and Ben was not one to dress up.

Now, you watch as your husband lay on the bed next to you, Frankie fucking his ass while his own husband eats him from behind. Your tits bounced with each thrust of Will’s hips, your arms wrapped around his back and stuck to it with sweat. You watch, Will’s breath against your neck, as Santi writhes in pleasure, hips bucking up to meet Ben’s mouth. Your hands were laced together.

Santi turns to you, smiling with his eyes glancing over your body. “You look…” He pants. “Really fucking good like this.”

You laugh a little. “So do you.”

You both grin at each other, unbelieving of your luck to find such a group. 4 men who you trusted with your life and your body to take care of you, and for you to take care in return. Will gently cupped your face, guiding your mouth to where his waited. His touch was a stark softness compared to the way his cock continued to pound into you. 

“You doing okay, princess?” He took your lower lip with his as he pulled away, drawing out the tender kiss. Beside you was the sound of Santiago getting absolutely fucking railed by Frankie. 

“I’m fucking fantastic.” You confirm, then nod to Santi with a cheeky smile. “I don’t know about him, though.”

Santi’s grip on your hand was like a vice, head propped back as he was practically screaming on his oldest friends dick.

Will chuckles. “He’s still not used to taking a dick.”

Careful as to not reject Will’s affections, you nudge him off you. You feel empty without him inside, but your husband calls. “Baby…” You caress his face after crawling next to him, knelt by his side. Your hand reaches out for Frankie, but he’s already slowing. “Baby are you okay?” You protected Santiago the way he always protected you.

Slow and bleary, Santiago opened his eyes, chuckling with disbelief. “I’ve never been better, baby girl.”

*

You and Ben lay up against your husband's arms, both your men feeding you water. Santi reminds Will to drink, and he does before wiping off you, Santi, and Frankie with a cool towel before passing it to Frankie for Ben. Will always watched out for Benny during group sex just as on the field, but was not about touch during these moments. As Will watched his brother smile in Frankie’s arms, however, he knew he was okay. Frankie took care of him.

Ben turned to you with his dopey grin. “How does it feel watching your husband regularly get his ass stretched?”

This makes you laugh, and you give him a kick. “Pretty fucking good, especially if I’m sitting on his face.”

*

Santi’s arms were wrapped lovingly around you, chest to chest, his dick deep up inside your swollen and tired pussy. He’d gone in easy, and you signed as Frankie bottomed out into your ass. Two down, two to go.

Frankie’s massive hands played with your hair, his mouth kissing your neck, moving up to nibble on your earlobe. “You feel me, baby? Feel me and Santi right up in you?” He gave a thrust inside, making Santi’s chest rumble in pleasure. “I can sure feel him, mmm, fuck, it’s just… I can feel that thick vein of his when I move.”

“I know just what you mean.” You say with a smile, egging him on. Santiago had the most perfect cock you’d ever seen in your life; long, thick, and veiny. Curved up just a little bit in a way that hit you juuuust right. “Gotta feel him inside you one of these times, Frankie” You right back and grab his thigh. “He fills you up in just the best way.”

The older man looks up to where Ben stood at the edge of your bed, hands soothing you and stimulating erogenous zones. He sometimes pauses to play with your hair, which you particularly love. When Ben sees Francisco looking at him, he goes for a kiss.

“I’d love to see that, Fish.” He likes his tongue over his lover’s face. “Watch Santi struggle to take you, watch him fucking whimper on your cock.”

Frankie was equally enthralled as Will situated himself in the back, getting ready to slide in right there with Santi in your cunt. Will’s hand splayed across Frankie’s ass, thumb sliding into his asshole as he moved his fellow soldier around right where he needed to be. In general, Francisco liked to take charge in the bedroom, but when it came to Will, everyone fell under his order. He was tall, large, companding but had the competence to back it. The last time you were all together, Santiago stayed on the sidelines for the most part to make sure you were safe and happy. Now, however, you’d all experienced so much, he trusted all the men to take care of you, take care of him, take care of each other. Now, Will slides into his natural element as the leader.

Squeezing an ample amount of lube on his hand, he covered not only his cock but added it to Frankie and Santi. You had no problems getting wet and they always took careful time to open you up, but he wasn’t taking chances with your precious body. His thumb was obviously nothing compared to Ben’s dick, but he wasn’t trying to split him up, just to add to the pleasure of being inside you. Santi languidly kissed at your lips as Will spoke to Frankie.

“I’ll fuck this tight little hole of yours while you’re inside Santi, hm? Thrust into you hard enough I drive you into him?”

Frankie moans at the thought, and Benny bends down to join in this kiss between you and Santi. You both excitedly welcome him in, tongues wrestling as he kisses between words. “And I can fuck our favorite lady while you guys are our personal porn.”

Santi sucked on your bottom lip. “Want me to be your pornstar, mi amor? You like watching me take it up the ass for you to get off to?” He punctuated his point with a harsh thrust up, spearing his cock inside. The moans from Frankie were nothing compared to the sounds you let out. He looked over your shoulder at Will. “She’s ready, fill her up.”

With his thumb continued to fuck Frankie, Will’s other hand was firmly placed on your ass. It wasn’t for guidance or smack or to massage… it was just there to ground you. You cry out against Santi’s neck you were sucking on, Will slowly and carefully inserting himself into you. There's so much of him to take, inch after inch it never seemed to end. Santi’s hands went to Will’s hips, stopping him. He wasn’t going to be able to bottom out just based on the sheer amount of people occupying a small space, but what he was able to fit in was almost too much. When Will stops, Santi holds your face. “You okay, bebita?” He asks you gently. “Is it too much?”

You take a deep, steadying breath and shake your head. It was a lot. Like a fucking a lot. “No, no I think I’m good.”

“Princess.” Will spoke above you. “We don’t wanna do nothing based on ‘I think.’ If you gotta stop or slow down, we want you to tell him.”

Considering his words, you believe him. You knew firmly that they would never want you uncomfortable outside of the stretch you begged for… And you probably could take them all fully… but you decided to call it. 

“Just…” You turn around to see his softly smiling face, Will’s beard still glistening with your wetness, Frankie’s chest sticking to your skin. “Don’t go any further, okay? The stretch is good, you don’t gotta take it easy or nothing just…”

Will bent around Frankie to kiss your lips, tender and sweet before Ben takes your mouth. “I got you, princess. I won’t push it.” And you knew he wouldn’t. Last but not last was Benny. You could understand why Frankie and him were always sneaking away to suck each other's dicks, Ben had a nice one indeed, one you enjoyed as he slid into your mouth. 

Santi in your pussy, holding you and Frankie both close. He fucked up into you, cock rubbing against Will’s where they were nestled in together. Will wrapped an arm around Frankie, playing with his nipples as Frankie humped his ass against Wills torso while fucking you in yours. His moans were swallowed by Ben, who kissed his husband while fucking you throat.

“Mi chica perfecta…” Santi whispers between wet kisses to your skin. “Letting me and my friends use all your holes, let off some steam… letting us break you in…”

You whimpering against Ben’s dick in affirmative. You loved degradation, you loved being objectified and they all knew it, because after it all was said and done, they touched you and cared for you in such a gentle way that assured you that they loved you in all their unique ways.

Soft stroke of a thumb over your ass steadied you as you listened to the kissing above you and Santi. Will���s gentle reassurance compared to hard pounding you were taking from behind. 

“Could’ve used something like her back in the service, couldn’t we boys? Something fuck after a long day, a pretty little toy.”

Frankie disengaged from Ben, a string of spit connecting them for a few moments longer. “Maybe we wouldn’t have waited 20 years to come out of the closet.”

“Speak for yourself.” Ben laughs, thrusting into your mouth. “I took full advantage of the frequent moving around and secretive bars.”

“Slut” Will laughs, shaking his head at his baby brother's antics.

Santi spoke from below you, never stopping humping his hips up. “You’re one to talk, IronHead.” This resulted in a smack to Will’s thigh. You felt full beyond belief feeling yourself approach orgasm as the men you loved use your holes and your body, bringing you and each other pleasure. Ben alternates between thrusting into your mouth, then pulling out and putting it to Frankie’s lips. Benny is quick with praise for you and Frankie, never making you feel like you were just an aid to their relationship despite the degrading teasing. Behind you, Will and Santi’s hands were all over each other and Frankie, Santi even reaching back at points to plays with Benny’s tightening balls. 

“You feel that, Will? Our princess is getting ready to come for us again.” Santi laughs mockingly, but you are. What on earth is going to feel like coming on 3 dicks? You can’t imagine having room to even clench right now, your body stiffening in pleasure and pain as everything became so dizzyingly good. You close your eyes, losing yourself in the joy, the closeness, the extreme trust that it takes to pull off something like that. The love that is found, romantic, friendship, brotherhood in multiple ways. Will managed to hike up Santi’s ass just enough to stuff his fingers inside, making both Santiago and Francisco moaning like moans on Will’s fingers, Ben guiding them to kiss. You join in, and so does Benny’s dick. You, Fankie and Santi slobber and kiss and suck in such a mess that half the time you don’t know whose skin you are kissing.

