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spookwyrdie · 2 days

Text

Riled Up.

{part 1}{part 2}{part3}

Bang Chan x Reader x Han Jisung

word count: 2.5k

summary: After your little performance on the dance floor with Jisung, Chan pulls you into a limo to teach you a lesson and remind you who's in control. Just as he's about to make you scream, his phone rings. Seems like someone wants to be in the audience for this.

genre: smut, power play

warnings: adult dialogue, explicit sexual content, dom/sub dynamics, jealousy, phone sex, cunnilingus, oral sex [f receiving], edging, dacryphilia, some bratting if you squint

a/n: I got super excited to share this part, so here it is! Pt 3 is in the works rn and might take a little bit, please be patient for that one!

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I have only posted this here and on AO3 - user: spookwyrdie

Chan grabs your elbow and steers you off the dance floor and towards the exit. You watch his jaw clench, sending a ripple of desire through you as he drags you out of the club. You can feel how wet you are between your legs, thighs slick with arousal from dancing with Jisung. You’re so amped up from the anticipation and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

Once outside, he opens the door to the vehicle you arrived in - a stretch limo with the blacked-out windows. He gestures to you to slide in first, his eyes fierce with hunger. As you step in front of him, he lands a firm smack on your ass. You keen from the impact as it jolts through you, another gush of arousal drips out of you as you clench around nothing. Your dress rides up your thighs as you slide into the car, Chan quickly following behind you and slamming the door shut.

“Roll up the partition and take the long way back. The very long way back,” he says to the driver. The man nods as the opaque screen between the driver’s cab and the rest of the limo rolls up.

Chan’s eyes meet yours as he turns to you, leaning in until he’s a breath away. “Did you have your fun out there tonight?”

You bat your eyelashes at him, “Of course. Ji’s a great dancer, don’t you think?”

“I think you were putting on a show to get my attention.”

“Maybe... Did it work?” you ask, looking at him with a doe eyed innocence. He’s not falling for it, rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

“I don’t know, did it?” he grits out, taking your hand and placing it over the firm bulge in his pants. You salivate as you palm him through his pants, and he hums at the touch. You’re about to wrap your fingers around him when he snatches your wrist and pulls you close to him.

“I think I need to remind you exactly who you belong to.”

His plush lips crash against yours and you sink into his embrace. He tangles his hands into your hair and grips hard. Your jaw drops open as you moan at the harsh touch; Chan takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, pressing his tongue against yours, biting down on your plump lip, and wrapping himself around you possessively. You’re lost in the feel of his soft lips against yours, the push and pull you fall into naturally sweeping you away in the moment.

His hand comes up to your chin as he pulls away, holding you in place while you try and chase his lips. He hovers above you, tilting his head like he’s going to kiss you again. You reach up to close the distance, but he pulls back, smiling at the way his denial makes you pout. His lips trail along your jaw to your ear, biting down on the lobe, laving over the pain with his tongue. You cry out as your hips spasm underneath him, your ears are one of your most sensitive spots and he’s using it to his advantage.

“Chan, please,” you whisper, breathlessly.

“You don’t get to ask for anything tonight, sweet thing,” he says in a low voice, tracing his tongue around the shell of your ear. “You had your fun, now I get to have mine.”

Your hands at his shoulders clench into fists, balling up the material of his shirt underneath them, using this one point of contact to ground you. He takes your wrists and holds them with one hand. The other unbuckles his black leather belt, slipping it out of the belt loops of his pants. He wraps it delicately around your wrists, taking care to keep away from the cluster of nerves and tendons. He cinches it down, not too tight but definitely snug against your skin. You wiggle your fingers, reaching to touch him in any way you can, needing to feel as much of his body as possible.

“Ah-ah, no touching unless I say so,” he says, lifting your wrists and placing them behind the headrest of your seat. Your body is on display for him again, at his mercy.

A pathetic whine escapes you as he kneels down to the floor, slotting his body between your thighs and pulling you close to the edge of the seat, your arms still connected behind the headrest. His lips find yours again, gentler this time, as he presses his body into you, making you lean back while he trails wet kisses down to your chest. He tugs the top of your dress down roughly, pulling your breasts out from underneath the fabric. His plump lips wrap around one nipple, flicking his tongue back and forth on the sensitive bud as the other hand pinches the other. You arch your back into him with a whimper, rocking your hips into him, chasing any sort of friction to relieve the building tension in your core.

He sucks hard on your nipple before pulling it out of his mouth with a loud pop! He looks up at you from below, chuckling at your whimpers. “Feeling a bit needy tonight, sweet thing?” he murmurs with a dangerous edge to his voice.

“Mhmm,” you respond, failing to produce any words as he rolls your nipples under his fingers, watching you squirm.

“Good.”

His hands trail down your body to the hem of your dress, already pushed up far enough to see a peek of your panties. He drags his fingers down your thighs as he lowers his face down to your cunt. The sight of him between your legs, looking at you like he was going to happily devour you, makes you quiver. The throb of need throughout your body is strong, settling deep in your pelvis. You tilt your hips up towards him, begging silently as you bite down on your lip. Chan just laughs at you, hovering right above your panties, making sure you can feel his hot breath where you’re most sensitive, just out of reach.

“Sit still,” he says, a hushed command in his voice. You instantly freeze in place, attempting to be good to get him to touch you. He hovers for a moment before he obliges. His eyes lock with yours, slowly pressing his tongue flat against the wet spot that has soaked through the fabric. The small amount of pressure already has you panting. He groans into your cunt, the sound reverberates and makes you wriggle around, whimpering helplessly.

“God, you’re so wet already,” he murmurs, eyes fluttering shut. He’s lost in his own desire from just the taste of you. For a split second, he forgets the white-hot jealousy he felt from your little performance earlier. He leans back, opening his eyes and looks over you again; you blush under his intense gaze, feeling so vulnerable and so desperate for him.

Chan runs his hands up your thighs, slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties and slides them down leisurely, making sure to take his time. You feel a burning trail left over every inch where he has touched your skin. He drags the fabric down to your ankles and has you step out of them, shoving the garment into his pocket. His hands hook behind your knees and shifts them towards your chest, your glistening cunt on full display in the low light of the car.

Sitting back on his heels, he pulls his phone out, aiming the camera at you. “Say cheese,” he teases, sticking his tongue between his teeth and giggling. You bite your lip again, whining at the hot bolt of embarrassment that shoots through you, eventually settling deep in your core, the muscles spasm with want.

Chan types out a quick message and hits send, his gaze lands on you again. His eyes are so dark, they’d be menacing if you didn’t know he was just as awash in lust as you.

“W-who’d you send that to?”

“You’ll find out later,” he purrs, flashing you a taunting smile.

His hands grip onto your legs once more. He caresses from the back your knees to your thighs, thumbs meeting on either side of your lips, massaging but not making contact with your clit yet. The indirect pressure squeezing your sensitive clit has you bucking into his hands.

After grinding into his touch, trying to chase any sort of real friction, he moves one of his thumbs and gingerly brushes over the swollen bundle of nerves, pressing gently into your clit without moving. It makes you yelp as you try to rub yourself against his thumb, but his other hand grasps at your hip, halting your movement.

“I thought I made it clear I was in control tonight,” he says, raising an eyebrow at you. “You’ll get as much as I want to give you.”

With that, he raises his hand, and slaps you right on your clit with a quick smack! Your whole body lurches forward, crying out, searing pain and pleasure mixing together as it rushes through your body. He lands three more slaps to your cunt, with each a lewd wet sound fills the cabin of the limo. Tears prick in your eyes as you blink, there’s a buzzing sensation building in your core.

“Fuck, you take that so well,” he grits out from his clenched jaw. Both of his arms hook around your thighs, holding your hips down, as he presses a feather light kiss against your wetness. He loves taking his time with you - the needier you get, the more he drags it out.

His phone rings in his pocket, and his eyes flash to yours, sin darkening his expression. He taps the button and holds it to his ear. You hear a tinny voice from the receiver say, “Hyung?”

“Look what you did to her, Ji. I don’t know whether to kill you or kiss you,” Chan says. “She’s so wet, her pussy is aching to be touched. Here, listen.”

Chan puts the phone on your lower stomach as his other hand languidly slips through your folds, still avoiding direct contact with your clit. You whine pitifully, trying to rut into his touch, slick noises fill the air again. He lands a few more wet slaps against your cunt again, each making you jolt and gasp at the sting.

Chan picks up the phone again.

“Hear that?”

“Y-yeah,” Jisung says shakily.

“Good listening skills. Let’s put them to the test,” Chan says, putting the phone on speaker and setting it down again on your chest.

“Ji….” You whimper.

“Y/n? Fffuck…” you hear him pant on the other end of the call.

“Don’t hang up, Jisung,” Chan grits out. “You’re going to listen to her while I make her cum. That’s what you wanted, right?”

There’s a groan on the other end of the phone. Your eyes widen, landing on Chan. His gaze softens for a moment, searching your face for any hesitation. You pull your lip between your teeth and give him a small nod. Immediately, his demeanor shifts back into the domineering lust from before. He lowers himself to your core once more, holding your thighs open while pressing them closer to your chest. Sticking his tongue out, he lets saliva drip down the tip directly onto your clit.

You take a deep shuddering breath, but it gets caught in your throat when Chan wraps his lips around your clit and sucks hard. You choke out a groan as your hips convulse underneath him. He’s ruthless with the slow, sedate pace of his tongue. His forearms come up to pin you in place while his fingers spread your folds open for more intense, direct contact to your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your face scrunches up, a string of expletives leaving your mouth between whimpers. The lazy speed with deliberate, precise pressure of his tongue is enough to keep you teetering on the edge of an orgasm but not enough to get you over the crest. It’s driving you insane, the way that he’s playing with you like this. Any time you try to tilt your hips towards his mouth for more pressure, he backs away, anticipating your movements.

On the phone laying on your chest, you hear Jisung panting in unison with you. He echoes you, heavy breathing and grunting whenever Chan hits a particularly sensitive spot. Chan brings you to the brink again, the coil in your lower belly about to snap through you, when he lifts his head.

“Can you hear this, Ji?” he says as he sinks a finger into you. You keen, your cunt sucking his fingers in eagerly. You nearly sob, wanting more, needing more, and Chan cruelly pushing you to the edge then denying you.

“M-more! Please, Chan,” you shudder out.

“More?” he asks, sliding another finger in slowly.

You sigh at the stretch, still frustrated with the slow pace, not caring anymore how fucked out you sound as you whine. “Please…”

“I don’t know…” Chan muses. “What do you think, Ji?”

Jisung moans on the phone, “Fuck yes, more,” he says with a quivering voice.

Chan pauses, catching your eyes as tears start to stream down your cheeks. “Well, if Ji says so.”

Immediately, he fucks into you faster, fingers thrusting into your heat, tongue batting around your neglected clit. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, barely breathing from the sudden change of pace. You feel that coil tightening again in your lower belly, all your muscles taut in anticipation. Chan is brutal with the rhythm, racing you towards an orgasm, back to that edge faster and faster.

When his fingers finally curl in that heavenly come-hither motion, the coil finally snaps. You scream, stars dancing in front of your eyes at the force of your orgasm as it pulses through you, fluttering your muscles around his fingers. Chan doesn’t stop, keeping up the intense pace of his tongue and his fingers, riding it out as long as he can. Your hips and legs are shaking. Your clit can’t take much more, the stimulation is too much. You writhe around trying to get away from his hand, but he doesn’t stop until you put a foot on his shoulder. He backs off, giving your clit one last kitten lick, making you convulse at even the lightest touch.

You slump back into the seat, trying to catch your breath, a thin sheen of sweat covers your entire body. You’re in a haze. The floaty feeling of trying to come back into your body buzzes in your ears. You barely notice when Chan picks up the phone from your chest.

“Did you catch all of that, Jisung?” Chan says, wiping your essence off of his chin.

A shuddering whisper of “fuck” comes from the receiver.

“You have ten minutes to be at my front door,” Chan says curtly. “...If you want another demonstration, that is.”

#skz smut #stray kids smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #han jisung x reader #han jisung smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic

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spirk-trek · 13 hours

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The Sensuous Vulcan | Artwork by Gayle F for her story Desert Heat (1977)

Read the full fic HERE. It's a quintessential piece of K/S history (featuring the first ever mention of double ridges... if you know, you know).

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whoishotteranimepolls · 2 days

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I've been waiting to respond since you made that post mocking us for wanting problematic characters banned from your polls because apparently you are not taking legitimate criticism of anime seriously. Because it is full of poor representation of minorities and lgbtq+ and you and all of your followers are laughing about it like it's nothing.

I will start with Yamato because everyone acts like one piece even though it's so full of misogyny. Having a trans character is amazing when I don't even think Yamato is actually trans. I'm pretty sure it's a translation error and everyone has latched on to it. So again that is not good representation if it's not confirmed representation and even if it was confirmed, it's not good representation. Yamato because of the one piece art style by default Yamato is full-blown a fetishization of trans people because all one piece characters if they are drawn, female presenting are drawn like sex dolls. So unless they go through an actual gender transition and not just a pronoun change. There cannot be good representation with Yamato because Yamato is a fetish, not a fully fleshed out character. I mean to boil it all down. I don't think the author is capable of having any good lgbtq+ representation one piece is just not a sophisticated enough story and the characters are just too shallow for that to be possible

Bleach did a similar thing with Yoruichi acting like it was so amazing to have a character of color and she is supposedly bisexual but she's just waifu bait and it reeks of misogyny and fetishization of BIPOC. She's a furry to top it all off. It doesn't help that the bunny chick from my hero is basically the new gen version of the same character, but at least she is disabled too. So at least they tried to do something with her character other than waifu bait

So I would like to know why every character I've seen promoted as great representation in anime for either the BIPOC or LGBTQ+ communities seem to only be horribly fetishized, useless, waifu bait. Not actually a good character.

And even when Japan is dealing with its own ethnic minorities and indigenous populations it still does a horrible job by playing into the Noble Savage stereotype Hollywood likes to play into. Have you not seen the anime Golden Kamuy? It's about Japan's own first Nations tribe and it's So disrespectful to that. I swear they could not have had a single person from Hokkaido, much less a member of the actual Ainu people involved in the creation of that anime or manga. And yet I've seen so many people brag about that anime and manga and how it's so good for diversity. When again, every single Ainu character acts like a bad native American stereotype from like a 1950s American Hollywood western. It's that bad and don't get me started on the fan service in that show. It's at a level that could be considered exploitative but it's okay. Some of the characters might be gay so it's representation. To top it all off it reinforces white colonial beauty standards because the main Ainu character is specially because she's half white and has blue eyes like her white dad and she talks about how she's going to be a new kind of better Ainu for the future because she's white passing. That show is a reductive racist dumpster fire and I can't believe anyone says otherwise.

But you said you won't ban characters unless the fandom becomes too toxic. But you really should consider looking out for the LGBTQ+ and BIPOC communities by not promoting toxic problematic characters and actually banning these toxic problematic characters and shows

Fandoms vs Illiteracy #1

Feel free to critique the essay but not the person nor the person's intelligence. Do not call names, degrade the person, or personally attack them in any way. The purpose of this series is to critique/analyze the arguments contained in the essays.

For those unfamiliar with the characters mentioned, here are pictures. The names are in the alt text.

And here's one of the promotional images for season 2 of Golden Kamuy

So now that everyone is a little bit more familiar with everything mentioned in the essay and knows the rules, feel free to do your own research and respond.

#fandoms vs illiteracy #fandoms and media literacy #yamato #one piece #yoruichi shihouin #bleach #rabbit hero: mirko #rumi usagiyama #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #golden kamuy #whoishotteranimepolls

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pomefioredove · 3 days

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fav twst writer btw!!! i read your posts religiously

can i ask for octavinelle + silver, ruggie, & epel (my 3 favs) with a reader whos prince rielles sibling, same year as them obv, and is based off of ponyo?

thank you so much!! my knowledge on ponyo is somewhat limited, hope this turned out okay nonetheless

summary: prince rielle's sibling type of post: headcanons characters: ruggie, azul, floyd, jade, epel, silver additional info: short, platonic or romantic, not proofread, reader is gender neutral, reader is not yuu

𝐑𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐞 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐜𝐡𝐢

the whole "merperson" thing goes completely over his head

you're royalty, you like him, and you're not making him work his tail off for the time of the day?

oh, he's hooked

...pun not intended

it might even get to the point where he starts doing nice things for you out of his own free will!

if only to stay on your good side, but hey, it still counts, right?

𝐀𝐳𝐮𝐥 𝐀𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨

Azul, ironically enough, sees Prince Rielle as an airhead

...and for good reason

based off what he remembers of Rielle, he's a hopeless romantic, insanely gullible, and always has his head in the clouds

...and he can certainly see the family resemblance in you

though, at least you're... kind of endearing, and have some impressive magic skills to back you up

maybe he'll hold off on scamming you for now

𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐡 + 𝐉𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐡

the two have a vaguely similar impression of Rielle, though, unlike Azul, they try not to make assumptions based off of family resemblance

(they've had their fair share of that between the two of them)

after all, Prince Rielle has many siblings

all varied in personality

and you're quite the curious one, aren't you?

with quite an appetite

the duo always welcomes you inside the lounge with open arms, eager for a piece of Coral Sea nostalgia you always seem to offer...

𝐄𝐩𝐞𝐥 𝐅𝐞𝐥𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐫

Epel supposes he knows what it's like to feel out of place

...even if you do seem to blend right in

he's almost jealous of how eagerly you adapt to life at school when he's been struggling since he got here

and your magical abilities are nothing to sneeze at

which is especially impressive to him, considering that you're actually smaller than he

he would never in a million years ask for advice from someone who's been walking on land for less time than he has... but... maybe, if you want to chat, he'll be around

𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫

he'll acknowledge your magic is rather impressive for a first year student, and he doesn't doubt your abilities for a second

he knows better than to underestimate the cute and friendly type

Silver is also somewhat familiar with Coral Sea culture... though, his knowledge may be a little outdated, since it comes from his father

oh, well

this might serve as a valuable learning experience for him, anyway

...while he's presently awake and listening, that is

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #queued #ruggie bucchi x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #floyd leech x reader #jade leech x reader #epel felmier x reader #silver x reader

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amuromi · 2 days

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★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 11.0k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ NSFW! actor!au, unprotected sex, pet names (baby), oral (f!receiving), ooc Toji (no, really!!)

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ This is very self-indulgent because I was once again infected with brain worms because of this post.

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

Toji is a typecast kind of actor. He started out as just a guy they call in when they need some muscle. He’s got the training for all sorts of things. Martial arts, swordplay. If a background character needs to look believably menacing, he’s the one to get on contract. And over time his bit parts as henchman number three and thug with one line slowly evolved into something more involved, because there is no denying that Toji has a face for film. Eyes that come with a vulpine sharpness, like he knows something you don’t, and a scar at the corner of his mouth that’s as marketable as any beauty mark. Really, he looks mean, but that’s exactly what a villain is supposed to look like. He’s all harsh angles that any photographer would kill to work with. So he slowly builds up a filmography from the most insignificant masked goon to a formidable kingpin, front and center. Goes from an uncredited extra to damn near top billing as a main antagonist and that’s just fine with him when the bigger roles come with a paycheck to match. It’s not anything new for him. Toji spent his whole life fighting and training. How else could he make all those stunts look so easy? It’s only right that he makes a career out of all those grueling days of harsh conditioning. And it sweetens the deal when he finally finds his girl.

Every villain needs arm candy. It’s a constant revolving door of pretty faces standing next to him whenever the director yells “action!” So many that they begin to blend together in his mind and he spends interviews bullshitting his way through any thoughts regarding his female co-stars. “She was fine, I guess.” And of course, he thinks she did a great job in that movie he’s never seen. Empty platitudes to satisfy the interviewer and keep his manager happy that he’s playing nice about the tedious media circuit. Usually his roles don’t require that much attention to detail. He’s coasted this far on his graveled voice and dour expressions, so he never bothers to pay more than the bare minimum of attention. He learns his line and character names. He knows who the blonde character named Amy is but without the blindingly bright platinum hair he couldn’t pick the actress that played her out of a lineup. So it makes his life a lot easier when they find him a girl that works.

