#and then she’s gone. and he’s back to what it was before but now he would *notice* it

[munsonsmixtapes]

Take a Dive

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

you and your best friend Eddie go skinny dipping in Lover's Lake where your friendship will never be the same again

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex (wrap it before tap it) hurt/comfort

The lake is completely deserted when Eddie’s van pulls up onto the sand. You don’t even know why you’re there or what you’re doing, you just started driving aimlessly when Eddie insisted that you got into the driver’s seat. You’re not going to lie and say that you weren’t surprised when Eddie tossed you his keys when you left his trailer. 

The only reason why you even left was because the two of you are bored and all of your usual places are closed because of how late it was. And now it’s almost midnight and you’re at Lover’s Lake because it was the first thing you could think of that you would have access to. 

Eddie turns to you to ask why you decided to come here, but you’re out of the van before he can speak. He’s quick to follow you, curious to see what you’re up to, but you just plant yourself on the sand, pulling a plastic bag out of your pocket along with the lighter you always carry around. 

He sits next to you as you pull a joint out of the bag before lighting up and taking a drag before passing it off to him. This is how you normally spend your weekends together, but it’s nice to have a change of scenery. The moon reflects off the water in front of you and it looks so pretty, so inviting. It almost makes you want to go for a swim despite how cold it will most likely be. 

You and Eddie pass the joint back and forth until it’s gone and you put it back in the bag that goes back into your pocket before you lie back on the sand, not caring if it gets in your hair or on your clothes. Eddie joins you and the two of you talk nonsense like you usually do, never needing drugs to do. 

You think that’s why you and Eddie are such good friends. You get each other in ways that no one else does, platonic soulmates as Robin once put it and as you turn to Eddie, who’s already looking at you, you begin to think that she’s right. He smiles at you and you mimic it, holding out your hand for him to take and he does, giving it a squeeze before turning back to stare at the sky. 

It’s times like these when you wonder how no one has snatched him up yet. He’s an absolute catch and any man or woman would be lucky to have him. You know a big reason as to why he’s chronically single is because he wants to be. He says he’s better that way, but you think most of his objection to settling down is that he’s still hurt from how he was treated back in Hawkins. It was the reason why the two of you packed up and left because he couldn’t take it anymore.

To them, he was nothing but a freak and that’s something that you still can’t seem to wrap your head around. Eddie always has been and will continue to be the goofy guy you’ve been friends with since you were in diapers. He’s nothing but a sweetheart and you really wished more people could have seen that. That they would have taken just a moment to realize that he was never actually evil and neither was the game he and his friends were playing.

All Eddie’s ever wanted in his entire life is to be loved. And he’d never tell you that all of that stuff about being insecure was just a cover because he’s been in love with you his entire life. He always tells you everything, but this is the one secret he’s taking to his grave. He can’t risk either of you getting hurt so he thinks it’s best to just keep quiet about the whole thing. 

Your mind drifts back to the lake and how nice it would be to swim in it, your need to do so getting even stronger with the weed in your system. Before you can stop yourself, you’re standing to your feet. You pass off the joint as you remove your shoes and socks before going for your pants. You know you only have one chance to do this and you’re going to take it. Eddie doesn’t seem to bat an eye as you take off your jacket, but he thinks he’s missed something as you start unbuttoning your jeans. He doesn’t know why you’re taking off your clothes, but who is he to deny you?

“What are you doing?” He asks as he stands, more curious than anything. 

“I’m going for a swim,” you tell him as you pull your pants down to reveal the thong you’re wearing. You don’t even seem to be phased as you strip in front of your best friend who hasn’t seen you naked since-well ever. Unless you count the baths you took together when you were younger but you both were too young to remember. He’s not complaining, though. He’s enjoying the show. Maybe a little too much since he can feel himself getting harder by the second. 

“You can join me, if you want.” Yeah, there’s no way he’s passing this up so he wordlessly starts to get undressed, trying to make how eager he is so obvious. Now you’re both in your underwear and Eddie thinks you’re fucking with him as you stare at him, slowly taking off your thong as you so. There’s a flirty look in your eye and Eddie’s applauding himself for his self control because he’s so close to taking you right there against his truck. 

You toss your bra into the pile of your now discarded clothes and Eddie thinks he’s going to come right there as he takes in your hard nipples, feeling drool collecting in his mouth as he thinks about taking them into his mouth and giving them a suck. 

He shakes his head and takes off his boxers, the two of you now completely naked and you shamelessly check him out, your gaze stopping at his rock hard cock and you have to step closer so you can see it better. Eddie feels like he should be embarrassed, but he’s not. And you don’t think he should be, especially because you take it as a huge compliment that he’s that sexually attracted to you. 

You turn towards the water and get deep enough before taking a dive. The water is freezing, but you stay under for a little longer, trying to figure why you want to fuck Eddie so badly right now. Sure, you’ve had thoughts about him, but you’ve never actually wanted to act on them until now. Seeing him, all of him awakened something inside you  and now you can’t stop thinking about how badly you want him inside of you. 

You surface and turn around to see Eddie behind you, his face even more pale than usual. He looks worried sick and you have no idea why. He swims closer and you move back, knowing that if he gets too close, you’ll do something you really shouldn’t. 

But before you can get too far, you find yourself grabbing hold of his hands and resting them on your waist before pressing your chest against his. Your arms wrap around his neck, leaning your face close to his, watching his eyes the entire time. A kiss isn’t the same a fucking. You just want a taste to get him out of your system. 

Eddie doesn’t know what you’re doing or why you’re doing it, but he's not going to push you away. He can’t. He wants to know what your lips feel like once and for all. He wants to know if you’re as good of a kisser as he thinks you are. 

Your lips find his gently, a soft little kiss to the corner of his mouth to test the waters. Eddie doesn’t like how teasing you are so he takes matters into his own hands, chasing your lips with a featherlight peck. He doesn’t want to scare you off even though he’s itching to do much more. 

He pecks your lips a few more times until they all melt into one, his own slotting between them as he kisses you softly. His hands dig into your waist which juxtaposes how he’s kissing you and that just tells you how hungry he is for more. 

You move his hands to your ass and wrap your legs around his waist as you nip at his bottom lip, causing Eddie to let out a whine. You feel his cock against you and you need him now more than ever. He seems to think the same because before you can even make the suggestion, he’s sliding inside you, his fingers digging into your ass as he moves slowly, thrusting in and out of you over and over. 

A moan escapes your mouth as you throw your head back giving Eddie the opportunity to take advantage of your exposed neck. He presses soft kisses to the skin before going straight in for a hard bite as his thrusts pick up causing you to mewl. 