You pussy and ass begins to feel raw, the pleasure still whirling in your stomach but beginning to be distracted by the discomfort between your legs. You tap Santi, wet lips against his cheek as you’re barely aware of anything else. “Approaching yellow, baby” You warn, punctuating it with a kiss so he knew it wasn’t anything serious. Santi could sometimes get dom drop. It wasn’t often, but you liked to make sure he knew everything was okay.

Holding up a hand, Santi halted everyone’s movements. Will rested his head against Frankie’s lower back, panting. Ben dropped to his knees to take your hand in his. Frankie kissed your sweaty shoulder blades. 

But Santi is who you communicated to. You trusted them all, but Santi will always be your husband, your baby, tu amor. 

“You okay, bebita?” He asks with a gentle timber, his low voice rumbling against your chest.

“I’m okay, I just think after I come, I wanna get to the grand finale.” You say with a laugh and a kiss.

He kisses you right back, signaling everyone to get back to work. Ben, instead of fucking your mouth, stays on his knees to massage your neck and shoulders. “Come whenever you're ready, darl’n.” Ben’s absurdly deep voice tells you.

It takes less than a minute and you’re coming on 3 hard dicks stuffed inside your holes, Will letting out a guttural sound that told you it was taking everything in him not to come inside you. You shake under the force of your orgasm, finger nails digging into Santi’s soft, bare skin. Everything was so fucking perfect, your senses blocking out anything that wasn’t immense pleasure. You couldn’t hear a word of their praises, you couldn’t smell the musk of marathon sex, you couldn’t see the men who swarmed around you like bees to their queen. You were blinded by the light.

Santi kissed your skin, no longer moving. He knew how sensitive you could get after coming. 

“Everyone ready?” He asked, Frankie desperately humping your ass, chasing the high.

“Fuck, I’m so close…”

“Have Benny get you there, I think she’s sore.”

And you were. You were actually quite sore and you were glad you had someone who knew you as well as Santiago did to watch out for you. You were perfectly fine saying no, stop, not yet, later, etc. You trusted Frankie completely. But it was nice to have someone who knew you so completely that you didn’t even need to say it.

Frankie got up with no problem, kissing your lips and whispering a thank you. Ben spits in his hand, and while they make out like teenagers he brings Frankie to the brink. Ben grabbed the wipes, cleaning his husband off in case you end up blowing him. You knew you didn’t want any ass to mouth action. Santi and Will slowly get out of you, leaving you feeling empty without them. You look forward to whatever the future holds for the three of you, whatever parts Will was willing to give. Will’s massive arms pick you up, careful when he sets you on your knees on the carpet.

 Seeing 4 gorgeous, stacked, hung men standing in front of you… you were revived and needed a taste. You put Santi’s dick in your mouth first, fisting Ben and Frankie, then alternating to taste all four of them in your mouth. Delicious.

Then, then all swarm you, jerking their cocks rapidly until cum came flying out, splattering your face, your tits, your laved out tongue in white. They dump their hot spend on you, groaning and grunting and kissing each other and all you could hear was the sounds of their pleasure and the fap, fap, fap of their masturbation. 

When they were done, they wiped their tips in their hair.

*

Santi washed your hair in the shower, Will’s arms around you keeping you steady. The water was warm, not too hot, and he was very careful cleaning you and Will up. They both dried you with warm towels, as Frankie drew Ben in. You liked that Frankie washed Ben’s hair too, despite a 4 inch height difference. Will took you to bed while Santi made sure Frankie and Ben had enough towels and knew where shower items were. 

For a while, you just lay there in Will’s arms, listening to Frankie tell Ben to “stop messing with the water” and “it doesn’t need to be hotter, this ain’t a hot tub!” followed by Ben yelping how the water is too hot. You can feel Ben laugh. Santi gives you and Will water, instructing you both to drink as he settles into bed on the other side of Will. When Frankie and Ben return, Ben is carrying a butt naked Frankie, ass first, over the shoulder and into the room before flopping him down on the bed. 

“It’s my turn to take care of you, idiot.”

And he did. He dried Frankie off, gave him water, fed him some raisins which you though was odd but to each their own.

“Santiago, why don’t you ever feed me raisins?” You teased him.

“Because I love you, they are sickos.”

Will kissed your forehead. “I’ll feed you raisens, princess.”

“I don’t even like raisins.”

Will groaned. 

But they all slept there that night, in your marital bed, tangled up and limbs on limbs, arms slung across wastes and lips to skin.

It was nice like this.

******************

Well, after a year and a half i finally finished this bitch!!!! one less series to worry about!!!!

Pease let me know what you think, I sure hope this was worth it! Begining was hard to write, but once i got in the zone it's all over!!!!

I hope y'all enjoyed it! I sure enjoyed writing it!!!!

@bit-dodgy-innit @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @cocodiem @imwaytooobsessedwithpedro @twistedboxy @juneknight @angelbabyyy99 @marshmallow--3 @ahookedheroespureheart @kandik @moonknightly @storyarcscribe @itspdameronthings @lou-la-lou @axshadows @saintbedelia @your-voice-is-mellifluousuous @nana90azevedo @luciferiorbxtch @djarinluvr @aretha170 @mystinky-butt @uglie-hoe @sirenphrynne @sammierae-16 @thismessthatsm @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @gogh-with-the-flow @paintlavillered @tiny-raccon @luciferiorbxtch @feltonswifesworld87 @whitearmsredhands @pimosworld @mrscadilllac @i-wanna-be-your-muse @violentdelightsandviolentends @lunar-ghoulie @meveispunk @missdictatorme @itspdameronthings @lonelyisamyw-0love @poeedameronn @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @luke-o-lophus @the-soulofdevil-reads @thepowerthismanhasoverme @miraclesabound @simps-central @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @ssuperficialspacecadett @munson-hargrove-barnes86 @broken-arrow-ambassador @thedreadandthefugitivemind

@casa-boiardi @littlevenicebitch @caelumcvre @sub-aro @del-ightfulling @frecklefacelm @wandasbitch22 @thepowerthismanhasoverme @csarab615

[jelloia]

a post on how yanqing's monologue in the 2.4 quest aligns perfectly with his character story (+ why jing yuan is a great father figure / mentor)

so we all know that yanqing is regarded as the best swordsman on the luofu (character story part I), and when you read his character story part II, it's obvious why:

When hunting near a distant star, the monstrously huge mechabeast Windguard created by the Denizens of Abundance was pulverizing defense forces as though they were ants. But this young boy met against it face-to-face, claiming its head and routing the enemy to the point of collapse. As for subsequent victories: He broke the borisin's Devouring Wolf formation with Jing Yuan, beheading three Brood Lords. He also fought viciously against the wingweavers, ultimately sinking their almighty Cloudseizer Fleet... These are just a small footnote in the annals of his courageous swordplay.

yanqing mentions himself how he isn't like normal kids, but it's kind of startling and unnatural to read about how fearless he is. after all, he isn't like kafka--who literally cannot feel fear--he's just genuinely that good at his art

to jing yuan, yanqing's constant improvement is a reminder of how even though long-life species don't need to fear time decaying their body, their warped sense of time means they are often stagnate in their ideals and ultimately how they live their lives

"General... I finally... won." The general pauses. He suddenly realizes that, compared to the boy trying to improve every day, he himself has endured too many years and is used to stagnation.

the paradox though is that if you only win, that in itself is a form of stagnation.

so if you always succeed while being constantly praised from a young age, what happens when you lose for the first time?

from the average honkai star rail player's perspective, it's laughable that we see someone as decorated as yanqing be defeated multiple times in a row. it makes us wonder whether he even deserves his title, seeing how weak he is compared to jingliu, blade, and imbibitor lunae.

in actuality, this is a genius writing move. by bringing the player into the story right when yanqing starts losing, we begin having the same doubts and suspicions about yanqing that he is about himself. all the scorn and hatred he gets from the fandom are things i'm sure he's thought about himself.

what's even more interesting about yanqing is that most hsr characters are grown and had their early development offscreen, but we are experiencing yanqing's first big low firsthand, right along with him.

but believe it or not, this is exactly what jing yuan wanted.

according to yanqing's character story part IV:

Yanqing became an unrivaled fighter aboard the Xianzhou Luofu as his skills grew more and more advanced. Jing Yuan gradually began thinking about ways to restrain Yanqing's edge, to take him down a peg without curbing his confidence. Too solid and it can shatter. Too sharp and it can blunt. More than just a sharp edge — a sword also needs a scabbard that can restrain it. In Jing Yuan's view, Yanqing has grown up exceedingly fast — beyond expectations. What Yanqing needs right now is not more strength, but the ability and experience of curbing that strength — something that can only manifest by the passage of time.

jing yuan knows exactly what can happen to those blessed with enormous power. unchecked strength and confidence is a double edged sword--it's precisely this overconfidence that got yanqing into fighting with blade/il and challenging jingliu, yet it's also one of yanqing's best features. what jing yuan wants is for yanqing to continue to believe in himself and be courageous, but also practice control and resilience, even after resounding defeat.