Something about charisma and chemistry. All the buzzwords he’s fed over conference calls boil down to you being his girl. The perfect match for his onscreen persona. Real pretty with just enough training that you can fill in on most of your own stunts. So it makes sense when the two of you start cropping up as a package deal. If there’s an action movie in need of a big bad, Toji’s name is put forward, and if he needs a girl–and, sometimes, even when he doesn’t–his people are quick to toss your name into the ring. He’s not sure on the details, if your agents have worked out some kind of joint agreement or if it’s just coincidence that all the casting directors settle on you as his opposite but he’s not complaining.

You’re real easy on the eyes in a way that goes beyond basic celebrity standards. You don’t look standard. The other girls he’s worked with were standardized. All coming in the same kind of package, but with you he can pick out true individual features. He can tell when the makeup artists fuck around with your eyebrows and overdoes your lipstick. Maybe it’s ’cause he’s always looking at you nowadays, but it might also just be how gorgeous you are. Of course he wants to know what such a pretty girl looks like. It’s one of the perks of the profession and Toji is nothing if not selfish about almost everything. He’s not acting for the art, it just gives him the biggest payout at the end of the day. He likes his bank account with a ridiculous amount of zeros and it just so happens that you come along with that.

He can’t see why his manager is suddenly complaining when your names start getting tossed around in tandem more often than not. Why shouldn’t Toji date you if he wants to? And he wants to. But apparently he’s supposed to maintain a certain aura in the media. Mean and unapproachable. Which he is. There’s plenty of videos of him manhandling the paparazzi to attest to that. But that means he’s gotta be something unobtainable, and making heart eyes–he’s definitely not doing anything like that–at his favorite little co-star is certainly the opposite of unobtainable.

He tries to be pragmatic about it, saying he’s just keeping in character. Mean to everyone but his girl. But his manager isn’t going for that. Something about your people using him for clout since he’s got a few years of experience on you as the new kid on the block. Still Toji can’t see the problem. This whole damn industry is built on connections and favoritism so why can’t he help you a little if he wants to. The mere mention of his lack of concern has Shiu groaning, the sound chopped up and drawn out by a poor connection.

“You’re my most difficult client, do you know that?” The man sighs like he’s trying to wrangle a toddler into behaving.

“I’m your only client.” Toji reminds him, earning a scowl through the laptop screen.

“And whose fault is that?” Shiu sounds so put out that Toji doesn’t bother entertaining the idea that it’s anything other than his fault. Somehow. Even though it was Shiu that approached him after he spent a couple years as a free agent that productions had to play phone tag with to book. Now he’s at least a little serious about this whole acting thing, but Shiu wasn’t there from the start so he gets what he gets. An insanely marketable asset if the only thing you want to be known for is managing the big, scary guy in every action movie out in the past few years. In pigeonholing himself into what he’s good at, Toji has tied Shiu’s hands but that’s not really his issue. Especially not when he’s pissing him off, telling him to stop talking nice to you.

“All I’m saying is a little discretion would be highly appreciated.” Toji nods like he’s taking his manager’s words to heart but he knows there’s not much the man can do without shooting himself in the foot by pissing off the only person he’s got on contract.

The people wanna see the two of you together. Toji wants to see the two of you together. And you’re not putting up a fuss about seeing him on every set you show up to. The only person upset with the arrangement is Shiu, and Toji barely listens to anything the man says in the first place. So when you let slip during a break to reset a scene that you’re going through the audition process for some indie thriller starting up production he’s quick to piece together enough information to get himself in the door of an audition without Shiu knowing. You’re new enough that you’ve never had anyone else as your love interest and something cocky and maybe a tad bit possessive in him wants to keep it that way. He likes how the two of you look together, so why ruin a good thing by letting someone else work with you when you already work so well together? And you just have to look so happy to see him when the final cast is announced.

Here you come, all smiles and newly dyed hair, asking why he didn’t tell you he was trying for a part, too, and he just shrugs to keep from telling a lie. Because the truth is he wasn’t supposed to be trying for a role but like clockwork a villain was needed and he showed up to fill the spot. And it works out in his favor because he’s not here to play some one note guy with a gun. Instead he’s playing a psychopath or sociopath–he’s still not a hundred percent on the difference but you explained that there definitely is a difference–and it just so happens that his character is obsessed with you. Shiu made a snide comment about “a little on the nose, isn’t it,” when the first script came through but Toji elected to ignore him. It’s not some well-guarded secret that he likes working with you so who cares if it seems a bit much that he’s somehow always one step behind you.

Apparently, the fans care. They care a lot. He’s still trying to wrap his head around people caring so much about what he’s doing. When Shiu gets to throwing around media jargon he usually tunes him out but he hears enough about it from you that he’s starting to recognize certain terms. Fans, stans–two different things, maybe–fansites, and saesaengs–at least that’s what Shiu calls them, and they’re bad fans. Toji would rather call them what they are, which is crazed stalkers, but in the industry there needs to be a code word for everything. He’s caught you scrolling through your own tags on social media more than once, “just to see what they’re saying,” you insist, and then sulk when Toji takes your phone because you don’t need to have an unfiltered experience about how people view you online. It’s a dangerous place for someone so sensitive. You don’t have the same aloofness that he has to how people perceive him and he doesn’t need you getting your feelings hurt.

Supposed fans like to pick at every little thing people in the spotlight do. An hour on whatever app you’re scrolling that day would pick you apart like buzzards over roadkill and leave you nursing your hurt feelings for days to come. New insecurities you haven’t even considered having would crop up because one person made a comment on your nose. Never mind the fact that it looks perfect just the way it is. At least to Toji. But you’re always quick to remind him that he has something nice to say no matter how you look, which isn’t wrong but he’s never lied or over embellished his thoughts. You are beautiful. It’s not his fault for pointing out the obvious. And his blatant, albeit silent, admiration works towards your newest project together. He hears the crew whispering between takes about how unnerving he is on camera, and how it doesn’t entirely seem like an act when he’s looking at you.

It isn’t. Although Toji isn’t quite unhinged enough to stalk you or slaughter anyone that gets too close. He doesn’t need to anyway. You offer yourself up so sweetly like you can’t tell how frustratingly tempting you are. He tries to behave. For your benefit. He doesn’t care about Shiu’s constant reminders for “discretion.” And if your agent has anything to say to you about it, you’ve yet to mention it. And you never turn down his offers to go out after work.

Someone asks for your autograph when you enter the restaurant together, begging for a picture with the two of you before a starry-eyed hostess ushers you to a private table. That picture will cost him another afternoon of Shiu yapping in his ear about tarnishing his reputation but that’s a problem for later because Toji is still thinking about how you rested your hand on his chest and leaned against his shoulder for the photo. There’s probably nothing to it. Intimacy like that comes like muscle memory after so many photoshoots for movie stills and promotional images. There’s a poster somewhere of the two of you posed in just the same position but that had been directed by a photographer. This you did on your own. Toji tries not to dwell on it as you flip through the menu. He knows from experience that you’ll stare blankly at the words printed on the paper, flipping through each page like you’re reading it, just to look up with that deer in headlights face that you get anytime a waiter asks for your order. You can deal with a swarm of paparazzi with a breezy smile but the moment someone asks you what you want to eat you freeze up.

“I don’t know what to get,” you hum, still looking over all the options. Toji knows what you want. It’s an Italian restaurant and he knows you like pasta. He picks your order before his own, setting the menu aside to watch you pretend to make a choice. It’s cute, because he knows you’re genuinely trying to pick but without fail you start to blank as soon as the waitress saunters over to the table looking far more primped than the others he’s seen milling around. There’s gloss on her lips and her hair is pulled back so neatly it looks freshly done. It almost looks like she’s just clocked in except her cheeks are flushed bright and there’s a slight tremble to her hands. The hostess must’ve spread the word that celebrities were dining at table 17. She smiles real big, eyes fixed on Toji as you frantically flip through your menu, trying to decide on something. He reaches over to take it from you, giving the overeager waitress both your orders before sending her on her way.

“Thanks,” you smile. Of course, he wants to say, I got you, baby. Instead he keeps his mouth shut, nodding in acknowledgment as he waits for you to start up a new conversation. You’re on about something to do with production, how you’re still not used to being important enough to have your own assistant on set, when the waitress returns with your drinks. Her hand linger on Toji’s glass, condensation dripping over her fingers as if she’s waiting for him to reach for the cup and brush his fingers over hers. It’s like something straight out of a romance movie and he might’ve found the humor in the attempt if it weren’t so annoying. Instead of reaching for his drink he sits back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest as he glowers at the girl.

She interrupted your story about you assistant messing up your breakfast order yesterday, but you don’t seem bothered as you stick your straw in your drink, humming happily after the first sip. He ordered you one of those Shirley Temples that you always get, candied cherries floating in the soda and grenadine. After a beat longer of Toji’s unflinching glare, the waitress finally retreats with a quiet chirp about your food being out soon. You thank her and Toji wants to tell you not to waste your breath, but that would probably only confuse you. For as intuitive as you can be, you still haven’t grasped the fact that Toji would kill to be your man. It would almost be endearing how oblivious you are if it wasn’t grating on his last nerve. Here you are thanking a girl for flirting with him like it didn’t take every shred of his patience to not tell her to fuck off and leave him alone.

“So, anyway,” you continue, twirling the straw wrapper between your fingers, “he’s so used to assisting Kyoko”–some other actress Toji’s heard of in passing–“that he never actually asked for my order and just came back with her usual. Apparently she likes tomatoes in her eggs but I had to pick them out. And my omelet still ended up tasting like tomatoes. It was so bad I couldn’t finish it.” You screw your face up like just recalling the story has brought the taste back to your tongue. Toji already knows about your aversion to tomatoes. He always reminds the wait staff to remove it from your order whenever you’re out together. All it took was one time watching you peel a tomato off your burger for him to commit the little quirk to memory.

“You should get a new one,” he tells you. He’s had his fair share of assistants but they’re a rotating roster of equally intimidated people flinching every time he calls their name like he’s going to tell them to go play in traffic. Usually he just wants a drink or something from the restaurant up the street but something about Toji is just so suffocating that most assistants barely last through filming. There are very few people that can tolerate his terse personality but he’s glad you’re one of them. So pretty and so sweet like you don’t realize that everyone on the production staff avoids him unless it’s absolutely necessary to speak with him. It’s half reputation and half unmitigated judgment. Toji would like to think he’s not all bad. He can be cordial in a distant way when not provoked but so many people seem to have an expert ability to pluck at his nerves.

“Nah, it’s fine.” You’re laughing like it isn’t a big deal that you weren’t able to eat because some inattentive staff member didn’t do their job correctly. “I told him what happened and he apologized, even asked if he should go and get me my actual order, but by then it was about time for filming to start.” You wave your hand dismissively. “It wasn’t anything serious.” Except it was because you’d had to go hungry because of someone’s incompetence. There’s a reason Toji is always taking you out. Most actresses have a habit of skimping on meals to look as trim as possible and he’s not about to let you starve because that’s what the media thinks looks best. He likes you just the way you are and, as far as Toji is concerned, his opinion is the only one that should matter. Not even your own as your food arrives and you whine about not being able to finish it all.

“I’ve seen you eat more than that.” It comes out just a hair too harsh and he can see it settle over you as if he meant it as an insult. “It’s just pasta,” he says before you can get too in your head about it. “It looks like more than it is.” You grumble something under your breath, likely something snarky about how he doesn’t have to worry about portion control because you’re always saying how his stomach is a black hole. His physique is a testament to how far the human body can be pushed thanks to his tumultuous upbringing. A chasm of memories that don’t quite fit together, punched with holes like a moth-eaten shirt. Something about trauma and dissociation Shiu had said after a night of drunken oversharing.

It sounded like he was reading off the first link he found in the search results while he was looking up why Toji was such an abrasive asshole all the time. Realistically, Toji knows he has things to work on just like he knows he doesn’t care enough to put in the effort. It is what it is and as far as he’s concerned the future is far more interesting than the brick wall his brain has built between the present and the past. The future has you and there’s not much he can think of that’s better than that. Not when you’re sitting across from him yapping about whatever pops into your head and happily eating the food he knew you’d like.

“I mentioned in an interview once that I really liked this one author, and they’re releasing a new book soon. Apparently they sent me a signed advanced copy! There was a little handwritten note and everything!” It’s cute how you’re famous and still getting excited about another public figure acknowledging your existence. There’s something so genuine and humble in your happiness that seems to be missing from most of the big names he’s worked alongside. Toji isn’t always the easiest to work with considering how short his fuse is but he’s not one to take it out on people. He’s more hard stares and gruff one-liners while he’s seen other actors shout at the staff like they’re children needing to be scolded. So far, the egotistical people he’s worked with have enough sense not to snap at Toji directly. The only person that’s ever mouthed off to him is you, and it’s always within reason. He is a dick sometimes and you’re just so preoccupied with pleasing everyone that you’ll bite at him for being a bit too short with a co-star or snapping at a member of the wardrobe staff for taking too long for his liking. You make everything more pleasant for everyone involved. A little ray of sunshine in Toji’s otherwise dreary life.

He was right about the food. You finish your pasta and two of your cherry drinks before Toji pays the tab, ignoring the waitress’ number written at the bottom of the receipt. He hardly notices the blue scribbles, but you do. It seems to flip a switch in your brain as you stare at it before Toji crumples it and shoves it into his pocket. You’re quiet as you leave the restaurant, going a few paces before you finally find your voice.

“Are you gonna call her?” Your tone isn’t as playful as it usually is when you tease him about all the attention he draws. He’s gotten free drinks at bars and comped meals at restaurants because some waitress or bartender thought he was handsome. Toji has grown used to women giggling behind their hands as he passes and men peeking at him from the corner of their eye like he won’t notice. There’s a certain allure to his surliness that no one but you seems to be immune to. You and maybe Shiu. Usually the most you’ll give him is a laugh and a sarcastic quip about how he’s a public liability for all the attention he commands. Usually a joke about him stopping traffic. But you seem a bit more serious today, a bit more bothered than usual. For a second, Toji considers that he might be hearing things where you didn’t mean them. But then he catches the slight pout of your lips tinged red from your drink and he knows something’s up.

“The waitress,” you say when he takes too long to answer, “she gave you her number, right?” It takes Toji a moment to realize this is the first time anyone has been so forward with their flirtations in front of you. Of course there were always the compliments and thinly veiled innuendos, but it never goes too far considering most people just assume the two of you are together like that. This waitress had taken a chance slipping him her number, but it’s not like Toji wants it. He hands you the rumpled receipt without a second thought. There at the bottom, in that same sparkly blue pen she used to take your order, is her name and number.

“Kanna.” You say, eyes narrowing as you stare at the digits of her phone number. Toji decides to test the waters because there was certainly a hint of disdain in your voice as you read her name. You mumble something about her handwriting being messy and Toji can’t help but laugh.

“Jealous, baby?” Sunlight dances over your lashes as your eyes snap to his face. He watches you try to hide your expression, your pout disappearing as you hand him back the receipt. He shoves it back in his pocket without a second glance because he knows you’d say something about littering if he dropped it on the ground just to prove a point.

“No.” You say it too quickly for it to be true.

“Liar.” Toji laughs because you’re so clearly bothered. Usually someone making a pass at him wouldn’t get you so flustered but there’s something different about you today. You’re more openly affectionate. There’s still those moments of hesitation but you’ve been more free with grabbing his hand as you walk and leaning against him when you’re idle. That girl couldn’t have rattled you. She was hardly anything to look at, less so when Toji is constantly surrounded by a plethora of perfectly curated women that fit rigidly into the popular look of the moment. Trendsetting hairstyles and the latest designer clothes. You’re more subdued, less artificial in your style choices, yet he still finds you leagues more beautiful than anyone he’s ever seen before. Certainly more so than that random waitress and her glitter pen.

Toji has to hold back a smile as you walk ahead of him. Taking three steps for every one of his and still only managing to stay a half step in front of him. He can tell you’re trying to distance yourself, arms crossed and lips pouted as you rush forward. Toji let’s you. It’s not like you’re far ahead and, lucky for him, you’re headed to the same place. The hotel is a few blocks away and Toji takes the time to enjoy the way the sun moves over your hair, golden light settling like a halo around your head. It’s only when you reach the towering silhouette of the hotel that the sun is eclipse and you go dull. Without the shower of gilded light you look more dejected than annoyed. A kicked puppy rather than an angry dog. You make it as far as the elevator before Toji decides he’s had enough of the running. His grip on your arm is as gentle as he can manage while keeping you from slipping away from him. His free hand finds your hip as the floors rush past. Your shuffling lifts your shirt ever so slightly and Toji finds his thumb brushing over the exposed skin above your waistband before he can contemplate the consequences.

Toji touches you all the time. As his on screen love interest, he’s inclined to be physically affectionate when the cameras are rolling. But even off screen he can’t help the way his true desires bleed into his actions. The media eats it up every time a picture of the two of you surfaces, the rumor mills running overtime to concoct a front page story for one tabloid or another. But that’s always been part of the show. The same way you leaned into him when that fan asked for a picture is the way he holds your waist on the red carpet. This is different. There are no cameras. No one to impress or enthrall. This is simply Toji wanting to touch you, and you letting him. The feeling of his fingers dipping beneath the hem of your shirt have gotten you to go still, leaning back into his chest as he watches your reflection in the polished metal of the elevator doors.

“Let go.” It’s only the two of you in the elevator and yet your voice is no louder than a whisper. Toji scoffs, hands loosening little by little.

“You want me to?”

“No.” Your voice is even smaller than before. The quietest admission like you’re unsure of it yourself. Still, Toji lets go and watches you stumble because you were leaning so heavily against him.

Immediately he can feel the absence of your warmth against his chest, but he’ll let you come back to him. He’s made his intentions clear. From here, the choice is yours. When the doors ding open, you nearly sprint down the hall and Toji assumes you’ve made your choice. He can live with it. He doesn’t blame you for it. The moments you’ve shared together always felt a bit too good to be true, just as perfect as when the cameras are rolling. But you stop in the middle of the hallway. Your room is further down but you don’t move to go any further, as if something has rooted you to that place. Toji sets a leisurely pace in his approach.

There’s the expectation that you’ll go running off again the moment he gets too close like a rabbit evading a wolf, but you surprise him with your stillness. Even as he recaptures your waist, hands more purposefully dipping under your shirt as he pulls you into his chest. This isn’t the place for it. A picture like this would be a PR nightmare and he’d never hear the end of it from Shiu. But Toji can’t bring himself to worry about that right now. Instead he asks which room you want to go to. His is closer but he doesn’t doubt you’d be more comfortable in your own. You lead the way, swiping your card to unlock the door before pulling him inside.

After a month of filming, you’ve turned this temporary situation into your own. It smells like you more than any industrial strength cleaner that the housekeepers use. He recognizes the smell of your shampoo and that scented lotion that you love so much. The bed is freshly made and that damn duck that a fan gifted you months ago is propped up against the pillows next to the remote. A bit of tension leaks from your shoulders as you laugh and explain that the housekeepers have been doing this for weeks, setting a cute little scene for you to return to after they’ve straightened up the room. You set the remote and duck on the nightstand as you sit at the edge of the bed, perched as if you don’t want to crease the freshly steamed linens. You look nervous and it stops Toji from wandering further than the little entryway. He’s flanked by a closet and a mirror just like in his room but he can’t take his eyes off you. Your hands are tucked between your thighs and he tries not to focus on the way you’re shifting and squirming, squeezing your legs together.

He can almost see the heat flooding through your body and he’s more than capable of flushing it out if you’ll just ask him to. He feels like a leashed dog waiting for the command to pounce. He reaches up to brace his arms against the dropped ceiling annexing the entryway from the rest of the room. For all your silence, your body is speaking for itself. Toji’s eyes don’t miss the way your throat bobs as you swallow, eyes focused on the way his arms flex above his head.

“I can’t tell you what to do,” Toji says even though he really wants to. He knows you’d listen, too. But this isn’t something he can script and direct. You have to decide for yourself, give him the words he’s looking to hear. “You gotta tell me what you want, baby.” He sees the little pet name land, watches how you dip your chin and look up at him through your lashes. Embarrassed and he hasn’t even done anything yet.

“Don’t make me,” you mumble. It’s so starkly different from the sultry confidence he sees on set, a true testament to your skills as you struggle to find the words to say you want him. Because he knows you do. It’s clear in the way you keep stealing glances at him even as you point your face away, hiding like he can’t see the way your teeth nip nervously at your lip.

“I won’t.” He agrees. “Won’t make you do anything you don’t want to, so you gotta tell me. What do you want, baby?”