“You’re so pretty like this,” he mumbles against your skin. “This is even better than I imagined.” 

“Oh, so you’ve imagined this?” You tease and he bites down on your neck even harder this time causing you to gasp as you scratch your nails down his back in response. 

He’s still moving at a slower pace, but this is actually how you prefer it. A lot of the men you’ve slept with go so fast like it’s a race and it’s over before you’ve even had time to enjoy it. You’ve told this to Eddie a few times and it seemed like he was listening. 

And that’s the thing about Eddie. He always listens to you no matter what you’re saying. Whether it’s nonsense when you’re both high on whatever he’s gotten his hands on or if you’re reading to him from a book you’ve gotten from the library, it doesn’t matter. He loves the sound of your voice. He loves you and seeing you with those losers you always seem to be going out with pisses him off. He’s right there and he hates that you can’t see that. 

He’d never tell you that, though. He loves what the two of you have and doesn’t want to risk losing you. So he just sits there and listens to you talk about your terrible dates, complaining about how there are no nice guys when he’s right there. It’s pathetic, really and he hates thinking about it. How he’s wrapped around your goddamn finger and you don’t even notice just how badly he wants you. 

“Of course I have,” he breathes. “I think about it all the time.” 

He’s said too much but you seem into it. And as you buck your hips against his, he’s really hoping that you feel the same way. It would make the whole thing far less embarrassing for him. But he doesn’t think you will because after all, this is just a fuck for you while it means the world to Eddie. 

“Can you keep a secret?” You ask and Eddie nods furiously, just knowing that he’s about to hear something filthy. You’ve shared dirty secrets with him many times before but he just knows that this one will be different. 

“Of course I can,” he nods and you push some of his wet hair behind his air as you bring your lips right up to it. You’re taking the lead now, riding him as you whisper your secret and Eddie swears that this is the most turned on he’s ever been.

“You know this summer when you wore those really short shorts almost every day?” You ask and Eddie knows exactly what you’re talking about. Robin got them for his birthday as a joke, but he started wearing them around you to hopefully make you see him in the way he wanted you to. 

“Mhm,” he nods and you pull him even closer, your lips so close to his ear that they’re almost pressed up against it.

“Well, I get myself off every night thinking about them.” Eddie thinks he’s going to come right there at your confession and he’s trying so hard not to, but just the vision of you getting yourself off is making him get there even faster. 

And before he can stop it, he’s reaching his orgasm, making sure to pull out of you as he comes, his eyes shut tight, his head thrown back as he lets it happen, still letting you stay attached to him as you watch him. 

“Jesus,” he moans as it reaches its peak and once it’s over, he slumps over you, resting his head on your shoulder. It’s partly because he’s tired and partly because he’s too embarrassed about what just happened to look you in the eye. 

So you hold him for a second, your fingers moving up and down his back lazily as you assure him that it’s okay, that he has no reason to be embarrassed, that you’re actually flattered by it. And you are. You had no idea how attracted he was to you and now feel like an idiot because you were too stupid to see it. 

How long had he felt that way and how long had he been hiding it? You don’t know why he’s so ashamed of it. He’s just attracted to you physically, right? You feel the same way about him so you don’t know he’s hiding from you. 

Just when you’re about to suggest that you head back, he pulls back to look at you and there’s something in his eyes that you’ve never seen in the almost seventeen years that the two of you have been friends. His eyes are the softest they’ve ever been and you’re now scared of what he’s going to say. 

“I love you,” he says, those honey eyes boring into yours and your heart pounds at his confession. You almost want to tell him that you don’t feel the same, but you know that’s not true. He’s been someone who was always there, treating you the way you should have been treated without asking for anything in return. He was doing it just because that was who he was and because it was what you deserved. 

You went to all of those losers because you had been afraid of taking a chance on Eddie. He’s been your best friend your entire life and you were terrified of losing the best thing you’ve ever had. You don’t think you’re afraid of taking a chance on him anymore, though. You think it’s time you claimed what was rightfully yours. 

“I love you too,” you reply and a grin breaks out on Eddie’s face as he pulls you into a kiss, the both of you smiling into the kiss as your legs wrap tighter around him, wanting to keep him there even though you know he’s not going anywhere. 

“How about we celebrate elsewhere?” Eddie asks as he pulls away, a flirty tone taking over his voice. 

“What kind of celebration?” You reply, batting your eyelashes as you remove yourself from him. 

“I think you know what kind of celebration,” he winks, grabbing hold of your hand pulling you along as the two of you swim to the shore, climbing into the back of the van where you spend the rest of the morning until the sun comes up showing how much you love each other when you aren’t saying the three words. And there’s no place that either of you would rather be.

[7seas-of-ryy]

Crestfallen - Part 2

Author’s Note: I hope everyone has a great New Years!!

Overall Summary: Although you were born in the Day Court, you've been living in the Night Court for a century. You're close with the inner circle but what will happen when a new healer is brought into the picture?

Part 2 Summary: Gaslighting and harming patients is not what a healer is supposed to do!

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: talks of injuries

Waking up, your entire body felt like it was on fire. You couldn't remember what happened so you did what Az and Cass had trained you to do. Taking a deep breath, you assessed your surroundings. You were laying in someone's room, Azriel's room. That's a relief. One other thing you notice was you were naked and wrapped in ice cold, wet rags.

Hearing footsteps approaching, you closed your eyes and pretended to be asleep still.

"Azzy, you don't have to have her sleep in your bed. I can keep her down in the recovery room of my shop." Clara's sickly sweet voice broke the silence.

Azzy?? She has a nickname for him? She's barely known him. All these thoughts kept running through your head while you waited for his response.

"No, she's staying here. It's the least I can do for her. I should've checked on her sooner, I was just so caught up in my work that I didn't realize no one had seen or heard from her for two days." Azriel responded.

"Stop beating yourself up. She's a big girl and can handle herself. Plus, you're such an important piece in the Night Court, you don't need to be worrying so much about her." She told him.

Before she could keep going, you made it known you were awake by softly clearing your throat.

Az ran to your side and kneeled down next to you, grabbing your hand.

"You're awake! I was so worried. You've had a terrible fever so Clara wrapped you in these rags to cool you down. That cut on your back looked really bad too, why didn't you let Clara help you the other night?" Azriel spoke softly to you, and by the looks of it he hadn't been sleeping much.

"What? Clara told me-" You choked out but your throat felt so dry it was hard to talk.