"All's equal in war, and sneak attacks are a good idea. It's too bad your sword is so focused on the flourish and can't conceal its form. Is this what they call youthful vigor?"

there are some things you cannot directly teach, and it's not as though jing yuan planned for yanqing to meet jingliu/etc. jing yuan believes that only time can teach yanqing, yet it's also tricky because for long-life species, time is not just a wheel pushing progress but a cycle repeating the same things over and over.

this is why i believe it's a testament to the stellar quality of yanqing's character and jing yuan's raising of him that so relatively quick after all of yanqing's failures...

...yanqing hasn't given up nor run away, but rather discovered that he no longer fights solely for an extrinsic reward--victory, honor, approval--and instead, for something much more permanent

this doesn't mean yanqing's going to stop throwing himself into difficult fights--just take his bickering with yunli as an example--but rather his perspective has changed. yanqing will enter battle even if defeat is inevitable and will keep on going even if he loses. he's continuing to improve, both physically and mentally.

(i also want to point out the juxtaposition of "letting go of everything" and "giving it my all" in yanqing's purpose above; it sounds contradictory but i think it means how fighting helps yanqing feel free and forget the weight on his shoulders, yet it's also a show of passion where he'll fight for his family/friends/ideals to the best of his ability and beyond)

to conclude, yanqing is an insanely complex and well written character, and i'm so happy that the 2.4 quest is exploring everything that has been set up for him so far. connecting this to the final character story i haven't covered yet (part III), i believe that yanqing is closer to achieving his dream than ever before:

It's completely natural for teenage boys to love swords, but a specific dream flickers and dances among the Xianzhou swords in his collection. To become the best on the Luofu — no, the best across all the Xianzhou ships. To take the title of Sword Champion on the Luofu, and even take the title of Sword Preeminence across the Alliance. Since the Sedition of Imbibitor Lunae, the title of Sword Champion among the Luofu Cloud Knights has remained vacant for centuries. Not that nobody wants to claim it, but for a rather more embarrassing reason: The previous Sword Champion, a legendary swordmaster with 13 outstanding accolades, violated the laws of heaven, resulting in her name being wiped from the face of the cosmos. Even the prestigious title that she bore became a sore spot for others. But for this vastly impressive teen, it's now time to turn over a new page in the annals of history and write another chapter.

ultimately, i think jing yuan said it best:

"You will soon be better than everyone, and that will only be the beginning..."

[violetsiren90]

What the Moon Saw

Pairing: Yoongi x f!Reader

Genre: One-shot; non-idol AU; friends to lovers; young love; summer nights, angst/fluff/smut

Summary: Having been with each other through thick and thin, you and your childhood friend, Yoongi, realize that nobody knows how to say goodbye.

Listen to: "Nobody Knows" by The Lumineers

Drabbles: Stolen Tides; Beacons Ashore; The Lighthouse Keeper

Content Warnings: 18+ (minors dni); allusions to domestic abuse; divorce of parents; cigarette smoking; infidelity (not between main couple); kissing; hickeys; making out; hand jobs; oral sex (female receiving); loss of virginity (female); moments of body insecurity; unprotected sex; cumming inside; cockwarming; characters are ADULTS at the time of their sexual encounter; LOTS of emotions

Author's note: I moved. Like, a block away from the beach, and the views and the vibes have me ALL up in my feels. I wrote this in two nights and then sat on it. I wasn't sure if I was going to post it or just keep it in my heart because parts of it are so personal to me. BUT, here it is. I want to give inspiration credit to @orchidyoonkook , because I will never ever be able to write young love or Yoongi without being influenced by the beauty that is Under the Willow Tree. 💕 If anyone chooses to read this little love story of mine, I hope it brings you something wholesome!

If no one has told you yet today, you are loved and worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️💜

    You inhaled deeply, taking the salty air into your lungs as you gazed out over the cliff side and across the rippling blue that stretched on and on until it met the soft pink glow of the horizon. Your eyes tracked the tide lapping at the smooth sands. You slipped off your heels to meet the cool pavement, but you could feel it already - the soft golden grains molding to meet your steps. These shores hadn't borne your footprints in over a decade, but here you were, drawn back again by the hypnotic crash of the sea and the lonely call of the gulls. It felt as though you had never left. You leaned over the railing of the rickety staircase that wove its way down the cliff side into the sand and scree. Your gaze trailed down the steps, one by one, until you saw it, jutting out halfway down: the lip of a ledge in the rock face. Your breath caught in your chest. Old, familiar feelings of a time gone by washed over you. The years rolled back like clouds from the sun in the western sky.

You were nineteen.

You shivered, drawing your knees up and hugging them to you as sat on the thick woolen blanket you had laid over the cool stone of the ledge. Even on a summer night like this, you should have worn something more practical. But you had worn your cotton sundress with the cherries. He had once told you that you looked like the main character in that dress, and it had been your favorite ever since.

You watched the moon dance on the dark water and thought about all it had seen. It had been watching the little alcove from the beginning. It had seen you the summer after your first year of middle school, wrapped in a blanket with book between your hands, as you took refuge from the emotional turmoil that shook your house nearly every night leading up to your parents' divorce. It had seen the boy one night, wandering the beach with a cigarette and busted lip, trying to smoke away the tears in his eyes. It had seen the boy climb the stairs, only to discover his favorite hiding place was already harboring another runaway. It had seen you look at him - skinny limbs in a jacket and ripped jeans not lanky on his small frame, tussled dark hair, round face, little bleeding pouted lips, dark sharp eyes wide with surprise - and consider that he was likely the most beautiful thing you had ever laid eyes on. It had seen him offer you a cigarette which you refused. It had seen him ask you for a light, which you didn't have. And then it had seen you become friends. Best friends. It had watched you become all that the other truly had in the small, beautiful, painful world of a child. And now it would watch him amble up the beach one last time to find you there.

Yoongi. He had been so upset when you told him that you were leaving for college, but he had tried his best not to show it. He was always like that, keeping things deep inside. You had to wait and watch and listen and coax them out. You could always find the right time to do it, when he felt safe to let you. Most nights, though, it was you pouring out every little thing in your heart. Yoongi loved it when you did that. He would listen with the softest little smile and warm eyes, creasing in the corners, as he watched your hands move with as much animation as your voice when you spoke. His nearly-silent breathy laugh would come like a breeze off the sea and waft around you, lifting your spirits and cleansing your soul. His rare, full smile spreading in breathtaking beauty over his face, pulling his upper lip away from his gums. There were the good times, and the bad ones. On hard nights you would hold each other in silence, letting the beat of the other's heart and the steady undulation of the tide carry you through to the dawn.

You remembered the first time you had awakened in his arms after such a night. The light had just started to stream over the tops of the cliffs, painting the water in rose gold. You had shivered, feeling the dampness of the cool salty air in your hair. And then you had looked up and seen him there, holding you, still fast asleep. His face was angelic, little pink lips just parted, chest rising and falling with the swell of his breath, and you swore you could endure anything life threw at you if the first thing you saw each day were his dark lashes resting gently on the apples of his cheeks. Yoongi had finally stirred and blinked down at you, just gazing silently - the little warm smile in his eyes rather than on his lips. In that moment, something had changed. In the weeks that followed, you thought you had never felt so many things at once.

You felt giddy. You felt a little sick. You felt like you could fly.

You were in love.

You were in love and you had very nearly worked up the courage to do something about it when you saw it - that horrid little purple bruise right below his ear. You had asked him if his father had done it and he had been confused at first. But when you brushed your fingers so softly over the mark, his eyes had widened and he had recoiled, pulling up the collar of his jacket to obscure it from your view. He had insisted that he was fine and not to worry. But worry you did, all the way up to the day you realized what the little bruise really was. Then your worry morphed into something different. You felt sick again, but this time it felt like a burden. You had chided yourself for being so stupid. He was beautiful and sixteen, of course he was involved with girls - girls that weren't you. Your heart broke. You pieced it back together with the succor of his friendship, and, soon, you started seeing other boys too. But you never let them give you purple bruises. You didn't want them from their lips. 

As the seasons went by, you remained tethered to one another. Regardless of friends or suitors who would come and go, you knew each other in a way that no one else could. A way that didn't require words. Laughter bubbled up without effort or restraint. Fights ended in tears and forehead kisses and never lasted more than a few moments. Never past parting. Until one day a few weeks ago when he had told you that a boy you were going with was seeing another girl. Yoongi had never liked your boyfriend, and so you had reacted badly, gotten defensive and let yourself be angry with him for telling you. You had snapped at him to mind his own business. When he had insisted that you were his business you had said no you weren't, not in that way. He had gone quiet. So quiet. And then he had left. And he hadn't come the next night. Or the night after that.

You were so angry and anxious, and you told yourself you wouldn't wait for him another night, so you stayed home for the rest of the week. Then, on the third night away, you had tucked yourself into bed only to imagine Yoongi waiting for you, alone in the darkness. You had whipped off your covers and gone to find him in your pajamas. When he had seen you he had jumped up, throwing his cigarette aside, and crushed you in his arms. He had hugged you from the other side of the railing, not even waiting for you to climb over, then lifted you to stand before him on the ledge where he had enveloped you in his arms again. You had tried to apologize, but he wouldn't let you. And then you told him what you had been dreading to tell him all summer: you were leaving. He hadn't reacted. He had just held you in silence. But there was something different in him now, something that had his eyes trained immovably on the horizon. Something that wouldn't let him look at you. Something that distracted him from all you had to say as his thumbs brushed softly over your arms. He had looked at you so strangely before you had parted that night.