Toji wants to think he’d be able to turn tail and head back to his own room if you denied him, take a cold shower and forget this ever happened, but he knows it’s a lie. He’s already so swept up in your orbit that denial would feel like a punch to the gut. He’s taken worse, but not from you. It would be like sucking the air from his lungs. It’s gotten so bad that he can’t imagine a day without you. Work was only a pretense. He got to see you everyday because you were contractually obligated. Now you’re far past coworkers hanging around each other because it’s what the job demands. He likes to think you see him as a friend, maybe something more. He could live with just being a friend as long as it means he gets to spend time in your bed. He’s got so few people that he talks to on a day to day basis that Toji imagines it wouldn’t really make a difference what you called him as long as you do call him.

Finally, you don’t say his name, or anything really, but you extend a hand towards him and he rushes forward like a tsunami swallowing the shoreline. He kneels and tries not to think of how stupid he must look prostrating himself at your feet. You don’t seem to think any less of him for his poorly concealed eagerness. It's a desire grown over years of working alongside you. A sort of desperation that will knock the breath out of your lungs as soon as you give him the go ahead. Because Toji has had women. Countless, faceless. He’s slept with enough people to know this feels different. He wonders if this is what it's like for desire to feel real. Because why else would he be so hung up on you after so long. He’s not a man after a chase. He won’t run after anyone. Unless it’s you. He’s been running so fucking hard that he’s nearly out of breath and here he is so close to the finish line in a marathon he hadn’t realized he was running. And you’re the prize brushing his hair back and touching the scar at the corner of his mouth like he’s something to be gentle with.

“You scare me.” He hears you say it through waves of blood rushing in his ears. He’s familiar with fear but never from you. From day one you’d been strangely calm around him. Like a deer sitting beside a mountain lion without a care in the world. Toji knows he’s something to be afraid of. He’s lived his life. He knows exactly how dangerous he is, how terrifying he must seem. It was stupid to think you were above that fear just because you smiled at him.

“I’m scared you’re gonna hurt me.” You say softly. But you’re still touching him. Humans tame predators, he reminds himself. A wolf can be turned into a dog with the proper treatment. He thinks again of how he’s kneeling at your feet. He’s been tamed–whipped as Shiu called it–by you.

“M’not gonna hurt you.” He tries to work the gravel from his voice, to sound less brooding as he reassures you. It doesn’t work. He’s set in stone. Too old to learn a new trick. If you’ll have him, Toji will be whatever you need, but you gotta take him as he is. Because it’s all he has to give.

“Promise?” Your tone is so soft he half expects you to stick out your pinky or make him cross his heart.

“I promise.”

“I’m serious, Toji. I don’t want to be just another girl to you. If we do this, we’re doing this. You can’t use me and leave me. I won’t let you.” He hears the unspoken words. I won’t let you hurt me. So that’s what you meant. Of course you aren’t afraid of him. You’re scared in the way everyone seemed to be of each other. Scared to commit, scared to be vulnerable. Toji loathes to think he feels the same. Rejection would hurt if it came from you. But it hasn’t. You’re still playing with his hair and Toji hears a damning thought surface in his head; I could marry this girl. He shoves it down before it can fully form. It’s too soon, too optimistic. He knows who he is as much as he tries to be better when he’s with you. Toji could hurt you. Get scared and break your heart. He knows if he did he’d never see you again.

No more stupid videos getting sent to him at 5AM because you’re in the makeup chair at the crack of dawn. No more ordering your food because you can’t ever get the words out yourself. No more shoving you to the inside of the sidewalk because you like balancing along the curb as you walk. He could live without seeing you on set ever again. That had only been a symptom. The root of it was simply you. In any way he could have you.

It’s pathetic but he’s addicted in a way he never thought possible. Never let himself think it was possible. Not for a guy like him. Movies gave him an outlet for his more violent tendencies. He would’ve done just as well as a boxer or something else where he could get paid to rough people up in a way that was above board. He’d done it the illegal way for years. Got away with it too. You have every right to be scared of him. Every right to leave him. But in this moment you’re here and he’s selfish. He leans up to kiss you.

It doesn’t feel new. There’s no picturesque fireworks clouding his head. It isn’t new. He’s kissed you a hundred times over by now. It doesn’t feel new, but it feels right. Especially without the motivation of a camera. He isn’t kissing a character, he’s kissing you. And you’re kissing him.

“Stop thinking so hard.” Because Toji can tell by the way your hands flutter over his shoulders with nervous uncertainty that you’re not all here. You’re thinking about this like someone is going to snap at you for messing up an angle or pressing too close and smearing your makeup. He hears you mumble a feeble apology.

“None of that. We’re doing this, baby. You and me. Don’t think about anything else.” That gets you to loosen up enough for Toji to work you out of your clothes. He’s never had the pleasure. There’s never been a reason for his hands to be pressing underneath your shirt and it feels like his hands are melting into your skin as they push towards your chest, taking your shirt with them. You’re warm and pliant, softening like butter under his touch. Toji gets you out of your shirt with a bit too much eagerness, ruffling your hair as you squeak at his desperation. He can’t even find it in him to care if he looks overeager now because he is.

He’s been after you for years and he’s not about to let this opportunity slip through his fingers. Beneath your clothes is an endless expanse of skin hidden only by the covering of your underwear. Plain cotton, nothing special, but it has him throbbing in his pants because it’s you. And you have the audacity to mumble about “didn’t know we were doing this, would’ve worn something nicer,” like Toji isn’t practically drooling at the way your pretty blue panties sit on your hips. He thumbs at the elastic, pulling it back just to hear it snap against your skin. It’s like unwrapping a gift and he’s looking to savor it.

“They’re gonna know,” he says as he kisses along the shape of your breasts peeking out the top of your bra. He could put a mark there. Bite down on the soft skin and leave a print of his teeth in your skin, put a bruise there with his greedy mouth as he licks at the line where skin meets fabric, hiding the rest of you away in the cups of your bra. He could mark you up and they’d know. Everyone would know exactly who did it because Toji isn’t ashamed to admit he’s been after you like a dog, barking at anyone that got even remotely too close for comfort. A co-star could simply be complimenting the outfit wardrobe had chosen for a particular scene and he’d be looming behind them with murder in his eyes. Of course you look gorgeous but only he should get to look that hard at you.

“Don’t!” You squeak when he noses over your skin, looking for a place to sink his teeth. “Don’t leave any marks!” He almost wants to ignore you and latch his mouth on to you anyway, but Toji resists the urge. You’ve asked him to behave and he wants to be a gentleman for you. Or, at least, the closest a man like him can get to it. He can still tease you about it, though.

“No?” He mocks you. “You don’t want me to leave any marks? What, you got someone else that gets to see you like this, baby?” You squirm at his patronizing tone, a pout working its way onto your lips. He nips at your bottom lip before smoothing the expression with a kiss.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” you whine. “Makeup and–” He kisses you again, slipping his tongue between your parted lips, because of course he knows. Makeup would make a fuss if he left marks on your neck, wardrobe would pitch a fit if they found hickeys in a place their designated outfits couldn’t cover. You’d be in the makeup chair even longer as they painted over all the places he’d marked you up.

“You taste like cherries.” He mumbles against your mouth. The taste has him fumbling for his pants like a fucking virgin because it’s so innate to you. Those little fruity drinks you love so much have him pressing painfully against his zipper. Toji has you leaned up against the pillows as he sits back on his knees to pull his shirt off. He doesn’t miss the way your thighs twitch, pressing tighter together at the sight of him looming over you bare-chested. He doesn’t toss his shirt far because he wants to see you wearing it later. Right now you smell like you. Your lotion, your shampoo. He can’t wait to tired you out and wrap you up in his clothes until you smell like him.

He wants to mark you up in other ways if he can’t do it with his lips. So everyone knows exactly who you belong to. The idea that you had to make him swear to not let this be a one off kind of thing is utterly laughable when Toji hasn’t wanted to stray away from you since nearly the first time you met. Nothing anyone else has to offer could be better than what you can give him. Although he’s happy that the little waitress tried. You wouldn’t have been so worked up if she hadn’t. He’s been teetering on the edge of insanity being so close to you everyday and it’s nice that he’s finally caught a glimpse of what you’re like when you get so wrapped up in your mind that you start acting out of character. Because Toji hasn’t felt this crazy over anyone and he’s glad he’s not suffering this lovestruck psychosis alone. It’s dumb and childish but he’s got so little in his life that’s sweet and pure that he isn’t about to poison this with toxic hang ups about maintaining his persona.

“Did it make you mad, baby?” He asks as he bullies his way between your legs. You move with him, thighs parting to give him space even as you shrink back into the pillows, brows pinched as you watch him settle his cheek against your thigh. “Did that girl at the restaurant upset you?” He wants to hear you admit it. He smirks at the way you screw up your face, nose scrunching in distaste at the mention of another woman.

“Don’t say things like that when we’re like this,” you grumble, jerking the leg he’s resting on. He bites at you in retaliation and because he wants to hear you squeak about leaving marks again.

“You are mad.” He smirks and watches the way your cheeks puff indignantly as you pout at him. He wants to kiss that petulant little expression off your face but Toji can’t bring himself to move even an inch away from where he’s resting. With his face cushioned by the pillowy warmth of your thighs he can see the mess spreading between your legs. A dark spot is forming in your panties, getting bigger with every shift of your hips. Toji slips a finger under the elastic and can practically hear the sound of the fabric sticking to your skin. It makes his mind go blank and all he can think about is getting closer. He blinks and suddenly his face is buried at the apex of your thighs, panting like a dog as he noses against the soiled fabric, tongue chasing the taste of you seeping through the cotton.

“Wait!” You squeak, and he tries to. He pulls back but only far enough to look up at you. His nose stays nuzzled against the seam of your cunt, brushing against where your clit is throbbing through the fabric.

“What’s wrong?” He asks even though he can think of a few things as his finger drags through the space between your panties and pussy, making a slick noise that has him grinding against the mattress. So fucking wet.

“Nothing…” Toji recognizes the face you make in an instant. He’s seen it a hundred times over by now. It always reminds him of a puzzle the way you fix your expression whenever a camera is rolling. It’s always your mouth first. Smile dropped, pout gone, lips pressed into a neutral line. He sees every piece of your face fall into place until it’s perfectly blank. He watches you awhile longer until your composure breaks again and your brows dip into something resembling anxiety.

“Nervous, baby?” He doesn’t need you to answer but you do anyway, nodding slowly. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. Just lemme take care of you, okay?” You nod again and Toji rewards the loosening of your muscles with a gentle kiss to your stomach. “Behave.” He says and watches the way you tense up again. It’s less nerves, more anticipation as you watch him slink back between your legs. He decides to spare your underwear, pulling them down nice and proper instead of tearing them off of you like he’s so desperate to do. It takes a few seconds longer and gives you a chance to knock your knees together as he sits up to pull the bundle of fabric off your ankles.

“What did I say?” He asks, loving the way the timbre of his voice seems to send a shiver through your prone body. “Behave.” You don’t resist as he spreads your legs again but you start to squirm the longer he stares. Toji has spent many a night in the privacy of his hotel room fisting his dick to whatever image of you his mind could conjure but nothing could come close to the real thing.

“S’pretty, baby.” He mumbles, tongue tripping over the words. He’s just lost any semblance of cognitive function. All he can see is you, spread out and dripping on the sheets, and he can’t wait another second to get his mouth on you.

I’m gonna marry this girl, he can’t help the thought as your lashes flutter and lips part the moment he gets his mouth on your pussy. You’re still nervous, twitching and squirming like you aren’t sure what to do with yourself. Toji decides for you, arms hooking under your legs to hold you still. That still leaves your hands to flutter anxiously, skating over where his fingers dig into the meat of your thighs and brushing across his hair like you’re afraid to touch him. It makes him groan in annoyance, the sound humming against your clit. It makes you go limp, hands falling still. One rests against his head and the other over his hand. Toji loosens his grip on your leg just enough to thread his fingers through yours, pointedly ignoring how intimate the small touch feels even though he has his tongue buried in your pussy. He’s being greedy, tonguing at your hole and nosing against your clit as your cunt makes a mess of his face, but the moment is softened by the way your fingers squeeze around his.

He feels your nails against his scalp. Not quite gripping, more so petting and it feels like something akin to a reward as he makes a mess between your legs. You don’t tense up again and Toji realizes the idle movement of your hands is grounding you even as your thighs shake around his head. He can barely breathe but he can’t even fathom pulling away when you’re making such pretty noises and trying to grind your hips against his face. You’re slurring something between those soft sighs that sounds an awful lot like “thank you,” and Toji wrenches his mouth away from you because he’s one more head scratch away from cumming in his pants like some virgin. He doesn’t even bother to get his underwear down all the way. He just shoves the waistband low enough to get his dick out and nearly collapses on top of you the second he feels your cunt against his skin.

Toji braces an arm beside your head, leaning close enough to feel your breath ghosting across his skin. He kisses you to get you to close your eyes, but he keeps his half lidded as he watches you squirm as you taste yourself on his tongue. The mess you’ve left on his face transfers to yours as he rubs his face against your cheek like a needy puppy. It would be more embarrassing if you weren’t acting just as clinging. He can feel the needling sensation of your nails digging into his shoulder. It sends shivers down his spine, lingering just right on the cusp of pain and pleasure. Toji tries to kiss you again but it ends up being more of a heady clashing of teeth and tongue as he presses his parted lips against yours. Still tastes like cherries, he thinks, enjoying the mix between sweet and savory as the taste of your arousal still sticks to his tongue.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he groans as you press a wet kiss to the corner of his mouth, right where his scar is. And because you’re so frustratingly sweet you blink up at him, slow and wide like the little doe eyed beauty that you are, and ask, “Like what?”

“Like that,” Toji groans as you raise your brows and tilt your head, lips pulling into another one of your signature pouts. “Fuck, turn over.” He hooks an arm under your back and flips you fast enough to leave you gasping. Your hand flutters to find him again where it’s settled against your heaving stomach. He can feel your pulse flutter as you catch your breath, body shivering with something softer than anxiety. Anticipation weaves its way through your body. Toji can tell in the way you tense and relax at each minute movement he makes. He decides to tease you as he fists the base of his cock, squeezing hard to keep from cumming on the smooth expanse of your back. His hand moves from your stomach to leave you teetering on quivering arms as he trails his finger up your spine. You bend to match his touch, arching as his fingertip traces over the contours of your back. Goosebumps raises where he touches and you shiver, head falling between your shoulders.

Toji takes advantage of the vulnerable position. Your hair is usually down during filming and there’s little reason for that to change in the coming days so he feels little guilt about the way his teeth scrape against the nape of your neck. It makes your arms give out and Toji’s teeth tighten on the soft skin as your new position presses you back against his hips. He hadn’t meant to leave a mark but there’s likely to be one now. He pulls away, lapping apologetically at the faint indent of his teeth before grabbing your hips to keep you flush against him. If you move again he’s going to ruin the sheets instead of you, but you’re still squirming like you want him to embarrass himself by coming too soon. It becomes plainly clear that your intention is to kill him as you toss your hair over your shoulder and look up at him through your lashes, mumbling a soft “are you gonna fuck me now?”

The answer is a resounding yes and Toji can’t bring himself to think of anything else as he guides his dick inside you. This time he does collapse, falling forward before he can catch himself. It pushes him inside in one go and you let out a long whine, grinding against him as Toji rests his forehead against the back of your neck. You’re starting to sweat now with all that wiggling you’ve been doing and he licks along the column of your neck to distract from the way your pussy is choking his dick. He can hear you whining, feel it too with the way his chest is flush against your back. A soft litany of “please,” and “move,” with his name punctuating each little gasp. He can feel you trying to grind against him, held still partially by the weight of his body. He’s got you almost completely pinned and decided to finish the job. You squeak as he presses his knee against yours, spreading your legs until you collapse onto your stomach.

“Stay there,” he says like you have any hope of moving without him peeling his heavy body off of you. He has no intentions of doing anything remotely close to that as he shoves a pillow under your hips and his arm under your jaw.

“Comfy?” He asks. He can feel the way your cheeks are squished in the crook of his arm as you try to nod and go back to begging. He nips at the shell of your ear, soothing the sting with his tongue, as he pulls his hips back. You’re close. He can feel it in the way your pussy is desperate to keep him inside, squeezing tight every time he pulls away. It’s got him on the edge, filling the hotel room with the heavy sound of skin against skin. He’s glad the bed is so sturdy.

There’s no squeaking or knocking headboard as he drives you up the mattress with his desperate rutting. He gets a hand between you and the sheets to pinch at your nipples, rolling the sensitive buds between his fingers. It makes you keen and that’s the only thing Toji can’t be bothered to keep quiet. He wants to hear every little sound you make after giving him so much lip about the waitress. You had so much to say earlier and he’s only too happy to hear you out. Neighbors be damned. It’s likely the floor is mostly if not completely vacant given that two celebrities are boarding here but Toji can’t help but want you to be loud in case there’s anyone to hear. This all feels a bit too much like a dream and he’d relish a noise complaint just to make it all seem real.

“You feel so good, baby.” Toji grunts in your ear. “So good for me.” Something like a giggle works its way out of your mouth and Toji almost tells you to shut up because the sound goes straight to his dick. His hand leaves your breasts to find that spot between your legs. Your breathing stutters as his calloused fingers find your clit. It’s like lighting a fuse. You start up your squirming again, nails scratching at his arm tucked under your chin like you’re trying to get away. It takes Toji a second to realize that you are. Curling up on yourself, trying to run from the feeling of his body on yours. You’re not saying anything, but you are drooling. He can feel it slicking down his forearm as he loosens his hold just enough to make sure you’re not suffocating under his strength. He can hear those stuttering little breaths and soft mewls that are soon accompanied by a hand pushing blindy at his wrist.

“Fuck no,” Toji grumbles. His hand leaves your clit just long enough to roll you onto your back. He hears a little sigh of relief as you relax into the sheets for a moment. There are tears sparkling in your eyes and wetting your lashes. Your whole face is shining with sweat and spit and it makes Toji a little prideful to see you so thoroughly ruined because of him.

“You gonna be good for me, baby? Gonna behave?” He asks once you catch your breath. Before you can answer he’s already gathering your wrists in one hand to press them into the pillows above your head while his other hand slaps his dick against your messy cunt. He grinds the head of his cock against your clit, precum staining your skin as he teases you, asking if it feels good. He huffs out a laugh when you nod. It’s so earnest, so desperate.

“Yeah it does. You don’t have to run from it, baby. Lemme make you feel good. Want you to feel good for me.” He pants, leaning down until you’re nose to nose as he presses back inside you. The sound you make is lost in the press of your lips as Toji lavishes you with more sloppy kisses. He can feel himself teetering on the edge, balls tightening with each little whine that leaves your lips. His hand finds its way back between your legs and he has your back arching within seconds. He can feel you trying to pull away again, arms tugging at where he has you pinned even as your greedy legs lock around his waist. He can feel your muscles trembling as he draws tight circles on your clit, whole body pulling taut as you get closer to the edge.

The only words leaving your mouth are his name and soft gasps of “please, please, please,” like Toji is in any position to deny you what you want. He lets go of your wrists if only because he knows you won’t try to run from him now. Instead your arms wrap around him, pulling with enough strength to catch him off guard. Toji nearly collapses on top of you as you pull him into a surprisingly chaste kiss. A shudder runs down his back as your nails drag against his scalp and it’s all just a bit too much. Your pussy milking him like you’re trying to get pregnant–belatedly, he realizes he should’ve worn a condom–and your lips in his ear telling him to let go.

“Wanna feel it. Want it inside,” you whine. It’s so damningly sweet that Toji can’t find it in himself to even attempt to deny you. The thought of pulling out had briefly crossed his mind but your thighs are still locked around his waist and he isn’t above doing something stupid to satisfy himself. The consequences can be dealt with later. He lasted longer than he expected but there’s no mistaking how pent up Toji has been as he cums inside you. He fills you up and then some, feeling it leaking out. The tension bleeds from his body as he curls over you, grip loosening on your wrists enough that you wriggling free to wrap your arms around his shoulders. There’s the prickling heat of your nails scratching at him as you wrap yourself tight around him like you never want him to leave. Toji returns the favor. You shiver, a happy little sigh leaving your lips as he wraps his arms around you.

“Clingy,” he says quietly, still loud enough for you to hear and he feels the way your arms tense then loosen, trying to pull away like you missed the humor in his voice. “Stop it.” He mutters, sitting back up to pull you into his lap.

