#I can't stop this runaway train

[bananabasedidiot]

the start of the book of bill is legit so funny

WARNING: do not open this fucking book

Then it's all "Time to get weird y'all"

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH"

then bills all "I'm back baby! I said we'd meet again well here I am bitch!"

then this silly little Dorito has the gall to say he's fine. ahem are you so sure about that?

then he steals my blood. the end /j

you just know Stanley's spirit is metaphorically screaming in horror.

[fangsandfeels]

Rewriting Veilguard factions because I can:

Some things I'd have changed for each faction:

First of all, I'd introduce particular race restrictions for every faction because stop pretending they don't matter. The latter only destroys the unique specifics behind every race and its history in the world of Thedas.

Add extra background options for Rook related to their fraction for more roleplay and dialogue options. For instance, "noble" and "foundling" for the Mourn Watch, "new blood" and "veteran" for Grey Wardens, etc.

Remove the "Rook had to temporarily leave their faction because they did the thing and made the upper management mad" thing. Make their decisive action part of their bio, but not the reason for their participation in the main quest. Instead, let Rook to be actually entrusted by their group to get out there and find out what's going on - and end up cooperating with the Solas search group. Let whatever Solas is doing affect every fraction: spirits going stir-crazy in the Grand Necropolis, Lords of Fortune having to deal with Qunari and magical anomalies at the sea, not to mention increased dragon activity, weird elf disappearances in Treviso, Tevinter authorities growing more and more paranoid due to spike in elven slave rebellions (that Shadow Dragons had nothing to do with) and their rare magical artifacts going missing, Dalish elves hearing whispers and voices calling to them, Grey Wardens cooperating with the Inquisitor's initiative to find Solas and sending their volunteer (Rook) to assist. That would add more competence to their character.

Antivan Crows

I'll be frank: it should be Zevran's group, whatever he would call it. While Zevran is definitely not a good boy, he wouldn't make his trainees undergo the same torture he did.

Also, he'd hate the conditioning and brainwashing done by the Crows. So, Rook could have been one of the Treviso orphans already traumatized by the Antivan Crow training - until Zevran came into picture and, after killing the Crows, ended up with a bunch of fledglings on his hands. You can't exactly tell the younglings to go and be free, you have to teach them - while do something about them believing they're only good for killing. Due to this, Zevran ended up training them and getting that self-degrading bullcrap out of their heads. He didn't expect to have a guild of his own, but joke's on him, he is a leader now and now he is going to make Antiva a better place for his underlings.

Once again, it doesn't mean playing for the "good assassin guys", but if you want your morally gray faction, it will do nicely. Zevran isn't exactly a hero, but he is also not a total scumbag who buys people and makes child soldiers.

I can believe that he and his associates would actually be interested in organizing partisan movements around Treviso and killing occupants. After all, Zevran knows Quanri and their views better due to him traveling with Sten (from their interactions, I didn't get the idea that he was super into the Qun or comfortable with Sten's ideas), so he knows what exactly is going to happen to the Treviso denizens. Moreover, he is done with ANY attempts at brainwashing, will breaking, and reconditioning so he wouldn't stand for Qunari doing it, no matter their reasoning.

Available races: human, elf

Lords of Fortune

Just let them be pirates led by Isabela. Yes, the kind that doesn't care if the stuff they take belongs to another culture - because money. But also the kind that takes in runaway slaves and anyone else as long as they can keep up.

The kind that takes on merc jobs and also assists in defending Rivain because it's their territory - and for many, it's their home.

Rook starting out as a former escaped slave from Tevinter is a great template for both a merc with a heart and standards and an absolutely ruthless pirate who sees the world as the dog eat dog place.

Available races: all of them, Lords don't discriminate.

Veil Jumpers

I'd even change the name because it sounds so...not serious. Even Fade Stalkers sounds better (come on, writers, I see what you did with the Arlathan forest, you clearly wanted a fantasy version of S.T.A.L.K.E.R., so just embrace it).

Let this faction be created by one of the ancient elves who used to be stuck in the Fade, then got out - but were NOT happy with Solas, don't want to follow him and don't trust him to fix things. The Evanuris once led them and they ended up enslaved, why should they trust Solas and his good intentions, especially if he claims to be the one to fix and restore the world? So they don't.

They don't see the point in "burn it down and rebuild again" because they already have the bitter experience: so they would rather try their chances with what they have right now, by equipping their people with information and truth.

So, they manage to gather the Dalish people willing to believe and follow them, seeking to educate them and teach them on using magic and tools long forgotten and salvage whatever is left of their heritage, only now with the knowledge of using it.

The most difficult faction to gain approval for if you're not an elf: because some leaders are willing to cautiously cooperate, while others think that Felassan was right and that this world was so much better without humans, dwarves, or Qunari.

Available races: the elf only club.

Shadow Dragons

The in-game faction is mostly fine, aside from the game trying to make it look like Venatori are the only ones who want them dead. No, Shadow Dragons are beefing with the entire Magisterium (aside from Dorian and Maevaris' party) and are depicted as an extremely violent terrorist group both within and outside Tevinter, with only slaves and low-class citizens actually believing in their cause and hoping for their assistance.

Because this is what a corrupt government does - invest in smear campaigns so vile and vicious that you have to be prepared to debunk numerous myths about your group and cause before engaging with people.

This should be particularly painful if you, as a Shadow Dragon, interact with people outside Tevinter because given the real life experience with westerners, people living in safe and privileged first-world countries would rather gobble up the comfortable and refined lies spread by your enemies than listen to you, someone who was oppressed and hurt by your enemy.

Realistically, a Shadow Dragon Rook would have to facepalm their way through the ridiculous shit like "Don't you guys kidnap slaves from their cozy kennels only to forcefully conscript them to your army?" or "Aren't you guys just a bunch of mercenaries sponsored by one of the Senate parties to undermine its political opponents?" or "You're just part of the Par Vollen and Tevinter war. Do you think I'm stupid and don't know you're on the Qunari payroll?" or "All you want to do is to escalate and spread chaos, don't even try to do it here".

Another realistic issue for Shadow Dragons should be dodging Qunari spies. Because, lets be honest: Par Vollen would want to exploit that vulnerability in their continuous war with Tevinter. They would try to offer assistance to Shadow Dragons in order to find a way to weaken and conquer Tevinter or get their hands on secret information.

But since Shadow Dragons want to change their government, abolish slavery and the horrible political system, they don't want to do it at the cost of getting subjugated by the Qunari. So, they have to be extremely careful when picking their agents, making sure they aren't just conveniently placed Ben-Hassrath.

Available races: human, elf, dwarf, Kossith

Grey Wardens

Generally the most involved faction ever since the events of the Inquisition. First of all, where is one taint-corrupted ancient magister, there is two or even three of them. After the Adamant Fortress, they can't allow themselves to be inactive - if exiled from Orlais, they need to make up for this disaster and prevent any further manipulations, if allowed to stay and rebuild, they work closely with the Inquisitor and provide assistance with the search for Solas. Probably, not all of them are aware of the Solas' true nature - they're only given information that he is a much more powerful mage than anyone imagined and that he was the one who released Corypheus and plans for another disaster.

The First Warden is aware of the full story, but pretends to be skeptical for the sake of not arising suspicions (in case Solas' spies are around).

They should also experience issues with some of their elven Wardens suddenly leaving (you can't tell me that elf Wardens won't be tempted with a promise of never succumbing to the Calling) and detect suspicious darkspawn activity.

Available races: all, with Kossith and elves getting extra race interactivity bonuses.

Mourn Watch

The faction and its representatives are generally fine in the game, I just wish there was Cassandra to make disgusted noises at the Mourn Watcher Rook.

Imagine dodging interactions with Nevarran Mortalitasi to the point of appointing a random apostate bum as your Fade expert, only to work with a fucking Mourn Watcher because that bum you hired to be your Fade expert turned out to be a freaking elven god who started all that shit.

The irony is fucking delicious.

Aside from that, I think that Mourn Watch should be the mage-only faction because a) the order is founded by Mortalitasi, who are mages, b) what are the non-mage Watchers even supposed to do when working with spirits and the undead?

They have no tools or means of interacting with them, which means they can end up dead. It's not logical for Watchers to allow a non-mage in their ranks for the inclusivity sake, exposing them to a constant risk and knowing that the mages will be held responsible for the imminent tragedy. I imagine there is non-mage personnel at the Grand Necropolis, but I don't think they're entrusted with the same secrets and duties.

Also, there should be an option to choose between "foundling" and "noble". The foundling!Rook can have a particularly close connection to the spirits, which allows them to single-handedly calm the undead during the War of the Banners, while the noble!Rook has an established family, much more political connections and is well-versed in diplomacy and negotiations, which allowed them to trick the undead barons and put them down when they least expected it

Available races: human, elf

Bonus: new faction idea

Kal-Sharok

Give more exposure to the Titans and the dwarven connection to Stone through the perspective of the Kal-Sharok dwarves. In DAI, they were already shown carrying out their own operations and cooperated with the Inquisition on their own conditions. So, I can't imagine them not being active, especially if they are at least partially aware of the history of Titans and the Evanuris.

Rook can start as one of the Kal-Sharok agents (probably acting undercover at first), and to them stopping or even meeting Solas is of a particular priority because he holds the key to the history of the dwarves, their connection to lyrium, and many other things. This Rook is looking for the truth - and ultimately can decide, whether they should use their knowledge for advancing Kal-Sharok exclusively or should they reconnect Kal-Sharok, surface dwarves and Orzammar because they share the same past and the same trauma.

Also, a Kal-Sharok Rook can have unique mage classes if they're the one with connection to the Stone.

Available races: only dwarves

[shinestarhwaa]

GETAWAY CAR || WOOYOUNG

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff

Pairing: Wooyoung x Fem reader

Word Count: 3K

Tags/Warnings: Strangers to lovers, runaway bride y/n, roadtripper Wooyoung, toxic relationship (not woo), corruption, a looot of things wrong with y/n's ex, single bed trope, sexual assault, trauma, traumabonding, oral sex, dirty language, protected sex, praise kink, fingering, biting kink

Taglist: @anyamaris @a-soft-hornytiny @whatudowhennooneseesyou @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @woosanbby @dreamlesswonder86 @changbinslovelylegs @jonghostie @lovjensoo @mjyungi @bratty-tingz @sugarnspice630 @stardragongalaxy @bro-atz @wisejudgedragonhairdo @mingisg00dgirl @vesvosmozhno @therealcuppicake @unholywriters @enbymingi @jjoongstar

ENJOY!

You swore you had never ran this fast before in your life. An occasional jogging session in the park? Sure. Played hide and seek at the age of 7 on the playground? Totally.

But you were sure this must be some kind of personal record. You cursed yourself for picking a big ass ballgown because man, it was heavy just wearing it. And now you were carrying it as you fled the church.

You were breathing so fast you thought you might have a panic attack but you also knew if you stopped now they'd find you in no time. The white heels were slightly too tight but you ran in them nonetheless, surprising yourself with this newfound talent.

Suddenly you noticed a big black van across the street and before thinking you made your way over there. There was a young man inside, handsome, you could already tell. Could be hurt you? Kill you? Yeah, possibly. Likely. But you tapped the window nonetheless.

The guy rolled down the window and raised his eyebrow, watching a young woman with sweat dripping from her forehead and obviously wearing a huge wedding dress cling to the door of his van.

"Can I help you? Drive you to a wedding, perhaps?" He grinned.

"I'm running away from it, actually. Please, I need to get in. I can't marry him, I need... Need to get in."

You looked at him with pleading eyes, grasping the door so tight your knuckles turned white. He looked concerned for a second but he nodded, hopping out of the van and opening the door on the passenger's side.

As you stepped inside and took a seat, the guy helped stuffing your train into the vehicle with you. He slammed the door and sat back behind the wheel. "A runaway bride, huh?"