Now you were meeting one last time before you would watch the little coastal town and all its hurts disappear in your rearview mirror. You needed a second chance and this scholarship might be your only shot. Your reverie broke as you noticed a figure shuffling down the waterline in the bright light of the waxing gibbous. The figure sprung nimbly, with practiced steps, up the stairs, and lightly vaulted the rail, landing with a soft thud, catlike, a few feet from where you sat. He stepped forward, standing over you as he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. He was wearing tight khakis, white tennis shoes, and a plain white tee under his green military jacket. With a smoke tucked behind his ear and that little smirk on his lips, you thought he might be cooler than Steve McQueen.

"Got a light?" he asked coolly, shoving the pack of Marlboros back in his pocket. You rolled your eyes.

"Of course not, Yoongi. And why on earth do you always ask me that when you've got one anyway?"

Yoongi smiled to himself as he brought a lighter to the little yellow-tipped cylinder between his lips. It was a secret kind of smile, the kind that made you want to snatch the cigarette from between his teeth. But tonight wasn't for fighting, even the bickering kind. He eased himself down beside you with his signature careful grace. You sat in silence, gaze trained out over the water. While you were looking elsewhere, he relaxed, and you tracked his movements in your peripheral vision. You would do this sometimes, especially when he was particularly guarded. He had always been bad at eye contact, but if you gave him a little space he would let down his walls, and you could read him like a book. Just now, he had let his gaze settle on you. Smoke hissed through his lips, his mouth hanging open just a little in that way it did when he was lost to his thoughts. His eyes roved over you in a way that made you mouth go dry. You swallowed. He suddenly shifted his gaze, coughing a bit.

"I like this dress," he offered, like an apology.

"I know," you murmured with a smile.

"Yeah?" he questioned, brow furrowing, as he took another drag. He was quiet for a beat before pressing out another question. "Paul headed out east too?"

"I broke up with him," came your answer, but without a smile this time.

  "Yeah?"

    "Oh come on, Yoongi," you bit out, "You knew that was going to happen. That's why you told me!"

His jaw ticked ever so slightly.

    "You know that's not true. He was cheating on you. I couldn't let you be in the dark about it - get hurt by another one of these assholes who don't deserve your time in the first place."

You sighed, frustration rising unbidden again as Yoongi casually hurtled the unspoken walls you had erected to make things easier.

    "What I deserve is my business. I don't go chastising you for letting random bitches suck on your neck and god knows what else so that you don't feel lonely."

The remark had been soft but laced with venom, and you had regretted breaching your own resolve against negativity the moment the words had spilled from your lips.

    "Random..." He stared at you intently, surprise and confusion mingling with another indiscernible expression in his eyes as they traced over your features. You were trying to think of a way, any way, to salvage the conversation when he huffed out a laugh.

    "You did know what it was!"

    "What?"

    "That hickey you asked about sophomore year."

Your stomach flipped.

    "How do you even remember that?" You blustered in incredulity.

    "How do you?"

    He was staring at you knowingly with those achingly beautiful dark eyes that always saw you. It was one of the things you loved most about him. But right now it was terrifying. Right now you wanted to escape, only, there was nowhere to go. So for a moment, just a moment, you didn't hide anymore.

    "Because," you swallowed, trailing your eyes back up to his, your voice shaking a bit as you whispered, "I remember everything."

A beat. Two. You didn't make a disarming jest, or a hurried qualification. You didn't even blink. In a flash as quick and heavy as a summer storm, years of yearning filled your eyes like intangible tears, holding his face in your gaze before casting it back out over the sea. Yoongi had froze where he sat, eyes trained immovably on you before he suddenly stood, tossing his cigarette and cursing as he took a step toward the edge, weaving his fingers through his hair.

"What?" you asked, almost defensively.

He didn't turn around, but you could hear the emotion in his voice, his head bowed as he wrestled with the words.

    "Nah, that's not fair. You're leaving...You're leaving and you're gonna make it even...even harder right now?"

Turns out you weren't the only one who had been building walls with invisible bricks. You jumped to your feet.

    "Oh, so this is my fault? You've been telling me my whole life to get out! You convinced me to apply to the Ivy Leagues! You spent the last weeks pushing me away! I don't understand what you want from me, Yoongi!"

He turned toward you, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth, eyes on the ground.

    "A clean break," he said lowly, "Not from you...for you. I just wanted you to run, no guilt no pain, and not look back."

You felt a lump rise in your throat as you shook your head.

    "That's not how it works though. I was always going to look back. Whenever I was frightened or lost or uncertain. Whenever I woke up in the morning or closed my eyes to sleep, or laughed, or...or felt so much joy I didn't know what to do with it. I was always going to look back, Yoongi," You took a deep breath, "I was going to look for you."

Hot tears slipped down your cheeks as you grabbed his arm and pressed your wet face into his shoulder. You could feel his body shake with little sobs.

    "Don't," he croaked out, "don't look for me."

    "Sorry," you huffed a tearful laugh into the fabric of his sleeve, "I don't think my heart will listen to you. Pretty rough deal when it's yours after all."

You had tried to say it like a joke. It had come out like a promise.

    Yoongi stilled. Everything stilled. For a moment, it was as if even the sea and the sky and the moon held their breath. He let his hands fall from where they covered his face. As he lifted his head and turned, you dropped his arm, thinking for one horrible moment that he meant to push you away. But he didn't. He reached for you, and gently, firmly - like every move he ever made, like every word he ever spoke - slipped his hand around the nape of your neck and pressed his mouth against yours.

    You gasped softly against his lips.

    Sweet, methodical, insistent. He slipped his tongue against your bottom lip and you tilted your head to slot your mouth against his, deepening the kiss as his tongue brushed languorously against your own. He tasted like mint and cigarettes and him. You could do this all day. A little dagger pierced your heart at the thought that you only had tonight. You stumbled back, tugging him down beside you onto the blanket. You pushed him to his back and slipped onto his lap, leaning down to reconnect your lips with his. He chuckled into your mouth, his cheeks still wet with tears. 

    "Slow down," he hummed.

    "No," you murmured in simple defiance, kissing along his jaw before dipping to press your mouth to the soft flesh of his neck.

You licked softly, experimentally, along the side of his throat, and his fingers tightened against your waist. He tasted like salty skin and the alcohol of that cheap musky cologne he wore and Yoongi. You leaned back, supporting yourself with hands on either side of his head as you looked down at him.

    "Can I?" you asked with a shy smile

    "Hm?" he hummed, large, lithe hands massaging your waist.

    "Leave a mark?"

His eyes squeezed into little crescent moons, and his mouth pulled up into a full smile he couldn't repress. He chuckled again, reaching up to brush his palm over your cheek, and nodded, tilting his head to the side to expose the creamy skin of his neck. Your heart hammered in your chest as you leaned down and placed an open-mouthed kiss to his throat before sucking until you had pulled a low, deep groan from him. You pushed up again, surprised at the sound, new and lovely, to find him flushed - his blown pupils darkening his eyes, and a little wet patch of smooth skin growing rosy against his throat. You felt a thrill rush through you, making you tremble. You leaned down and marked him again and again, pulling sweet moans from his lips until his neck and collarbones were littered with the proof of your mouth. You lifted your face to kiss him again, but after pressing his lips to yours twice, he pulled back.

"One more," he whispered, taking your hand from his face and guiding it down to the slight firm swell of the top of his left pec.

His eyes played over your face as you felt it softly against your fingertips - his heart. In a valiant fight for your composure, you pressed your eyes shut and buried your face in his chest. He ran a hand over the back of your head soothingly. You raised your face to meet his gaze again, choking out a little sob at the depth of its gentle affection. You slipped your fingers to the collar of his cotton tee and stretched it down and to the side, revealing his bare chest. With reverence you pressed your mouth to his skin, fulfilling his request.     

No sooner had you raised your eyes to his again than he was pulling you against his lips and rolling you to your back. His weight sank into you as your mouths moved together and you thought, maybe, under his warmth was the only place you ever wanted to be. Your body responded to him seemingly of its own accord, your legs weaving around the backs of his thighs as a thrumming ache intensified at your core. As he moved to kiss your neck you found your hips rolling up, seeking relief for the sticky ache at their center, and you were met with a firm knot in his groin that pressed just where you were neediest. Your high-pitched whine was a sharp contrast to his low growl into your shoulder. It was intoxicating - his sensation, his sound, and you undulated against him over and over to slake your want on his growing hardness and hear his breath come quick against your ear. He began to rock against you in return, and soon you were whimpering into his neck, beads of sweat cooling on your forehead against the night air as each rut of his hips became overwhelming and not enough.

    "Yoongi, please," you begged in a breathy moan, lightly squeezing the back of his neck and turning your damp forehead against his soft cheek.