Usually Toji isn’t one to stick around after he’s gotten what he wants out of an encounter but the usual instinct to peel his partner off of him as soon as possible is absent with you. He revels in the way your head rests against his chest, soft breathes ghosting across his skin. Toji’s hands find your waist, fingers sinking into the softness of your skin as he lifts you just enough to pull out. There’s a puddle forming on the sheets from the way he’s leaking out of you and he entertains the thought of plugging his fingers inside you for half a second before remembering how stupid that would be after he already came inside you with no protection. You don’t seem too worried about it and Toji supposes that’s all that matters. He watches the way the mood settles into something less frenzied, more coherent, but the anger never comes. He’s expecting you to snap at him for being so careless but all he gets is a soft smile and even softer kisses. The taste of cherries still lingers.

“We should do something about that,” he says, eyes still trained on the space between your bodies. Stained white and sticky from how hard he was fucking you. It streaks up your thighs and shines bright on his pelvis, staining the freshly changed sheets. You blink slow, like a kitten, before finally acknowledging the mess between your legs.

“Should be fine, I’m on the pill. I’ll stop by the store later if you’re worried.” He’s not. Part of him wishes you hadn’t mentioned birth control. He’s selfish when it comes to you and even though it would be the worst outcome, Toji finds himself wondering what it would’ve been like if he did get you pregnant. Then he remembers your careers and lets the thought slip away into the recesses of his mind. It’s a desire for a later date because you’ve already said this isn’t gonna be a one and done kind of thing. There’s time for things to get more serious, to have a proper discussion instead of letting it happen on a whim. He clings to the idea of a future with you because that’s really all he has. As soon as he set eyes on you, you began to infiltrate his every thought like a weed invading his mind. But you’re not a weed, far too pretty for that. And even if you were, he likes the way you cloud his mind. Gives him something sweet to think about when there’s always been such a lack of nice things in his life. He kisses your neck, tasting sweat and perfume. After a while he gathers you up and makes you decent enough to make the trip to his room.

“I owe Shiu money.” He groans halfway through his shower. You’re sitting just outside the tiny cubicle, perched on the toilet. Freshly washed and wearing his shirt just like he wanted.

“You made a bet about me with your manager?” He hears the uncertainty in your voice even over the spray of water and realizes how the admission must sound. He shuts off the water and steps out into a cloud of steam to see you looking crestfallen. There’s a hesitance on your face that makes his stomach churn. Anxiety isn’t something Toji is entirely familiar with and he finds that he hates the way the acidic feeling settles in his chest.

“Not like that, baby. He just knows how much I’ve been wanting you. He called me on my bullshit years ago.” It would be embarrassing admitting that he’s been pining after you for so long if you didn’t smile and try to hide your face. He hears you mumble, “Thought it was just me,” as you tuck your face into the collar of his shirt to cover your smile. There’s a tremble or hesitance in your voice like you can’t believe Toji would pay you the time of day, like he wasn’t just chomping at the bit to get you in bed. It’s a fair assumption given his usually detached disposition that so few people take the time to see past. You’re one of them but he can appreciate the air of unknowns that lingers around him. Toji is just like he seems on camera.

Rude, abrasive, volatile when provoked. He acts something like a grizzled guard dog but even they have people they’re gentle for. It’s almost sickening how easily he can see himself with you. Made worse by how easily you accept him. You’re giving him that look again, like he’s your favorite person in the world.

“What’s that look?” He asks as you watch him get dressed. He brought you to his room so you can nap on an unsoiled bed. He wonders if the housekeepers will tuck your duck in again after washing his cum out of your sheets.

“What look?” You have the nerve to ask like you’re not looking at him with more softness than he’s seen in his entire life. He decides not to mention it. The need for discretion that Shiu has been trying to drill into him will be lost in the wind soon enough. Toji already couldn’t take his eyes off you and now he has more reason to be with you all the time. Media be damned, he’s gonna be all over you now that you’re his, officially. And you seem to share the sentiment as you curl up on top of him as soon as he gets in bed, humming happily when his arms find your waist. He hears a sleepy murmuring of “I’m your girlfriend,” soft and giggly like you couldn’t be more happy about it. It’s like a final nail in the coffin for Toji. He’s always thought of you as his girl and now it’s finally real. No cameras, no audience. Unscripted and real.

#toji ★#toji smut #toji x reader #toji x reader smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #★ mine!

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galedekarios · 15 hours

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waterdeep's festivities & celebrations

(credit: midnightfriday)

in contrast to baldur's gate, which has few festivals and gatherings, waterdeep in contrast has a great variety of them, prompting volo to write the following about waterdeep in his chapbook about the city:

"At many times of year, hardly a tenday can pass in Waterdeep without the staging of some rite, race, or rousing ceremony of civic pride." (from: Volo's Waterdeep Enchiridion)

in this post, i want to give an overview of these holidays and festivals. some of them are mentioned in the game, like fleetswake in a banter between gale, lae'zel and wyll, but most of them are not. they give an interesting insight in the city, its history and its people.

the most used calendar in faerûn is the calendar of harptos. it's pictured above to give you an overview of how the months and seasons work in faerûn.

The days making up a tenday did not have formal names. If precision was required, the number of the day and the number of the tenday were used, as in, "the fourth day of the first tenday of Flamerule". Days of the month were typically written as the numerical date followed by the month name, for example, "15 Hammer" or "15th Hammer". Informally or poetically this could be spoken or written as "the 15th of Deepwinter". [x]

the names of the months in faerûn are:

hammer (deepwinter)

alturiak (the claw of winter, the claw of cold)

ches (the claw of sunsets)

tarsakh (the claw of storms)

mirtul (the melting)

kythorn (the time of flowers)

flamerule (summertide)

eleasis (highsun)

eleint (the fading)

marpenoth (leaffall)

uktar (the rotting)

nightal (the drawing down)

hammer 1: wintershield

Marking the start of the new year, this observance is a widely recognized day off work, when folk sip warmed ciders and broths (often laced with herbs for health and to bring on visions) and stay inside. They tell tales of what interested them or was important in the year just done, and discuss what they intend to do or should deal with — or things that everyone “should keep a hawk’s clear eye on” — in the year ahead. Such talk inevitably leads to discussions of politics, wars, and the intentions of rulers. Maps are usually consulted, and it’s widely considered lucky to possess and examine a map on Wintershield. Map sales are brisk in the tenday preceding this holiday.

alturiak 14: the grand revel

Led by the clergy of Sune, Sharess, and Lliira, the Grand Revel is a day of dancing, music, and the consumption of sweet treats of all kinds, from chocolate to red firemint candies. Although some of the dancing is wanton and performed for show, large-scale ring dances in the street for all ages are also popular. All the dancing ends at dusk, after which bards and minstrels perform at “love feasts” for families. Couples — or those desiring to become couples — slip away together to kiss, exchange promises, and trade small tokens of affection (often rings blessed by clergy with prayers of faithfulness). Even if you have no paramour, indulge a little in the dance and food of this fine tradition. The night might be cold, but your heart will be warmed.

we learn in the game about sharess, we hear a bit about sune, the goddess of beauty and her temple of beauty in waterdeep in a banter between gale and shadowheart, but lliira is mentioned only in passing: llira is a minor goddess in the faerûnian pantheon. she's called the joybringer and is the embodiment of freedom and happiness, inspiring many poets and musicians. gale does mention her in game - or at least the llirian suites that his piano is enchanted to play.

ches 1: rhyestertide

This holiday is named in honor of Lathander’s first prophet, Rhyester, a young blind boy who was cured of that blindness by the dawn’s light on this day more than seven centuries ago. That holy event occurred in the vicinity of Silverymoon, but Lathander has long had a much larger temple in Waterdeep, and a following to match. Each of the faithful dons bright garb of sunrise hues and keeps one eye covered until the next dawn in honor of Rhyester. If you want to feel like a local, catch the eye of any celebrant you see and wink. Fine friendships have grown from far less.

ches 19: fey day

The veil between this world and the faerie realm of the Feywild is thought to be weak on this day. Though this phenomenon provokes caution in rural areas (with folk avoiding woodlands, putting offerings of food on doorsteps, and the like), it is an occasion of much drinking, singing, and dancing in Waterdeep. The wealthy host elaborate masked balls, while poorer folk don costumes of their own make and travel door to door, gaining brief entry into the celebrations in exchange for performing a song or a short play. All adopt the guises of fey beings and the supposed rulers of the Feywild, such as Queen Titania, Oberon, and Hyrsam, the Prince of Fools. Those inclined to remain sullen in the face of such frivolity had best stay home, for celebrants do their utmost to evoke a smile from those they meet.

chest 21 - 30: fleetswake

This festival celebrates the sea, maritime trade, and the gods of the sea, navigation, and weather. It spans the last tenday of Ches, and includes a series of boat races, the Shipwrights’ Ball at the Shipwrights’ House, and guild-sponsored galas at the Copper Cup festhall. According to custom, the winners of the various competitions don’t keep their trophies and earnings, but deliver them to the priests of Umberlee at the Queenspire, her temple on the beach by the east entrance to the Great Harbor, at the conclusion of the festival. The last two days of Fleetswake are the occasion of the Fair Seas Festival. During this time, there is much feasting on seafood, the harbor is strewn with flower petals, and City Guards go from tavern to tavern collecting offerings for Umberlee. Collection boxes also appear at large festival gatherings. Upon sunset of the final day, the collected coin is placed in chests and dumped into the deepest part of the harbor. This festival has existed in a number of forms since the first trade-meets occurred here more than two millennia ago, and an uncountable amount of wealth remains sunken in what has long been known as Umberlee’s Cache. The area is closely watched by merfolk guardians, whose standing orders are to kill anyone attempting to disturb it. Rumors abound that the chests have magical protections; one story tells of thieves who stole some of the collection years ago and tried to leave the city under false pretenses, only to see a squall spring up as soon as their ship left the harbor. A huge wave shaped like a hand swept the thieves overboard, but spared the ship and its crew.

this festival is one of the few mentioned in baldur's gate. as stated previously gale, wyll and lae'zel mention it in one of the banters between them in act 1:

Lae'zel notes that Gale knows a lot about mind flayers. He responds with information about his training. If there, Wyll chimes in as well. Lae'zel: You strike me cleverer than most istiki, Gale. Multiple tutors, I should guess.devnote Gale: Many a wise man and woman indeed. Waterdeep is the home of myriad scholars. Wyll: Ah, the City of Splendours. Spent a whole Fleetswake there with my father. What a delight.

tarsak 1 - 10: waukeentide

This festival has long gathered a number of older holidays under one name, stretching those celebrations into a holiday season that lasts a tenday. Among the rituals in homage to the goddess of wealth and trade are these: Caravance (Tarsahk 1). This gift-giving holiday commemorates the traditional arrival of the first caravans of the season into the city. Many parents hide gifts for their offspring in their homes, telling the children that they were left by Old Carvas — a mythical peddler who arrived with the first caravan to reach Waterdeep, his wagon loaded down with toys for children to enjoy. Goldenight (Tarsahk 5). This festival celebrates coin and gold, with many businesses staying open all night, offering midnight sales and other promotions. Some celebrants and customers decorate themselves with gold dust and wear coins as jewelry. Guildsmeet (Tarsahk 7). On this holiday, guild members gather in their halls for the announcement of new policies and a celebration of business concluded for the year. These gatherings culminate in a gala festival and dance sponsored by several guilds, which lasts from dusk till dawn and overruns the Market, the Cynosure, the Field of Triumph, and all areas in between. Leiruin (Tarsahk 10). In times long past, Waukeen caught Leira, the goddess of illusions and deception, attempting to cheat her in a deal, and buried her under a mountain of molten gold as punishment. A commemoration of that event, Leiruin is the day for guild members to pay their annual dues and for guildmasters to meet with the Lords of Waterdeep and renew their charters for another year.

waukeen is a goddess and her domain is trade and wealth.

mirtul 6 - 9: the plowing and running

Rural areas around the city observe this holiday in the traditional sense of shared activities of plowing fields and moving (or “running”) livestock. But within the city, the holiday is celebrated with a series of races. Foot, horse, and chariot races are run through courses in each ward, and the winners from each ward compete at the Field of Triumph. If you really want to see the wards come to life, this is the time. Pick your favorite, wear its colors, and cheer alongside its residents. Better yet, if you’re of an adventuresome bent, register in your favored ward and compete! Who knows? Your name or visage might soon have a place in the House of Heroes.

kythorn 1: trolltide

On this day commemorating Waterdeep’s victory in the Second Trollwar, children run through the city acting like trolls, banging on doors and growling, from highsun till dusk. Home and shop owners are expected to give the children candy, fruits, or small items. Those who give no treat can expect to become the target of a trick at sundown. This mischief typically takes the form of “troll scratchings” at doors and windows. Those with more malicious intent sing screechingly in the wee hours, and hurl raw eggs at windows, signs, and the heads of those who try to stop them. Have some candy on hand or some sweet rolls, and all will be calm where you live.

kythorn 14: guildhall day

This day is a time of trade fairs. Most shops are closed, and street sales are suspended for all but walking food peddlers. Guildhall Day celebrates the fruits of everyone’s labor with revelations of new products, innovations, fashions, and signage extolling the extent and quality of guild members’ services and wares. These offerings usually take the form of glittering displays, but guilds sometimes also sponsor brief plays or other hired entertainments (jugglers, singers, magic shows put on by hedge wizards and professional raconteurs) at which prizes or free samples are distributed. Many guilds try to recruit during this time. Guildhall Day is an excellent time to browse the city’s merchandise — and it doesn’t matter if you can’t afford what you see, because you can’t buy it that day anyway.

kythorn 20: dragondown

This day in Kythorn is celebrated with bonfires and rituals to “tame” or “drive down” dragons. In Waterdeep, the celebrations take the form of parades that center around effigies built of wood and cloth and filled with straw. Each effigy is named and has a traditional depiction, for it represents one of a handful of dragons the city has faced in its history. After being paraded to a square near where the dragon was defeated or driven off, the enormous effigy is burned. The height of the celebration comes when the effigy of Kistarianth the Red is burned on the slopes of Mount Waterdeep. A dracolich version of Kistarianth is then carried up the slopes and burned as well. These proceedings symbolize the defeat of Kistarianth first by the paladin Athar, and again decades later by his son, Piergeiron. Tradition dictates that the winners of the races run during the Plowing and Running take the role of the dragons’ slayers, with the champion of the chariot race representing Athar and the champion of the horse race playing Piergeiron.

flamerule 1: the founders' day

This day commemorates the birth of the city. The Field of Triumph is the site of illusory displays that chronicle the history of Waterdeep, as well as martial exhibitions by the Guard and other worthies. Many festhalls sponsor Founders’ Day costume contests, with prizes going to those who wear the best recreations of the garb of historical personages. Once banned as frivolous and distracting, the practice of veiling Castle Waterdeep with an illusion has been reinstated. Several mages come together to produce the effect, which seemingly transforms the castle into the ancient log fortress of Nimoar. The illusion typically lasts from midday to sunset (unless someone has the audacity and magical might to dispel it) and is regarded as a stunning work of magical art.

flamerule 3 - 5: sornyn

Sornyn is a festival of both Waukeen and Lathander, and is used for planning business, making treaties and agreements, and receiving envoys from unknown lands and traditional foes. Much wine is drunk over this three-day occasion when, as the saying goes, “My enemy is like family to me.” If you are a newcomer to the city, this time is an excellent opportunity for you to engage with new partners in business or to gain financial support for some endeavor. My agreement to write Volo’s Guide to Waterdeep was signed on a warm Sornyn evening many years ago, so who knows where your own initiative will take you?

flamerule 7: llira's night

Originally a celebration held only in Waterdeep, this holiday has since spread up and down the Sword Coast. It has received a recent boost in popularity from the custom started in Baldur’s Gate of lighting celebratory smokepowder fireworks — all purchased from Felogyr’s Fireworks of that city, and utilized only by the City Guard, of course. This nightlong festival honors the Lady of Joy with dances and balls throughout the city. Pink beverages, ranging from healthy juices to deadly strong intoxicants, are imbibed. The boom and crackle of smokepowder explosions go off all night long, so you might as well stay up with the locals and enjoy the show.

eleasis 1: ahghairon's day

Many small rituals are held throughout this day, dedicated to honoring the first Open Lord. The Lords of Waterdeep toast Ahghairon and the Watchful Order, and guildmasters toast the Lords in Ahghairon’s name. Commoners leave violets (Ahghairon’s favorite flower) around Ahghairon’s Tower, on his statue in the City of the Dead, and atop the altars of the House of Wonder. Bards perform songs in honor of the wizard all over the city. The Open Lord visits taverns and inns throughout Waterdeep to wish the people well — giving short speeches, offering toasts to Ahghairon’s memory, buying rounds of drinks, or paying for meals or accommodation. Needless to say, establishments of those sorts are generally full throughout the day.

if you are interested to learn more about ahghairon - who is mentioned too by gale in passing - or rather his lost nose - you can do so here: i've written a more extensive meta about him in this post.

eleint 21: brightswords

On this day, the City Guard, the City Navy, and the City Watch — all in glittering array — conduct parades, give demonstrations of martial skill, and stage mock battles. Those desiring to join their ranks are given a chance to demonstrate their prowess, usually with wooden practice weapons in contests against veteran soldiers. Makers and vendors of weapons sell their wares openly in the markets, experts who can hurl or juggle weapons show off their skills, and the wards compete in wrestling and boxing matches. The most anticipated part of the day is when horses are cleared from the Field of Triumph and the surrounding streets so that the Griffon Cavalry can perform aerial displays over the crowds in the stadium. Members of the Watchful Order present the cavalry with illusory foes to fight, allowing the griffon riders to engage in thrilling battles as the people watch.

marpenoth 3: day of wonders

The imaginative inventions of the Gondar are revealed on this day and paraded through the city. These devices range from something as humble as new cabinet hinges to massive mechanical constructs that walk or roll about. Failure is the paramour of invention, though, meaning it is a rare year when there isn’t some notable disruption of the celebration. The flying chair of Marchell was one such recent oddity — a device that worked marvelously on the way up but was incapable of descending. Marchell was rescued by the Griffon Cavalry, but his flying chair drifted away and was never seen again.

marpenoth 7: stoneshar

Stoneshar is an all-faiths day during which folk strive not to be idle. Even children at play are encouraged to dig holes, build sand castles, or construct crude models. Waterdavians consider Stoneshar the best day of the year to begin construction of a building, either by digging out a cellar or laying a foundation. The common wisdom is that folk who undertake new projects on Stoneshar can expect blessings upon their works in the coming year, whereas individuals who do nothing constructive on this day can expect all manner of misfortune to rain down on them in the year ahead.

marpenoth 10: reign of misrule

Swift on the heels of Stoneshar comes the Reign of Misrule. This day honors Beshaba, goddess of misfortune. People of the city are expected to break trust, belie oaths, and disobey the normal order — as long as no laws are actually broken and no rift is made that can’t be later bridged. During the Reign of Misrule, nobles serve meals to their servants, children take control of schools, priests give worship to their god’s foes, and any who wish to may participate in a guild’s trade. Pranks are played by and on many, from simple tricks to those requiring elaborate planning. Sundown brings an end to the festivities, and most folk spend much of the night cleaning and reordering things for the following day. Many visitors decline to participate, but doing so often inspires misfortune rather than avoiding it. For fear of catching the bad luck of cynics, citizens do their best to avoid talking to anyone known to not have played along, or dealing with them in any way until Gods’ Day.

marpenoth 15: gods' day

This holiday observes the anniversary of the end of the Godswar in 1358 DR, when the gods of Faerûn returned to the heavens. Private shrines are brought out into the open, and many people wear holy symbols of their favored deities. A Gods’ Day tradition in Waterdeep strictly limits the use of magic, in remembrance of the wild magic wrought during the Time of Troubles. Though not outlawed fully, spellcasting is allowable only in self-defense or in cases of extreme need. At night, this holiday becomes solemn and serious, as many Waterdavians offer prayers in thanks for the lives they have under their gods. The Griffon Cavalry sets up an immense bonfire at the peak of Mount Waterdeep, honoring the fallen and the risen gods Myrkul, Cyric, Kelemvor, Mystra, Helm, and Ao who appeared here. In thanks for their defense during Myrkul’s invasion and the resulting fires that raged through the Southern, Dock, and Castle Wards, Gods’ Day is also a semiofficial “Be Kind to the Guard and Watch Day” in Waterdeep. Feel free to participate by handing out small gifts and kind words, but be aware that any gift of greater value than a few nibs might be interpreted as a bribe.