"Yeah. I don't care where you're going, just drive somewhere, anywhere is better than this horrendous town," you shuddered. "Got ya," he said before starting the car. You took deep breath, calming down from the sprint you took.

"I'm Wooyoung, I'm bored so I am roadtripping" the guy said as he drove out of town, entering the highway. "Y/N," you breathed out, "professional runaway bride."

He laughed, startling you with some kind of witchy-noise or whatever the hell it was. "May I ask what the story is? I love a good story time."

You sighed and brushed your hair out of your face. "Well, I was supposed to marry this guy. This... business guy who I dated for years. This guy I completely wasted my youth on."

"Was he that bad?" Wooyoung asked. You scoffed and rolled your eyes. "Do you have a minute?" "Spill the beans," he said, nodding his head. "He's 7 years older, to start with. He corrupted me, being my first everything basically. We got together when I was 16, he was 23 and I was too in love to notice how wrong that was. No one around me cared, honestly. My parents and his parents are business partners and very good friends and that's how we met."

Wooyoung nodded again, understanding the moral of the story. "They just wanted you to marry well to look good, didn't they?"

You sighed. "That's right. They were planning a huge church wedding for us and it was all so overwhelming. Over the past months I realized I wasn't in a loving relationship. I've been stuck in a trap where I was going to be used as a maid with an available womb. A woman to clean the house, cook, do whatever he wants me to and birth 6 sons or whatever."

"That sounds awful, I'm glad you saw the light, for real." "Me too. I don't know what I'm gonna do now. I don't think I can ever have a functioning relationship with my parents again, or even look them in the eyes. I might need to move continents," you grinned.

"Solid idea, running away from problems is also my solution to everything."

"Oh yeah? What is your story?"

"Well," Wooyoung started, "mostly my family's high expectations of me. They want me to be a lawyer or a doctor but... I don't know. I wanna see the world. I wanna be free."

There was a sense of deep sadness in that last sentence, changing the ambience inside the van. You figured everyone dealt with their own problems as well.

"You felt trapped too?" You asked him, looking at him. He nodded. "I felt trapped too."

•♡○♡○♡•♡○♡•

After an hour of driving Wooyoung parked at a motel. "Really?" You asked him as you looked at the place in disgust. "Well, I'm no billionaire, Y/N." You nodded and followed him inside, where he bargained for a room.

"Congratulations on the wedding," the woman behind the desk said with a bright smile. Not having the energy to explain your story you thanked her and followed Wooyoung to your shared motel room.

It wasn't pretty, or luxurious like you were used to but it did the job. "I'm sorry she said she only has this room, no rooms with two single beds or anything," Wooyoung apologized.

You nodded and sat down on the bed. "I honestly don't care. I just need to sleep." Wooyoung nodded and patted your shoulder lightly. "I'm going to use the bathroom for second," he said before excusing himself.

When Wooyoung came back you were lying on your back, fast asleep. He felt sad, looking at you laying in the motel bed on your wedding day. He looked around in his bag and pulled out some cash money before exiting the room to buy some essentials.

The next morning you woke up, but Wooyoung wasn't next to you. Where did he go? Did that fucker abandon you? You sat up and looked around and noticed Wooyoung bought a bottle of water, a sandwich and a dress for you to wear. You felt tears burn in your eyes and suddenly it was hard to breathe. Pushing away your feelings, you got ready.

Half an hour later you left the room with the dress in your arms. You walked over to the van and noticed Wooyoung sitting inside it with the back doors open. "Hey," he said with a smile. "Hi, what are you doing here? Why did you get me a dress?"

"I couldn't possibly let you wear that wedding dress any longer so I got some from a convenience store last night. And... I slept here." "In the van? On that matrass? Jesus Wooyoung, we had a bed you know." "I couldn't sleep next to you. You're a woman, you were supposed to get married and... I... I didn't want to bother you or make you uncomfortable."

Tears burned in your eyes again and you sight, laying the dress in the van, next to the matrass. "Thank you, I appreciate it..." you mumbled, "Where are we going now? Do we have a plan?"

"Do I look like I plan these things?" He grinned, getting up from the van and closing the backdoor before sitting behind the wheel. You got in too and whipped out your phone, but as you suspected it was dead. Maybe that was for the best anyway.

Later on you and Wooyoung had driven for hours and it was time for a break. You got to know each other well and you thought he was surprisingly fun. It was around 2PM when you got out of the car after whining about being hungry for about 2 hours. You were leaning against the car door while Wooyoung went into the shop at the gas station to get you something to eat and drink.

Wooyoung had only been gone for a few minutes when a guy came up to you. He looked slightly crooked and he gave you an eerie feeling. Uncomfortable, you shifted a little bit and looked around, trying to spot people around you but it was quiet.

"Hey there, gorgeous," the man spoke in a low voice that gave you goosebumps. And not the good kind. You cringed when you smelled the alcohol on his breath. "Hi," you said, trying to sound brave and confident. "Are you all alone here princess?" "Princess?" You scoffed.

"Well aren't you a little princess? I could surely treat you like a princess in bed," he smirked, getting closer. Your body froze and your eyes widened as you felt the man's hands on you. Just when the man was about to touch your chest he got pulled away.

Wooyoung.

"What the hell are you doing man?" He yelled. The man stumbled and fell down, groaning and yelling something that you couldn't understand. Wooyoung nearly pushed you into the van before getting in himself, driving off quickly. He tossed a little plastic bag filled with drinks and snacks into your lap.

"Geez, I'm sorry that happened, did he go far?" "N-no it's okay," you whispered. You wanna be brave about this but the idea of what could have happened if Wooyoung came back a little later. No one else would have been around. "I got scared when I walked out of the shop and saw that man by my van. Then I realized why I didn't see you. That perverted freak was towering all over you. So, I ran. I was not gonna let that happen to you too."

Too? What did he mean by that? You shrugged off the thoughts and thanked Wooyoung before eating one of the sandwiches from the shop. Wooyoung turned back to the highway, driving further to your next stop.

There was a nice little inn right next to the road and you decided to stay the night there. The inn also contained a little restaurant where you were seated, enjoying a nice homecooked meal. You were feeling a little cold, so Wooyoung had thrown his jacket over your shoulders. It hardly worked but the thought of it warmed your heart.

"Wooyoung?" You started when you finished your meal. He nodded and looked up, his eyes finding yours. "What did you mean when you said you didn't want that to happen to me too? Why the too?"

Wooyoung swallowed thickly and sighed, slightly dropping his head before looking at you again. "Because it happened to me, a few years ago. This person... cornered me, before they tried to kiss me and feel me up while I said I didn't want them to. I felt horrible after that and I don't want you to feel that way too. You already have enough family and wedding drama, you don't need assault drama to go with it."

You took Wooyoungs hand and gently squeezed it. "Thank you for sharing that, Woo." Wooyoung kindly smiled and assured you it was all good, and that he's just glad that you are alright.

That night you learned about Wooyoung's playful side after having a couple shots with him in the hotelroom. "So what's your bodycount?" He had asked. "Excuse meee? What kind of question is that!" You yelled, nearly punching him in the face. "Hey I am just curious. I'll tell you mine! It is-" "I do not need to hear it Woo! Fine. It's 1, duh."

"You've only slept with that dickhead?" "Well I was 16 when we got together so yeah?" "Was he any good?"

You sighed and rolled your eyes. "Well I don't really have any comparison? I don't know. I don't really miss it I guess? I like the idea of it but I don't necissarily enjoyed it that much?"

"I bet he didn't use his dick right." "Wooyoung, please."

"I'm serious!" Wooyoung said as he got up. "He probably had no idea how to pleasure a woman. How to make her feel loved and safe while at the same time make her scream out your name and completely ruin her."

Your cheeks heated up when he spoke those words and your eyes scanned Wooyoungs body, unintentionally. "What's that like?" You asked, sounding a little too innocent for your liking.

"Want me to show you?"

Your breath hitched in your throat. You remember what you'd heard people say one day: nothing good starts in a getaway car. Maybe you should run. Maybe you should not travel around with Wooyoung, a stranger. That is what you told yourself. But your heart said differently. Wooyoung wasn't just a stranger. He's your savior. It doesn't matter that he's not perfect, that he is on the run, that he has issues left to work out. He drove your getaway car when you needed it the most. He saved you from a life of unhappiness. You weren't unsafe with him.

And this thought made you fall.

You pulled him on top of you and pressed your lips on his, tasting the alcohol the two of you drank earlier. You weren't drunk but you sure felt lightheaded when Wooyoung slightly bit your lip. He grinned playfully as he slid his knee inbetween your thighs.

His knee gently rubbed against your clothed crotch and you whimpered into his mouth, grinding yourself on it instantly. Wooyoung pulled back from the kiss and his hands skimmed across your clothed breasts. "What a naughty little girl," he smirked, pushing his knee slightly harder into your crotch. You moaned when it triggered your clit, making your cunt clench around nothing.

"Wooyoung, please," you sighed softly. Wooyoung nodded and shifted your dress up to your waist, pulling down your panties. He got on his knees in front of the bed and pulled you closer to the edge, legs over his shoulders as he buried his face into your warmth.

You winced when you felt his teeth graze your clit before sucking lightly on it. "I'm gonna treat this pretty pussy so well, gonna make you come like he never has," he spoke. "H-he's never used his mouth on me so that is a given," you said in a breathy voice.

Wooyoung looked at you, surprised. He kept eye contact as he kept sucking on your sensitive clit, one of his fingers slowly entering your wet hole. Soon enough he slid in a second, pumping and curling them right where you liked it. Wooyoung paid attention to your facial expressions and body language to see what would make you go crazy.

When he started to fuck you with his fingers, his lips and tongue still attached to your clit you started to moan louder, unable to contain the moans that erupted from your throat. The way he pleasured you was nearly poetic. It was calculated, but heartfelt. He knew what he was doing. He knew what he wanted to say. What he wanted you to feel.

You felt your core tighten and you knew you were about to come soon. When you announced your nearing orgasm to Wooyoung he didn't stop. He kept going, ready to take the arousal that you'd give him.

This orgasm was like nothing you had ever experienced before. It started slowly and it was building up until everything crashed down and it seemed to go on endlessly, until Wooyoung pulled away from you. "That's it, that's a good girl," Wooyoung spoke.

You took a deep breath before propping yourself up on your elbows, looking into Wooyoungs eyes. Your dress had slipped down slightly, one of your nipples being visible ever so slightly. It was a sight to behold to Wooyoung. Nothing he had ever seen before felt this erotic. The prettiest, sensitive pussy right there on display for him, the fucked out look on your face. It drove him insane and he had to have you now.

Wooyoung took a condom from his bag and stripped himself bare. You were surprised to see the tattoos on his skin. You wanted to admire them but Wooyoung had put on his condom and lifted up your legs, calves resting against his chest. You nodded quickly, giving him consent to do whatever it was that he wanted to do to you.

Gently, he pushed into your cunt, spread open wide for him. "Oh, Woo!" You cried out when he started moving inside you. You were feeling sensitive after your orgasm and his pelvis brushed against your clit slightly with every thrust.

"That feels so good, k-keep doing that!" You whimpered when he picked up his pace and force. Wooyoung grunted and bit into the skin of your lower leg to surpress his moans. You whined loudly and grabbed the sheets tight into your fists, squeezing until your knuckles turned white.

Something about not being able to see your entire body but still getting the honor of being inside you and rocking your world did something to Wooyoung. It certainly did not take long before he felt himself get close, so he slowed down but immediately you begged him for more.

"Give it to me, give me everything, please!" You begged him, squirming underneath him as he leaned down more. He pounded into you and moaned out your name, his eyebrows furrowed.