He pushed up to look at you, brushing away the little hairs clinging to your brow. He looked as needy as you, but a little uncertain.

    "What is it?" he asked. You knew he knew. You leaned up and kissed him chastely before letting your head fall back against the blanket.

    "I want you," you murmured, suddenly barely able to look at him as the words formed on your lips.

Yoongi dipped to press another kiss to your mouth before sitting up and back on your thighs, and gently tugging you up with him. You noticed the bulge straining against the front of his khakis, and he winced slightly as he wiggled to adjust against your legs. He took your hands in his, that little smile tugging at the corners of his pink lips, tongue darting out lick at them as he considered you thoughtfully. Impatient, you pushed his jacket off his shoulder, which he fully shed and cast aside, and ran your hands over his cotton-clad chest. His muscle jumped when you grazed down over his stomach, which you thought must be as soft and lovely as the rest of him.

  "Are you sure you want this to happen right now, with me?" he asked tenderly. You looked up at him, your brow pinched in question. "Your first time?"

    You scoffed, your face heating as you looked away, brushing bits of sand from the blanket.

    "How do you know if it's my first time?"

His little smile spread into a grin.

    "Because I know," he offered, a bit smugly.

You toyed with the hem of his shirt.

    "I'm sure," you murmured. And then you looked up at him. "Have you ever..."

    "Yeah," he responded, almost like he was sorry, as he glanced down and took your hands in his again. He bit the bottom corner of his lip. "I don't have a condom."

You felt your heart pounding as the concept of him taking you where you sat became increasingly real.

    "So pull out," you offered nonchalantly, hoping you sounded far more experienced than he knew you were.

He nodded. You snaked a hand between you to dance your fingers over the strain against the crotch of his pants. His hand flew to encircle your wrist and still your movements. He took a deep breath.

    "It might hurt you at first. Maybe the whole time," he said, his thumb brushing in a pendulum motion over your arm. You nodded.

    "I know. I don't care."

He smiled again, regarding you for a long moment. 

    "Okay," he said, nodding and licking his lips before taking your jaw delicately between the rounded pads of his fingers. "But you have to promise me one thing."

    "Hm?"

    "You still have to leave in the morning."

You heaved a sigh. Oh, Yoongi. You thought you might cry again, so you nodded, pulling him down over you once more.

    "Promise me," he murmured against your lips.

    "I promise," you breathed.

    You kissed slowly, greedily, learning each other's mouths and mapping each other's faces and necks. At some point he dipped below your collarbone to drag his lips along the tops of your breasts. Your hand flew into his hair and he looked up at you, dark eyes seeking permission. You nodded, bottom lip clamped between your teeth as he tugged down the stretchy bodice of your sundress to reveal a simple beige bra that clasped in the front.

    "It's not sexy," you remarked apologetically.

He shook his head, his dark hair falling into his eyes, and dipped to kiss the tops of your breasts as his fingers found the clasp.

    "Shhh, it's just the wrapping," he whispered as he snapped the garment open, letting your breasts fall into view as they pushed aside the fabric cups that had confined them.

He cursed under his breath as he brought both hands to your tits and kneaded them gently, sliding your pert nipples in the spaces between his fingers. You mewled, arching your back to press your chest up into his grasp. Before you could truly revel in the feeling of his hands plying your supple flesh, they were gone, but your whine of protest was cut short by a sharp keen as his mouth replaced his fingers. He suckled and nipped at one bud and then the other, and each time he released one with a pop, you were certain you had been rendered temporarily unconscious. Soon he was sitting up and smirking down at the panting, writhing mess of you beneath him. You saw him grimace again as he adjusted his stance, and you reached for his zipper, only to find your hand caught in his.

    "No yet," he chided lightly, a twinkle in his eye, "I have to make you cum."

You drew your arm back and cast it over the top of your face, suddenly shy at his remark.

    "To get you ready for me," he explained again in a murmur as he pushed your dress up to your rib cage.

He traced his hands lightly over your naked waist and you shivered. He moved to his knees, pushing your legs to either side of him. He hooked his fingers into the top of your pink cotton panties, when you suddenly felt yourself sitting up, your dress falling back over your midriff. You were a sight - wild hair and your tits half out, still panting for breath while worry painted your features. Yoongi pulled his hands away and sat back, confusion in his widened eyes. 

    "I don't shave," you rushed out, "I know some girls do, but I've never tried. And...I don't know, I'm kind of a mess down there right now..."

Yoongi's face softened and he leaned forward to press his forehead to yours.

  "I don't care," he whispered. You huffed out another sigh.

    "But...but what if you...don't like it?"

    "I know I will."

    "How?"

He bumped your nose with his, swallowing again as his hand found yours.

"Because I love you."

He only let the words hang in the air for a millisecond before he was crashing his lips into yours again, passionately, as if it was the only way he could convey his conviction.

He loved you. You could have died. But he was pressing one of the kisses you would always remember into your lips like an oath, so you didn't. And then you let him bare your skin and lay you down and tell you that you were beautiful. You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes when you felt your heart believe him. How were you to leave in the morning when his soft, warm words felt like the sun?

    He ran his hands over your sides and thighs, dipping to trail slow, deliberate kisses down from your navel until his chin brushed the soft, curly hairs of your mound. Your breath caught in your chest as the cool air hit fresh slick dampening your sex. He leaned back again, regarding you with warm eyes, and took your hand in his, placing it over your lower lips.

"Do you touch yourself?"

    You stammered. He had asked you as simply as if he were inquiring about your favorite flavor of ice cream. With effort you admitted that you did. He stroked over your hand.

"Show me how. What makes you feel good."

You nodded slowly, feeling yourself tremble a little as you moved to stroke your middle finger in beckoning motions over your swollen clit. The motion that should have been almost automatic and familiar felt new and lewd under his gaze. As you dipped to gather more arousal from your entrance you watched his Adam's apple bob in his throat and his hands tighten where they gripped your thighs.

    "You're soaked," he murmured as he stooped to press a kiss to your belly. Then he did something that would be seared into your brain for all eternity: he scooped up your hand and brought it to his lips, sucking your sticky middle finger into his mouth. You gushed at the sensation of his lips and tongue, wide eyes locked on his as he slowly let your finger slip free.

    "You want to know how you taste?" He asked, not waiting for an answer before humming, "So fucking good."

    "Yeah?" you asked breathlessly, propped up on your forearms to watch as he laid down between your legs.

  "Mhm. Sweet. Like honey."

He kissed into your pubic hair, slipping one of his long fingers to trace over your clit the way you had showed him. You gasped as you watched him work you up, something inside your growing taut like a bowstring. And then a kind of pleasure you had never imagined, the kind that made you want to melt and scream, rushed through your trembling body as a single finger pressed slowly past your entrance while his mouth found your clit. You found your hips bucking to meet his thrusts as he pressed in a second finger. You felt a slight sting at the stretch, but the exquisite pressure of this knobby knuckles caressing your walls overwhelmed any pain, and when he pressed the pads of his fingers to massage a spongy patch of muscle, you cried out, gripping his dark locks. 

    "Yoongi!" you moaned as he repeated the motion, and when he took your clit between his lips to suck you came.

You came hard and in waves, rolling your hips into him until you were clamping your thighs shut at the raw sensitivity of overstimulation. Yoongi sat up to rub his hands over your shaking thighs and heaving belly before leaning back down to kiss you and return your spirit through his lips from the astral plane.

    "You did so good," he cooed, "Came so easy for me."

    "That's good?" you asked between pants. He chuckled into your neck.

    "Mhm."

    "It felt good, Yoongi, really good." He dropped a kiss to your shoulder, and then mumbled into your skin.

    "You still want to go all the way?"

    "Yes," you whispered, pulling his shirt up his back and running your hands over his bare skin.

Yoongi sat up and pulled the shirt over his head, tossing it to lay with his jacket. He was slender and milky, as you had expected, but his shoulders were surprisingly broad, and his upper chest firm. The soft swell of his belly was dusted with a trail of delicate dark hairs leading down from his navel. You reached instinctively for the button of his pants, and this time he let you. Trailing the zipper down, he helped you shed his tight pants and boxers, sighing in relief as he freed his erection. You bit your lip as your hand trailed over the velvety skin of his shaft. Even this part of him was beautiful, you thought - not overly long but thick and proud with a pretty vein and a smooth tip glistening with precum. You had been so consumed with drinking him in that you only now noticed the little needy whimpers falling from his lips as you stroked him. You squeezed a little firmer, pumping him with more confidence.

    "Like that?" you asked, unable to look away from the sweet sight of his face as his eyebrows knitted and his head tilted back.

"Yeah, just...no, no, I won't last," he groaned, his hand stilling yours.

When he met your concerned gaze he reached up to stroke your cheek.

"Feels too good," he murmured reassuringly, then he guided you back down on the blanket, balling up his jacket and slipping it under your head.

He lowered himself carefully over you, skin to skin, as he kissed you again and again, his right hand toying with your breast and trailing lower to caress your clit. You could feel the heat rising in you again, and an aching want inside growing deeper and hungrier with every shock of pleasure. When he trailed his fingers through your folds to find you thoroughly wet he leaned to the side, gliding his length between your lips, his smooth tip brushing over your bud. You cursed, fingers digging into his back and he huffed a little laugh, eyes sparkling down at you.