marpenoth 30: liar's night

This holy day pays tribute to Leira and Mask. To placate those deities and ward away their attention, folk of all walks of life don masks and costumes (magical or mundane) to disguise themselves and play at being other than what they are. Commonly seen mask styles include the black mask symbol of Mask and the mirror face of the priests of Leira. But there are no bounds on the disguise you don, and the more elaborate and outlandish it is, the more celebrated the wearer. The festivities begin in the evening, when people place candles in hollowed-out gourds or pumpkins carved with faces. Each pumpkin represents a person donning a mask, while the light inside represents the truth of the soul. For as long as the candle remains lit, lies told and embarrassing things done don’t sully a person’s reputation, so celebrations often descend briefly into anarchic hedonism. Misfortune is said to come to anyone who returns to their pumpkin after celebrating to find it unlit, so buy a candle of good quality and put your gourd beyond reach of the wind. Intentionally blowing out someone else’s candle or smashing someone else’s pumpkin is taboo, and risks the wrath of both gods — yet it does occur. Tricks and pranks of all kinds are common on this night, and folk expect lies and foolishness. Pickpockets are rife on this day, so few carry much coin with them, having secreted it away somewhere the previous evening. Instead, people fill their pockets and belt pouches with candies. Traditionally, a pickpocket is meant to take the candy and leave a token in return (a tiny toy, a colorful paper folded into a shape, or the like), but this has changed over the years into adults exchanging candies among themselves and simply giving candy to children who ask for it. By custom, no deals are made nor contracts signed on Liar’s Night, because no one trusts that parties will abide by them. Illusionists and stage magicians (whether through magical or practical abilities) make the rounds to entertain private parties (having been paid in advance the previous day) or to perform in public spaces, in the hopes that a good show will earn them a meal, and perhaps a place at a private party in the future.

uktar: selûne's hallowing

On whatever night in Uktar the moon is fullest, Waterdavians celebrate Selûne’s Hallowing. The goddess is the focus of worship throughout the full phase, of course, but the major ceremony on this night is a parade of worshipers leaving the House of the Moon at moonrise and moving down to the harbor, where the high priestess wields the Wand of the Four Moons in a ceremony blessing all navigators. This holy relic is said to be the mace wielded by Selûne in her first battle against Shar, and again in a fight with her sister during the Time of Troubles. It miraculously appeared in Waterdeep after the Godswar, and has since been the focus of many divine signs. You can view it in the House of the Moon at other times of the year, but only from a well-guarded distance. If you’re lucky, you might see the Wand of the Four Moons weep. Droplets said to be the tears of Selûne manifest on the mace from time to time, and are collected by the priestesses for use in potions that can heal, cure lycanthropy, and be used as holy water.

uktar 20: last sheaf

Sometimes called “The Small Feast,” this day of residential feasting is held in celebration of the year’s bounty. Small gifts (traditionally hand kegs of ale, jars of preserves, or smoked fish and meats) are exchanged among neighbors, and “last letters” are gathered for carriage by ship captains and caravan merchants — so called because they are the last to leave the city before travel becomes difficult. Of Waterdeep’s many celebrations, this one is perhaps the most relaxed and relaxing. Plan to spend a little extra on good food and enjoy a meal with those nearest you, be they dearest hearts or the folk across the hall in the inn.

nightal 11: howldown

In honor of Malar, members of the City Guard leave the city in groups on this day to hunt down known threats to farmers and travelers, including brigands, wolves, owlbears, ogres, and trolls that haunt the roads and wilderness. These hunts typically last no longer than a tenday. During the same span of time, the City Watch engages in its own rigorous hunt for malefactors within the city walls. If you’ve any reason to doubt your standing in the eyes of the law, avoid Waterdeep for at least a tenday after Howldown. With no real hunting to do of their own, the children of Waterdeep spend Howldown engaging in mock hunts of adults dressed up as monsters, and play at the killing of these predators.

nightal 20: simril

When dusk comes on this day, folk go outside to locate particular stars that were lucky for their ancestors, or that were associated with their own births. They then attempt to stay up through the night, celebrating outside with bonfires, song, and warmed drinks. Cloudy nights often draw larger crowds than clear ones, since glimpsing your star through the haze is thought to be a blessing from Tymora. Inside buildings, service folk keep roaring fires and engage in making food to keep celebrants fed throughout the long night and into morning of the next day. If you have no particular star of your own, you’ll find many vendors of star maps willing to divine which is yours — based upon your place and date of birth — and to point you in the right direction for a shard or two.

all information is taken from volo's waterdeep enchiridion.

i hope this was helpful and information to some of you!

🖤

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #waterdeep #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 meta #ch: gale dekarios #vg: baldur's gate 3 #series: baldur's gate #meta: mybg3

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bridenore · 2 days

Text

HD eight year fic recs : less than 10k words

Here are a few drarry eight year fic recs that are less than 10k words. Posted in alphabetical order, as always.

All I Have to Do by @fluxweeed [9k]

The Patented Daydream Charm (Adult Edition) allows you to enter a top-quality, highly realistic thirty-minute sexual fantasy. Solitude and privacy spells advised. or: Draco finally has some alone time; Harry just needs to nip in for a book.

All We Want Is Danger by @cassiaratheslytherpuff [9k]

Something weird was happening to Draco. It wasn’t something Harry was used to being concerned about. He’d spent most of sixth year sure that Draco was up to something, yes, but this was different. This was – something was off. Wrong. Harry had never in his life been scared of Draco. And yet, something about him had changed enough to make the hair rise on the back of Harry’s neck every time he entered a room. The feeling was only made stranger by the rush of arousal that usually came along with it.

Alpha by @lqtraintracks [2k]

Finding out I’m Malfoy’s Alpha and he’s my Omega might have gone a lot differently had we not still hated each other. But we do, so here’s how it goes

Aurora by @wolfpants [5k]

Eighth Year at a half-built Hogwarts, and Harry is not following Draco Malfoy anymore. At least, that's what he's telling himself.

Awake in the Night by venis_envy [2k]

H/D Post war, eighth year Hogwarts.

Back to You by aibidil & daisymondays [8k]

The eighth years make Harry and Malfoy go head to head and back to back in a question-and-answer drinking game. The worst that can happen is they end up drunk, right?

Bare Feet, Giant Squid, and One Perfect Moment by bryoneybrynn [4k]

Gryffindor may be the House of the brave but Harry’s feeling a bit nervous. It’s one thing to face a dragon or a Dark Lord. It’s quite another to make a move on the bloke who’s been your nemesis for the last eight years…

Brandishing The Wand by @ladderofyears [2k]

When four Eighth Year boys overhear Draco and Harry having sex in the dormitory bathroom, each jumps to a very erroneous conclusion.

Checking out the Opposition by birdsofshore [6k]

Harry and Draco seem quite wound up after their latest game of Quidditch.

The Comfiest Armchair by @xanthippe74 [2k]

In which Harry and Draco won’t stop fighting over the best armchair in the Eighth-Year common room, Hermione takes matters into her own hands, and Harry sees a (ahem) side of Draco that he’s never seen before.

Empty Nights by winterstorrm [4k]

Draco and Harry have had this ‘thing’ for months now. It’s ‘just sex’ though, right?

Erase the Shame by FleetofShippyShips [6k]

An Inter-House unity party is the last thing Draco wants to go to. It's not long into a game of Truth or Dare when he is reminded why. But maybe his dare is worth it after all.

Flutter by @shiftylinguini [4k]

Being back at Hogwarts is not what Harry expected, and neither is what’s going on between himself and Malfoy, but it feels good, and that? Well, that’s what Harry’s chasing this year. Amid the rebuilding of the school and the budding relationships of the other students at Hogwarts in spring, Harry finds that the flutter of change and the new feelings it brings are exactly what he wants ― and more.

Games Night by @agentmoppet [6k]

Harry has no idea why Hermione decided that an inter-house Games Night would be a good idea, but he’s here now, and he intends to beat Malfoy, no matter what game he chooses. But, who would have thought muggle games could be full of so much... tension?

A Ghost of Blissful Feelings by @alpha-exodus [6k]

Harry hadn’t expected to spend his eighth year fucking Draco Malfoy, but it’s the only thing that helps him let go.

A Good Place to Start by JET_Playin [2k]

Harry is finding 8th year rather dull until he goes to visit Hagrid and ends up helping him deliver Draco Malfoy’s baby. Now he has to protect Malfoy and keep his secrets and he might just be falling a little in love with both Malfoys just to complicate matters.

Good to Me (And I’d Be So Good to You) by AWickedMemory [8k]

Everyone returns to Hogwarts after the war, but nothing is quite the same. Harry’s groupies are creepier than ever, Ron and Hermione are snogging all over the place, and the once-proud Draco is shuffling around like a kicked puppy. But that’s okay: Harry’s got a plan.

Grow by @shiftylinguini [3k]

There’s an abandoned greenhouse, right at the back of the lot. There are unruly trees, and snagged brambles, and the grass is long and lush. It feels like the Forest, but tamer somehow, and Draco likes it. It feels like the spot where the castle meets the wild, or where the wild is trying to creep back in. There’s something mildly thrilling about it at night, the potential for danger, for something to look back at Draco as he stares into the dark, lush woods. Draco’s always loved that feeling. This is where they meet.

Jump Into the Fog by taradiane [9k]

Draco returns to Hogwarts for his eighth year carrying a secret that will change not just his life, but Harry’s as well.

Of the Heart's Fullness and Of the Coming Emptiness by tout a coup [9k]

Harry Potter is nineteen, and he's already peaked.

An Old Habit by fireflavored [8k]

The boys have changed a lot over the summer after the war, but Harry hasn’t got over the urge to spy on Malfoy.

A Pain of Our Choosing by @lqtraintracks [5k]

It’s 8th year and everyone’s still a bit messed up. Harry and Draco fall into being messed up together.

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kneazles by curiouslyfic [1k]

Harry sort of comes back to the world to the sound of sniffling, which strikes him as odd.

Room for Improvement by acromantular [2k]

Malfoy’s family-rehabilitation project is going so well. But is Potter worth risking all his hard work?

Sexplanations (Of the Horrible Sort) by @bixgirl1 [7k]

Harry’s willing to put up with a certain amount of injury, as long as he and Malfoy can keep doing… whatever it is they’re doing. Maybe. Mostly. Especially if there might be more to it than sex. Based on a tumblr headcanon.

Snug by @moonflower-rose [6k]

Potter can’t keep his hands off himself. Draco can’t look away.

Sores by mijeli [3k]

It’s been going on for weeks. They don’t talk about it.

Speechless by mayberry_rose [6k]

In which Draco can’t speak, and Harry learns to listen.

Starting Positions by @bixgirl1 [8k]

Later, Harry would wonder if Malfoy regretted that first, surprised mutter after three days of hard-pointed silence. Later, Harry would wonder about his own lack of regret over looking up when he heard Malfoy’s voice. But that would come after everything had already happened, the way events always seemed to, when even a Time-Turner couldn’t change things. The shape of a path, as Harry knew very well by then, once walked, was a lot like a paper crane — unfolded and pressed flat, you could try to fashion it into something different, but the original creases would always remain.

Storm in a Teacup by @faith2wood [7k]

For reasons he’d rather not think about, Draco is obsessed with Potter’s hair. This cannot end well.

swallow your words by icarusinflight [9k]

The truth is, not many things are known about the magic that is behind soulmarks. They’ll turn up when they want and not before. The truth is, you don’t get a choice in your soulmark. The truth is, not everyone is okay with that.

This Heart Shut Wide by @xanthippe74 [4k]

It’s New Year’s Eve and Draco refuses to talk to anyone at this wretched party in the Eighth-Year common room. He’s going to ignore Harry Potter and not think about snogging him in the staircase earlier. And he’s definitely not going to let himself fuck up both their lives by continuing the reckless game they’re playing. As usual, nothing goes according to Draco’s plan.

Trouble with your tie, Potter? by @tenthousandyearsx [6k]

The last thing Harry expects when Slughorn partners him up with Zabini is Malfoy shooting them furious looks throughout the whole class and then unceremoniously snogging Harry in the corridor.

the Veela codec by curiouslyfic [3k]

Potter wants obvious. Draco wants Potter. Clearly, some sort of plan will be required.

What Potter Wants by birdsofshore [3k]

Harry definitely didn’t want to do that to Malfoy. Not at all. So why did Malfoy keep saying that he did?

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

#my recs #drarry #drarry recs #eight year

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gallusrostromegalus · 10 hours

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AEIWAM ask: if my Kenpachi Count is correct, Gosuke Kiganjo might have been the previous captain of the 11th that Zaraki killed to get his job. Is that the case? How many problems did losing that co-conspirator cause for Aizen? And how much of a grudge did he hold for the big unkillable brute?

(With Reference to This Post and This One) It started with a pair of oranges.

---

It was Monday, November 11th, and like every November 11th, there was a ruckus coming from the 11th division. It was a faint noise largely obscured by distance and the windows that had been closed against the early winter cold, but it was still present as Now-Captain Sosuke Aizen reorganized Former Captain Hirako's office into his own.

He was luxuriating in the task. It was something he'd looked forward to for a long time- getting rid of the complex musical speakers that droned the worst assemblage of noises that apparently qualified as music, and finally installing a proper filing system in it's place was filling Aizen with a profound satisfaction that he assumed was an overture to his inevitable victory.

The way everyone was pointedly referring to him as Captain Aizen because they were trying to memorize the title tickled him a bit too. Perhaps it was vain of him to enjoy it so much but... well, the little theatrical dance of pretending to pretend he wasn't grimacing and playing up the act of Putting On A Brave Face, only for whoever was speaking to try to reassure him that everything would work out, that he was being so brave, and you don't have to do this yourself-

"Oh no, I don't think I could stand leaving it to anyone else!" He'd respond, and the whispers of how Brave and Dutiful and Humble he was slithered through the division...

...An actor can hardly be faulted for enjoying the adulation of the crowd.

"Hey Bos- uh, Captain!" A boy's voice called behind him.

Of course, it helped that Aizen had been blessed with such a stellar supporting actor.

"Can you help me?" now-Lieutenant Gin Ichimaru asked, tugging on Aizen's Haori for his attention like a normal child, something the boy had learned was enormously charming of him. "-I can't get this thing to stay on my arm." he explained, holding up Aizen's old Lieutenant's badge, the slightly oversized sleeves of his Kosode falling back to reveal his toothpick-thin arms.

"Oh dear. That' won't fit you for a few years yet, will it Gin?" Aizen smiled, patting the boys head and kneeling down, tying it one way, failing, trying another, failing again, giving an enormously defeated sigh, going over to Hira- No, HIS desk now! his desk and rifling through the drawers, and came back with a Safety Pin to hold the badge in place.

"...There!" he beamed, patting Gin's shoulder when the badge didn't slide off his scrawny arm. "-Just don't tell Yamamoto-sama!"

Aizen then turned to look over his shoulder down the hall, where no fewer than a dozen faces peeking out of doors and around corners to watch the scene, and held a finger up to his lips with a small wink. The heads vanished with small gasps, charmed chuckles and a few high-pitched teakettle-like outbursts Gin had once aptly described as "Squeeing".

Scene over and Audience satisfied, Aizen closed the figurative curtains and literal door. Suigetsu pinged softly, Illusion activating- anyone listening in wouldn't quite be able to make out the words, but walk away confident that they were only discussing Division Business.

"You're in a good mood!" Gin grinned up at him, noting Suigetsu's call and the invitation to speak freely. "Though I guess it's not a surprise. It's been a very successful week for you!"

Aizen shrugged, just a little bit smug. "I am allowed to enjoy my laurels once in a while, I think."

Gin laughed, and hopped up to sit on the desk, kicking his feet over the footwell as he fished some oranges he'd taken from the commisary out of his pockets. "Speaking of people who have had very... intense weeks, where's old blind bones?"

"Captain Tousen actually insisted on attending the 11th Division Tryouts, even though both Ukitake and Kyorako offered to go in his place so he could rest!" Aizen said, taking one orange for now and another for later- he'd like to have to work through lunch, he was now so burdened with responsibility, a fun little scene he was workshopping in the back of his head. "...I suppose the poor bastard still regards Kiganjo as his responsibility."

"Hm." Gin nodded, mouth full of orange, spiral peel on the desk beside him. Aizen nodded at the peel and pointed at the trash can behind the boy.

"Sorry, Lord Aizen. That might be-' he swallowed, and tossed the peel over his shoulder and into the bin. '-but it could also be tactical. Unohana-taicho attends every year and within arm's reach of her might be the safest place for him right now. Be a shame if he had a turn, you know?"

"It's a damn shame that Kiganjo hasn't had one." Aizen grumbled.

"Yeah I was sure the Menos invasion would be enough to do him and the Loud Idiot from the tenth in." Gin sulked. "Oh well, I suppose it's good we had a trial run- now we know we gotta really ramp up production of Menos."

"Fortune was on our side in that respect." Aizen agreed, examining his first orange for the best place to begin peeling. There was an art to it, and the practice helped maintain his skills. "Maybe fortune will smile upon us again and Kiganjo will fall to some idiot at the tryouts."

He had just found the perfect place to begin when the ambient reiatsu of the Seireitei suddenly shuddered and bowed, like he was standing inside a rubber balloon and could make out the silhouette of someone approaching with a hatpin. Aizen reflexively jammed the orange in his pocket with it's companion as his head swiveled north like an owl. The incoming sharp point of reiatsu approached at an alarming speed-

BANG!

Whatever it was met the outer wall of the Seireitei. To Aizen's Horror, did not slow down. It was however now accompanied by successive crashes that seemed to be getting closer-

BANG!

THUNK!

Aizen ran out the door, and slid a bit on the wood floors as whatever it was suddenly flew over the 5th division and made impact deep into the relatively soft earth of the training grounds.

"What the-?" He asked glasses askew not with practiced effort but genuine bewilderment. It took a moment to recognize the massive object now embedded upside-down in the middle of the courtyard, because Aizen had only ever seen it rightside up, and firmly bolted in place. "-Is. Is that the North Gate?" he sputtered, the feeling of surprise now turning into something bordering on Genuine alarm.

"I think that's Fortune's idea of a smile." Gin winced. "We uh... We should probably hoof it to the 11th."

"What?" Aizen repeated, genuinely surprised. "Why?"

Gin pointed in the direction of the 11th, and Aizen sluggishly followed his gesture-

CRACK!!

The outburst of reiatsu was so explosive it generated it's own superbolt of lightning- though whether it was the result of ionization down from the clouds, or worse- came up from the ground, he wasn't sure.

"...Oh." He paled, then steeled himself, clenching fists and inhaling. "LISTEN UP!" he barked to be heard over the growing din of alarm. "Our first priority is to keep the city from falling to chaos until we're told otherwise! Seated officers! Each of you take a dozen men and head to the Emergency rally points! Keep civilians calm, and direct them away from the 11th! Gin, you're with me!"

"SIR! YES SIR!" the assembled Shinigami shouted, and quickly fell in as he and Gin took off with Shun-po towards the scene of the catastrophe.

"You've got speed on me Gin, go scout ahead!" He called and the boy vanished in a silver flash of light ahead of him. He could make out other approaching officers- Kuchiki, his lieutenant with the fancy sunglasses and his grandson from the sixth and Lieutenant Yamada and an emergency troop from the fourth.

Another flash- bright red-orange for the instant it was visible- and he realized Yamamoto himself had deployed to the scene.

"Why does every woman turn into a huge bitch when you ask her to smile?" Aizen groaned.

Even with Shun-po it still took him a few minutes to actually arrive, just ahead of the Kuchiki detachment, and landed beside Gin where he was standing on the roof of the 11th. "How is it?" he panted.

"You want the good news or the bad news first?" Gin grimaced as more people arrived behind them-

"Holy FUCK!" Yelped Captain Ukitake, a man who was so careful with his language he kept a division swear jar.

"What the hell made that?" Echoed Captain Kyoraku, voice trembling.

Below them, the Dueling arena in the courtyard of the 11th had been cleft in twain. As had the rest of the Courtyard. And the ground below. And the Sewers below that- even from up here he couldn't see how deep the cut went- it had to be at least a hundred feet deep, which made it... deeper than it was wide, a terrifying thought.