"Don't you remember? I offered you the salve and wrap for your cut, told you it looked infected? You told me you just wanted to sleep it off. I didn't think that would be good but I can't force anyone to get better especially if they don't want to." She talked down to you like you were a child.

You felt like you were going crazy. Maybe Clara was right, maybe in your exhaustion you refused help and ended up getting worse. But you could've sworn she told you everything was fine.

"Water." it was all you could choke out.

"I'll get it for you." Clara offered but you didn't trust her. Especially with your mind as foggy as it was right now.

"No!" You shouted, well tried to shout.

"Ok, ok, calm down. I can get it for you, would that be ok?" Azriel asked as he gently pushed the hair out of your face.

You nodded your head and he got up to get it for you. Once he was gone, Clara started fumbling around in her bag and pulled out a powder.

She walked over to you, opening the substance and put a little bit of it in the cap.

"Wha-?" You started to say as she blew the capful of powder straight into your face.

The most intense pain took over your body. It was like your flesh was being torn from your bones. Your body writhed in agony and you were screaming out in pain. The shadowsinger came running in the room straight to you.

"What happened? Help her!" His voice was booming.

"I don't know, she was fine then all of the sudden this happened. I think I have something that can fix her!" She sounded panicked and worried for you.

Pulled a liquid out of her bag, she looked pained towards Az like she didn't want to give it to you.

"What're you doing? Hurry!!" He shouted.

"This is going to hurt her a lot, I need you to hold her down." Clara told Az.

He quickly grabbed his belt off and slipped it in your mouth so you could bite down on it and held your arms down.

"I'm so sorry," He whispered to you, "She's gonna help you, it'll be over soon."

Clara grabbed a dagger and cut down your side. She grabbed the liquid and dropped it into the cut. However bad you thought the pain was, was nothing compared to this. You thought you were going to die, the last thing you saw was Azriel' hazel eyes before passing out once again.

"She needs some time for that to kick in. Her cut must've been worse than I thought. I needed to treat the infection, the liquid I poured into the cut will do that and it will work faster the way I did it." Clara told the spymaster, walking over to him and rubbing his shoulders.

----

The next time you woke up, Az was sitting on the ground with his back against the bed. You didn't see Clara anywhere so relief instantly flooded your mind.

Sensing the change in your breathing, Azriel's head shot up and he stood up to see you.

"Hey, how are you doing?" He whispered.

"Where's Clara?" You asked, partly out of fear.

"Why? Do you need her? I can call for her-" He started

"NO" You immediately shut him down, "Please keep her away from me. I'm sick because of her!"

Azriel looked at you as if you grew a second head.

"You have to listen to me. She has been horrible to me since the second she met me..." You were pleading with him.

"Stop." He whispered but you kept going, speaking over him.

"She didn't even assess me the other night, which is why my cut is infected and then she blew some powder in my face which caused everything earlier. She is purposefully making me sick." You were rambling, trying to get him to understand.

"Enough." Azriel spoke in a stern voice, "Listen, I don't know if it's because of everything you're going through but Clara is the only reason you aren't in agony right now. You cannot pin something like this on her. She has been very essential these past 2 weeks and she is extremely kind. There is no way she could possibly do something like that."

Those words were like a punch to your gut. How could he not believe you? You've been best friends for over 75 years, known each other for a century. This is the male that you were in love with, siding with Clara.

"You don't believe me." You whispered, feeling a tear slide down your cheek.

"I'm not saying that. I'm saying you had a long, tough first solo mission and I think it's taking it's toll on you. Your mind might be playing tricks." He tried to make it better but the look he gave you was full of pity.

"Please leave now." You mumbled and turned your head away from him.

Without saying another word, you felt his shadows settle over you and as quick as they were there, they left along with their master.

------

A few days have past now with you showing no signs of improvement. You haven't gotten worse but you definitely haven't gotten better.

Mor and Nesta visited you quite a bit, Nesta even read to you every night. You asked Rhys to have Azriel stay away and even though he thought that would be counterproductive, he respected your wishes.

For 75 years, you have been in love with the Spymaster. Of course, you never told him out of fear of rejection but also because you knew he would never feel the same and it would ruin your friendship. You knew the feelings were unrequited when he didn't believe you about Clara.

It felt deeper than him not believing you, in a way it felt as if he chose her over you and that hurt far worse than any of the physical pain you went through.

As you were deep in thought, Nesta and Mor both came into your room. Well, Azriel's room. You were still too weak to move anywhere else.

"Hey, you're awake!" Mor greeted you with a smile.

"I brought a new book for us to start, if you are up for it." Nesta added.

She was always kind to you because you were there for her with everything she went through. Nesta was grateful for your unrelenting friendship and you were happy to have her as a friend.

Right as you were about to respond to Nesta, you felt the cut on your back heating up. Searing pain started shooting through your body and you thought you saw tendrils of light swirling around you. Confused and in agony, you threw your head back.

"Get Clara." Mor told Nesta as she tried to help you.

You were too weak to tell her no, the light seemed to be getting brighter. A high pitched squeal was getting louder. Suddenly, your body was being lifted in the air by the beams of light but it was as if you were paralyzed.

Clara winnowed into the room, her eyes going wide as she witnessed what was happening to you.

The noise was so loud that Nesta, Mor, and Clara were all covering their ears. Your body was convulsing, the light becoming so bright you thought you were going to explode.

"DO SOMETHING!" Mor screamed over all of the noise.

The fear in Clara's eyes was evident and she stood there not moving.

"..uh...I...I didn't do this one! I don't know how to fix it! I'll see if Madja is close by." She stated and winnowed away.

Nesta's head snapped to Clara but she was already gone. Mor ran to you but there was nothing she could do. Rhys, Azriel, and Cassian all ran into the room to see what was happening but there was nothing they could do either.

"What happened?!" Az shouted but no one responded.

A few moments passed before Clara winnowed back into the room, this time with Madja, who calmly made her way to you and hovered her hands over your form. She started mumbling some words and your body slowly laid back down on the bed.

The beams of light slowly went away and you weren't screaming in pain anymore.

"All of you. Out now. I need space to work. You need to go too, Clara." Madja spoke without looking up, "Except you, High Lord, I might need you."

Cassian, Mor, Clara, and Nesta started to get out and Azriel stayed, he couldn't leave you. Cassian grabbed him and forced him out as they all made their way down to the living area.

They all stood worrying about you, the Spymaster's shadows swirling like mad when Nesta broke the silence.

"Hey Clara...what did you mean when you said "You didn't do this one" earlier?" She spoke, her eyes narrowing on the female.

Taglist

@rcarbo1 @acourtofbatboydreams @bravo-delta-eccho

[unacknowledgeable]

Uhm, hey!