    "Dirty girl," he chuckled, before kissing the tip of your nose. "Are you ready?"

You felt a squeeze of trepidation in your chest, but you pushed it away.

    "Yes," you assured him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

For a long moment, he just stared down at you, the same look in his eyes as the morning you had first awakened in his arms, but so intent - as if he was trying to commit every feature of your face, in this moment, to memory. Finally breaking his gaze, he glanced down between your bodies, aligning himself with your entrance. His eyes flicked back up to you as he slowly, slowly breached your core. When he had pressed in past his tip you felt the searing stretch he had warned you of. You closed your eyes, drawing in a sharp breath.

"You okay?" came is worried voice, "Want to stop?" You shook your head.

"No, just do it," you panted through the pain, "I want it to be you."

You pulled him down to press your mouth to his. Every kiss between you seemed to say something. This one said that you trusted him in a way you would never trust another.

He was so gentle. Pressing in slowly, giving you time to stretch around the thickness of him, kissing you sweetly through your whimpers, until he was fully sheathed inside you. Tears filled your eyes and trickled down your cheeks. You were so full of him.

    "Why are you crying?" he cooed, touching his forehead to yours.

Your hands clutched his back as you raised watery eyes to his.

"Because I'm yours, Yoongi. Yours first and no one else's." He buried his face in your neck.

"Take me, Yoongi," you whispered desperately into his ear, "Take me like I'm yours."

You felt him let out a tiny sob against your skin and then he started to move. He kept a slow pace at first, carefully gliding against your tight walls, unaccustomed to his presence. You could feel him jerk and twitch as he moved, and thought he must be restraining himself. You found the worst of your pain had passed, and all you wanted in the world was to make him cum.

    "Don't hold back," you hummed as you rolled your hips to meet his thrusts.

He didn't need you to tell him twice, instantly setting a quicker, sharper pace that had his balls slapping your ass and his pelvic bone pressing to your clit with each forward snap.

    "You're so fucking tight," he mumbled, a dazed look beginning to overtake his features, "You feel so good, baby. So good." You wove your hands into his hair, pulling him down to kiss him as you breathed in every curse, whimper, and moan. And then he was looking down at you with dark, wild eyes.

    "I'm gonna cum, sweetheart, where do you want me to cum?"

You didn't have to think.

    "Inside," you answered breathlessly.

    "But I'm not..."

  "Please, cum inside me, Yoongi. Please," you whimpered, tempted to wrap your legs around his waist - your desire for him transcending every fear of consequence. But you wanted to give him the choice.

He raised himself up on his elbows, his thrusts coming impossibly harder and more erratic, and then he came. You watched him in exaltation as he threw his head back and cried out, emptying himself inside you. So beautiful, you thought, with his hair clinging to his brow, his chest heaving and flushed, and his face drawn in the throes of his release. You did wrap your legs around him then, and he collapsed, his head falling to your breasts as he gasped for breath. You tangled your fingers into his hair, caressing his head. You were swollen and sore and messy, and yet the thought of him abandoning you was unbearable. And the moon saw it all.

It saw you stay each other's as long as possible. It watched you both try to hide your tears as you pulled on your clothes. It watched you fight desperately, and fail, to put your heart in words. It watched him silence you, and hold you, because you didn't have to say it. He knew. It watched you fall asleep in his arms one last time.

You opened your eyes. The gulls were crying and the pale morning sunlight was spilling over the tops of the cliffs. The sea was soft and plashing and cerulean. It was the most beautiful of the ninety-three mornings of summer. But you didn't notice - all you saw were dark lashes on the apples of soft cheeks. You watched his breath rise and fall as the sun tipped over the horizon in the east, the dew trickling down your face as salty as the sea.

When Yoongi's eyes fluttered open they met your red ones, and he pressed is forehead to yours only for a moment before pulling you up to stand.

"Get outta here," he whispered shakily, hands still clutching your arms and brow still tilted into your own.

"Come with me," you choked tracing your hands over his chest.

"I can't leave her with him."

"I know." Your fingers traced over his heart and the little bruise you knew rested under the cotton fabric.

Yoongi wept.

"Go," he whispered, squeezing your arms. You nodded weakly.

"Go, goddamn it, go!" he cried, as you shook with sobs, then he crushed his mouth against yours.

Time didn't stop, you'd have any - so you stole every second you could.

And then you kept your promise.

You shivered as a zephyr sprang off the water to whip around you, disrupting your thoughts. You tugged at your blazer. It had been a long time since you wore a sundress with cherries.

It was time to let them go, the little girl huddled in a blanket and the boy with the bleeding lip. They had held your hands for so long. They deserved to be free. It was time to let them go, so you did.

With a deep sigh you cast one last wistful glance back over the great blue expanse as the sun sank into the sea.

The moon was just a silver slip in the sky that night, but it saw. It saw before you did, as you turned to go, the breath catching in your chest when a low, soft voice behind you asked,

"Got a light?"

-Fin-

[oakparchment]

Itzy's Sex Toys

Yeji, Lia, Ryujin, Chaeryeong, Yuna

Length: 2325 words

Tags: masturbation, (improvised) sex toys, voyeurism, cum sharing, cum lube

Summary: Ever wondered how Itzy gets themselves off?

AO3

A/N: Here's some fantasy fuel for how each Itzy member masturbates (it gets real slutty at the end) featuring the non-conventional objects they had to make do with as sex toys before, the actual sex toys they own now, and the toy that they're looking at buying next.

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

Yeji

Yeji getting her driver's license led to more than just being able to drive. This definitely doesn't work in every vehicle, but the handbrake in Yeji's car was just a simple, long and straight lever that when the car was in park, angled almost straight up. There was enough room at the front console that she could push the seats back, slot herself over the handbrake, and start riding to her heart's content. It was unconventional for sure, and not always practical, but at least the car had tinted windows.

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

Yeji was the group's trailblazer when it came to sex. Not only was she the first to buy a sex toy, but she went all out on the first purchase. When the order came through, she couldn't contain her excitement and ran to her room to test it out. It was a male torso sex doll, spanning from the neck down to the cock and balls. No longer would she be confined to the inside of a car whenever she wanted to ride something long and hard. During one late night talk, Yeji and Ryujin had shared some of their fantasies with each other. The repercussions of that conversation led to Yeji sometimes pretending the sex doll beneath her was Ryujin, as she bounced up and down on its hard rod (more of that fantasy later...)

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

Yeji is looking at buying a fuck machine next. With both the handbrake and sex doll she has to do all the work herself, but wants to have a go at lying down on her hands and knees, turning the machine on, and just getting absolutely railed from behind. She's gonna have to find more storage space...

Lia

Lia often took the longest showers. She would of course do the usual: wash her hair, soap herself up, shave, and get clean. But then she would also get dirty. Their bathroom showerhead was detachable, which Lia would hold against her pussy. The hot water jetting over her clit was the perfect amount of pressure. Not wanting anyone to have to wait around, thoughtful Lia would try to limit her shower sessions to when no one else had to use the bathroom after her.

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

Lia eventually wanted to add more to her shower sessions, and made a very pragmatic decision to buy a suction cup dildo. She could now attach the dildo to the shower wall and fuck herself on it, whilst still holding the showerhead over her clit. This revolutionised showers for Lia, causing her to take multiple showers in a day if there was the opportunity to do so. From an outsider's perspective, she seemed shy about sex, but the thought of someone walking in on her getting off secretly turned her on, and for that reason she never locked the bathroom door when she showered (or the bedroom door when she stuck the dildo to her mirror). One time she forgot to take the dildo off the shower wall, and Yuna discovered it. But that's a story for another time.

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

She's interested in buying a simple clit vibrator. One that she can hold against her sensitive bud whilst fucking her dildo, but she also wouldn't be tethered to the shower this way. She basically sees it as a direct upgrade from the showerhead.

Ryujin

Ryujin sleeps with a pillow between her legs. Silk sheets, pyjama shorts and no panties, cause she humps her pillow to get off. If she bundles up the pillow just right, her wetness against the silk pillow case creates an amazing texture that’s both smooth yet has just the right friction against her pussy lips and clit. She’s gotten real good at humping and grinding her hips after all that pillow fucking. This did lead to Ryujin having an excessive amount of pillows in her room, allowing her to have a pillow to fuck and still have a fresh one to sleep on that didn't have her cum all over it (without having to wash her sheets every few days). One night when Chaeryeong was sleeping over in her room, she wondered why Ryujin needed so many pillows. Her curiosity was answered upon seeing a familiar patch running down the middle of one of them. Much to Ryujin's embarassment, Chaeryeong specifically chose to sleep on that pillow for the night.

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

Ryujin wants to fuck. Like literally. She bought a strap-on dildo because she’s obsessed with the idea of having a thick cock and just absolutely railing people with it. So much so that she practices fucking her pillow with it, pretending it’s one of her group members. Ryujin will give the dildo head before putting it on, practicing her blowjob skills and getting it all slicked up for her pretend partner (for now). Then she’ll get rough with it, slapping her fake cock and watching it sway, then jerking it off with a vice-like grip.