"Just give me the news, Gin." He said, trying to sound like a Captain in control of the situation, but his voice cracked for the first time since puberty. Aizen shuddered as he realized that all was left of Kiganjo were the splashes of red on either side of The Hole's median.

"Well uh, the good news is that the thing that made that hole was only mad at Kiganjo specifically, and has peacefully accepted the commission as Captain of the 11th." Gin explained.

"Oh thank god!" Ukitake exhaled with relief.

"...What's the Bad news?" Kyoraku asked.

"...The bad news is the The Thing That Made That Hole is now captain of the 11th." Gin winced, pointing him out in the surprisingly calm crowd. "...Also, I think he already knows Captain Unohana because he was awful polite without her threatening him at all, and unless I'm mistaken, I think he knows Tousen too."

Aizen followed Gin's lead with great alarm for the second time in under ten minutes, and barely managed to pick out Tousen's garish orange scarf in the crowd. Mostly because of the Giant man in about half of a ratty Yukata and mostly bandages was standing next to Tousen, hand on the captain's shoulder and grin so broad it was visible even from up here. The man had long, unkempt black hair that came down to the middle of his back and some kind of bundle on his shoulder.

"...I guess we go make our introductions?" Ukitake mumbled, and the other two captains shrugged, then jumped down.

Tousen's expressions were hard to read on a good day, and right now he looked so stunned he might have been hit by that lighting bolt.

"-See, I never forget a face!" The giant was saying cheerfully. "Even if it's in a pho- whatsit. The paintings that come out of a box." The giant was an ugly beast of a man, at least seven feet tall, standing barefoot, and had a strangely long and angular face, with dark, sunken eyes.

"A Photograph Ken-Chan?" the bundle asked, and Aizen realized that the thing draped over his shoulder was the little pink-haired girl Tousen had smuggled in and out of the Captain's meeting yesterday.

Uh-oh.

"Thems." The giant nodded. "You alright Kaname? You look like yer about to keel over."

"I- I'm-" he started to speak and Aizen snapped Suigetsu open to flash the assembled crowd and hopefully catch the giant in the illusion before Kaname could speak and blow the whole operation-

"-PUT THAT THING AWAY!" The Giant roared, glaring at Aizen over his shoulder ...Through an eyepatch? Aizen paused, startled.

"You look like sheep when you run up on 'em at the road at night." The Giant chuckled at him. "Keep yer panties on, it's all done and dusted."

"Really Sosuke!" Ukitake huffed, chopping him on the shoulder to make him sheathe Suigetsu again.

"My apologies for my friend, it's literally his first day on the job." Kyoraku waved apologetically. "I'm 8th Division Captain Shunsui Kyoraku, the silver fox is 13th Division Captain Jushiro Ukitake, and that's appointed-yesterday 5th Division Captain Sosuke Aizen."

"You certainly know how to make an entrance, Captain-?" Ukitake asked brightly, attempting to distract the giant from Aizen.

"Kenpachi Zaraki." The Giant leered down at them. The other eye was sunken and gaunt and an unpleasant shade of yellow as Zaraki studied them in a way that made Aizen's skin crawl, like without suigetsu's Illusion, Zaraki could somehow see him naked. Yep. That's an eyepatch... But why do I have the feeling he can see right through it? Right through me?

"My apologies, Captain Zaraki-" Aizen sputtered, closing the distance and putting his hand on Kaname's other shoulder. "-Kaname is a very dear friend of mine and it's alarming to see a stranger touching him." he explained, digging the heel of his palm into the Silence character carved into Tousen's shoulder.

Tousen made a faint clicking noise in his throat as he involuntarily swallowed the shriek of pain under the Curse's command, and nodded in agreement. There- if I can't conceal Tousen from this brute, I can at least force him to remain silent. The illusion is safe.

"...That so?" Zaraki asked, the yellow eye fixed on Aizen's hand, and Aizen let go before he realized what he was doing. What? Why am I flinching? Who is this guy?

"You've taken to your title quickly!" Aizen smiled up at him, feigning cheerful interest.

"Title Schmitle, it's been my Name since before you were a wiggle in yer Da's nutsack." Zaraki grunted.

Aizen felt his glasses slipping off his face without his permission again. I didn't think there was an expression worse than Hirako's 'since you were kickin' in your momma'...

"Ah, here's trouble- WHAT TOOK YOU ASSHOLES SO LONG?" Zaraki roared cheerfully at two men who appeared on the 11th's roof, panting and enraged.

"HI YUYU! HI BALDY!" Yachiru waved cheerfully!

"Yachiru darling! I'm so glad you're safe!" the lithe, effeminate one waved back before jumping down to meet them.

"FUCK YOU!" howled the bald, muscular one.

"FUCK ME YOURSELF YOU COWARD!" Zaraki called back, grinning as they approached. "Come look who I found-!

Fuck! Aizen suddenly realized that when he'd let go of Tousen, Zaraki had not, and was now herding him away from Aizen, his huge and terrible body between them.

"OH MY GOD! IS THAT KAKIYO'S BROTHER?" the fop shrieked with excitement, sprinting over and grabbing Kaname's hand. "Yumichika Aseyagawa- oh this is DELIGHTFUL! I've heard so much about you!"

"Holy shit! You're the guy that burned down that shitass Daimyo's compound down, right?" the bald, clownish one grinned, shaking Kaname's whole arm. "Ikkaku Maderame, it's such an honor to meet you!"

THEY KNEW KAKIYO!? FUCK!! Aizen paled.

"-Burned what down?" Kyoraku asked.

"Shut up cueball, they acquitted him." Zaraki grunted, flicking Madarame's forehead. "Speaking of- I haven't heard form Kakiyo in Donkey's years, how is she? Running one of these divisions, right?"

"Gin!" Aizen hissed, searching the crowd for his Lieutenant. "Do something!"

"...She's dead." Kaname said flatly, still dazed with the... the everything probably.

Zaraki's shock rippled through the ambient reiatsu like being dunked in cold water. There's no sign of Gin, and no way to silence Tousen-

"What? How?" Aseyagawa demanded, the other two equally horrified.

"She was murdered." Kaname's voice was small, weak and he was starting to sway- the effort of resisting the curse was about to make him collapse.

Zaraki slowly crouched down, perched on his toes so he could pull Kaname close, face to face

"Who." It wasn't a request.

With a shaking arm, Tousen pointed to the remains of the Arena.

SHIT SHIT SHIT FUCK!! Aizen felt his heart racing.

"I- I'm sorry. I tried to, but- I can't- I can't I'm not strong enough-" Tousen stammered, trying to speak through the pain.

"It's alright. I am." Zaraki said, voice suddenly strangely gentle, touching his forehead to Kaname's. He sat down, pulling Kaname down with him, half in Zaraki's lap so he couldn't be easily pulled away. "Tell me the details later, ya look like yer about to drop dead. Y'all got anything he can eat?" He glared at the other captains.

Ukitake immediately produced a large bag of candy and Kyoraku a flask that smelled like you could use it's contents for eye surgery. Aizen made a show of patting his coat, and suddenly remembered the two oranges Gin had handed him earlier.

"Uh, I have these..?" Aizen offered the fruits, mentally preparing to skin Gin.

"Good to see one of you is an adult." Zaraki chuffed, taking one of the oranges and handing it to Kaname, who pointed his face at it blankly. "You don't mind if I take the other? I sprinted here from North 69 on an empty stomach."

Tousen shook his head, still silent.

"Good man, you'll be alright. Ta." Zaraki said, taking the second orange from Aizen with a nod of gratitude.

... and then casually bit halfway into it like an apple and chewed, rind and all.

Aizen stood there, dial tone echoing between his ears. Gradually he became aware his left eye was twitching.

"Did. Did you just bite straight into that orange?" Kaname frowned.

Zaraki, to Aizen's horror, swallowed. "Yeh, what's wrong with that?"

"...Nothing at all." Aizen smiled, checking out of this scene. "Excuse me, I seem to have misplaced my lieutenant..." he mumbled, turning on his heel and wandering away from them.

---

Kaname felt Zaraki arch his back slightly, watching Aizen go.

"...Uh-huh." he said, smirk audible. "Alright lads, you got marchin' orders."

The other two men snapped to attention.

"Yumichika- There's a woman, beautiful and terrible as the dawn, with a coat like this 'cept it's got a four on the back. Go tell her Kaname's had a turn and whatever she says you say 'Yes Sir' and do it." he said, tugging on Kaname's haori.

"Sure, that's definitely a description I can follo- oh. Nevermind, I see what you mean!" Yumichika said, catching sight of Unohana. "On it, Boss."

"Er, It might help if I'm there to make Introductions..." Kyoraku offered, jogging after Yumichika.

"Ikkaku." he spoke as soon as Yumichika was out of earshot. "There's a man who's older than dirt who looks like he could set you on fire just lookin' at you, 'cos he can. He's got the Employee Handbook, can you go grab that?"

"...What Employee Handbook?" Ikkaku frowned. "Don't tell me you're quittin' the house? Madame won't like that."

"Madame sent me here today on purpose." Zaraki waved. "-But seein' as I just did a homicide right in front of everybody, the old man offered me a choice. Take Kiganjo's old job runnin' the 11th, or get burnt to ash right there, and I can't take care'a Yachiru if I'm charcoal."

"So... you're a shinigami Captain now?" Ikkaku asked, sounding more intrigued than anything.

"Seems so." Zaraki shrugged. "Funny thing- the Lieutenant and Third-in-command's seats are up for grabs too."

Ikkaku cackled. "Be right back, Captain!" he grinned and took off towards the center of the city.

"Oh, shit-!" Ukitake muttered, looking up from where he had been transfixed by the sight of Yachiru devouring the bag of candy. "Er- Yama-Ji can be a bit tetchy with strangers, I should probably go with him..." he winced, sprinting after apparently-Lieutenant Madarame.

Zaraki chuckled, weight shifting and turning his attention back to Kaname. "...You want some help with that, Little bat?"

Kaname nodded, too dazed to protest as Zaraki took the orange from him.

"That Aizen's a creep, ain't he?" he asked.

"Yeah! Kaname-kun told me to stay away from him, even more than I needed to stay away from Kiganjo!" Yachiru nodded, mouth still full of candy.

"Thought so." Zaraki hummed, fiddling with the orange. "You know what's great about first Impressions?"

Kaname shook his head, just relieved Zaraki was here to keep him from collapsing straight onto the pavement.

"They Stick." Zaraki said voice low and conspiratorial. "-No matter what Aizen sees me do from now on, no matter what anyone tells him, he will believe, at his core, that I'm an idiot."

-And with that, he pressed a perfectly peeled and clean segment of orange into Kaname's hand.

Kaname blinked a few times, turning the fruit over in his hands as he sluggishly connected the dots and, despite everything, slowly broke into a genuine smile.

"Kakiyo always said you were a clever bastard." Zaraki grinned, "Eat yer orange."

---

Aizen finally located Gin, hiding under the narrow gap under one of the stone storehouses in the less-used section of the 11th.

"What the HELL are you doing?" Aizen hissed at him.

"That thing ain't human." Gin whimpered. "I dunno what it is, but it ain't right."

"I agree he looks like a carcass that's too stupid to know it's dead but that's because he's a MORON." Aizen groaned, reaching under the porch and pulling the boy out by the scruff of his neck. "You should see how he eats oranges."

"I'm not kidding!" Gin pleaded, grabbing Aizen's sleeve. "He's got- I don't know, but when he looked at us? It was like he could see right through me!"

"Yes, yes-" Aizen waved. "-but even if he could, I promise, he hasn't got the brains to understand what he's seeing."

"He's gonna eat me." Gin muttered, hiding behind Aizen, peering out behind him in the general direction of courtyard.

"What's gotten into you?" Aizen huffed. "You've never been spooked before-?"

"I'm telling you!" Gin pleaded up at him, eyes very nearly open with alarm. "There's something deeply fucked up about that guy! He's dangerous! He's gonna find me and grab me and eat me!"

Aizen sighed, put his hand on Gin's shoulder, glanced around for witnesses, and finding them alone, backhanded Gin as hard as he could.

"Get ahold of yourself!" he snarled, and Gin flinched. He softened his voice, fingertips under Gin's chin, tipping his head up. "I'm sorry- it's easy to forget you're just a boy sometimes- but we can't lose our heads now, not when we've come so far. I'll deal with Zaraki, alright? I need you to keep Tousen in line- I've gotten him to shut up for now, but it's VITAL that he not speak to that brute until I've gotten him and his two clowns under The Illusion, got it?"

Gin nodded, sniffling, cheekbone turning slightly pink.

"Good boy." Aizen smirked. "I'll leave it to you then."

Gin vanished with a flash to carry out his orders, and Aizen sighed, taking off his glasses to clean them.

"-How do these things constantly get filthy?" he muttered.

"Most of the filth on glasses is the grease from the skin of the wearer. If they're constantly filthy, it may be that you're just slime." someone spoke up behind him and Aizen yelped, nearly dropping his glasses as he fumbled them onto his face.

"-Good heavens! How DO you do that?" He laughed nervously to suddenly be in close proximity to the massive frame of Yamamoto's pet third seat that he'd just assigned to the Seventh Division. No saftey pins needed to keep the Lieutenant's badge on the tree-trunk arms of Sajin Komamura.

The narrow gap in the helmet stared impassively down at him, and for the second time that morning, Aizen was struck by the feeling he was nearly being seen through.

"I didn't quite catch all that, but I did hear the sound of someone being slapped before I see you, holding your lieutenant like that, and he sprints away with a fresh bruise on his face." Komamura rumbled ominously.

"I'm quite sure I don't know what you mean." Aizen glared back.

"I'm glad to hear that. I should hope that I merely misunderstood what I saw, and that there's no cause for alarm." Komamura leaned forward, and Aizen thought there was the briefest flash of the same yellow as Zaraki's working eye in there. "-There are very few deviances the captain-general won't tolerate, but the lines in the sand do very much exist."

"Sajin-" Aizen scoffed, turning away from the menacing hulk of a shinigami. "You may be Yamamoto's Golden Boy, but you ought to mind what you go sticking your nose into, lest somebody cut it off."

There was no reply.

"Glad you underst- really?" Aizen groaned at the empty corner of the 11th Division. "How the HELL does he do that? It's like being stalked by an animal... Whatever, it's fine- Sajin still has his uses, and he'll forget it by tomorrow morning, won't he?" Aizen smirked, affectionately rubbing Suigetsu's hilt, the Zanpakuto purring at the attention.

"Now, let's go deal with that orange-mangling moron." he smiled as he stalked back into the remains of the 11th's courtyard.

#AEIWAM #An Elephant Is Warm And Mushy #Bleach #Bleach Fanfic #4K under the cut #sosuke aizen #kenpachi zaraki #kaname tosen #gin ichimaru #sajin komamura #Zaraki Is much better if he is impulsive and manic and a bit of a dunce but also CUNNING as hell

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4sh-n4 · 3 days

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Bruce Wayne, who can't cook to save his life but can bake better than even Alfred. The catch? He can only do it in the night after being awoken by nightmares. No one knows about his extraordinary skills other than Alfred and Dick, because everyone assumes that the baked goods in the kitchen are made by Alfred. Dick knows because when he was younger and couldn't sleep because of nightmares, he used to join Bruce in the kitchen and watch him work.

Dick Grayson, who is an absolute disaster in the kitchen because he keeps getting distracted, but give him a microwave and a dream and he'll prepare a solid three course meal that actually tastes decent. He's also an excellent cocktail maker, which is funny since he prefers to have his alcohol straight without any mixers (he still puts the little umbrellas in his glass though, don't be mistaken)

Jason Todd, who is an ACE in the kitchen because he refused to ever be helpless with food again after getting off the streets. He was going to eat, and he was going to eat WELL. Especially since he finally had the resources to be able to actually experiment with what he likes and what he can do with different foods, instead of just what's cheapest or most easily found. The one thing he can't do? Crack an egg with only his hands without getting any of the eggshell pieces in the food. He needs to use one of those little egg cracking tools. The thing that pissed him off the most about this is that the one thing Dick can do brilliantly in the kitchen, is crack eggs with one (1!!!) hand only.

Tim Drake, who is definitely not michelin star level, but has learnt to sustain himself with instant meals and those little ramen packets. He somehow always makes them taste good though, adding toppings and making sure they are some form of nourishing, even if that just means adding a fried egg on top and calling it a day.

Cass Cain, who has no culinary abilities and does not want them either. Her skills in the kitchen start and end with making sandwiches. Oh, and she can do super complicated tricks with the knives, her and Dick have constant competitions about who can do the coolest thing.

Steph Brown, who lives off of takeaway for most meals, but can make better breakfast foods than most people in the house. Waffles, pancakes, bacon, eggs, toast, you name it and she can make it. Only if it is traditionally eaten before noon though. She also worked as a barista part time for a while, so she knows all the fancy coffee recipes.

Damian Al Ghul Wayne, who doesn't care to cook other cuisines, but taught himself how to make almost every middle eastern and south asian dish he could get his hands on, because it helped him feel closer to his home and his mother when he first moved in with his father. His fondest memories of his mother and of her feeding him his cultural foods and telling him about their origins. It was the only time they did not speak of work, or his training, but instead about what his father was like as a person, about the things his mother has seen on her travels over the years, about his maternal grandmother, about his interest in animals.

Duke Thomas, who can cook enough for a 15 year old but doesn't touch the kitchen of Wayne manor very often, not unless he's just sitting on the counter watching others or helping minorly. His memories are still fresh enough to bleed when touched and all his memories of him cooking in the kitchen have his parents happily dancing in the background on Sundays with loud music blaring through the walls as they teach him how to chop onions without crying or knead dough.

Alfred Pennyworth, who only had the most basic culinary skills when he began working for the Waynes but was forced to learn how to cook when he was unexpectedly given custody of an 8 year old. He can cook better than most professional chefs in the world now, but he still hoards Thomas Wayne's old cookbooks like they're the only tangible part left of the man who once filled the halls of the manor, even though he knows that's not true. He'll pass them down to his grandchildren one day...just not today. Today, they're still his.

#bruce wayne #dc #dc comics #dick grayson #tim drake #jason todd #batfam #batfamily #alfred pennyworth #stephanie brown #duke thomas #damian wayne #cassandra cain #i think that the relationship people have with food is so beautiful #because food holds memories and culture and ancestory and community and distraction and joy and new experiences and so much more #and then for some food holds so much pain and hurt and insecurity #its different for each person and its so interesting to me that such a universal thing can be so deeply personal #but this post isnt about relationship with food its abkut relationship with making food with cooking #and really for a few of them it isnt even about that because its just about their skills not their memories #i might need to follow this up with a more in depth relationship about cooking and why they have the skills they do #and maybe one about only how they feel about food in general #but let me know if thats something anyone would want to read!!

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delopsia · 2 days

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for what it's worth | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 6,600 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, panic attacks, riding, unprotected sex, depictions of injuries, comfort, overstimulation, unfamiliar places. Inspired by the Stephen Wilson Jr. Song Brief Summary: Maybe he isn't ready to leave Wabang. Not right now.

Boots stumble. Thumping across the floor. Spurs chime with every backward step. Heaving through an open mouth. Air whistling in his throat. The wall jumps forward, knocking into his back. Eyelashes flutter. His left knee buckles, balance teetering like a seesaw. His hand is trying to fly out to catch himself, but it's secured to his chest, and he can't stop his shoulder from knocking into the corner instead.

And his face is warm.

Why is his face warm?

"Rhett."

He doesn't realize that his ears are ringing until it stops. Crystal clear. Like he's just pulled his head above water for the first time in hours.

Soft hands squish against his cheeks, a thumb swiping across the delicate flesh beneath his eye. And he knows that he never shut them, not for longer than a second or two, so why did it take this long for him to see you standing in front of him?

"Rhett," repeating yourself, the corners of your mouth turn downward with a frown. "Are you alright?"

Air catches in his throat, breaking around fragments of words that never form, his face whiter than the peeling paint behind his head. Delicate, you tilt his head to meet your gaze. That bitten, bleeding bottom lip begins to wobble.

But he's not falling apart.

There's still a singular thread holding him together at the seams, and you're not even sure when he began unraveling to begin with. Was it when the crowd roared with horror after he fell? The empty stadium seats? Or is it something he's yet to tell you about?

One of your hands drifts to the back of his neck, all five fingers gently pressing to the soft skin there. And that's all it takes to have him collapsing into you.