I love your serial killer reader so so much, and I just want to say that it just scratches that itch in my brain.

Though, I feel like commissioners Gordon could be a yandere of a sort. He’s obsessed with the killer and finding this person, willing to break any law to find evidence, to risk his own morals to get a clue. And if he finds out its reader???

Well, I’ll be kinda like a Hannibal and will situation, but platonic. Like, reader now has their sight on this man, curious on how he’ll play the game, and Gordon is too obsessed not to play.

Anyway, could I be 🔎? Thanks for reading!!

Oh anon, anon anon anon, big kith for you (to transfer the worms, obviously) I told myself i would take a BREAK, but you, you, I'm bouncing off the walls bc of you

Y’know I actually have a spreadsheet with all of the batfams ages? when certain events happen, motivations, etc, now I gotta add gordon too, goodness me.

I honestly haven't watched Hannibal QwQ haha, would you believe me if I said most of the media I consume is actually feel good kids cartoons….? 

BUT I have been wanting to watch it so I watched the first few episodes before replying to this, because I gotta be informed y’know? admittedly i find there's a lot of disconnect between the correlating characters, but this is a wonderful jumping off point!

ANYWAY, I have actually been trying to think of a way to give the MC more of a life outside of angst with the batfam and, well, you know, murdering people. and this? This is so fun. I think the MC would probably know Gordon through Barbara (obviously), but that's not how they met. He was there, the night your mother died, arriving on the scene to find something he had hoped he wouldn't have found again, not after the first time. A small, 8 year old child, orphaned in a single night.

 Admittedly, that's where the similarities ended.  Where Bruce lost his parents in a back alley of Gotham, you lost yours within your own home. Where two gunshots marked the Wayne couple, your mother was bludgeoned . Where Bruce had wept, blood on his shoes as he gripped his parents bodies, pleading and fighting to hold on, you sat outside, waiting for police to arrive, not a drop of blood on you. 

Getting you to answer questions was like pulling teeth, all they could gather was that your mother had sent you to bed and you later woke up to find her body in the kitchen, having already been dead for several hours. They figured it was a robbery gone wrong, which would explain the killer not knowing another person was in the house, having fled the scene as soon as possible. But that didn't explain why on earth you didn't wake up to what was obviously a loud struggle, there was simply no way. 

The blood results very quickly answered that question and sparked hundreds more. Your mother had been microdosing your food with sleeping pills, all found within the apartment under her name. Either she didn't want to deal with putting you to bed or wanted to make sure you stayed there throughout the night. The fact that you were even still conscious was kinda a miracle. Gordon seriously wished that had been the biggest surprise from those damned tests. Because it turned out his earlier comparisons with Bruce Wayne were far more accurate then he ever would have guessed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's not exactly a stretch to assume Gordan kept some kind a of contact with you after everything is settled, he’s done it before, dudes literally one of Bruce's best friends 

He sees you at charity galas a lot, and after catching you trying to sneak alcohol from one of the tables? He appoints himself as your chaperone for any galas you both happen to attend from there on out, which is quite a few of them over the years

You'd have been a lot more annoyed with him if he hadn't allowed you to ramble and talk non-stop throughout the whole event (he was a distraction, like the alcohol, at least this distraction is legal)

This continues on even when your older, when he no longer has any legal need to herd you away from the drink tables, it's just habit now, and you hate breaking habits

While your connection with Bruce can get you many places, it's your connection with the Commissioner that basically guarantees you a position in the coroner's office

yeah, they work in the coroner's office as a mortuary assistant heheheeh  

It's not really suspicious either, Gordon had been well aware of your goal for the job for many years (long before you started making the bodies yourself)

So now, not only do you have near unlimited access to all the case files the bats have on you, you also had access to what the police knew (it's mostly the same stuff, but you had to cover all your bases, god you're just like your father)

There was some sort of irony, performing autopsies on the people you killed, but you don't care to look for it, more focused on destroying any bits of evidence you can

Gordon is no stranger to giving out confidential police info, hell he has a glorified flashlight built specifically to call the bat and just hand him case files, ON TOP OF THE POLICE STATION!!

You often work similar hours, so you let him talk and talk and talk at length about how fucking weird this serial killer in particular is

Unlike with the batfam, reader literally gets a front row seat to Gordon's descent into obsession

You'd seen him with almost every other criminal case that popped up during your time spent around the police department, so you caught on pretty quickly that this was was no normal case to him anymore

He was obsessive, rattling on about the motives and habits of this killer, talking like he knew them personally (oh the ironyyyy) and at first? It weirded you the fuck out.

Not the behavior in general, but that it was essentially focused solely on you, you kept him up at night, kept him guessing, wondering when you’ll strike next, how brutal will it be, more or less than usual?

At first you're like “oh okay, ummmm…. you good buddy? I'm not sure you're all there yourself actually”

You'd just never felt so seen, at least, not by someone still living

Now, Gordon's obsession isn't based on nothing, when I said he found the way SK!reader operated weird asf, I meant it, this man is utterly baffled by it

Normally, when crime scenes are as brutal as yours, its personal, they know the person they've murdered and they hold so much rage in their heart that they can't help but try to cause as much damage to the victim as possible

These crimes also only ever happen once. Not dozens and dozens of times, committed by the same person, it is always so insanely messy that it's easy to pinpoint the who, how and why. Open and shut cases really, just another Tuesday

But when he looks closer? It feels…. Sterile, Methodical, Planned out, scripted, like hitting replay on a particularly interesting scene in a show

This? This has all the showy, over-exaggerated nature of Gotham's greatest rogues, down to the last detail, to the last drop of blood. but it's missing the rogue

It has all of the signs of an attention seeking psychopath, but none of the drive to follow through. To take your rightful credit

Normally such a passionate crime would have someone of equal magnitude behind it. The Joker and his killing Jokes, Ivy and her Eco-terrorism, Bane and his hulking demeanor, Two-face and his double standards-

The point is, there's always a show before the Finale, but with you? He only gets a glimpse at the film before the end credits roll. 

It’s like you're diverting where your real motivations lie, like this is you holding back.

 It’s driving him up a wall

 Your really not making this easy for him, ever your fathers child

Besides that, I'm gonna end this with a few interesting points I thought of that are more difficult to go into more detail rn

Reader is pretty okay with hanging out with Gordon mostly to be petty to Barbara

Of the mindset of “oh, you want my dad? Fine, your dad's mine now. Y oink-”

Later, this'll be a pretty big blow to Bruce's ego, bc like, that's his best friend, so how can he really be upset that Gordon stepped up where he failed? Won’t stop him from being mopey about it though.