"W-Wooyoung please come for me, please come, say my name," you panted out when you felt Wooyoung twitch inside your pussy. Only seconds later Wooyoung screamed out your name, spurting his seeds into the condom.

Wooyoung leaned back and spread your legs a little more so he could reach your clit. He moved his fingers over your sensitive, swollen clit and it only took a minute before you came again with Wooyoungs name on your lips.

He pulled his thick cock out of you and discarded the condom, throwing it in the trash. He placed you properly on the bed before kissing your head and making sure you're doing well.

"That was incredible," you breathed out, "you made me cum twice!"

Wooyoung laughed and stroked your hair. "Well that should be the standard." You grinned and nodded, laying your sleepy head on Wooyoungs chest. Maybe not everything about that getaway car is bad. Maybe something good can come out of it after all.

[thenanbakacorner]

Hello! I'm glad to see you here again I hope you're well ^^ I was wondering if I could request some headcanons of Hajime, Upa, Liang and Samon from a female reader who gets along very well with children. As if one day they found her consoling or playing with the son of any guard and they simply caught baby fever. Thanks.

Sure thing!! I love writing stuff about kiddos,,

* * *

🦍 Hajime 🦍

Hajime never really entertained the idea of children. For one, the two of you were already busy as it was with work, and Hajime never really thought he'd be great dad material. But boy, does that change one fateful day..

It's a usual day at work and his usual business, making his rounds around the building to make sure everyone's staying in line, traps are working, etcetera.

As he makes his way through a hallway he picks up on the sound of a child crying nearby. Heading to the fork in the halls and turning right, he sees you there, on one knee and petting the child's back, your soft voice comforting them gently.

For a bit Hajime just stands there, watching. Then you pick up the child and hold them against your chest, turning to notice Hajime there and smiling with a greeting and an explanation.

Apparently the child, whom is the son of one of the guards, had snuck off from his mother earlier and gotten lost.

Hajime didn't think the image of you holding a young child would set off certain neurons in his brain which made him imagine that child being his own with you.

That image keeps him up at night for more days than he could tolerate and soon enough, he's asking you how you'd feel about being the mother of his kids.

🧘 Upa 🧘

Being a dedicated Qigong Master, Upa never once had the thought of being a dad cross his mind. He found the idea to be too unimportant or even just distracting compared to his goals in life.

That and honestly, he couldn't stand hearing kids cry and throw fits. It always annoyed him.

One day while out training in the courtyard, one of the guards has their kid with them, letting them play, and of course, Upa is irked by the tot's squeaky voice distracting his training.

The kid ends up tripping on a loose root and starts wailing. Upa groans, but you on the other hand, run over and help the child to their feet, gently dusting off the knees and shushing them.

Upa finds himself staring a bit longer than he'd have thought he would as you rub their sore elbows, thumb away their tears, gently squishing their cheek in an attempt to make them giggle..

He doesn't realize he's blushing a bit until Liang asks him if he's feeling alright cause he's looking flushed

Upa mentally curses you for managing to make the idea of children actually seem tolerable and something he could want one day when out of prison with you

🍑 Liang 🍑

For the majority of his life, Liang has never really been around kids or interacted with them. Though he's sure during his time in the mafia where he was sicked on people, he must've orphaned a child or two. And the idea broke him.

Cause while he may not have been around children that much, he can't lie; he's got a soft spot for them.

Every now and then kids of guards show up at Nanba with their mothers, but today happened to be take your kid to work day, so there were a few.

He, his cellmates and you were running along the exercise track, not paying much attention to anything else. That is until you spotted a child running off from his dad.

You stopped to help the guard catch the runaway kid, taking the boy's hand and leading them back to the very thankful guard.

Liang ended up stopping so he could look back at you as you knelt down and gently explained to the child why running from daddy is not good and scooted them into his arms.

Thoughts of how good you were with the child bloomed into wondering how you'd be with a child you had with him.. then wondering why the hell he thought of that and having a blush attack.

🐒 Samon 🐒

Since you and Samon started dating he's actually thought of having kids several times, and those thoughts only grew once married to you.

But he never really got the guts to actually ask you about it, monkey man was too worried he'd disturb you

You can imagine his surprise when he sees just how good you are with kids one day

He just so happened to stop by a guard room that you were staying at, and when he questioned why you had a young child sitting on your lap, you explained that the guard had to run elsewhere quick and you were tasked with watching the kid for him

As Samon took care of the business he had at the room, filling out some paperwork, he couldn't stop his eyes from glancing up at every little giggle and laugh that came out of the child as you played with them.

Realizing you seemed to like kids just as much as he liked the idea of having them with you, it sent off fireworks in his brain and completely derailed his focus on work.

He finally had the balls he previously lacked to ask you about children by the time you both got through your front door.

[autumn-hiraeth]

I saw your other fanfic about hobie and was wondering if you could do a fluff about that one scene were he says “ just for the record I quit “ can u do a fanfic about that

Stay safe drink water 🥰❤️

helloo, anon! 🎐 Hope you like it <3!

Runaways!

Hobie brown x reader

just fluff. drabble.

a/n: Hobie brown my beloved <3 find more here. " Hobie's masterlist"

You know Miguel is wrong, in fact, you've never seen him so upset in all the time you have known him and you also know that nothing Miles say to him will change his mind.

Miguel is so committed - obsessed - with canon events and that's the main reason you and hobie have to be "secret lovers".

Your train of thought stop when your lover, Hobie, kisses you on the neck as he pull you in, he likes it that way, your body against his.

"we should leave, luv" he whispers against the shell of your ear " we need to finish what we started in the morning" Hobie loves to tease you; he knows you wanna be discreet but it's so hard to keep his hands to himself.

Hobie likes physical contact, a lot.

"Hobie, my sweetheart, I can't" you reply and although Hobie loves it when you call him that, it's not the answer he's expecting.

"You're smarter than this Y/n, you and I know that this bullshit doesn't suit you " each word is pronounced after a soft kiss on your neck, Hobie brown knows how to distract you from such a tense moment.

"Then why are you still here?" His hand holds your jaw and gently turn your head so you can see his pretty eyes. His eyes that looks prettier when he looks only at you.

"Isn't it obvious?" he scoffs as if the answer was so simple.

"Dunno, do you like to bother Miguel?" you tease.

" 'm still here 'cuz I have to take care of my pretty girl" he says before pressing his soft lips against yours, you press closer against his body, making him sigh happily. His tongue slides into your mouth and his hips gently bump against yours.

You know Hobie so well you know if you keep kissing him he'll take you right there and he knows you so well he knows you'd take it.

So you break the kiss.

"Really? I thought I was the one who took care of you"

"Let's just say it's mutual" he murmurs and you hum, giving him another kiss on his soft lips. Your heart melts for all the love he gives you.

"Then take me home, Hobie" you whisper making him kiss you once more.

The kiss broke just as Miles escapes.

"Just for record, we quit" Hobie says before holding onto your waist and disappearing together.

[xtra7s]

First, I love your work!

Second Clicking ont the yes baby button made me feel things !

Third I was wondering if you could write about Leighton or Renée who has an hidden anxiety disorder

Thanks ♤

𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦

Leighton Murray x Fem!reader

Synopsis: Your girlfriend Leighton is struggling.

Content: Anxiety attacks, fem reader, ummm idk fluff

Word Count: 1.1k

a/n: LOVE REQUEST SO MUCH HOPE I DID IT WELL IM SORRY ITS SHORT (Glad the button made u feel things)

masterlist

Leighton's heart raced like a runaway train, each beat reverberating through her chest like a drumbeat of impending doom. She stared blankly at the pages of her math textbook, the equations and formulas blurring together into an indecipherable mess. No matter how hard she tried to focus, her mind refused to cooperate, consumed instead by a rising tide of panic.

"I can't do this," Leighton whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own ragged breaths. "fuck I can't do this."

She raked a hand through her hair, tugging at the perfectly styled blonde locks in frustration. This wasn't like her. Leighton Murray was known for her sharp intellect and unwavering confidence, especially when it came to academics. But now, faced with the looming specter of failure, she felt utterly powerless.

The fluorescent lights of the college dorm hallway cast a stark glow on the beige walls, as Bela, Leighton's roommate, hurriedly dialed Y/N's number. She could hear the faint sound of Leighton's pacing from the other side of the door, mixed with the irregular rhythm of her breaths.

"Come on, pick up," Bela muttered under her breath, anxiety lacing her voice as she waited for the call to connect.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Y/N answered. "Bela? What's up?"

"Y/N listen, something's wrong with Leighton. She's freaking out about something. I don't know what to do."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at the urgency in Bela's voice. Leighton was known for her impeccable composure, if she was hyperventilating over something, it had to be serious.

"I'm on my way," Y/N said without hesitation, grabbing her jacket and keys before rushing out of her own dorm room.

Minutes later, Y/N knocked on the door of Leighton and Bela's room, her heart pounding in her chest. Bela opened the door, her eyes wide with concern as she stepped aside to let Y/N in.

Leighton was pacing around her room, her usually perfectly styled blonde hair in disarray, and her hands shaking as she clenched and unclenched her hands.

"Leighton, hey," Y/N said softly, crossing the room to grab ahold of Leighton's hand softly, stopping the pacing. "What's going on? Why are you so worked up?"

Leighton looked up, her blue eyes swimming with panic and vulnerability. "Y/N, I… I don't know what to do. My brain is all scrambled and I can't memorize these formulas for shit I don't know what's wrong with me."

Y/N's heart broke at the sight of Leighton's distress. She smiled sadly at her, offering a reassuring squeeze to her hand.

"Hey, look at me," Y/N said, her voice steady and soothing. "You are more than capable, Leighton. You're brilliant, and you know this stuff. I know you do, you're quite literally the smartest girl on campus."

Y/N noticed Leighton's breathing picking up, and she gently guided Leighton to sit down on the edge of her bed.

"Hey, it's okay," Y/N said soothingly, her voice a beacon of calm in the storm. "Just breathe with me, alright?"

Leighton nodded shakily, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. Y/N settled down beside her, taking Leighton's trembling hands in her own and guiding them to her chest.

"Feel my breath," Y/N instructed, her voice soft and reassuring. "Inhale… and exhale."

Together, they began to breathe in tandem, the steady rise and fall of Y/N's chest a comforting rhythm against Leighton's fingertips. With each breath, the tight knot of tension in Leighton's chest began to loosen, replaced instead by a sense of peace and calm.

As they continued the exercise, Y/N whispered words of encouragement, her voice a gentle melody soothing Leighton's frazzled nerves. And with each passing moment, the storm raging inside Leighton began to subside until all that remained was the quiet serenity of the present moment.

"Better?" Y/N asked, her eyes searching Leighton's for any sign of distress.

Leighton nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Thank you, Y/N," she said, her voice filled with gratitude. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Y/N smiled back, her heart swelling with love for the girl sitting beside her. "You don't have to do anything alone, Leighton. I'm here for you, always."

Leighton's breathing began to slow as she focused on Y/N's comforting words. With each steady inhale and exhale, the tension in her body began to ease.

After the storm of panic had passed, their fingers stayed intertwined as they basked in the calmness that filled the room. But amidst the tranquility, Y/N couldn't shake the nagging concern that had been gnawing at her since she first saw Leighton in distress.

"Leighton," Y/N began softly, her voice barely above a whisper, "do you… do you have an anxiety disorder? I'm so sorry if that's rude to ask, I've just noticed you get really.. panicked sometimes."

Leighton's breath hitched at the question, her eyes widening in surprise. She hadn't expected Y/N to pick up on the underlying issue so quickly, let alone address it so directly.

"Yeah," Leighton admitted hesitantly, her voice tinged with vulnerability. "I do."

Y/N's brow furrowed in concern as she faced Leighton, her expression a mixture of empathy and confusion. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

Leighton looked away, her gaze fixed on a spot on the floor as she struggled to find the right words. "I guess… I guess I was scared," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Scared that you would think less of me, or that you wouldn't understand."