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

Whilst she humps her pillows and jerks off her fake cock, she watches porn, and has been on the kinkier side of it lately. She finds herself continually returning to videos of sex swings. Ryujin thinks about how hard and fast she could fuck someone’s guts out with the assistance of a swing. This is going on her wish list for sure.

Chaeryeong

Chaeryeong genuinely did use her face roller to massage her face... at the start. The phallic look of it did always get her thinking and one day her depraved thoughts got the better of her and she used it to massage other places. She would clutch onto the roller balls to angle the shaft inside of her, pumping in and out of her pussy and oh.. my.. god.. did it make her feel good. 

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

Whilst the face roller got her off, it didn't hit deep the way she wanted it to (Chaeryeong's vaginal canal goes deep), so she started browsing around for actual toys. All the pretty colours and shapes of bad dragon dildos really drew her attention (and yes, the massive size too) and settled on a few that she particularly liked. The first time she used one was a very slow process, involving lots of lube and very slow penetration. Even now, her wank sessions take a bit to start off. But once her pussy adjusts to the size, it hits her in crevices that she didn't even know she had. She likes to kneel in front of her mirror with the base of the dildo on the floor just in front of her, holding the length of it up against her abs to visualise just how far it goes inside of her. Bad dragon dildos for a bad girl...

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

The monstrous dildos do a very sufficient job of filling up her pussy, but Chaeryeong wants to be double stuffed and have things up her juicy ass too. She can’t get over how cute fluffy cat tail anal plugs look, and wants to have one (or two, or three) for her growing collection.

Yuna

One morning when they were getting ready for their schedule, Yuna and Ryujin were standing by the bathroom vanity, when Yuna's electric toothbrush was cutting in and out of power. The older girl made a sly comment about it. "Is the battery faulty? You only just charged it yesterday..." Yuna brushed off her remark whilst blushing, telling her Unnie to shush. They both knew the real reason. Yuna would brush her teeth with her electric toothbrush, feeling it vibrate in her hand, and one day her intrusive thoughts took over. Bzzzzzzttt it went, vibrating against her lips, though it wasn't in her mouth...

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

If she was attached to her toothbrush before, she was now straight up obsessed with her rabbit vibrator. Where the toothbrush was thin, her rabbit was thick. Where the toothbrush was a gentle buzz, her rabbit vibrated hard. And where the toothbrush had her rubbing her clit with her free hand, the rabbit ears did that for her. This thing turned Yuna into a crazed little cum machine and she may or may not be addicted to jilling off with it.

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

Yuna couldn't imagine a better toy at getting her tight little pussy off, so she’s opted for branching out to accessories that stimulates and turns her on instead. A ball gag, to help shut herself up so that her roommates don’t have to hear her fucking her rabbit for the 4th time in a day (hint, they can still hear her, and it turns them on just as much as it annoys them for being such a distraction). And nipple clamps, so that she can have her nipples pinched hands free.

All In Us!

This one is shared. Nobody explicity says it out loud but they all get off harder at the thought of sharing a toy; the material being glass has the added benefits of temperature retention and being easy to clean and take care of. If there’s one toy that always gets brought whilst travelling, it’s this one. It started off as them all passing around a hairbrush (which was tooootally only used to brush their hair) but Yeji thought it was starting to get ridiculous that they were using the handle of a hairbrush in this manner so she went and ordered them a glass dildo. When the girls are feeling particularly nasty there are days that the dildo gets shared around without cleaning it between uses. Cream and cum flows freely on the glass; getting passed around like a slut, accumulating everyone’s wetness and dirty fantasies.

To start off, Yeji had just driven home and was parked outside. She had been waiting to fuck herself all day and finally had the chance to. Pulling the glass dildo out of her bag, she slicks it up with her mouth, getting it coated with spit and ready for her pussy. Getting on top for a ride, she knows how to angle it just right so that the glass hits her g-spot with every buck of her hips, leaving a squirty mess over her car seat by the time she’s done. She wipes up after herself and heads inside, walking away from the fogged up windows of her car.

Lia welcomes her home and watches her place the wet glass dildo on the front door table, as if it were a mundane item like house keys or a letter. And that’s how the sharing starts. Lia retrieves the toy for herself, and is already a little wet by the time she reaches the bathroom. With her face pressed against the vanity, she uses one hand to fuck herself from behind, and the other to rub her clit, all to the mental image she has conjured up of Yeji’s squirty mess. Lia's angelic moans bounce off the bathroom tiles to the beat of her bent over railing. Once she’s done, she leaves the glass toy on the counter top.

Ryujin knows what Lia gets up to in the bathroom, and not so sneakily ducks in there to grab it after Lia leaves. Back in her room, she happily licks up the still warm glass, tasting Lia’s sweet honey. Once she's slurped up all of Lia's cum and has sufficiently replaced it with her own spit, she pulls up an image on her phone from her private folder (which may or may not be exclusive 'selfies' that Lia sent her). Facing down on her stomach, she bucks against the glass dildo, squeezing it with her velvety walls whilst grinding her clit on her wrist.

She gets a message notification from Chaeryeong - 'Unnie it's my turn when you're done.' Chae waits patiently in the next room over, listening to the consistent creaking of Ryujin's bed. Ryujin exits her bedroom and catches Chaeryeong in the hallway. She holds up the used dildo, attempting to make eye contact with a half smirk and a fucked out expression, but the younger girl is too shy and meekly grabs it from her hand without looking, giggling as she walks off to her own room. Chaeryeong is fucking ready to be filled up, and has her face down and ass up within seconds of closing the door. She rubs the glass along her tight little ass hole and then her pussy, lubing them both up with Ryujin's cum. She then pushes in, pounding away at her pussy with it - whatever remained of her Unnie's cum is now thoroughly mixed in with her own. She rubs her ass with her free hand, easily slipping in one, then two fingers thanks to the cum lube. Chaeryeong quickly reaches her climax this way, feeling like such a dirty slut fucking both of her holes.

Even though Chaeryeong makes a good effort to keep her voice contained, through the walls Yuna can hear the creamy slaps as her Unnie pounds into herself. Yuna had already made herself cum once during all of this, but she was a crazed fuck bunny who rarely stopped at one orgasm. Once again, the abused toy gets passed along. From the tip to the base, the dildo is coated with globs of Chaeryeong’s thick cream. Yuna makes sure to nibble at it a bit, then leans back and fucks herself silly. Simultaneously, she gropes at her perky tits, pinching her hard nipples. The stimulation and knowing that the toy has been passed down the line from every member all the way down to her, has her tight cunt squeezing at the glass dildo as she nuts. Pulling it out, she licks at it like a lollipop, cleaning off all that girl cum.

What toy will Itzy as a group buy next? Well to be honest, they should probably skip the middleman and just start directly fucking each other. They're already intimately familiar with each others moans of pleasure through the walls, and even what each other tastes like. It'll happen sooner or later, and Ryujin does have that strap-on after all...

A/N: If you couldn't tell by the image, this is mostly inspired by Chaeryeong's facial massage roller meme from one of their 'what's in my bag' videos. I also read @minheelovelee's post about Yuna's sex toys a while back, which served as inspo too. If anyone's interested I want to do a girl penis version of this as well.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Big Train managers earn bonuses for greenlighting unsafe cars

Tomorrow (November 16) I'll be in Stratford, Ontario, appearing onstage with Vass Bednar as part of the CBC IDEAS Festival. I'm also doing an afternoon session for middle-schoolers at the Stratford Public Library.

Almost no one knows this, but last June, a 90-car train got away from its crew in Hernando, MS, rolling three miles through two public crossings, a ghost train that included 47 potentially explosive propane cars. The "bomb train" neither crashed nor derailed, which meant that Grenada Railroad/Gulf & Atantic didn't have to report it.

This is just one of many terrifying near-misses that are increasingly common in America's hyper-concentrated, private equity-dominated rail sector, where unsafe practices dominate and whistleblowers face brutal retaliation for coming forward to regulators.

These unsafe practices – and the corporate policies that deliberately gave rise to them – are documented in terrifying, eye-watering detail in a deeply reported Propublica story by Topher Sanders, Jessica Lussenhop,Dan Schwartz, Danelle Morton and Gabriel L Sandoval:

https://www.propublica.org/article/railroad-safety-union-pacific-csx-bnsf-trains-freight

It's a tale of depraved indifference to public safety, backstopped by worker intimidation. The reporting is centered on railyard maintenance inspectors, who are charged with writing up "bad orders" to prevent unsafe railcars from shipping out. As private equity firms consolidated rail into an ever-dwindling number of companies, these workers face supervisors who are increasingly hostile to these bad orders.

It got so alarming that some staffers started carrying hidden digital recorders, so they could capture audio of their bosses illegally ordering them to greenlight railcars that were too unsafe for use. The article features direct – and alarming – quotes, like supervisor Andrew Letcher, boss of the maintenance crews at Union Pacific's Kansas City yard saying, "If I was an inspector on a train I would probably let some of that nitpicky shit go."