It's also a hit to Alfred's as well, because how hadn't he noticed you growing so close to the commissioner? He though your pulling away from him for emotional support was just you growing up, not you looking for it elsewhere 

Gordon has also gotten the closest to finding the reader out, completely by accident

It was one of those days and he was worried about your sour mood, so he figured he’d drop by your workplace, pick you up after your shift ended, and go get take out

Safe to say, he was not expecting to find you mid brawl with some random drunk in an alley only 4 blocks away from where you worked

He stepped in immediately, to your surprise and horror, but he… he checked you for damage instead of slapping you in cuffs, made sure you were okay before calling an EMT to the location, and the only questions he had asked were “Are you okay sprout?”

You thanked your lucky stars that it was the drunk who had thrown the first swing, had instigated the fight, that the camera from the corner store across the street helped solidify that it was self defense, that Gordon had shown up just before it switched to a grizzly murder, and not during.

Another side story could also be the reader getting weirdly invested in the case about them at some point, because they realized they had a copycat killer and it really pissed them off lol

[rebouks]

Previous // Next

Levi: Dude, gimmie a pencil. Aster: You better give it back this ti-.. hey! Teacher: Detention! Aster: Wha-.. that wasn’t me! Teacher: Use something without your name on it next time, Einstein. Aster: Dick. [bell ringing] Aster: Where’re you going?! We’ve got PE! Levi: I’ll catch up!

…

Meet me by the lockups after detention Robin :) Meet me by the lockups after detention Aster (definitely not Levi ahahah) ps. it’s on you now btw – actions speak louder than words? idk

…

Aster: I got your note… So, uh.. wha-… Aster: Woah-.. I-I mean, what’re you doing?! [Robin shrugged casually, smacking his lips together to make a kissing noise] Aster: Aha.. not here! Maybe-… [Aster looked over his shoulder skittishly as Robin tried not to roll his eyes, Aster was almost as bad as Levi] Aster: Do you maybe wanna come over? [Robin offered Aster an agreeable shrug, nodding slightly] Aster: I usually get the bus, but… [Robin snickered at Aster’s confusion; all the buses would be long gone by now] Aster: I’ll ring my mom-.. but, like.. you’re just a friend, okay?

…

Robin stifled a sigh, running his fingers along his lips in a zipping motion before following his classmate. He supposed Aster was kind of cute, though he seemed a bit boring and uptight if Robin felt like being honest. He’d much rather have kissed Alex, but his inability to read her left him feeling terrified by the idea. What if she was repulsed by him? Robin could imagine her recoiling, a look of absolute horror marring her features as she exclaimed “You’re like a brother to me!” He’d surely ruin their friendship then. She’d probably convince her father she wanted to go home and never speak to him again-.. it’d be too awkward. Robin propped himself against a lamppost, watching with a squint as Aster seated himself a suitable distance away. He might not have been head over heels for the guy, but Robin figured he ought to give him a chance-.. maybe Levi was right, maybe dating Aster would change everything. Either way, at least he was sure Aster liked him enough not to scream when he kissed him.

[honeyncherry]

taste me now - bfb!rafe

summary in which rafe can’t help himself around his little sister’s best friend, especially after what happened last week

content 18+, suggestive

Sarah’s laugh rang out across the backyard as the two of you sat by the pool. She was mid-story, something about Kiara’s latest terrible date, or maybe it was JJ’s? You weren’t sure. Her words blurred together, punctuated by exaggerated hand gestures and little bursts of laughter. 

You were doing your best to listen — really, you were.

But you could feel him. 

Rafe was up on the deck, leaning against the railing like he had all the time in the world. A cigarette balanced between his fingers, the faint trail of smoke curled lazily into the air drifting in soft, spiraling ribbons. And while his gaze stayed mostly fixed on the horizon, you knew better.

He wasn’t looking at you, not overtly, at least. But the occasional flick of his gaze in your direction was enough to make your stomach twist.

The memory of that kiss burned hotter than the relentless summer sun. You’d told yourself it was a mistake. An impulsive, heat-of-the-moment lapse in judgment. You were Sarah’s best friend, for goodness’ sake!

There were rules about these things. 

Rules you’d shattered the second his lips touched yours.

And yet, even now, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. About the way his hand had lingered on that sliver of exposed skin between your top and too-short skirt, his touch leaving a trail of warmth that refused to fade. How his other hand settled at the curve of your jaw, his thumb grazing your cheek with a quiet, consuming intensity. As though he were mapping every contour, committing it to memory. And most of all, the way he’d breathed out your name, his voice deep and reverent, like it was something sacred. Something meant to be cherished by him alone.

You shifted in your chair, skin prickling under the weight of your own thoughts. The guilt coiled tight in your chest, its grip almost suffocating. You told yourself again and again that you shouldn’t be looking at him. You shouldn’t even be thinking about him.

But you couldn’t stop.

“Ugh, one sec,” Sarah said suddenly, cutting through the haze in your mind. She glanced at her phone, frowning. “It’s Wheezie. If I don’t answer, she’s gonna call like, five more times.”

She stood, her hair swaying behind her as she made her way toward the house, already pressing the phone to her ear. “I’ll be right back,” she called over her shoulder.

You nodded mutely, not trusting yourself to speak. The moment she disappeared, inside the backyard seemed quieter somehow. All sounds around you faded into an oppressive stillness.

You focused in on the pool, trying to steady your breathing while watching the water ripple in the light breeze. Trying to remind yourself that there was nothing to worry about.

But you felt it before you saw him.

A shift in the air. A weight pressing down on your senses. The faint smell of smoke lingering even though the cigarette had been long gone.

His sudden presence made your pulse quicken, and you wondered how he’d gotten so close without you noticing. “Hey baby,” he husked, his voice soft and hurried as he glanced behind him, checking to make sure Sarah wasn’t returning.

“Rafe—” you started, your voice faltering as you looked up. But he didn’t let you finish.

He leaned down abruptly, one hand gripping the armrest of your chair, the other sliding to the back of your head in one swift, almost desperate motion. His fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck without hesitation, and before you could utter another word, he pulled you toward him, his lips crashing into yours.

Once again, you found yourself succumbing to Rafe Cameron far too easily. The kiss was reckless, charged with the heat and tension that had been brewing between you for weeks. Rafe’s teeth teased your lips, his breath warm and beyond intoxicating.

Your hands twitched at your sides, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer. Instead, they froze, clawing at the fabric of your chair as if anchoring yourself would somehow steady the whirlwind inside you. Your heart clenched, and a shaky exhale escaped against his lips.