Y/N reached out and gently lifted Leighton's chin, guiding her to meet her gaze. "Leighton, I could never think less of you," she said earnestly, her eyes filled with sincerity. "You're still the same amazing person I fell in love with, anxiety disorder or not."

Leighton's eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she absorbed Y/N's words, her heart overflowing with gratitude for the unwavering love and acceptance she found in Y/N's embrace.

"Thank you," Leighton whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Y/N smiled softly, leaning in to press a tender kiss to Leighton's forehead. "You never have to face anything alone, Leighton. I'm here for you, always."

And as they sat together in the quiet intimacy of Leighton's room, surrounded by the gentle warmth of their love, Leighton knew with unwavering certainty that no matter what challenges life threw their way, as long as she had Y/N by her side, she could weather any storm.

[bodybeyondstories]

story prompt: A tailor has the power to enchant clothes to change the wearers body and does so when clients have unreasonable asks. like a guy with a flat butt ask for pants that flatter his rear so the tailor inflates his butt out of proportion…that kind of thing

My first thought with this was what if there was some sort of less than ethical business model based on forming a runaway positive feedback loop where someone had to keep coming back to have clothes altered and then ended up altered in some way, which would be fun to write eventually. Here I riffed on some classic careful-what-you-wish-for ass expansion.

1313 words

_____________

"You might have to adjust the seat a little, I've been hitting leg day pretty hard." Danny glanced down at me with an expectant smirk as I ran the measuring tape across his backside.

"Whatever you say, Cake Boss," I said, pretending the number wasn't exactly what it always was. "I might need to run and get a few more yards of fabric for this dump truck."

"Big butts are in style and I need to show off these gains." He swung his hips back toward the mirror to check himself out, eyes focusing expectantly on an unremarkable backside.

Are the gains in the room with us now? I thought, chuckling out loud.

Danny and I were good friends, and as such, he occasionally took advantage of the very generous friends and family discount for my tailoring services. This time, he wanted to get his suit refitted for the upcoming commitment ceremony of our mutual friends and favorite throuple, Jean, Gene, and Jerome, who were officially, begrudgingly, tying the three way knot. He had been through my shop no less than six times in the past several months, begging for an adjustment of this or that pair of trousers in anticipation of whatever new workout routine he had jumped into. He was obsessed with his ass, specifically--tragically--its undeniable flatness. I was a damn good tailor, but I could only do so much. News I had to break to him on a regular basis.

"Can't you like, work your magic or something?" he asked, winking down at me.

I thought for a long moment and relented, feet taking me toward the back of the shop. "I can try."

I reached behind my desk and pulled out a well worn notebook, decorated by decades of page folding, sticky noting, coffee staining, and annotating. It was one of many strange, sentimental pieces of inheritance I received from my mother, a practitioner of the craft who disappeared with her coven years ago. I was left with half memories of their gatherings, what little training I had paid attention to growing up, and of course, this notebook, my own annotations slowly forming a cross-generational palimpsest.

Occasionally, especially with my more tedious clients, I'll let my hobby cross into the tailoring business, enchanting the fabric with whatever magical push the wearing needs to feel their best self.

I pulled out a container of ink--hand made from ingredients foraged sustainably under the light of a full moon--and drew out what I hoped was the right mix of sigils for illusion and manifestation, sprinkled with a little bit of chaos, to give Danny the booty of his dreams. I stitched the small slip of paper into the waistband of his pants and handed them back to try on.

He slipped each leg in and pulled them up his toned quads, gasping as he stopped suddenly at the top of his hamstrings. What usually slipped on with minimal effort was now blocked by a perky bubble butt perched behind him.

"Nice!" he exclaimed, giving his newly hefty ass a jiggle. "I knew you could do it."

---

I rolled into the ceremony just as it was starting and posted up in one of the empty rows towards the back. As I passed the gaggle of bridesmates, gentlethems, attendants and henchmen (they all got to pick their own terms), Danny gave me a wink and a thumbs up, adjusting his waistline as the procession began.

As they walked down the aisle, I got a better look at my handiwork, and apparently so did everyone else. When he had left my shop his ass had looked delectably round and perky, but the pair of cheeks fighting for space as he strutted towards the front were on another level. They looked big. Really big.

Maybe it was the light? I tried to convince myself with a twinge of worry. I kept my gaze as professional as possible as he stood at the front with the rest of the attendants with his shoulders squared and hands clasped firmly in front of him. As the ceremony progressed, he seemed increasingly uncomfortable, squirming in place as he shifted from one foot to the other, the tails of his suit jacket riding up over his meaty buns.

Those cheeks were definitely bigger than they were during the fitting. In fact, they were bigger than they were twenty minutes ago. The sheen of sweat on his forehead and small winces of discomfort confirmed what I--and likely others--had picked up on. His ass was inflating imperceptibly but undeniably.

Something must have gone wrong with the spell. Or maybe something went too right? I don't know. I hoped I could intervene before things got out of hand, but time was quickly running out on that plan. The attendant behind him took a step back as his ass slowly ballooned from his otherwise slim frame, straining the fabric of his pants to their limit.

Even a magically enhanced pair of trousers can only take so much. When Jean, Gene, and Jerome were two thirds of the way through the sharing of vows, the seat of Danny's pants finally gave way, revealing his now basketball sized buns spilling into the open air clad in a pair of plaid bikini briefs.

A shockwave of gasps and murmurs spread through the crowd. "Ooo girl," "Need his leg routine," "The whole bakery..." could be heard among the general whispers of surprise and politely restrained chuckles. Danny, face a flush of embarrassment, tried to hold what remained of the seat of his pants together as he slunk away, the attendant behind him quickly taking his place before the soon to be betrothed could notice the commotion or his wildly jiggling buns disappearing out of sight.

I found him behind the reception tent, clutching my handbag full of emergency repair materials for just this situation. But I quickly came to realize that some heavy duty thread and patches wouldn't be enough.

"Dude, it won't stop!" he exclaimed, trying and failing to cover the globes of his ass. "What do we do?!"

"Okay, um," I said, grasping wildly for solutions, "I have my notebook, I can try and figure something out on the fly. Just take your pants off and the growth should stop."

"...I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?"

"I mean I can't!" he snapped, turning to show me the waistband stuck just below his hips, unbuttoned and stretched to the limit yet still woefully incapable of making it over his massive--and still slowly expanding--posterior.

"Okay, Plan B," I said, reaching into my bag. I brandished a seam ripper as I turned him around and traced the waistband of his pants until I found where I had installed the sigil. "Wow," I muttered, marveling at a pair of globular, gravity defying glutes that were nothing short of a work of art.

"What's up?" he asked, panic rising in his voice.

"Nothing, nothing, it's just...it's a lot..."

"Yeah I think we've all figured that out. Can we address this crisis while I still have any hope of wearing normal clothes?"

"Right." I snapped back into focus, searching along the seams for my signature stitch. "Found it!" I beamed, slicing through with one deft cut and yanking the sigil from the fabric.

"Thank fuck," he whispered. "Can you stitch this back up before the reception?"

"Yeah, I should have everything here, just let me--"

I was cut off by the unmistakable soft staccato of seams tearing. With the spell broken, and the pants returned to their mundane state, the overstressed fabric no longer stood a chance against the melons ballooning from Danny's lower back. Seams split one after the other as what was left of his pants fluttered apart, revealing every extensive curve of his beyond bodacious butt.

"Okay," I said. "I might have some spandex in the car."

[ladymorghul]

there's something so nice about the idea of davos falling in love deep with someone who he's supposed to utterly hate. the knowledge that he can't stop how he feels, the feeling that he is fighting against a runaway train. the idea that he's so helpless against this knowledge. but when he does finally admit it and give in, he can be sooo passionate. i can totally see him as just... hungry for love. he gets a hit of it and he's addicted.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Warnings: descriptions of injury, implied past violence (no specifics)

You could hear the muffled, rhythmic staccato of gunshots in the distance. It was coming from outside, somewhere across the complex. Your knuckles were white as you gripped the cold metal of the bars of your cell, straining your hearing, your breath in your throat. What was happening? Was it your family? You prayed that it was... You knew they'd do everything they could to get to you, but a terrified thought burst in the front of your mind, obscuring hope. What if it was another group... a worse group? What if you'd be found only to be passed on to a even worse situation? This one was bad enough.

It was almost enough to stop your heart. Your whole body ached from the day before, bruises scattered over your skin like constellations.

You were barreling down this thought pattern like a runaway train when there was suddenly an explosive sound from the end of the room. You cowered and pressed your hands over your ears, temporarily deafened by a high-pitched ringing. You coughed as smoke and dust coated your throat and tongue. Your eyes were still squeezed shut.

The ringing slowly retreated and you became aware of another sound—a voice. You blinked in the shifting smoke and saw that the door to the room had been blown entirely off its hinges and was laying a substantial distance away on the floor.

"Hey! Doll? Look at me!"

Your eyes refocused and you realized Negan was standing at the door of your cell, coated in a heavy layer of plaster dust.

"There you are," he said with that signature smile.

"N—Negan? What the fuck?" You got unsteadily to your feet and rushed to the door. He had a small ring of keys in his hand.

His smile faded as you came closer, his eyes registering the deep purple bruises on your skin. His brow drew down heavily over his eyes. "Shit... these fuckers beat the hell out of you," he said.

"I'm fine," you asserted hurriedly. "Just get me the hell out of here."

"Why else do you think I'm here?" Negan began trying all the keys in the lock and finally found the one that released you. You stepped out, your legs feeling a little wobbly and weak. You glanced at the door laying flat on the floor again.

"Jesus..." you muttered. "You practically blew the building apart."

Negan chuckled. "Well, you know me... I can't resist a good dramatic entrance." His eyes were flickering over your face. "You don't know how fuckin' glad I am to see you in one piece. At least, mostly. I was worried that these assholes—"

You avoided his eyes and Negan felt a sharp pain in the middle of his chest. "Let's just get out of here," you said.

"You got it, doll." Negan sensed more than he let on, and was determined that you would be okay, even if you weren't right then.

Prompt: "You know me—I can't resist a good dramatic entrance."

[femmefatalevibe]

Hi, do u have any tips for building a thicker skin and not getting hurt easily? I've only just realized recently that I'm very sensitive, if someone talks a little rudely to me or says something rude to me, I get hurt and anxious. It's so weird because I usually do not care about what other people do or think about me. But I can't handle being treated rudely or criticism. I just have the urge to stop talking, runaway or leave if a person is even a tiny bit rude to me. help.

Hi love! I would say it's all about cultivating emotional resilience. Like any muscle, you need to train your mind to remain calmer under pressure or stressful situations. Here are some ways I think are helpful to build this skillset:

Step into difficult conversations as two people vs. a project/problem/situation. Depersonalize any criticism by objectifying the criticism of a certain behavior, action, etc. Think of it as its own entity – like an object that can float away in the wind.

Internalize that a lot of criticism/rudeness is a form of projection and says more about the other person's inner turmoil than your demeanor or character. Offering non-constructive criticism is self-destructive. Case closed.

Look inward and make it a priority to truly get to know yourself. What are your core values? Desires? Goals? How do you want to present yourself to the world? What are your likes? Dislikes? Fears? Self-knowledge gives you a blueprint of how to move forward.

Reverse your "what ifs." Instead of wondering what could go wrong by leaning into criticism and difficult situations, consider "what's the worst that can happen?" Once you ask yourself and answer this question honestly, you realize that most of the time your fear is disproportional to the likely outcome.

Consider learning to sit/be present in the discomfort to be an act of self-care. You're becoming emotionally stronger and proving to yourself that you can hold your own in any situation. Stick up for yourself but know when to silently bow out for your own sake vs run away due to perceived personal incompetence.