Letcher – and fellow managers for other Tier 1 railroads quoted in the piece – aren't innately hostile to public safety. They are quite frank about why they want inspectors to "let that nitpicky shit go." As Letcher explains, "The first thing that I’m getting questioned about right now, every day, is why we’re over 200 bad orders and what we’re doing to get them down."

In other words, corporate rail owners have ordered their supervisors to reduce the amount of maintenance outages on the rail lines, but have not given them additional preventative maintenance budgets or crew. These supervisors warn their employees that high numbers of bad orders could cost them their jobs, even lead to the shutdown of the car shops where inspectors are prone to pulling dangerous cars out of service.

It's a ruthless form of winnowing. Gresham's Law holds that "bad money drives out good" – in an economy where counterfeit money circulates, people preferentially spend their fake money to get it out of their hands, until all the money in circulation is funny money. This is the rail safety equivalent: simply fire everyone who reports unsafe conditions and all your railcars will be deemed safe, with the worst railcars shipped out first. A market for lemons – except these aren't balky used sedans, they're unsafe railcars full of toxic chemicals or explosive propane.

When cataclysmic rail disasters occur – like this year's East Palestine derailment – the rail industry reassures us that this is an isolated incident, pointing to the system's excellent overall safety record. But that record is a mirage, because the near-misses don't have to be reported. Those near-misses are coming more frequently, as the culture of profit over safety incurs a mounting maintenance debt, filling America's rails with potential "bomb cars."

Rail mergers and other forms of deregulated, anything-goes capitalism are justified by conservative economists who insist that "incentives matter," and that the profit motive provides the incentive to improve efficiency, leading to lower costs and better service. But the incentive to externalize risk, kick the can down the road, and capture regulators rarely concerns the "incentives matter" crowd.

Here's an incentive that matters. Rail managers' bonuses – as much as a fifth of their take home pay – are only paid if the trains they oversee run on time. Inspectors have recorded their managers admitting that they have quotas – a maximum number of bad orders their facility may produce, irrespective of how much unsafe rolling stock passes through the facility.

Inspectors have caught their managers removing repair order tags from cars they've flagged as unsafe. Inspectors will log orders in a database, only to have the record mysteriously deleted, or marked as serviced when no service has occurred. Some inspectors have seen the same cars in their yard with the same problems, and repeatedly flagged them without any maintenance being performed before they're shipped out again.

Former managers from Union Pacific, CSX and Norfolk Southern told Propublica that they operated in an environment where safety reports were discouraged, and that workers who filed these reports were viewed as "complainers." Workers furnished Propublica with recordings of rail managers berating them for reporting persistent unsafe conditions the Federal Railroad Administration. Other workers from BNSF said that they believed that their bosses were told when they called the company's "confidential" work-safety tipline, setting them up for retaliation by bosses who'd falsified safety reports.

Whistleblowers who seek justice at OSHA are stymied by long delays, and while switching their cases to court can win them cash settlements, these do not get recorded on the company's safety record, which allows the company to go on claiming to be a paragon of safety and prudence.

The culture of retaliation is pervasive, which explains how the 47-cars worth of propane on the "bomb train" that rolled unattended over three miles of track never made the news. There is a voluntary Close Call Reporting System (operated by NASA!) where rail companies can report these disasters. Not one of America's Class 1 rail companies participate in it.

After the East Palestine disaster, Transport Secretary Pete Buttigieg pushed the rail companies to join, but a year later, none have. It's part of an overall pattern with Secretary Buttigieg, who has prodigious, far-reaching powers under USC40 Section 41712(a), which allow him to punish companies for "unfair and deceptive" practices or "unfair methods of competition":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge

Buttigieg can't simply hand down orders under 41712(a) – to wield this power, he must follow administrative procedures, conducting market studies, seeking comment, and proposing a rule. Other members of the Biden administration with similar powers, like FTC chair Lina Khan, arrived in office with a ranked-priority list of bad corporate conduct and immediately set about teeing up rules to give relief to the American public.

By contrast, Buttigieg's agency has done precious little to establish the evidentiary record to punish the worst American companies under its remit. His most-touted achievement was to fine five airlines for saving money by cancelling their flights and stranding their passengers. But of the five airlines affected by Buttigieg's order, four were not US companies. The sole affected US carrier was Spirit airlines, with 2% of the market. The Big Four US airlines – who have a much worse record than the ones that were fined – were not affected at all:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/transportation/ftc-noncompete-airline-flight-cancellation-buttigieg/

Rather than directly regulating the US transportation sector, Buttigieg prefers exacting nonbinding promises from them (like the Tier 1 rail companies' broken promise to sign up to the Close Call Reporting System). Under his leadership, the Federal Railroad Agency has proposed weakening rail safety standards, rescinding an order to improve the braking systems on undermaintained, mile-long trains carrying potentially deadly freight:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/11/dinah-wont-you-blow/#ecp

The US transportation system is accumulating a terrifying safety debt, behind a veil of corporate secrecy. It badly demands direct regulation and close oversight.

If you are interested in rail safety, I strongly recommend this episode of Well There's Your Problem, "a podcast about engineering disasters, with slides" – you will laugh your head off and then never sleep again:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0BMQTdYXaH8

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/15/safety-third/#all-the-livelong-day

[therainscene]

I’ve been enjoying the sympathetic, we-aren’t-being-shown-the-whole-story takes on Henry lately, and it’s reminded me of something I always found odd about the scene with the rabbit.

On the surface, this looks like a budding serial killer engaging in that red flag behaviour of torturing animals. We see the ensnared rabbit screaming and struggling in front of a young Henry, and older Henry tells us, “as I practiced, I realized I could do more than I possibly imagined...”

But then we see young Henry’s face... and I dunno, maybe it’s just me, but I don’t see a child torturing an animal for fun. He seems thoughtful, troubled.

What really gets me about this is older Henry’s narration over this shot: “I could reach into others, into their minds, their memories.” What does that have to do with killing a rabbit? He’s not in a mind-reading trance here, his eyes are open.

Immediately following this scene, Henry segues into telling us about his parents, how he’d reached into their minds and seen that they’d done “such awful things”. We see Victor haunted by a vision of the baby he accidentally killed. It screams like the rabbit, unable to escape its burning crib.

Here’s what I think actually happened with the rabbit:

Virginia set up traps to get rid of pests. (Victor was spooked by the dead animals around his property, so I don’t think he was involved.) Henry saw this while practicing his mind-reading, and upon investigating, found a terrified, injured rabbit. He sympathized with it; his mother viewed him as a pest, too, a problem to be solved via cruelty. He killed it to end its suffering, and soon developed a habit of mercy-killing all the animals ensnared by his mother.

I think this reading is a much better fit for Henry than “weirdo kills animals as practice for murder.” When he kills his human victims, he tells them, “it’s time for your suffering to end; it will all be over soon.”

He finds children ensnared by abuse and forced conformity. He sees them in pain, trapped in their burning cribs by cruel or foolish authority figures. He sees himself. He shows them the mercy he wishes he’d been given.

This is, of course, hypocritical. Henry has no right to decide on other people’s behalf how they should cope with their pain -- he’s turned into the same abusive authority figure he’s always railed against. He sees humanity as “a unique type of pest”, just as his mother saw him. Even his beloved spiders were kept imprisoned in jars so he could study them, just as Brenner imprisoned him in the lab.

Many abusers see themselves as victims, and they’re often right. That doesn’t justify the abuse they perpetrate, but in their own minds, they feel justified. They feel like they have no other option. That’s what makes the cycle of abuse so hard to stop.

Here’s what I find most interesting about sympathetic Henry: if he’s a demonstration of the good within evil... what does that imply about his narrative foil?

Will does not like to hurt others and he does not want to become that person. He couldn’t even shoot the Demogorgon in self-defense.

But he’s quick to hurt himself if it means helping his loved ones. He was willing to sacrifice himself in order to close the gate in S2, and he immediately bottled up his feelings to deal with the Mind Flayer in S3 despite being in the midst of a complete mental breakdown as a result of bottling his feelings up for too long.

And in S4, Will knows that his feelings are exactly what will make Mike feel better, but he’s too scared to come out or risk making his bestie feel uncomfortable, so he shills for heteronormativity and disguises his feelings as his sister’s under the assumption that’s what Mike wants to hear.

It is not what Mike wants to hear.

Mike feels pressured to lie to El. El is so distracted by his bullshit that Henry has time to kill Max. Max’s death opens the final gate.

The world ends, and Will Byers played a key role in it.

In his zeal to be a Good Celibate Gay and do no harm, he contributed to the worst harm imaginable. But he felt justified in what he was doing. He thought he had no other option than to decide on Mike’s behalf how he should feel.

Henry’s gonna have a fucking field day calling him out on that one.

Will isn’t a villain and he isn’t going to become one; the real villain in Stranger Things isn’t a person or a monster so much as the monstrous things people do. If there’s one lesson to take away from this show, I’d say it’s to remember that any of us -- even sweet, gentle, well-meaning Will Byers -- is capable of evil.

But it’s okay. Will’s internalized homophobia may have helped end the world... that just means honesty, acceptance, and love are the tools he’ll need to save it again. We’re all capable of that, too.