Your heart raced, its pounding so fierce it silenced everything else, leaving the world around you a distant blur. Guilt clawed at your mind even as your body betrayed you, leaning ever so slightly into him, just enough to feel his hard chest brushing up against your tits. Rafe groans, pulling away and looking down as they spill out from your bikini top.

He licks his lips, glancing up and shooting you a sleazy grin. He stares just long enough for the both of you to catch a single breath, before muttering two words that would echo in your mind for the next week: “Missed this.”

He kisses you again, lips and tongue all over you. Your mouth, your cheek, your jaw. They move frantically from your ear to your neck. You gasp as a new flood of emotions crashes over you, threatening to pull you under while your hands reach up to grab him. To touch him. To feel him.

“Rafe,” you whispered again, this time more of a plea.

But he’d already pulled back. His movements were measured, almost like he was savoring the moment.

His smirk lingered, curling at the corners of his lips like he knew exactly what chaos he was leaving behind. His gaze flicked to your lips one last time, a shadow of something unreadable crossing his face before he turned his head.

He glanced over his shoulder, pausing for the briefest moment as Sarah’s voice floated faintly from inside the house.

Then, with maddening composure, he straightened. Every movement exuded an infuriating sense of calm, as though nothing just happened.

With his hands slipping casually into his pockets, he turned and headed toward the docks, the sunlight catching the sharp angles of his profile before he disappeared from sight.

You were frozen in place, breath hitched in your throat. Leaning slightly forward, you were still caught in the lingering pull of where he’d held you just seconds ago. Your fingers brushed against your lips, as if needing proof that it had really happened… again.

A weight pressed against your chest, the same dangerous pull from last week, but now it hit harder. It was stronger, deeper, and even more impossible to ignore.

The sound of Sarah’s footsteps jolted you back to reality. Your gaze snapped toward the house just as she stepped outside, phone in hand.

“Ugh, finally,” she groaned, dropping into her chair with a dramatic sigh. The legs scraped faintly against the concrete as she slouched back, completely unaware of the storm still raging inside you. “Wheezie wouldn’t shut up about this jacket she found on sale. I swear, I’m blocking her next time.”

She trailed off, her nose wrinkling as she sniffed the air. Her eyes narrowed, scanning the space around you, “wait. Does it smell like smoke out here?”

No.

Your body went rigid, heart slamming against your ribs like it was trying to break free. “Uh, I don’t think so?” 

Sarah turned sharply, her gaze locking onto you. “Are you sure?” she asked, leaning in closer.

The moment stretched unbearably, your pulse roaring in your ears as you forced a shrug, silently begging her not to see the guilt etched across your face.

“Well, whatever,” she said at last, leaning back in her chair with a dismissive wave. “I swear, Rafe stinks up the whole house when he smokes. So gross.”

You swallowed hard, your tongue brushing over your lips. The faint taste of smoke lingered there, branded on your skin.

You hated how much you liked it.

[blue-lights-to-dreams]

Golden Light (pt. 2) // H.S.

part 2 to Golden Light! please read that first if you haven't already!

synopsis: you and Harry go back to your apartment after your date, and learn a little more about each other in the process.

warnings: smut, kissing, fingering (f receiving), i think that's it?

wc: 3.6k

a/n: the (maybe) long-awaited sequel to Golden Light as so many of you requested! thank you all so much for all of the love on that work, i'm so happy you guys enjoyed it. let me know what you think of this and if you'd like to see a part 3! :)

----------

The crackle of the fireplace (and the wine you were drinking) was almost enough to soothe your nerves. Almost. 

You and Harry were sprawled on your living room floor, backs against the couch, enjoying the heat radiating from the fire as Harry described what he had gotten his family for Christmas this year. It was only the beginning of December, but he had everyone’s gifts already. He was so prepared, and the gifts he picked were so thoughtful. Each came with a backstory of exactly why he chose it, usually after the person mentioned something in passing once or twice. 

A vintage whale-shaped coffee mug for his sister, who’d talked about how much she enjoyed a documentary about them over brunch one day. A beautiful landscape by a local painter for his mother after she admired another of her works when they’d gone to the art museum. He’d even gotten a custom doll made for his goddaughter after she complained one day that none of the ones at the store looked like her.

You’d picked out a riesling from your small stash of wine when you two arrived at your flat, remembering that’s what Harry preferred. You’d quickly changed into soft shorts and a graphic t-shirt, needing out of your dress, before the two of you settled on the floor and fell back into comfortable chatter.

It was probably for the better that he was the one speaking at the moment, because you could feel your head get fuzzier with each sip from your glass. As much as you tried to stay focused, you couldn’t help but run your eyes up his frame. He’d draped his blazer over the back of one of your barstools as he’d come in, leaving him in just his slacks and half-unbuttoned dress shirt. He looked stunning.

Harry noticed the way you were looking at him but elected not to say anything as he continued his story. “I’m really hoping she’s going to like it. How about you? Anything special you’ve gotten for anyone?”

His question snapped you out of your mild stupor, and you racked your brain. “Not really – I’m not nearly as prepared as you are. I only need to get a couple of things, though. Just something for my mom and a few for my friends. Nothing major.”

“No siblings?” He asked.

“Nope. Well, I do have them, but they’re my step-siblings, and I don’t think I’ve seen them since I was like 14 or so. My dad kind of packed them up and ran for the hills with his new wife at that point.” Your statement was blunt, and you picked at the skin around your nails as you explained. It wasn’t anything you had a hard time discussing anymore, given it had been upwards of 10 years. 

“Wow, I’m sorry to hear that,” Harry looked like he didn’t know what to say. You probably should have said that differently, you thought, not wanting to overshare and make him uncomfortable.

“It’s fine, Harry. It was a long time ago, and probably for the better. My mom and I have only gotten closer since then, and I wouldn’t change it.” He nodded in understanding with a small smile but didn’t respond, letting his gaze drift to the artwork hung over the mantle of the fireplace.

A hush fell between the two of you, the noise of the fire and your creaky New York City radiator the only things audible. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, just calm and peaceful. You stood to open the window – the heat was getting to be too much. It was nearing midnight at this point, so there wasn’t much commotion on your street, but the sound of cars driving by now and then was familiar and soothing.

You returned to your seat, slightly closer to Harry than you had been previously. He seemed deep in thought, arm draped lazily over the seat of the couch behind him. His eyes hadn’t left the window after they followed your movement there.