Hope this helps xx

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Vickie: I don't know what's wrong with me. It's like sometimes my mouth is moving faster than my brain, and it's like this runaway train, and I can't seem to get it to stop no matter how hard I try. . .you know what I mean?

Robin: Uh, yeah, I think I know what you mean. . .

Vickie: *gives her the monster of a pb sandwich* It's a gift.

It is a gift that Robin has found someone who understands her brain. They'll be rambling like a runaway train for the rest of their lives. The cutest scene in the history of scenes. THE WAY VICKIE LOOKS AT HER LIPS. 😍

[studentbyday]

week 2 / small commitments challenge

Sometimes I think too much about the intermediate (a few months from now) and far future (a year or years from now) and get so worried that I won't "make it" in whatever way I determine is "making it" for a certain goal that I can't focus very well on the present. This week, this mostly happened at night when I finally go to or get ready for bed. The ochem midterm is coming up, which is forcing me to stay in the present more during the day. I think if that wasn't happening, I would be even more of a runaway train 😭 And yet when I focus on school, I just feel so sad being cooped up indoors, where I focus best, when the weather is so nice outside. The second half of the semester is always the hardest on my psyche. I want to remember why I'm doing this. But the reason is out there in the world, not at my desk...

In other news, I adjusted my study routine so that I try to do an hour of learning R (typically first thing...at first I tried for 2h but that never happened and I just felt discouraged), followed by ochem work, then driving practice. Much less overwhelming BUT still making decent progress on the highest-priority side projects when I can keep up with them... I'll need to keep at this routine or smth similar for a while tho because I fell off the bandwagon towards the end of the week, trying to focus on ochem. Whenever I end up feeling ready, I want to add in an hour of math bc that will open many doors for understanding cool computational biology stuff...or maybe I'll add in some music theory instead... Who knows, my priorities may change again by that point. 🤷🏻‍♀️ One step at a time! 👣 I also struggled to stick to a consistent sleep schedule this week...again. Briefly, before this challenge, I had been able to do this while I was on habitica...but then the novelty faded and I stopped keeping myself accountable for it as I tried to keep track of everything else on the app lol. So now I'll just use habitica to keep track of my sleep/wake times, using the minus button when I miss out on the habit. I also struggled with the meditating thing...meditation is one of those things where the benefits are subtle and last longer the more regularly I do it, so I think I just have to stick with it until that happens and serves as a stronger motivator...Maybe I'll just make meditating at night the "mandatory" one since that really helps me feel peaceful enough to sleep. Aaand I completely forgot about exercise. I haven't been doing that consistently either this week ���� Lots of room for improvement. 🪄

[andreas-river]

He's Like Art [Nikto X Fem!Reader]

Summary: They always told you that Nikto was a monster- but you never believed them. And you were right.

Warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, mention and description of sex, fem!reader. 18+ MDNI!

Disclaimer: I do not own any MW characters. English is not my native language.

From the result of this poll.

Cross-Posted on AO3 here.

══════════════

You can't stand him anymore.

It's the thought of him that reverberates in your body, you still see his blue eyes watching you, trying to run towards you, getting carried away and fainting in the arms of the enemy.

Or his body pinning yours, the wall on your back taking your breath away - no more movement, the eyes of the predator staring at you, his prey caught in his arms, but his fangs are nowhere to be seen, and that's not because of the mask that covers his face.

Or your arms around his waist, stopping his pacing around the room for the first time, almost as if his soul is leaving his body - and then he's back, turning away to hide the tears in his eyes, too proud to show them, even if you already knew it.

Or his other self, cold, loveless, it's almost like having a corpse that can walk, a trembling mass trapped inside himself, his hands reaching for you as if floating in nothingness, your body the only thing that can give him hope, the survival instinct kicking in and finally hitting back at you - you don't even care about the numerous bruises on your arms, waist or legs, or even shoulder to neck.

Or his eyes, impenetrable walls, swimming on yours, making their way into your heart - or the walls of your private parts, stretching you, realigning all your limbs, hitting points and hungrily devouring your tongue, abandoning your body to him, his hands wandering over your skin, your hips, your chest, getting carried away by him, surrendering to him, possessing your body and soul, making you a small trembling body under him, your mind blank from the start.

You open your eyes abruptly, stretching your stiff body, staring at the ceiling while your mind slowly remembers the past day and you feel goosebumps on your skin.

It wasn't your first time, but it looked like it: he knew exactly where and how to put his hands, or his lips or-

The door of your room was pushed wide open, a slender figure entered-Rodion, then the door was closed again: blue eyes stared at you, the sly smile on his face made you curl up in the blankets.

"Details please!" You feel his weight at your side and gasp in annoyance as he pulls the blankets off your body.

He was being obnoxious.

And yet your best friend.

"Yes," you said simply, feeling a familiar heat rise in your face. You can still feel him.

"Yes... what?" he stared at you, not letting go.

"Yes, we DID it!" you almost yell, then slap your hand over your mouth. For all you know, he could even be on the other side of the door.

He started giggling, at which point you jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom: In the mirror you saw someone you didn't immediately recognize: your lips were a little swollen and red, your hair a complete mess, and a purple mark on your neck- shit.

At least it's not summer.

¤

Later in the day, after all the questions from Rodion, you knew you'd soon come face to face with him. That's when the thought hit you like a runaway train as you wandered the corridors of the base.

You love him.

But you're not sure it's the same for him.

You stop in front of a door, instinctively your feet had brought you to the one person who filled your thoughts. You knock on the door and wait for an answer.

It was faster than expected, in front of you stood a man, not a monster as many think- wearing only normal clothes: no protection, a scarf that reached only to the nose, the rest of the face free of his usual balaclava, no visible weapons- at least. He always carries a pistol. "You never know," was his response.

"You came here to stare at me?" his voice snapped you back to reality, you try to ignore the goosebumps on your skin and take out a small box from your pocket, which he hands you.

"Ibuprofen." You've already noticed that the room behind him was completely dark and that he regularly retreated to his room without ever leaving it, without making a sound, only discovering his migraine later.

He really didn't expect that, his blue eyes filled with a different light. He beckons you in, closing the door behind him and leaving the room in a dim light, your eyes catching only the outline of his body nestled against yours, almost touching, and you don't even notice that he's sandwiching you between him and the wall.

"You should run." He says in a firm voice, but he doesn't let his arms leave your side.

"I don't want to." You stare into his eyes again, like a deer in headlights.

You catch a glimpse of part of his scarred face, part of it like he's been burned, the rest just scars, healed on the outside, less so on the inside.

You slowly take his face in your small hands and notice that he no longer twitches. You caress him, trying to reach his soul - he has already given it to you, you were so different from the beginning: you always managed to get under his skin, to destroy all his defenses and at the same time make him feel protected.

He lets out a little sigh, leans his body against yours, and his lips burn on the skin of your neck, returning to the same place as last night, making you giggle with the tickle of his lips.

"Again?" you ask him breathlessly, your heart already racing, his lips twisting into a slight smile that gives him a serene expression.

"And more."

[ye-olde-sodor]

Forget any idea you had for Thomas stories, I wanna see the engines and the narrator interacting with each other for some sort of April fools themed episode. All the dialogue between them is snarky and sassy just like in season one���but it’s cranked up to 11. Or maybe even have the engines are self-aware that they’re in a tv show???

Just...imagine for a moment what that would be like.

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

Narrator: “This Is Thomas! He’s a cheeky little engine who has a short stumpy funnel, a short stumpy dome, and a short stumpy-“

Thomas: “WE GET IT. I’M SMALL. By my maker Is that really the only thing you can describe me as?!”

Narrator: “No, actually! I forgot to mention he has a temper of one of those small rat dogs that women keep in their purses and treat them like children! Why one could argue that he has the temper of a rooster!”

Thomas: “THATS IT-”

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

Percy: "Hey Thomas, I'm supposed to go to the works at 5, could you cover for my mail train?"

Narrator: "This made Thomas very cross, he told Percy that he should do his own work and-"

Thomas: "Oh of course! Is it just the regular route?"

Narrator: "Wait no, that's not what you're supposed to-"

Percy: "Yep! My driver can come with you if you'd like!"

Thomas: "If he wouldn't mind coming along with us. I'd hate to make your train late."

Narrator: "Stop that-"

Percy: "Thanks Thomas, I really appreciate it. I'll leave the train near the sheds when I have to leave."

Thomas, very smuggly: Oh it's nothing, really! Anything for my best friend!"

Narrator: "STOP!"

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

Narrator: “And then there was trouble!”

Edward, rapidly descending down Gordon’s hill and becoming a runaway: “Oh of course there’s trouble! Why wouldn’t there be trouble WHEN ISNT THERE TROUBLE-“

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

Percy, late at night: “Where do you think that voice in the sky goes when we all go to sleep? Does he have a home to go to?”

Edward: "Hmm...I'm not sure. Maybe he goes to a shed just like us!"

James: “Oh please, If he spends all of his free time with us, I doubt he even has a bed let alone a shed!"

Narrator: “I’m still here, you know!”

*cue ungodly screeching*

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

Henry, after having yet another derailment this week: “Do we really need to have an accident every episode??? Is it really that vital to this forsaken franchise to have some large an monumental crash every day???”

Gordon, using his winch to help Henry: “No, but it would be rather dull if Thomas didn’t fling himself headfirst into a fistfight every two minutes, wouldn’t you agree dear?”

Henry: “…Fine, your right…but it wouldn’t hurt to pick on someone else every now and again would it?!

*a hearty laughter from Gordon ensues*

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

Duck: "Does anyone ever think about what that voice in the sky is? Like...Is it a man? Is it an engine? A God?"

Thomas: "I...never actually thought about that."

Gordon: "I just assumed he was a result of being on this accursed island for so long. I'm surprised that we can hear him but the humans can't...it's quite concerning if you ask me!"

Percy: "Maybe he is a God! An Engine God!"

Gordon: "Oh now look what you've started!"

Edward: "Hold on now, I think he's onto something!"

Thomas: "W-what do we do with this? What can we do with this?"

Edward: "Well, we can tell it to others! Like how the priests do for churches!"

Percy: "What about those cerci-moneys? I heard that humans do those for their Gods!"

Duck: "Maybe we should name him first! It's only proper!"

Gordon: "STOP ENCOURAGING HIM!"

Narrator: *holding in his laughter*

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

[thelastmemeera]

The Trolley Problem: Inconveniently Labeled Lever Edition™

Let's do a little thought experiment:

Suppose a runaway trolley is speeding towards an indeterminate number of people who've all been tied down to the railway. You happen to be standing next to a lever that, if pulled, will briefly divert the trolley onto an unoccupied passing loop, thereby avoiding one of the people tied to the rails before merging back onto the main track and proceeding to run over everyone else. Regardless of your actions, most of the people tied to the track will likely die, but one less person will die if you choose to flip the switch. What should you do?

What's the catch?

Aha! You see, some dastardly ne'er-do-well has welded a sign onto the lever that reads "By pulling this lever, I hereby give my full support to this trolley and whatever it happens to do, especially if it ends up killing a bunch of people tied to the train tracks."

Will I be held legally, financially, and/or socially responsible for my choice to pull or not pull the lever?

No. In fact, no one will even know you were anywhere near the lever unless you decide to tell them. But you'll know, of course.

Wait a minute, who's going about tying people down on train tracks in the first place? Could we stop the trolley and untie them, and perhaps devise an alternative means of transportation that doesn't involve vehicular manslaughter?

All very good questions! We absolutely can and should stop the trolley and address the issues that lead to this situation, but you almost certainly will not have time to do that before the trolley hits the first person on the tracks.

If I pull the lever, does the sign make me ethically responsible for the deaths of whoever the trolley hits? If I don't pull the lever, am I ethically responsible for the person I could have saved?