Scruffy face burying into the crook of your neck. Silent as a mouse, as if he's afraid of what may come out of him if he allows himself to make the slightest noise. His arm knocks into your chest, held there by a flimsy sling, and it's all you can do to avoid bumping it as you pull him in by the waist.

He melts like sugar in the pouring rain, muscles unwinding into putty, that weary arm of his curling around you the best that it can. You can't feel the tears fall but you're well aware of how they wet the hem of your shirt, chased by a shudder that you can almost feel ripple down his spine.

"Rhett?" Saying his name again is beginning to feel redundant, but it's the only thing you can think of.

His head shakes back and forth, unruly hair tickling your ear. Slow, the hand resting against his back glides up, smoothing between his shoulder blades. The left one has only just begun to swell, the muscle there still traumatized from suffering through a dislocation. Warm breath puffs against your collar, chased by a sniffle.

A hand presses against the small of your back. Jerks away as quickly as it got there.

"Is your wrist hurting again?" Whispering. Anything louder might set him off again.

"Never stopped," his voice is hoarse, so barely there that it cracks at the end.

You can already see his brace, the off-white material poking out of an unzipped duffel bag. Restricting the mobility of his only functioning arm isn't exactly ideal, but maybe it'll only be for a night or two. A little extra time to let that old strain temporarily sort itself out before it rears its head again in the next month or two.

"Don't—don't let go of me," his arm cinches you in before you've even moved an inch. "Please."

"I'm not going anywhere," speaking gently, your fingertips find the knobs of his spine, pressing into the grooves of them. "I promise."

But he doesn't seem so sure about that, eyes darting between you and the bag, haphazardly discarded on top of the spare bed. It's only a foot or two away, but the squeeze of Rhett's arm suggests he might not let you move an inch.

"'m gonna look a little funny with somethin' on both arms, don't ya think?" He mumbles. A little too easily, his hand slides out from behind you, falling to dangle at his side. Limp.

Your fingers blindly brush against his brace, haphazardly lifting it by the velcro strap. This old thing has seen better days, dirt staining the edges and seams frayed from the regular abuse of being worn on a cattle ranch. But it still works, and Rhett wouldn't be an Abbott if he didn't insist on reusing it 'till it breaks.

"I'd rather you look a little funny than you get hurt any worse," and if not for his own benefit, then for the sake of your heart. It's stopped enough times for one day.

You don't notice the swelling in his wrist until after he's lifted it, the dull bedside lamp illuminating the raised skin, so rounded and thick that you can no longer see the bony joint at all. It's a wonder you don't have to loosen the strap as you slide the old thing into place.

His hand twists, rolling back and forth, always has to be inspecting your handiwork, "think I look a lil dumb."

"No, you looked dumb that time you tried to wear a camouflage shirt with your dress pants," and even then, you're not sure if you'd classify it as anything other than funny—the things he does to avoid his momma's attempts at taking him to church.

Those pretty blue eyes roll, the corner of his lip wobbling with a smile.

It's hard to keep standing here when there's an open bed calling your names. Big, fluffy, and half the damn reason you spent the extra fifty for this specific room. The mattress doesn't so much as squeak under your combined weights, completely and utterly silent, unlike the talkative ones in Wabang's only hotel.

"Do y' know what town we're in?" Rhett's finding his way to you before you've even settled, his only usable arm draping over your side.

"I didn't think to look," pausing as your head hits the pillow; there's way too much stuffing in this thing, cranking your neck uncomfortably high. "I can't imagine we've gotten far, though."

Without getting up to grab your phone off the dresser, your best guess is that you've only made it thirty minutes away from Wabang. Maybe even thirty-five. If Rhett's injuries would have allowed it, then you'd likely still be on the road, driving until the days events properly caught up with him.

His brows knit together, a thought visibly flickering through his mind. You can hardly stop your hand from wandering up to his face, fingers smoothing across the dirt that mottles his cheek. A shower might do him good once his jaw quits shaking like it is.

"Y' think..." Rhett's mouth opens. Closes. Then opens again. Gaping like a fish out of water. "Never mind."

Your index finger trails across the unshaven scruff clinging to his cheek, still short enough to feel like sandpaper. "You can say it."

"Do y' think they'll miss me?" There's that glassiness to his eyes again, remaining even as he tries to blink it away. "My folks, I mean."

Words gather in your throat, pushing and shoving to be the first to land on your tongue, but not a single one does. Slow, your head nods, and it's just enough movement to rattle a few out of the traffic jam. "I'm sure they will," your voice is barely there, a ghost of what it was a moment ago. "Is that what's bothering you?"

His shoulder rises with a shrug. Almost instantly, his eyes are scrunching shut, hissing through his teeth. "Kinda."

There are things you should be saying, arranging sentences to comfort him, but you haven't got a single thing to start with. What do you even tell him that his momma is probably sitting in the kitchen and wondering why he hasn't come home yet? That Amy is going to be asking where her only Uncle is?

The mattress dips as he squirms closer, fitting himself into the space beneath your chin. His nose bumps into the side of your neck, so close that you can smell the faint odor of sweat, still clinging to him from his ride. And it should be enough to stop you from squishing your cheek against the top of his head, but for reasons unbeknownst to you, it's not.

"'s just..." his voice rumbles through your body like thunder, the beginnings of a thought that he doesn't know how to finish.

Your eyes dart to the window, peering out the open blinds. Wabang is far too small to house a single chain restaurant, never mind enough to create a neon array of colors along the street. Didn't have these new-fangled flashing crosswalks or the sharp screech of a sportscar tearing down the midnight streets. Try as you might, you don't think you can hear the rumble of a single farm truck.

"Too much at once?" Finishing his sentence after a second. Now that you give it some thought, he's never spent more than a week away from home before.

The hair atop his head tickles your neck as he nods. You're starting to think that the feeling might be mutual. This whole idea sounded wonderful at first; running away together, never to be seen again, but your daydreams never depicted the unease that rests in your bones.

At least this mattress is somewhat familiar. Softer than what you've grown used to, but a bed is a bed. The air conditioner doesn't squeal like a wounded animal when it kicks on, not even a distant thumping of old country music from the bar next door. Maybe that's what makes it so easy for the silence to drag your eyelids to a close, the edges of your consciousness slipping away.

A horn blares outside. Poorly muffled voices shout.

"We should've stayed in town for the night," you mutter; whatever heaviness was keeping your eyes shut has entirely dissipated.

Why do you dislike Wabang, anyhow? Is it the ack of your favorite fast food chains? The memories that haunt every corner? The overwhelming blanket of silence that sprawls across town once night falls? Whatever the reason was, it's not coming to you.

Rhett's lips find your collar, lingering for a moment before drawing away to press a second one nearby. "We should've?"

"At least it's quiet in Wabang," your fingers slide into his hair, tangling in the long strands resting at his nape, the ones he keeps saying he'll trim.

Another kiss presses into the corner of your jaw. Another right next to it, and another, inching across your cheek, kiss by kiss. "I can think of a few distractions if that's what you're implyin'," you can hear the smile in his voice, getting closer and closer to his final destination by the second.

His arm shifts in its sling, hand thumping against his chest in what was supposed to be an attempt at reaching out to you. He doesn't say anything, too focused on meeting the corner of your lip, and then—

Rhett's bitten lips meet yours for the first time this hour, hardly enough pressure to count as one to start with.

"For god's sake," he grumbles against your mouth, "can't do a damn thing like this."

You draw back, peeking at his face. That nose of his is wrinkled, the slightest bit irritated with his situation. "Is there something you're wanting, cowboy?" Teasing.

"Bet ya can't guess," he winks, maybe the slightest bit cocky, despite his lack of functioning arms.

Sitting up isn't the easiest thing, elbow uncomfortably digging into the mattress, and it's all you can do to keep from accidentally bumping into any of his injuries. The bruising along his collarbone and the swelling in his shoulder blade, still agitated from that unceremonious dislocation. But Rhett doesn't seem to be thinking about any of that right now, too focused on leaning up to meet your mouth. Your hand drifts to his jaw, tilting him down the slightest bit.

Finally, those thin lips find yours, solid and there and unbroken by an uncomfortable angle. He tastes like that goddamn Rainier beer he loves so much, chased by the obscene notes of dirt and sweat that ought to make you gag and point him to the travel-sized mouthwash sitting on the sink.

But Rhett's humming like he's just come home from a long day at work, lips softening, melting into the delicate dance of yours, and you suppose that today...today he gets a pass. That desperately needed shower isn't so urgent anymore. His nose bumps into yours, both tilting in the same direction as gravity begins to drag your body down.

Your leg swings out, clumsily straddling his hips as he twists onto his back, only breaking apart to twist your head to the other side. His fingers lazily trace their way to your spine, ambling up it until he can comfortably splay his palm against the middle of your back, pressing just enough to inch you closer. Chest to chest, so close that you think you can feel his heart beating away in his chest, wild and alive.

A siren screeches to life outside the window. So shrill that you jolt, teeth clacking together.

You could have sworn that ambulances were quieter than that. Or maybe that's just a Wabang thing. It's not like that town has a whole lot of people there to warn.

"Think 'm startin' to see your point," Rhett's lips bump into yours as he speaks, thumb drawing circles into your back. His body jerks upward, awkwardly bumping into your ass before falling back against the bed. "Fuckin'—ow!"

"There something you're wanting, cowboy?" Saying it as if you don't have a clue what he wants, feigning blissful ignorance.

"Yeah," huffing, dramatic as can be, "somethin' I can't have."

Your hand meanders down his chest, nails catching on the pearl-snap buttons of his flannel. The top two burst open, falling apart to reveal the beginnings of a milky white chest. "What makes ya think you can't have it?"

He lifts his wrist, brace on full display. "My arms don't work like they used to."

Before you can think twice, your eyes roll. "Well, mine do." And before he can say another word, you're reaching for the end of your shirt, tugging it up and over your head.

Rhett's eyes flutter, pearly white teeth sinking into his bottom lip. The cat must have gotten his tongue because, all of a sudden, he doesn't have a damn thing to say. Completely and utterly silent as you rake your finger through his remaining buttons, fingertip tracing against his belly the whole way down.

"Amelia County Bull Riding Champion," you muse, nail tapping against the metal of his buckle, so new that it doesn't have so much as a scratch on it. It's almost hard to believe that he's spent the past nine years chasing this one-of-a-kind trophy and its equally shiny title. Sure wonder how long it'll be before he's chasing a second one.

"'n my reward is two fucked arms," Rhett chuckles, the rough material of his brace skirting up your naked side, "they could've at least refunded me the entry fees."

Something thunks behind you. Chased by a second thing. And you think those might be his boots hitting the floor.

"At least you didn't get charged for letting the paramedic check on your shoulder," pinching the buckle open, you reach for his button.

If he were in any better shape, maybe you would have time for the theatrics of kissing down his belly and getting him worked up before you start tugging on his zipper. But he's down to half a functioning hand, beaten and abused from three rides in one night, and you're not sure if he'll even be awake if you stretch things out that far. Even clambering off of him feels like a dangerous task, as if he could possibly fall asleep in the span of three seconds.

One little tug is all it takes for Rhett to lift his hips. "Congrats on winnin'," his voice strained with the effort of keeping himself up. "Here's a bill that'll take all your prize money 'n then some."

The hem of his jeans catches on his boxers, and it wasn't your intent to take them down all in one go, but you're not making any effort to stop it, either. Haphazardly pulling the dirt-stained fabric past the thick fat of his thighs and down his ankles, tossing it to the side.

You suppose this means you'll be following suit.

"Shit," Rhett's knees knock into each other, squeezing close, "'s cold in here."

"We'll find a way to warm you up," hooking your thumbs beneath your waistband, dragging your pants and underwear down your legs, discarding them somewhere near Rhett's.

A spring chirps as his feet dig into the mattress, pushing himself up against the headboard. Maybe this bed isn't so perfect after all. "Can't imagine what y've got in mind," he grunts, head thunking against the smooth wood.

You don't need a response to that. Not when you can lift your leg and swing yourself back into his lap, arms lazily looping around his shoulders. Sparkles dance behind his eyes, like the glittering night sky, doesn't need to say a damn thing. His arm winds around your waist again, the other one jerking against his chest, held back by the sling.

There isn't much strength to be found there, but his hand flattens against your naked back, and that's all you need to find yourself leaning forward. Half-parted lips bump into one another, slow and steady, not quite willing to risk another clash of teeth.It's so much easier here, situated in the comfortable warmth of his lap, where you can curl your hands around his scruffy cheeks and feel them squish beneath your palms.

You're just tired enough to let yourself believe that you're floating. High above the clouds, lost somewhere between Neptune and bliss, twisting and turning, suspended in the depths of eternity. Not a damn thing separating you aside from this flimsy sling and his unbuttoned flannel.

Delicate, your hips roll back, the soft swell of your inner thigh brushing against his cock, half hard and resting against his belly. It's nothing but a haphazard touch, and yet he sucks in a breath as if it's something so much more than that.

"Keep doin' that," he murmurs, the tips of your noses colliding. And you do.

Hell, you were never planning to stop. A little too eager to draw your body up against his, feeling the pressure of him against your inner thigh, heat rushing up your belly and into your cheeks. He's already beginning to drip, leaving behind a shimmering wetness on your skin. But then he's shifting a little bit to the left, and his length is pressed right against your cunt, and it's too late to stop the noise that draws out of your throat, dancing in tandem with Rhett's.

You need...you need..."Did you—"

"In my back pocket," he's interrupting you before the question has even left your mouth.

Why you ever thought it would be in a different place, you're not sure. So used to this routine that you don't need to look as your hand blindly pats around the material of his jeans. The round outline of his Zyn can tells all you need to know; those little lube packets are always tucked right next to it.

"I thought you were quitting this stuff," commenting as you fumble with the plastic; there's a notch on it for easy tearing, but you can never seem to find it.

All of a sudden, the packets are gone entirely. Plucked from your hand, the culprit lifting the edge of one to his lips. "I did."

You're not sure you follow. That's definitely the can. You'd know that old hunk of plastic anywhere. "So why do you have the container?"

"Shake it." And he sounds so serious about it that you can't help but do what he says, fishing it out and haphazardly waving the plastic container back and forth. Something hard rattles around inside, a couple of somethings, at that.

"Are those rocks?" Shaking it again. Yeah, those sound like rocks.

"Found 'em on the ranch," Rhett pauses, biting the corner, pulling as hard as his hand will allow. Clear fluid is already spilling out the top, glistening on his fingertips before he can even begin to hand it back to you. "They're made of some weird black powder that would crumble in my pocket."

The lube is still warm from where it's been resting against the curve of his ass all afternoon, running down your fingers and dripping onto his flannel as you reach between your bodies. This stuff always makes a damn mess, but it's so hard to worry about stains when Rhett's sucking in a gasp, hips jolting, all from the way your hand wraps around him.

Loose. Just feeling the weight of him in your grasp. How he twitches when your index finger catches on his mushroom tip, hardening so fast that you can feel it. The way he grows a little wider, longer too, until he's once again the same menacing size you've come to know and love. One little pack of this stuff isn't enough to coat him, running down his length before you can spread it, but he's already tearing open a second. Drops of it scatter like rain, hitting your cheek and landing on the once clean sheets.

You've never been so thankful to have two beds.

"'m sorry," kissing at a wet spot next to your nose, "was tryin' t' help."

The remaining lube pours directly onto your palm, so much of it at once that it begins to squelch, loud and bouncing off the corners of this tiny little room. Any more, and you reckon it might travel to the neighboring rooms. At least out here, you don't have to worry about a distant acquaintance of the Abbott family overhearing and running their mouth to half the congregation come Sunday.

"Need any more?" Rhett shakes a third and fourth pack as if you could have forgotten how many he's carrying.

But you're in no particular mood to wait. Not when you can feel him throbbing in your grasp, desperate and leaking and ready for you. "That's plenty," any more, and you two may be swimming in it.

"Gon' be limpin' in the mornin'." Whatever sincerity he has is lost to the twitching of his mouth, rising up into a grin. Always has gotten a kick out of watching you waddle after it's all said and done.

"Good," winking, "It'll keep us in bed longer."

Those pretty blue eyes roll back into his head, as far as they'll go. Giggles sputter out of you, and that's all it takes to have them rumbling out of him, too. Foreheads knocking together, noses clashing once more, lips brushing in what might be a kiss.

"a'ight," he's speaking quietly, as if this air is too fragile for anything more than a whisper, "if that's what ya want."

You don't need any further encouragement, knees digging into the bed as you lift yourself up, guiding him between your legs. His tip slips through your folds, a little spark of heat jumping up your spine, and you really shouldn't stop to rub him against your clit, but you can't help yourself. Selfishly circling him around the little bundle of nerves, such a simple thing that has you growing just a little wetter.

An involuntary twitch in your wrist has him sliding back, nudging right where you've been craving him.

"Shit," gasping, your head tilts back, the ceiling blurring as you finally begin to sink down on him. A soft pressure that grows with every passing second chased by a sharp, stinging reminder of why you should have listened when Rhett tried to offer you more lube to open yourself up with.

But it's hard to focus on when he's leaning forward, the stubble on his jaw scratching as his mouth finds its way to your neck. Leaving behind a kiss so wet that you can hear it, swiftly chased by another and another and another. Your hand slips away from his length, too eager to wind your arms around his shoulders once more.

His tip slips into you without any more fuss, and you think there might be an ache from being stretched so wide, but you don't have the capacity to pay attention to it. It's too early in the night to be drowning in the lap of a wild-eyed cowboy, and yet here you are. The only two people in the world, if only for a few short minutes.

"You're sure y' don't need more?" Rhett's tilting his head up, chin brushing against yours.

"I'm sure," your voice is weaker than it was a minute ago. One of the many things you've left behind in Wabang, you suppose.

Oh, or maybe you do need it. Hands scurrying, nails biting into the thick muscle of his back. He never seems that big until he's between your legs, thick cock splitting you uncomfortably wide, just enough to send your cunt into a frenzy of spasms.

"Shit," Rhett's eyelashes flutter like the wings of butterflies, "'s fuckin'..." But he can't finish his sentence, cut short by a stifled grunt.

"You can feel that?" Your tongue feels loose in your mouth, heavy, and difficult to control.

All he can do is nod his head, breathing heavily through parted lips. "Uhuh."

His hand slips away from your back. Leaves a jarring coldness in its wake as it darts between your chests and up to his sling, pinching the plastic clasp until it comes loose. But his left arm falls from its mesh prison and lands limp against his belly, so unceremoniously that you nearly freeze.

"Are you sure that you should be...?" There's no point in finishing your thought. Not when he's already trying to move, the corner of his eye scrunching as he slowly lifts it.

"'m just holdin' ya," carefully winding his arms around you. Loose, but they're there, strong and secure as they've always been.

Tires squeal somewhere on the street. So jarring that you hardly notice the way your ass comes flush with his lap, perfectly seated on top of him. Nothing left to take. There's still an ache between your legs, but even that cannot take away from how full you are of him. Stretched to your very limit. Couldn't hope to take another inch of him, even if you tried.

One of your hands rises to tangle in his hair, pulling just hard enough to draw his head back. Lips melting together in some kind of breathy dance that shouldn't even count as a kiss. It would have lasted longer if you had the patience, but you don't, already beginning to lift yourself. Only by an inch or two before falling back into his lap.

Lube squelches, sickeningly loud.

A selfish part of you hopes that every person in this city can hear it. Spitefully rising a little faster now. Eyes almost crossing as he rubs against the sensitive nerves along your walls, and you can feel yourself getting wetter around him.

"Fuck," Rhett's moaning against your mouth, "y' feel so good wrapped 'round me."

You'd ought to be talking too, but you can't find a damn word in your head. Literacy be damned, all you can think of is the way his fat cock sinks back into your throbbing cunt, so big that he can't help but massage against all those little sweet spots. Works a soft noise out of your throat, then another, and you don't think you can stop them from spilling off your tongue.

"Promise I won't..." Rhett's hips jerk up off the bed, meeting you midway with a little 'smack.' Then, trying again. "Promise I won't make ya ride me all weekend."

As if you've ever complained about riding a cowboy.

"What?" Searching for words. Ones that don't contain expletives or variations of his name. "Have plans to break in the table by the window?"