“Whatcha thinking about?” You questioned softly, turning to face him and pulling your knees to your chest, leaning to rest your shoulder against the cushions. You didn’t mean to pry, but you wanted to know what was going on inside that pretty head of his.

“Honestly,” he exhaled, brows furrowing slightly, “you.”

“Me?” Not the answer you’d expected.

“Yes, you,” he spoke with a hint of teasing, flashing a quick smile at you before glancing away. “I was thinking about how long it’s been since I’ve enjoyed myself this much on a date. I really like you, Y/N.” His eyes returned to yours like they were searching for your response.

His earnestness left you speechless for a moment. You stared back at him - his eyes were so green, so beautiful, like waves were crashing against white sand just behind his pupils.

“I like you too, Harry.” He relaxed slightly, shifting his position a hair. “This is definitely the best date I’ve been on in a long time.” You weren’t always great at expressing emotion, but it was only fair for him to know how you felt too.

He grinned, then, and pushed himself up to slide closer to you on the floor. His eyes were still locked on yours, both of you smiling at each other like giddy teenagers. His arm was almost around you now but remained on the couch as you lowered your legs, returning them to a cross-legged position. Harry reached forward, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear before allowing his hand to rest gently on the side of your neck, thumb caressing your jawbone slowly. He looked you up and down, again admiring how gorgeous you looked before flitting his eyes to your lips. 

He inhaled briskly, hand not halting its movements on your face. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, of course. You don’t have to ask, but I appreciate it.” As much as you liked Harry being a gentleman, right now, you honestly just wanted him to be anything but.

He nodded quickly before pulling you forward, pressing his lips to yours. It started with slow, gentle movements of your lips together, but quickly became much more desperate. His hands roamed your face before moving to your waist, gripping the skin above your hips just firmly enough to drive you crazy. Your hands were pressed to his chest over his thin silk shirt, and you could feel the muscles there flex as he moved his hands around your body. You weren’t normally one to care about muscles, but something about his drove you crazy.

Harry’s thumbs brushed your lower ribs as he deepened the kiss, stealing your breath for a moment. Your hands instinctively moved to his hair, fingers knotting through and gently gripping his short curls. A small groan left his throat, shooting straight to your core. His hands suddenly gripped your hips harshly, lifting you to pull you into his lap. He swallowed the small gasp you let out as he did so, flattening his hands on your back to pull you against him as you settled on his thighs. The kiss was sloppy, now, almost depraved, as he tried to pull you as close as physically possible. The way you were tugging his hair was driving him wild, you could tell, and it only encouraged you.

You pulled away from his mouth for just a second as your fingers moved to toy with the small buttons of his shirt. “Can I take this off?”

“Please,” Harry sighed, loosening his grip on you so you had the space to work. As you undid the last button, he pulled away from the couch and shrugged the shirt off, allowing it to fall onto the floor behind him.

He was breathtaking. At dinner, you could see the tattooed heads of what you assumed to be two small birds peeking out from under his shirt, but you weren’t expecting him to have so many more. Those swallows sat just underneath his collarbone, above a large butterfly on his stomach that almost appeared lifelike, the ink stretching and compressing as he breathed. His left arm was nearly covered in various small symbols and words, and you made a mental note to ask about them later. 

Your hands returned to his chest, this time without barriers. The skin there was soft to the touch but you could feel the firm muscle underneath. It was warm. Hot.

The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched as he tried to suppress a smirk at your wide-eyed gaze. After a few seconds of letting you stare, he pulled your lips back to his, unable to wait. It was just as desperate as before.

His large hands slowly slid down your back as your mouths moved together, finding the hem of your shirt before reaching underneath it to grab your hips. The feeling of his warm hands contrasted with the cold metal of the rings he wore, pulling a small gasp from you.

His firm grip on your hips was short-lived as his hands quickly began drifting upwards, thumbs slightly massaging your lower ribs. Fingers splayed on your back, Harry felt you pant into the kiss, unable to catch your breath.

He pulled away for a second, removing his hands from your skin. A small groan escaped you at the loss of warmth, which you hoped Harry didn’t notice. One hand moved to hold your face and the other bunched the hem of your shirt and tugged on it slightly. 

“Can I take this off?” He asked, not breaking eye contact. He needed to make sure you were okay with it, just like he would with whatever else ended up happening that night.

You nodded quickly, helping him lift the shirt over your head and toss it onto the floor beside you. He gripped your shoulders and pushed you away slightly so he could see you.

Harry thought you were stunning. His eyes raked longingly over every inch of you - shoulders, arms, breasts, and stomach, taking it all in. His hands slid off your shoulders to press against your ribs again, thumbs brushing the skin just under your bra. He tore his eyes away from the fabric and skin, gazing at you slack-jawed with blown-out pupils.

“Y’so beautiful, Y/N,” he panted, words slurred slightly from the breathlessness, and your heart just about burst in your chest. You weren’t used to being looked at like this, and it made you nervous, but the look in Harry’s eyes told you there was nothing to be afraid of. He didn’t look like he just wanted to fuck you – he looked like he wanted to worship you.

Instead of a response, you smashed your lips back to his. One of the hands gripping your ribs shifted to cup you over your bra, and you couldn’t help the moan that you let out. This only spurred Harry on as he followed suit, groaning into your mouth. The noise was divine – a low, throaty rumble that went straight to your core.

You needed more of his skin on you. Now. 

You reached behind yourself and unhooked your bra, shaking it off your shoulders until it dropped to the floor on top of your shirt. While you appreciated Harry asking for permission to continue with everything, you couldn’t wait until he worked up the nerve to ask you before feeling his bare hands on your chest.

He took your invitation to continue grasping at your breast, this time with no barrier. A louder moan left you as his thumb brushed over your nipple, electricity pulsing through your veins. Harry groaned into your mouth again, his other hand resting on your ass and bringing it forward until you sat directly on top of his length. It pressed deliciously against you, pulling another gasp from your throat. He was hard beneath you as you ground back on him, hips rocking in sync with the kiss.

You broke away for a moment to catch your breath, continuing to move against him. Your head fell back until you were panting up at the ceiling. Harry wasted no time in connecting his lips with your neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, licks, and soft bites along it and down to your shoulder blades. The room was quiet apart from the symphony of both of your breathing, the crackle of the fire, and the odd car passing by.

He continued to kiss down your body to the soft tissue of your breast, capturing your nipple in his mouth. The feeling was heaven as his tongue flicked the bud before moving to the other side, his thumb replacing it. His other hand was reaching down your stomach to the button of your shorts, toying with the seams of the fabric. He removed his mouth from you, and you had to hold back a whine of disappointment.