I can't tell you that. What do you think?

You probably see where I'm going with this.

It basically comes down to whether you agree with the following two statements:

Barring one of them being struck by lightning or something like that, it's overwhelmingly likely that either Kamala Harris or Donald Trump will become the next US president.

Both Harris and Trump will do terrible things if they become president, but there are significantly bad things Trump will do that Harris would not, whereas the bad things Harris will do that Trump would not are comparatively minimal.

If so, then unless you've got a plan you're very sure is going to completely upend the political system before the winner takes office on January 20th, you'd kind of have to agree that if you're eligible to vote in the US and you don't vote Harris, you're doing actual material harm to the world for largely symbolic reasons.

But voting doesn't do anything!

Off the top of my head, Trump appointed 3 Supreme Court justices during his term, directly leading to rulings that badly limited the EPA's ability to regulate greenhouse emissions, blocked $430 billion of student loan debt from being cancelled, and overturned federal protection for abortion rights, causing abortion bans in multiple states. I'm sure you can think of other examples. If none of this is at all significant to you, then yes, perhaps voting doesn't do anything.

But the system is inherently broken, and voting isn't going to fix that.

Voting isn't signing a blood contract that you've given up on the revolution, it's a minimal effort thing you do to limit the extent of bad things happening in the immediate future. Even if socialist utopia is instated on January 21st, that's still one day you could've possibly made less bad with almost zero commitment on your part.

But Harris is contributing to the genocide in Palestine, and will continue to if elected.

Trump is even more unabashedly pro-genocide than Harris is. Yes, you'll be able to proudly say you didn't vote for anyone who would bankroll Israel's ethnic cleansing, while in all likelihood making things actively worse for the people you're purporting to support. And that's entirely your prerogative, but understand you're taking your hand off the lever and watching someone get splattered by a trolley so you could pretend your inaction wasn't also a choice.

But perhaps we need the Democrats to lose to Trump in order to force them to put up slightly more reasonable candidates next time around.

Did that work the last time?

[delopsia]

what remains of wabang | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 6,900   Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB Reader, the plot is inspired by a bizarre nightmare I had. A fumbled proposal. This could count as a dystopian AU, depending on how you interpret it (it wasn't intended). Unprotected sex (with lots of feelings!), reader comes untouched, cunnilingus. One (1) mention of the reader owning/wearing a babydoll. Royal has passed a 'gift' on to his sons.  Brief Summary: Two months after Rhett mysteriously went missing, he appears from nowhere to ask you to run away with him. You don't expect to see what havoc BY9 has wreaked upon Wabang. Nor do you expect to learn new things about your cowboy.  

This old trashcan couldn't be any louder. 

Plastic wheels grind against the pavement, the echoes of it bouncing off the walls of identical homes. Alerting everyone on this street of the fact that you're once again taking the trash out at eleven o'clock at night. It's strange, being this close to other houses; you've grown so accustomed to your rental home in the outskirts of Wabang that you now struggle to adjust to the customs of neighborhood life. All of you packed into the same microscopic homes, like a bunch of sardines. 

Temporary homes, they'd said, in the emergency evacuation notice. Meant to last no longer than a week, just long enough for them to clean up the nondescript biohazard spilled into Wabang. 

But the trash runs bi-weekly, and this is the third time you've brought the can out to the curb. 

Yet, when you let go of the container, ready to walk back into the shoddily constructed building you're supposed to call home, there's a rumbling that doesn't quite stop. A distant sound that seems to grow louder the longer you stand here. Sounds like a truck, but the street suffers a significant lack of headlights. You squint. Fighting to see what lurks down the dark street, unlit and empty. 

It's a truck. 

Too small to be anything modern, its headlights shut off as it slowly creeps down the street. Intent on not being seen, like the driver is afraid of drawing even the slightest bit of attention to themselves. And so far, they seem to be doing a great job of it. If anyone had noticed, BY9 trucks would be swarming the area by now. 

Your shoes scrape against the concrete driveway as you stumble away from the road, ready to get inside before the truck crawls past your home but unable to look away from it for even a second. 

It stops just short of your mailbox. Engine dying as the door opens. 

A figure steps out. Dark. Still. 

You bolt at the same time it does.

Racing for your half-open front door. Feet pounding against the ground as you all but tear past the crudely placed bushes by your sidewalk. Throat tight. Mouth open but can't make a single noise. Who is this? Who is this? Who is this?

 "Wait!" 

You know that voice.

You know that voice. 

That figure doesn't slow down as he all but hurtles toward you. Shoes skid against the dirt as frenzied feet try to stop. His body slamming into yours. A runaway train that's gone off the rails. The arms that wrap around you are the only reason you don't fall.  

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," words frantically uttered into the crook of your neck. Words spoken by a voice you thought you'd never hear again.

"Rhett?" Asking it feels like a dream. A sick fantasy played upon you by your own imagination. But your arms are wrapping around a firm torso, just as warm and alive as you remember. The labored breath tickling your skin feels too real to be a trick. 

Your tongue is heavy in your mouth as you try to speak again, struggling to so much as lift it. "Rhett, where have you been?" And even though you're asking it, you're not sure if it's really him. "It's been two..." He smells exactly how you remember, something airy and crisp, maybe a little bit sweet, like the autumn breeze. "You've been missing." 

"I know, I'm so sorry," Rhett's pulling away, and you're already clinging to him. Unwilling to let more than an inch of space between your bodies. Nose to nose. So close that maybe you'll be able to keep him from disappearing again. God, those eyes. You've missed those eyes. "Please just, please, I don't—please, I don't have time to explain." 

He's so worked up and all over the place that you can't follow. Palms trembling against your cheeks. Eyes so wide that you almost see nothing but the whites of them. Where has he been? Why is he so nervous? 

You've never seen him like this. 

"I have an apartment, and I have a job at a ranch, and I want, I want," voice wavering as he pauses to push your foreheads together,  "I want you to come with me."

"Rhett, what are you—"

"I never meant to leave you behind," he's still talking. Speaking so quickly, you can't keep up. Body shuddering against yours.  "I promise I was comin' to get you the night I left, but then those people started followin' me and, and, and, I'll explain it all if you come with me."

You don't... 

You don't understand. People chasing him? A job? An apartment? Why didn't he come back sooner? What people is he talking about? You don't even know if you're hearing him correctly. If this is even real. There's no way this is real.

Headlights pierce through the dark. Attached to the front of a white Chevy Tahoe, bearing a familiar triangular logo on its side. BY9. Belongs to the mining group that put you all here in the first place. 

Rhett's tugging on your arms. Downright drags you down behind the bushes. Crouching. Barely concealed from the view of the officer driving the vehicle as it rolls past. Eerily slow. Looking for something.

Or someone. 

"Please. I can't...I can't leave you here," Rhett whispers, and you don't know if that's his heart pounding like a drum or if it's yours. A loud thump, thump, thump in your ears. So loud you're surprised the patrol officer doesn't hear it.  "You're not safe here." 

You don't know where he's been for the past two months. Don't know what triggered him to leave in the first place. Or why he's come back now, in the dead of the night, without warning or notice. Does this have something to do with the interview BY9 had with you right as you were moved into this temporary residence? All those questions about Rhett...were they ever meant to help you find your missing cowboy? 

So many thoughts fluttering about your head. But as you watch that cruiser stalk past your driveway, and you feel Rhett tremble against you, something clicks. Your confused mind made up in an instant. 

"Alright," and as soon as that vehicle is out of sight, you're rushing toward your front door. 

The hinges squeal as you rush past. Snatching your blanket from the couch, on your way to the tiny excuse of a bedroom you've been given. Rhett's boots thump behind you. Spurs chiming with every step. 

"You're already packed?" He's hardly stumbled into your bedroom before you're shoving one of your two suitcases toward him. The wheels rumbling across the cheap linoleum, catching on the planks that are already beginning to curl up from the ground. 

"Correction, I never unpacked," you're scrambling, shoving your few belongings back into your open bag; a toothbrush, blanket, a stuffed cow Rhett bought you for your first anniversary,  "We were only supposed to be here for a week." 

Never did you expect him to sling that heavy suitcase over his shoulder. Bicep bulging under the weight. Knuckles white as his fingers cling to the handle. "You let 'em move y'here?" Hearing that low drawl doesn't feel real.

Reaching out and squeezing his wrist doesn't feel real, either. 

"We had no choice," you mutter under your breath, almost mindless as you let him take you by the hand, guiding you back to the front door. Through an unfamiliar hallway and past a bathroom you know you've spent time inside but have little recollection of. "They issued an evacuation order and sent us all here."

Evacuation for what you're not quite sure. The paper had claimed it was a biohazard, but if it was so serious, then how did they have the time to build these miniature homes? An answer doesn't come, too distracted by Rhett leading you through the yard, shoving your suitcases into the bed of his truck. 

At the end of the street, a pair of blinding headlights flicker on. Siren wailing to life.

"Shit." And Rhett doesn't need to say anything further. 

You don't understand why you're scrambling for the passenger door. Hands missing the handle on the first try. Barely clawing it open on the second. All but falling into the truck, door slamming behind you. The engine roars to life. A deep rumbling that you can hardly hear over the squealing siren. Red and blue flashing from the roof of a BY9 SUV. 

Rhett's hat flies off the dash as the truck lurches forward. His hands flying across the steering wheel. Rolling up into the neighbor's yard as he turns. Front bumper slamming into the corner of a mailbox. 

A second pair of lights appear on your right. A sleeping car awakening. Another on the left. Then another. And another. The street alight with white, red, and blue. Sirens screaming. A sea of color that chase you down. Hot on Rhett's squealing tires as he veers to the right. Barely clinging to the pavement.

"Rhett, what's going on?" You squeak. Bouncing in the passenger seat. Scrambling for purchase on something. Anything. Your suitcases audibly slam into the side of his truck bed as he swings to the left. Narrowly avoids hitting the front end of a Wabang police cruiser. "Rhett?"

"I don't know," his voice shivers through clenched teeth. Frantic eyes bouncing between the road and the mirrors. Back and forth. Up and down. Never still for more than a second at a time. "All I know is that they ain't gettin' you and me."

Your seat belt tightens as he hits the brakes. Tires smoking as the old GMC careens to the left. Barreling down a one-way street. In the wrong direction. Blowing past the barrier arm that tries to block your path. Wood splintering. Too flimsy to stop Rhett from tearing out of this copy-paste neighborhood. Fleeing back to the safety of familiar Wabang streets. 

Streets that you don't recognize. 

You know there should be a little white farmhouse off to your right. Nestled next to a towering Oak tree that serves as home to a small wooden swing, and the lawn littered with children's toys. But now, all you find is a parking lot. Opening up to a sea of drill rigs. Swinging up and down.

God, they're everywhere.

"They found somethin' on our land," Rhett's saying. As if he can see the questions fluttering through your head. "Whatever it is, they're rippin' the whole town apart to drill for it." 

Wabang isn't your hometown. Not by a long shot. But the sight before you has your heart twisting in your chest. That old, fairytale small town no longer exists. Those old family ranches were bulldozed weeks ago. Historical buildings and small mom-and-pop shops reduced to empty land, fodder for newly built drill rigs. 

All that remains of Wabang are the streets. 

Light appears in the distance. A tiny speck that splits into two. Three. Four. Five. Until all you see is blinding white. An army of vehicles speeding toward you. A flurry of red and blue flickering. A clash of voices echoes over PA systems. Orderings to stop the truck. Pull over. Surrender. We mean you no harm. 

Rhett jerks the wheel to the right. Jumping the ditch and tearing straight into an open field. A small farm once stood here, but not anymore. Nothing but flat land that this old truck tears through like it's nothing. Bouncing you in your seat. Luggage slamming into the sides of his truck bed, leaving a myriad of dents in their wake. 