A puppy caught stealing food has been less obvious. Big blue eyes and swollen, parted lips, staring up at you as if he can't believe you could foil his plan. Has the audacity to make that dumb, whimpering noise; all he needs are the floppy ears and the wagging tail.

Your nails rake against his scalp, swallowing up his raspy cry with your own. In the back of your mind, you're vaguely aware that you've got your lubed hand in his hair, and that's not going to dry prettily. Especially not with the thin sheen of sweat clinging to his skin, shimmering in the golden glow of the bedside lamp, little beads of it collecting on his forehead.

His hips tilt back, arms pulling you the slightest bit forward and—

oh.

"Rhett," you whine, pitchy and drawing out the vowel. Little sparks of fire tingle up your spine, spasming so harshly around him that your body nearly stalls entirely. Fuck, and his cock head is kissing your g-spot head-on, nailing it with every stroke, sending a galaxy of stars glittering behind your vision.

"'m close, " Rhett's sputtering, his head shaking back and forth as if he can somehow ward it off, "darlin' 'm gonna..."

There's an ache in your thighs that wasn't there before, a wildfire burning deep in the muscle, the flames licking up your spine and into your lower belly. A heated coil winds tighter, but you can't stop moving. Chasing that broken rhythm, every fall of your hips punctuated by the lewd clap of skin against skin.

"Cum," it's the weakest order you've ever given in your life, pulling on the ends of his hair, desperate to hold on to something. "Cum for me, Rhett."

He's so close that you can hear the way the air catches in his throat as his eyes roll back. The arms around you shiver as he cums in you with a cry. Body jerking up into yours, and you can feel the way his cock twitches, painting your poor cunt with white, absolutely powerless to do anything but give it to you.

And your thighs are screaming for you to slow down, ache burning all the way down into your knees, but you just can't help yourself, too wrapped up in this dizzying up and down. Panting against his lips, lost in the sickly loud squelch of cum and lube.

"Fuck," grunting, Rhett's forehead knocks against yours, keening high in his throat, "fuck, fuck, fuck, you're still—"

He doesn't get to finish that, cut short by another whine. Sensitive. So, so sensitive. His hand squirms between your bellies, arm caught in a horribly awkward angle, a shivering thumb pressing against your clit.

Your whole body jerks, that fire roaring up into your face. "Hang on for me," leaning back onto your haunches just far enough for you to catch a breath of air that isn't his. "You can do it."

But his head is shaking like he doesn't think he can. Thumb spiraling against your clit like he's getting paid to do it, a wateriness building behind those big blue eyes. "Please cum," babbling, his thighs quaking beneath you, "please, please, please."

Maybe it's his thumb on your clit, or the dizzying massage of his cock against your g-spot, or maybe it's the babbling, but that coil in your belly is winding tighter and tighter. Rhythm crumbling into a jerky, impossible-to-control pace, skin prickling. And someone is shouting in the hallway, but you can't hear it.

Not when your ears are ringing from the smack of Rhett's thighs against your ass and his pitchy voice, chanting your name like it's the only thing he knows. Sweat and tears rolling down flushed cheeks, his shivering arm weakly cinching you into him.

His mouth clashes with yours, moaning into your mouth, and it's as if you've been thrust into heaven. Head spinning as your orgasm washes over you, cumming around his softening cock without a sound. Or maybe you are making noise, vaguely aware of the melody of whimpers tumbling off your tongue, a shiver rolling up your spine like an ocean wave.

Rhett's thumb is still going, working in loose circles that seem to push you higher and higher into the clouds, and you think you're about to float right on out to space. Can feel yourself falling to the side, weightless for the briefest moment, before a cloud rises to break your fall. Soft and warm and squishy, your very own bed, all the way up in the sky.

A warm wind tickles your nose.

Or maybe that's the breath of a cowboy. Doe-eyed, lips wobbling with a lazy grin, gazing back at you. The scruff of his facial hair tickles your skin as your hand curls around the side of his jaw, feeling the hard bone and soft fat hidden there. You're not entirely sure when you landed on your side or when he wrapped you up in his weary arms, but you're here, and he's so, so warm.

Another voice shouts from the hallway. Masking the squeal of the bed springs as you squirm closer. Rhett's head tilts, nose bumping into yours. A third shout appears, and you're fairly certain that it's a whole group, but you can't pay them any mind. Too lost in the eyes of this dumb cowboy, who's almost too eager and willing to throw everything away and go to the ends of the earth for you.

Your mind jumps back to the corner of the room. The hazy recollection of turning around to see him backing into the wall, face whiter than the paint, floundering like a fish out of water. You'd known something was off when he quit talking mid-drive, but that was...

Maybe he isn't ready to leave Wabang. Not right now, at least. Not when he's never spent more than a week away from his folks and has only ever known that tiny, minuscule town. Why did you never think of that?

Frankly, you're one screaming sports car away from abandoning the idea of leaving, too. At least the nights there were quiet and not...this.

"For what it's worth," your tongue feels too big, struggling to shape around the words, "I don't mind the idea of staying in Wabang."

His mouth opens, the corners of his lips rising before quickly falling shut. Then, opening his mouth again.

"Yeah?" That twenty-four karat smile working its way across his face. "You'll stay in that stuffy ol' town for me?" And either your ears are playing tricks on you, or you may have just heard a giggle bubbling out of him.

"Yeah," parroting him. There's more you should be saying; your reasoning behind changing your mind, asking what he thinks, about what his folks will say when you come back, but you can't be bothered to say that many words. The future version of you can have that conversation. "I don't see why not."

You blink, and suddenly, you're being pulled closer into some kind of makeshift hug that squishes your face into the crook of his sweaty neck. A good, long shower is what he needs, a faint stench of sweat meeting your nose, but again, you can't be bothered to try moving away.

"What changed your mind?" He's so close that you can hear the way his voice rumbles in his throat.

"A lot of things," saying anything more would require you to think. As if you didn't do enough of that in the passenger seat of his truck.

He hums, some grumbling noise that sounds like thunder rolling in the distance. "Was it that obvious that I ain't never done somethin' like this before?"

"Just a little bit," kissing the scar beneath his collarbone, the one from when he fell off a bull and got caught on a sharp horn. So much blood for such a small injury.

For a moment, the room is quiet. Just you and him, wrapped up in each other, tangled in these messy sheets. Two fingers walk across your back on their own little journey down the curve of your spine. Some mindless little thing that you can't help but mirror, using the knobs of his spine as stepping stones.

"Was a little excited for the whole wakin' up next to each other thing," he murmurs, fingers stopping at the base of your spine, the end of its imaginary road.

But you don't mind going off-road, making your way down the soft curve of his ass, pressing harder just to feel the way the fat gives. "We can still do that," grabbing a handful of it.

"My bed ain't that big, darlin'," snorting, Rhett leans back, sleepy blue eyes meeting yours once more, "'n we can only afford so many hotel rooms."

You don't think heeven fits in that bed, now that you think about it. Maybe he did when he was fourteen and hadn't been hit by that whirlwind of a growth spurt, but those long legs and broad shoulders aren't quite meant for a twin-size mattress. But by that logic, he also shouldn't fit in the bench seat of his truck...

"That little house on Floyd Street is up for rent again," you find yourself saying after a while.

Rhett must have learned to read your mind because you don't need to finish your sentence for that grin to appear once more. An apartment together should have been your first step, but who's keeping a record of things like that? Certainly, not you, and definitely not Rhett, too busy dipping his head down to rub your noses together.

"Think y' can help me wash my hair?" He whispers, brace scratching your skin as he tries to flatten his palm against your cheek, thumb swiping back and forth beneath your eye.

Your nod is all that he needs. Bones popping and cracking as he sits up, before sleep can begin to overtake him, flannel slipping from his shoulders and pooling around his waist. Miles upon miles of freckled, milky white skin, exposed in the blink of an eye, the left side stained by blotches of black, blue, and purple.

Kissing them won't make it any better, but you've already found yourself leaning up, mouth pressing to the darkest of them. His head tilts, hair tickling your face as you work your way up his shoulder, peppering over the swollen joint as if you can possibly kiss away his injury altogether.

"Kissin' it better?" He asks, red cheeks and all.

"Trying." Kiss. "Too." Kiss.

There would be a third, and a fourth, and a fifth, but Rhett's already turning around, catching your lips in his. Those big hands rise to cradle your cheeks, fingertips squishing into the fat of them, almost purring into your mouth. Your head is spinning again, senses tingling with the beginnings of something warm. Hazy.

The bed rises up to meet your back, and this cowboy obediently falls right along with you, legs parting to straddle your hips, palms still resting against your face. Weight settling on top of you, nothing but lean muscle and bone. The same cowboy who's a little too eager to jump the gun for you. The diamond to your gold. Sweet as honey.

And could really use a bath, but that can wait a few more minutes.

#rhett abbott x reader #outer range #oneshot #afab reader #rhett abbott

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 days

Text

As the World Turns 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, imbalanced power dynamics, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your new job takes you to new places with lots of new people.

Characters: Nick Fowler, Jonathan Pine, Lloyd Hansen

Note: I know I shouldn’t have done this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

“I might hear you out,” Mr. Hansen, or Lloyd, sits back as he slurps from a rounded class of cognac, “as long as you bring this pretty little thing along tomorrow.”

You chew quietly on a piece of lettuce and look around. You search the table for whatever he means, confused by the statement. Your eyes flick up to meet his and you gulp, realising he’s referring to you. Oh.

He called you pretty but it just feels off. You give a tight-lipped smile and reach for your sparkling water. He brings his hand over the top to stop you as Fowler sighs.

“She’ll keep the minutes,” your boss grumbles.

“How about some wine, baby face?” Lloyd leans forward.

“Uh, I don’t drink, thanks,” you answer sheepishly. You’d already told him as much but it hasn’t kept him from offering more than once.

“Boring,” he mutters and retracts his hand. “Gonna be a long vacation if you don’t loosen up.”

“She’s not on vacation, she’s working,” Fowler girds as he tosses his napkin on his plate. “You’re really gonna drag this out, aren’t you?”

“Drag what out?” Lloyd winks as he sits back, gripping one leg as his other sways.

��The deal.”

“You gotta wine and dine before you get between my thighs,” the other man taunts. “What’s for dessert?”

Fowler exhales slowly, jaw tense as he eyes the other man. You glance between them then over your shoulder. Maybe the server could bring the dessert menu.

“You know I don’t sleep well in a strange land without someone to keep me warm--”

“Cut it out,” Fowler warns his acquaintance harshly, “we got an early morning.”

His chair scrapes as he stands, drawing your attention back to the table. You feel like you might wilt as you meet the heat of Lloyd’s fervent gaze. He has an elbow beside his plate, his glass in his hand as he hovers it before his mouth and stares. He sips then pokes out his tongue in a way that makes you nervous.

Your wide eyes skirt over to your boss and you push yourself from your chair.

“Just like you to cut the fun short--”

“I was on a plane half the day, I don’t have the energy for you,” Fowler takes out his wallet and drops a wad of bills on the plate, “dinner’s on me.”

“And I’d like dessert on me,” Lloyd harrumphs and drains his glass, slamming it down on the stem as he lets out a heavy sigh. He stands and tugs at his belt without shame. You sidle away and push the chair in, staying close to your boss.

“We’ll talk more. I’m not leaving without a deal, Hansen.”

“We’ll see about that,” Lloyd slaps his chest and stifles a belch behind his fist, “guess I'll hit the massage parlour again.” He rolls his neck and winks at you, “stiff from the flight.”

“Come on,” Fowler ignores whatever inference his colleague makes and spins on his heel, then gestures to you, “let’s get going.”

“Oh, uh, yes, sir,” you turn to follow.

“Mmm, yes, sir,” Lloyd mimics in a purr as you prance off.

You tap out next to your boss as he checks his watch. He raises his hands to swipe over his face and hair. He must be just as tired as you. Your excitement has dwindled to a low thrum and you’re ready to keel over.

“I want my coffee at six. Got it?” He demands.

“Yes, sir.”

“Call the front desk, have them send breakfast too. We’ll be heading off early.”

“Yes, sir,” you echo again, barely keeping up with his fast march.

“And wear a dress,” he says.

Again, you affirm his command.

He stops before a pair of double doors; wood carve in intricate patterns. He faces you and exhales, “do not fuck Hansen.”

You’re stunned by the suggestion. You raise your brows and let your mouth fall open. You sputter and shake your head, “s-sir--”

“Just don’t,” he warns. “Flirt with him but nothing more. Trust me.”

“I wouldn’t--”

“I’m not asking about your preferences, I’m giving you an order,” he turns to the door and reaches into his pocket, pulling out his card, “good night.”

“Oh, er, good night, sir,” you back off awkwardly, still scalding from his assumption.

You click down the hall in your shoes and frown. Does he really think you would do that? He said himself, you’re on a business trip. Sure, Lloyd was forward and unfocused but you didn’t encourage him at all. To be fair, you didn’t catch half of what he meant.

You get to your room and stop, feeling around your clothing as your heart drops. Oh no! You can see the cards in your mind, sitting on the table inside the hotel room. Oh, gosh, you’re so stupid.

You turn and face the hallway behind you. Of course you would lock yourself out. For everything that went so smoothly on your first trip abroad, something was bound to go wrong. Well, you’d rather this than be stranded in the middle of no where.

You push away from the door and stroll back down the hall. You find your way back to the lobby. It's eerily empty as you peer around. The high ceilings are centered by a grand chandelier and the panels between the skylight panes are painted with elaborate patterns. The night peers down at your lone entrance, making the echo of your steps even more desolate.

You go to the counter and raise your hand over the bell, wary of disturbing the peace. You tap it lightly but the ding is deafening. You wince and cry out as a body pops up from behind the counter like a jack-in-a-box.

“Eek,” you touch your chest as the manager appears like an apparition.

“Pardon me,” he puts his hands on the counter, “I was only just sorting through some things. Didn't mean to startle you.”

“No, it's…it's fine,” you giggle as your fear dissipates, “I didn't expect such a quick response.”

“Always at your service, miss,” he address you by your last name. You're flattered he remembers you. “And so I must ask how I can be of assistance.”

“Right, er, this is kinda embarrassing,” you scrunch up your lips and look at the wall, “I locked my keys in my room.”

“Ah, well, that's not the end of the world,” he waves away your worry.

You notice his jacket is disposed, folded over the unusued chair on it's tall legs, and his shirt sleeves are rolled to his elbows. He must be used to solitary nights.

“I'll come let you in.” He reaches to his belt to pull out a white card, “now this is your first wish, you've only two more after.”

You furrow your brow curiously and he gives an awkward grin, “a joke, of course. This genie does not count favours.”

“Uh, thanks,” you murmur.

He comes out from behind the desk and gestures you to come with him. You catch up as he strides breezily across the lobby. Your eyes wander the extravagant interior and you drift off in your imagination. What it must be like to work here every day.

“And are you enjoying your time abroad thus far?” Jonathan asks.

You snap back to the present and chuckle nervously, “sure, I... it’s nice so far but I haven’t been here very long.”

“Mm, yes, well I do hope you find time among your business to explore. If you have an questions, I’d be happy to answer. I even have a few recommendations if you’re interested,” he offers.

“Oh, thanks so much,” you swallow a yawn and flutter your lashes. He glances over at you as he strides on.

“And did you enjoy the restaurant?” He prompts.

“Uh yes, the food was delicious,” you chime.

“I will let the chef know you said so,” he remarks, “if you are interested in the local cuisine, there is a shop not far from here which is a touch more genuine. Though I must warn you it is spicy fare.”

“I love spice,” you smile blink long as another yawn nestles at the base of your throat.

“Well, you will let me know when you try it if you like it,” he nears your door and brings the car up to slide through the slot, “you must be terrible exhausted.”

He pushes the door open and holds it with his long arm, “just a little,” you agree, “thanks so much.”

“Never to worry, these things happen,” he assures, “the nights are lonely and I don’t mind the task.”

You smile as you step under his arm and turn in the doorway, “have a good night.”

“You too, darling,” he returns, “be sure to put your key somewhere you won’t forget.”

“Oh, yes, thank you,” you bounce on your feet and grab the door handle.

He lets go and you shut the door gently. You give a big yawn and face the room. Thankfully, you left the lamp on. You leave your shoes by the door and rub your eyes as you stagger forward. You take out your phone to check your alarms and set it a bit earlier. You won’t be getting much sleep.

🌍

You have Mr. Fowler’s coffee in hand as you stroll up to his door. You double-checked at the counter to make sure you didn’t misremember. You check your watch as you approach. Ten to six. You’re early. He’ll be impressed. He’s not very fond of lateness though you’re yet to test that yourself.

You’ve done pretty well. You got yourself up, with help from a freezing cold shower to keep your eyes open, and you look pretty good. A peachy orange blouse and a grey skort. You’re ready for the day in your mary jane flats, sparing your arches the strain of heels.

You knock and call through the door, “sir, I have your coffee.”

You look at the cup. You had it made exactly as he always get. An americano with an extra shot. You think the caffeine is a bit much but you would never say so to him. He’s your boss, not the other way around.

“Mr. Fowler?” You knock again as you stand in the hall, “it’s going to go cold--”

The door opens suddenly and your fist nearly hits Mr. Fowler instead of the door. You retract and give a sheepish grin, “uh, good morning, sir,” you gulp. He has a towel crookedly clutched around his waist and he’s dripping wet. His stomach is hard and lined with muscle, tightly knotted and glistening with moisture.

“It’s not six,” he snarls.

“Sorry, sir, I'm early. Your coffee,” you extend your arm to offer him the cup, “they are bringing your breakfast shortly--”

He grumbles and takes the cup. You let it go, hovering at the threshold as he keeps one hand on the towel. He inhales the scent of the espresso and tastes it with a moan of relief. He kicks the door shut and it snaps in your face. You step back and flinch.

He’s right. You’re early. You caught him off-guard. That much is obvious. You can’t blame him for his mood. No one likes being interrupted during a shower. You back up and stand against the wall. You’ll wait. You have no choice. You know if you disappear, he’ll be even less pleased.

Room service arrives shortly after and knock. Mr. Fowler lets them in, ignoring you as you linger, and the hotel porter leaves shortly after. You sway on your feet and check the time.

Someone else might be annoyed but you’re too excited. The shine of the new place has yet to wear off. Even if you are working, the backdrop is enough to assuage any pitfalls.

You check the time several times as you pace in the hall. You flatten yourself to the wall as another hotel denizen passes. You’re a bit awkward lurking there. You start to worry someone might see you and get suspicious. It is a bit strange to just be staring at a door.

Before your doubts can get the best of you, the doors open and Mr. Fowler emerges in a white button-up and navy slacks. He forgoes his jacket and tie for the natural climate. His short hair is tidy and a light stubble trims his jaw. He checks the time on his wrist and signals with his index.

“The car?” He demands.

“The car,” you echo and your eyes flit back and forth.

“The valet has the rental,” he snarls, “did you call for it?”

“Sorry, sir, I...” you take out your phone and scroll, “I don’t see anything in the itinerary--”

“Get the car,” he demands.

“Yes, sir,” you wince and hurry ahead, “will do.”

You scurry out of his sight and clamour into the lobby. You search around and see a new face behind the counter. Jonathan must be done his shift. You ask about the valet and they point you outside.

You ask for Mr. Fowler’s car and wait near the ramp of the garage. You should’ve known. You booked the rental car and all that. You’re going to blame it on jet lag.

Mr. Fowler appears at an easy pace, a hand in one pocket and the other around his phone. He doesn’t look up as he approaches. He stops a few feet away and sighs, once more peeking at his silver watch.

“On it’s way, sir,” you assure him.

He slips his phone into his pocket and squints at you. You give a shaky smile. You hate when he looks at you like that. It feels like he’s judging you. Well, he definitely is.

“I told you to wear a dress,” he says as he reaches to touch the collar of your blouse.

“Oh, sorry, sir,” you blanch. You must have forgot amid your late night chaos. You feel a surge of panic and quickly check your purse. You have your keys. “Do you want me to go change?”

“It’s fine,” he turns you by your shoulders and pinches your top button. He undoes it and you try to look down at his hands, only to go cross-eyed. He clucks and undoes the next one, leaving the satin to hang low on your chest. “That will do.”

You resist the urge to redo the button and you shrug, trying to hike fabric higher on your shoulders. You are overtly aware of your cleavage. It’s not very professional.

“Sir,” you bring your phone up again, “I think my data isn’t working. I can’t see the itinerary.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he turns as a sleek black car pulls up before you, “just get in.”

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