"I hope you planned for this," yelping as you cling to the seat. Fighting to stay put. 

Rhett's right-hand rises up from the wheel. Making a fist. You can almost swear that you see something move in the distance. 

The truck hits a bump. Wheel jerking out from his grip. Forcing him to scramble with both hands. Forearms flexing as he forces the truck back in the right direction. "I did." 

But you're running out of drivable land. A thick collection of trees drawing closer and closer. Too closely packed for his truck to fit between. He makes a fist again. So tight his hand turns white.

The trees warp. 

Twisting in a circle, like a cloth spun from the center. Wrinkling and blending into a plume of blackened dust, sparkling as it dances past the truck. A bunch of tiny stars that lead to a deep, dark abyss. Towering before you, circular, like a tear in the seams of your reality. 

Rhett drives straight through it. 

Like a door, the hole spits you out into another field. Empty and dark. Devoid of any other vehicle but your own. The only light coming from Rhett's busted headlights and a lone street lamp, not too far away.

As you look over your shoulder, the hole closes. That cloth untwisting, returning the land to its former, peaceful glory. In an instant, those daunting lights are gone. Whisked away by the black smoke that twirls up into the night sky. 

Maybe now is a good time to take a drug test because there is no way that just happened.

But the squeal of Rhett's brakes sound real, the vehicle slowing to a complete stop. Rhett's chest heaving is heaving, sweat rolling down his forehead and past reddened cheeks, as if he's just run a marathon. And that looks pretty real, too. 

"I ain't pinchin' ya," he breathes, the corner of his lip quirking upward as he says it.

And that's exactly what he would say after such an event. 

It takes you a moment to find your voice. "What the hell just happened?" Comes out as nothing but a croak, your throat far too dry to produce anything more. 

Rhett's head shakes back and forth. Like he doesn't have an answer himself, "the folks chasin' us or the whole...hole thing?" 

"Is both an option?" 

That gets a smile out of him, lazily sprawling across his scruffy face. The first one you've seen in months. Hand leaving the steering wheel, reaching out to squeeze your knee. You reach down, curling your hand overtop of his, fingers slotting together. 

"I think it's 'cause of somethin' related to my family," he says, after a moment, his gaze locked on your hands, "After them BY9 folks took the land, they came knockin' at our door. Took Dad...came back for Ma 'n Perry a couple hours later, sayin' somethin' 'bout how we all had a gift."

You suppose you can infer what that gift could be. "They didn't come for you?"

The hand on your knee squeezes a little tighter, making sure you're still here, "Ma told 'em I wasn't home, 'n one of  'em said they'd come back for me later." His tongue pokes against the inside of his cheek. Pushing back and forth, thinking. "I grabbed a bag 'n went lookin' for you...figured I'd ask to hide with you for a bit." 

In the back of your head, you can't help but wonder what would have happened if he'd gotten the chance to hide in your home. Would they have taken you too? Would they have even known Rhett would be hiding from you?

"But then they started trailin' me," his index finger twitches against yours as he continues, "I got frustrated 'cause they wouldn't let me on your street...next thing I know, I'm goin' through a hole."

You catch yourself glancing up at the rearview mirror. Searching for any instance of the hole you just drove through, almost expecting it to still be there. But all you find is an unfamiliar pasture and a lamp post. "Where did it take you?" 

"South fuckin' Dakota." 

Your eyes might pop out of your head. "We're in South Dakota?" 

His sheepish grin is the biggest 'yes' you've ever received in your life.

Rhett's definition of an apartment is very different from your definition of one.

When he'd said it, you pictured a small place, one bedroom, one bath, tucked into a housing complex that served as home to more people than you could ever count. A laundromat in the basement and a slightly too big parking lot with more spaces than there are tenants. 

But this isn't that at all.

No, it's a bite-sized cabin tucked away in the forest. A little worse for wear, part of the railing on the porch could use replacing, and the door doesn't want to shut at first, but it's more than you could have imagined. With a tiny kitchen and an even tinier living space attached, nothing but a thrifted couch, a plaid blanket, and a television, he found on clearance. 

"You got this all together in two months?" You ask, reaching out to brush your fingers against brown plaid curtains, unsurprised to find them here. You've yet to see his bedroom, but you can already imagine his comforter must bear a similar pattern and color. 

"Yeah," Rhett's scratching the back of his neck. "I know it ain't much, but..."

"It's perfect," words delivered a little too quickly, not letting him finish that sentence. 

His eyelashes flutter; surprised. "Yeah?" Smiling as he speaks, big and dopey, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with it. A touch proud of what he's built here. His socked feet thump across the floor, eager to minimize the space between the two of you. Big palms settling on your hips, smoothing up your sides, drawing you in. 

When you daydreamed about him coming home, you'd always imagined that you'd throw yourself into his arms. Cling to him and never, ever let go again. But it's been well over an hour and a half since he raced down your driveway, and you're terrified to lift your arms and wrap them around his waist. 

Because maybe this is just that. A daydream. A trick of the mind that will end when you pull him close to you, disappearing into a misty dreaminess that throws rocks at your glass heart. 

"I'm so sorry I left you," he whispers into your ear with the faintest shiver in his voice.

On its own, one of your arms begins to move. Wrapping around him, weakly squeezing that big, warm body against yours. Feeling his chest rise and fall, warm and full of life. The same old cowboy that you remember from two months ago. 

He doesn't disappear. 

Rather than vanishing from your arms and floating away, he pulls you a little closer, arms a little tighter. Scruffy cheek scratching against your softer one as he buries his face into your neck. His breath tickles your skin, fingertips drawing invisible shapes into your clothed back. 

"Just a one-arm hug?" His voice rumbles down your spine like thunder; can never stop himself from teasing, even in times like these. 

Blindly, you reach up with your other arm, no longer allowing it to dangle limply at your side. Hoping to find purchase between those perfectly strong shoulders.

Your knuckles catch on the edge of something hard.  

It falls, hitting the floor with an explosive, metal clatter. Silver bursts out of the tiny wooden box. Rolling in all directions. Heading into the living area, some even stretching to the kitchen, others race to the bathroom, a few strays wander between your legs, and two let themselves right into the bedroom. 

"Are these...rings?" You chirp, watching one as it spirals, circles growing tighter and tighter until it falls on its side with a soft sound. They certainly look like rings, but there's such an obscene amount of them that you're unsure. 

Rhett's quiet as you step away from him, crouching to pick up one of the little things. Doesn't make a sound when you roll it between your fingers, feeling the way the uneven metal rubs against your skin. This one is far too big for any of your fingers, and so are the next two you scoop up. Another is too tiny, and the one that seems the right size suffers a big crack in the side. 

"I..." he starts, twisting at the hair resting on his nape, "they're...yeah. They're rings." 

But that doesn't make any sense. Why would he have so many? From what you can gather, they're all similar. Made of the same silvery material, visibly handcrafted; some with etchings of letters inside, others bear empty brackets meant to hold a stone. 

Rhett hardly moves as you reach for the one next to his foot. Just as identical as the rest, plain and with rough lettering on the inside of the band.

'Marry me?'

You nearly drop it. Caught off-guard by the sudden text.

"That's not..." Rhett's crouching next to you, teeth worrying his bottom lip, staring down at the engraving like it owes him money. "I...I was tryin' to make you an engagement ring." 

He reaches over, scooping up a handful of rings that have collected against the wall. Moves them in such a way that you can see his attempts at asking you to marry him within the ring itself. Along with all of his deviations from the concept and the failures that came along the way. One has your name on it, the letters overlapping with the edge. Another has 'marry' written as 'mary.'

"Couldn't get it right, so I figured I'd..." One of them falls from his hand, bouncing across the floor and rolling into the bedroom. He doesn't speak again until it falls. "You know...wait 'till I could afford a proper ring." 

You hum, tracing your nail against the rugged markings. Messy yet lovingly crafted. "Did you still want an  answer?" 

That gets him. Head snapping up to look at you, then jerking his attention back to the floor. Unable to take in your expression, fearing what he could find hidden there. "It ain't...it doesn't have to be right now. If you don't want to..."

You twist this little ring down your finger. It's uneven, not perfectly round, but it fits near perfectly, only the slightest bit loose. Made just for you.

His eyelashes flutter. Jaw slackening. 

Your answer never leaves your tongue, but it's the loudest thing you've ever said.

Gradually, the corner of his lip wavers upward, "yeah?" 

"Yeah," the ring feels foreign around your finger; you can't wait for the day that it feels naked without that little bundle of metal. 

It glints in the light when Rhett takes your hand in his, smiling giddily to himself as he runs his finger over the ring. And it probably isn't the one he would have picked for you; there are likely nicer ones in this scattered mess of silver, but it's the only ring you want. 

He presses a kiss to the back of your hand, avoiding your eye as he does so. Like the slightest eye contact will cause him to crumble into nothing. The presses another to the inside of your wrist, then a third, and a fourth, and a fifth. Slowly crawling up your arm until he's close enough for the tip of his nose to bump into yours. 

Kissing him while crouching isn't easy; the gentle press of his lips against yours is enough to have you worrying about losing your balance. But then he's rising to his feet, drawing you up with him, and it's so, so easy to stumble forward and close that gap once more. Hearing him grunt against you, warm arms coiling around you in the same fashion they always have. 

Oh, how could you have forgotten that he tastes like honey? Warm with a hint of butterscotch, can never seem to keep himself out of those darned little candies. Sliding your arms around those broad shoulders, fingers winding into his hair, listening to his breath catch in his throat. 

It's been two months since you've last felt him part your trembling lips with his own. 

Two months too fucking long.  

"Rhett," you don't mean for it to come out as a whimper, but it does, and you can hardly stop yourself from hiding your face behind your hands. A little too needy, a little too fast. 

But Rhett's rumbling your name in return; doesn't seem to notice your embarrassment, only pulls you closer to him. Hands roaming, soothing up and down your sides, as he pushes you backward, doesn't stop until you're right up against the wall. No way to escape from the rough hand that curls around your cheek, bringing you in to meet his burning mouth again and again and again. 

Rings chime against the floor as he steps forward, jean-clad knee sliding between your legs, fits like it belongs there. Muscled thigh pressing against you, grinding up into your heat. 

You don't realize you've made another noise until he grins into your mouth. Proud. A little too eager to repeat the motion, rolling upward in loose circles. Your hand falls from his hair. Nails biting into his shoulder. Panting against his lips. 

"Fuck, I missed you," he's whispering as he breaks away, pressing wet kisses down your jaw, working toward your neck, "so, so much."

Words are hard to come by. Don't know what you want to say; all you know is that this shirt of his needs to come off. Tugging on the thin material, fumbling with tiny buttons that you can't seem to get ahold of. 

Rhett lets go of you. Breath burning against your neck as he yanks the flannel open. Buttons flying, bouncing across the hardwood, quickly joined by his now ruined shirt. 

"Need this yellow off you," grumbling directly into your ear, big hands returning to your sides, lifting the hem of your shirt. Your arms rise, and in one quick motion, he pulls it off. Dropping it to the floor, drawing you up against him, away from the wall.

Rings scatter beneath your feet as the two of you stumble into the bedroom, metal clinking and rolling with every uncertain step. Uncaring of paying attention to where you're going, distracted by wandering hands, breathy kisses, and noses bumping together.

Your back hits the mattress with an unceremonious thump, the springs squealing their dismay. That wild-eyed cowboy is on you in an instant, lithe hips slipping between your parted thighs, bare chest against yours, nipping at the shell of your ear. His forearms brace themselves on either side of your head, bracketing you in. Gives you an eyeful of the wicked veins that snake down them. 

"Fuck, Rhett," sucking in a sharp breath of air. The layers of clothing between your bodies aren't enough to stop you from feeling that bulge grinding against you. 

"'s it too much?" His lips brush against your ear, sends a shudder down your spine. 

Your head shakes, rolling back and forth against the sheets, "not enough." 

"Yeah?" Pressing his lips to the meet of your jaw, then again to your collar, "take it y'missed me, then."

He's skipping over the courtesy of more kisses, absolutely shameless, as he wraps his lips around your nipple. Big hand curling around your neglected breast, thumb working circles into it. 

"Of course, I fucking missed you," it's hard to keep the bite in your tone, with that wet tongue laving over you like that, downright messy. "Idiot." 

Just as quickly as he jumped to your breast, he's leaving it alone; your skin glistening with his saliva as he licks further down. Darkened eyes peer up at you all the while, once ocean blue, now dark as the night, eagerly drinking in your every reaction. Hungry for everything about you. 

He doesn't need to ask you to lift your hips; they rise the moment his fingers curl beneath your waistband. Then he's pulling down those pastel yellow sweatpants, the soft ones that were in the gift BY9 left for you during the beginning of that so-called evacuation. 

"Fuck, I was hopin' you were wearin' these," Rhett breathes, devious fingers skittering up the inside of your thigh, not stopping until they can slip beneath the edge of your underwear. Always so obsessed with these, despite being the simplest thing you own. Something about the dainty little bow at the top just does it for him. 

"You should've warned me you were coming," you're trying to tease, but fuck is it hard to focus when he pulls your underwear to the side, exposing you to those hungry eyes of his. "I could have put on that matching babydoll." 

A rough index finger strokes up between your folds, collecting your wetness. Rhett so mesmerized by the sight that he struggles to speak, "Baby, I don't think we'd even make it back t'the truck."

Historically, every time you've worn that soft lace garment around him, you've never even made it out of the room. 

There are words sitting heavily in your mouth, already formulated and ready to go. But you don't get the chance to say them because Rhett's leaning down, pressing a kiss to your sex. His tongue pokes out of his lips, eagerly licking a fat stripe up your wetness.

"Can y'get the lube off the table, darlin'?" He's speaking right against your clit, lips tickling it.

The bottle is within reach, but it might as well be on the other side of the room. Rhett's lips are wrapping around that sensitive little button, makes it so, so hard to keep yourself from tangling both hands in his hair instead. Thighs fluttering around his head, hand shivering as it wraps around the small container.

It's new; the plastic still wrapped tightly around the cap. And though Rhett's short nail claws at the edge of it, the plastic refuses to tear off. 

"Come on, you damn..." giving up on the correct way of removing it, he raises it to his mouth, biting at the material until it tears. 

His nose wrinkles. 

"Did you hurt your tooth?" Asking despite knowing the answer. 

How dare he look so shy when he's coating two of his fingers with lube. Meekly grinning to himself, the tips of his ears flaming with crimson as he mutters a soft "maybe."

Dumb cowboy hasn't learned from the time he chipped his tooth while opening the last bottle. 

Wet fingertips circle around your entrance, his mouth returning to your core, deviously lapping at you. Fuck, fuck, fuck that's a lot. 

Sensitivity has jumped a couple of notches during his absence, squirming against the bed, unsure if you want more or if you want to run away from it. So distracting that you don't realize his fingers are pushing into you. Slow, letting you loosen for them on your own accord. 

"That's it," he praises, peering up at you from beneath thick lashes, "take my fingers for me, baby."

They're impatient, curling up, massaging against your walls as he gingerly works them in and out to the tune of his lazy tongue. Drool sliding down, wetting his fingers even further. You whimper before you even realize he's found that little spot. The pad of his index finger rubbing against it. Has your hips lifting off the bed. 

On their own, your hand wanders down, tangling in his messy hair. Rhett all but moans as you pull on it, wet tongue audibly working you over. 

"Another," you whisper, can't get your voice any louder, "please." 

That third finger isn't what you wanted. Isn't thick or long enough to give you that full feeling you've been so desperately craving. But it's a necessary evil that you've learned to put up with in exchange for no soreness the morning after. 

Rhett groans, eyes falling shut as he works into a rhythm. Slow and sloppy, unconcerned with the intricacies of perfect movements, his hips grinding down against the bed. Massaging his neglected cock, still straining against his jeans. 

Fuck, it's such a simple sight, but it has your head spinning. Heat burning between your legs, spreading up into your chest, heart jumping. 

"St..." you can hardly speak, "stop." 

Rhett freezes. Tongue halfway out of his mouth and all. 

Your lungs ache for a breath that you can't quite catch, panting, fighting to form words, "close."

"Were you wantin' to cum 'round my cock instead?" He asks, lifting his head the slightest bit. His chin wet, shiny lips swollen. 

You can't find the words you need to answer him, but something in your face must tell him all he needs to hear because he's moving again. Wet fingers slipping out of your pussy, reaching right for his belt buckle. It jingles as he opens it, the button hidden below damn near hanging on by a thread. 

No matter how many times you've seen this exact scene, it never seems to get shorter. Time downright dragging by as Rhett tugs his jeans and boxers down his legs. Cock popping up, smacking against his left hip. The tip dripping and flushed red, angry, begging for attention. That should be all the waiting you need, but now he's reaching for your underwear, properly tugging them off, like the gentleman he just has to be. 

You reach for the lube, pouring some into your palm, and admittedly, it's way more than you needed, but you just don't care. Reaching out to wrap your dripping hand around him, feeling him jump. 

"Fuck," Rhett gasps, eyelashes fluttering like tiny butterflies, "didn't see you reachin' for...God, jus' like that." 

It seems you're not the only one whose gotten sensitive during your time apart. Rhett's head tilts back, mouth agape as you loosely stroke him. Simple little ups and downs, with the slightest twist of your wrist. 

Then you're impatiently guiding him to your entrance, already so wet with your own wetness,  lube, and saliva, never mind the extra lubricant you've coated him with. His hips tilt forward, leaving no room for further teasing as he begins to push into you. 

All that wetness, and he's still a stretch. The kind that has you biting your lip and your eyes screwing shut, feeling that fat head gradually open you up.

"Shit," Rhett's swearing, leaning back down, chests bumping together, pressing kisses to your quaking jaw, "forgot how tight this cute 'lil pussy of yours gets." 

If you could speak, you'd remark that you forgot how obnoxiously thick he is. 

But you can't. All you can do is curl your hands around his thick biceps and fight to relax. Feeling the tip of him fully slip inside. Just the tip. Fuck, there's still a whole six inches of him left, and you don't know how he's going to fit. 

"Y'need me to stop?" He murmurs, scruffy chin bumping into yours. You think his voice has dropped a little.

Shaking your head, "Keep...keep going." 

Looking between your parted legs is the biggest mistake you've ever made. Because the moment you make eye contact with the sight of Rhett's thick length slipping inside of your spasming cunt, you can't look away. Absolutely transfixed by the way he works his way into you, balls hanging low and heavy.

"There you go," Rhett's cooing, pressing kisses to your cheek, "takin' my cock so damn well for me, doll."

His pelvis comes flush with yours, and you think you may float right up into the clouds. Lightheaded, panting, can hardly keep your eyes open. Can't even look down again when he cautiously swivels his hips into you. Does nothing more than jostle his cock inside of you, yet it knocks the air from your lungs. 

"Want me to move?" Yeah, his voice has definitely dropped a little. Rough and gravelly as he speaks. 

Weakly, you hum. "Uhuh." 

Oh, you've missed how his cock head drags against you, so thick that he's always massaging against that little spot. Drawing back a little under halfway, pushing back in just as slowly as he did the first time. 

This is what you needed.

Your favorite cowboy on top of you, his face nuzzled against yours while he slowly fucks into you. Long, deep strokes that are so undeniably him, reaching deep into the farthest parts of you. The kind of thing you struggle to recreate with a toy. Isn't quite as thick and never brings the warmth that Rhett does. Toys don't come with a big, strong body and untamed hair that falls down to tickle your cheek. They don't give you kisses or pant against your lips with every thrust.

"Missed you so damn much," Rhett whispers against your lips like it's a secret meant to only be shared between the two of you. "Y'don't know how many times I've come back tryin' t'find you."

On its own accord, your hand reaches up to rest against his jaw. "I was so worried that you'd never come back," his hips twitch upward, cock driving directly into that little spot. It takes a second to unscramble your words. "Or that something happened—"

"No, no, hey," he's reaching for your hand, bringing it up to rest fully against his cheek. Presses a kiss to your wrist. "There ain't nothin' in this world that's gonna take me away from you, ya hear?" 

Your eyes water. 

So do his.

It's so much. So many feelings and emotions and thoughts floating through your foggy mind. And there's more you need to say, but you're pulling him into you. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, letting him bury his face in the crook of his neck. Hugging him tight as he gently thrusts into you. 

Slow ins and outs that completely fill you with him. Kissing your sweetest spots, bringing you to flutter around him, spasming in the way he's always loved. The soft squelch of wetness, balls softly thumping against your ass each time he bottoms out. So much of this cowboy. So, so much.

The ring on your finger glints in the dull light. Imperfectly crafted but looks perfect around your finger. You don't want a new ring with a precious gem and a highly valued metal. You want this one. 

"Rhett," you whimper, muffled by his broad shoulder. There's a warmth settling between your thighs. The soft kind that has your skin prickling and thighs quivering.

"I know," Rhett's groaning. Unable to keep himself quiet any longer, "I am too."

He's panting into your collar, thrusts growing uneven. A little shaky. Your legs are wrapping around his hips, squeezing tight, anchoring him to you. You could reach down, pay attention to your forgotten clit, and bring yourself to the edge faster, but all you want is this. Your cowboy in your arms, fucking you like you're made of glass, the most precious thing he's ever seen. 

Your mouth falls open, whimpering into the open air, "Rhett, Rhett, Rhett." Over and over, like a mantra. Like it'll make up for all the time you've spent apart. And he's murmuring your name, whining high in his throat, your voices weaving together into a wistful melody.

One, two, three more drags of his cock against that sweet little spot, and you're gone. Head falling back against the bed, his name still shivering off your tongue as you spasm around him. Heat washing over your body, floating up into the heavens on a plush, cowboy-shaped cloud. 

Distantly, you think you can feel Rhett shudder above you. Breath hot against your neck as he cums with the softest whine. You never, ever thought you'd feel this again. The involuntary jerk of his hips. The kisses he tries to press to your skin when he's too incoherent to move his mouth. The heaviness of his body as he settles against you. 

It's hard to tell how long it takes you to find the strength to open your eyes. Feels like hours before you pry them open, but it's probably closer to a minute or two. The first thing your gaze drifts toward is the bed.

"Of course, you would have a brown plaid comforter."

Rhett sputters against your neck. God, you've missed that laugh. "That's what happens when 'm left by myself."

This room screams his name in every way it possibly can. Cowboy hats scattered in places they don't belong, blankets occupying every surface. There's a basket of dirty laundry in the corner, what you suppose is a bag of chips laying in the middle, and there is absolutely no reason for one of his socks to be on the ceiling fan. 

You love it.

You love this.

And you don't need to say it out loud. Rhett already hears you, and your heart hears him in return. 

"This place has a clawfoot bath," he says, after a moment, "d'you wanna...give it a shot?" 

Why this old cabin has a clawfoot bath, you'll never understand. What other odd things have you to learn about this place? "Would this entail me having to use your three-in-one body wash?" 

He's quiet at that. The biggest goddamn yes you've ever heard. "...I have bubbles?" 

In the morning, the first thing you're going to do is haul his half-feral ass to the store to do some shopping. Get him away from whatever the hell monstrosity lies in that three-in-one bottle and replace the couple of items you've forgotten back in Wabang. Maybe you'll make him explain how the hell he took you to South fucking Dakota in the blink of an eye while you're at it.

But for now, you're happy to nod your head, "bubbles sound nice."