“Is it alright if we get these off of you?” he asked tenderly, staring into you again. You nodded hastily, helping him unbutton them and lifting your hips so he could pull the fabric down your legs and over your knees. You kicked them off, leaving you in just your underwear as he looked you up and down again.

With the layer of fabric gone, your center met his again. You could feel the warmth radiating from his shaft as you pressed onto him, the two of you both groaning in pleasure. The rigid zipper of his pants rubbed firmly against your clit addictively.

A sudden wave of insecurity rushed over you as you realized the situation you’d put yourself in. Here you were, on a blind date with a near stranger, and you were already sitting on top of him in just your underwear while he was still in his pants. It wasn’t like you to give in to a man this quickly, but Harry’s face and smile and body and charm had gotten into your head and pushed away your ability to reason. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be doing this - it was quite the opposite, you were having a lovely time. You just didn’t want Harry to think you were easy, or that this was your plan.

You didn’t realize your movements against Harry had stilled until he was holding your face again, forcing you to look at him. He knew you were in your head about something, and he needed to find out what before taking things any further.

“Y/N, hey, what’s wrong? Do y’need to stop?” His voice was thick with concern as he searched your eyes for discomfort. You shook your head hurriedly, not wanting him to think you weren’t enjoying yourself.

“No, no, I’m fine,” you sighed, face flushing in embarrassment. “I’m just– I’m not usually the type to fuck on the first date. I don’t want you to think that was all I wanted from you.”

“Well, ‘f it helps, I wasn’t planning on having sex with you tonight.” Before you could react negatively (as you were about to) he quickly continued, “I just want to make you feel good tonight. You said you’ve been stressed out all week about work, and I just want to make that go away for you for a while. S’that okay, baby?”

Of course, he knew the perfect thing to say. Your eyes nearly rolled back into your head at how considerate he was, and the pet name at the end was the cherry on top. “That sounds really nice. Thank you, Harry.”

He chuckled before lifting your hips off of his and setting you on the floor next to him, making sure you were close to the fireplace so you didn’t get cold. His hands prompted you to turn your body so you were parallel to the couch. One hand took root in your hair while the other caressed the bare skin on your hip as he kissed you again, slower this time. Harry used your hair as leverage to slowly pull you down until you were on your back on the floor, him slotted between your open legs.

“I want to take care of you, sweetheart, is that okay?” As if you would say no.

Your whiny ‘yes’ was rewarded with his hands caressing your inner thighs slowly, teasingly. You assumed you were noticeably soaked, the baby pink cotton of your underwear unforgiving when it came to hiding your arousal. He massaged the soft skin, moving upwards until his thumb brushed over the fabric’s seam nestled in the crease of your thigh. Your hips moved of their own accord, lifting in search of any friction they could find. Harry tsked quietly, securing a hand on your hip and pushing it back down on the floor.

He rolled onto his side from between your legs, supporting himself on an elbow with his hand cradling your head and wrapping an ankle around your leg to keep them open. His other hand traced a soft line over the wet patch between your legs, fingers brushing your clit with a feather-light touch. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Harry, please,” you whined, trying to regulate your breathing. 

He chuckled teasingly. “What d’you need, baby? Use your words.”

“I need –” you cut yourself off, unsure of why you were embarrassed to say it when you knew he already knew what you wanted. “I need you to touch me, please.”

That was all he needed before he slipped his fingers underneath your underwear and swiped them through your wet folds. The contact was heavenly, forcing a choked moan from your throat as he drew circles around your clit in a precise rhythm. He was obviously experienced, building that warm feeling in your stomach faster than even you could yourself.

“Need these off,” he ordered, tugging your underwear down your legs and helping you kick them off before he hooked an ankle around your knee and spread your legs again. His hand returned to your core, this time with his thumb pressing on your clit and his middle finger teasing your entrance. Your soft groan encouraged him to slide it into you, pulling a myriad of lush sounds from your mouth as he pumped in and out. When he curled his fingers into you and brushed against the spongy patch that felt so good, you thought you were a goner. That was until he slipped his ring finger in alongside his middle and picked up his motions on your clit once more. It didn’t take long at all for you to reach the edge, the feeling building in your insides until you felt like a rubber band about to snap.

“Harry, I’m gonna –” a prolonged moan interrupted your statement.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he spoke softly in your ear, leaving a small kiss on your cheekbone. “Let it go for me.”

That was all you needed. The rubber band inside you snapped, and your orgasm washed over you like a tsunami. You clenched tightly around Harry’s fingers, hips writhing, as he worked you through your release. He whispered praises in your ear but you could barely hear them as the room seemed to disappear, leaving just you and the feeling of Harry’s touch. You had to grip his wrist to remove his hand from you after a few seconds, the continued motion turning overstimulating quickly. 

After taking a moment to catch your breath, you rolled onto your side to throw an arm around Harry’s neck and pull him closer to you. Your nakedness was catching up to you as not even the warmth from the fireplace was enough.

Harry quickly realized how cold you were and turned to grab the throw blanket off of the couch, draping it over both of you. That was something you were quickly learning about Harry – he was very attentive, and he seemed to be able to anticipate your needs before you even realized them yourself.

After a few moments of quiet, the sounds of your breathing mixing with the other ambient noises, you spoke. “Are you sure you don’t want me to do anything for you? I feel bad leaving you, you know, high and dry.”

He laughed, leaning down to press a kiss against your hair. “I promise m’okay, Y/N. What you can do for me, though, is let me clean you up and get you in bed. Our backs are going to kill us tomorrow if we stay on this floor any longer.”

----------

After Harry helped you clean up and change into a fresh pair of pajamas, he slipped out of his trousers, leaving him in just his boxers. You’d both crawled into your bed, and you rested your head against his bare chest as his arm stroked small circles on your shoulder. It took everything in you not to fall asleep, but you didn’t want this night with him to end quite yet.

“Harry?” you whispered, not wanting to disrupt the peaceful atmosphere in the room with your words.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Thank you for everything tonight. It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed myself this much, and I just want you to know how much I appreciate that.”

“Y’ don’t have to thank me – I had just as good of a time. You’re really special, Y/N. I’d love to do this again, if you’d let me?”

“Which part?” you laughed, “the dinner part or the after-dinner part?”

“Well, honestly, preferably both.” You were both laughing now, his stomach muscles tensing under your hand. 

“I think I’d be okay with that,” you agreed, knowing deep down you’d probably beg on your hands and knees for him to let you see him again.

“Thank you, baby. Now get some sleep.” He pressed another kiss to your hair and pulled you tighter to his chest, his other hand ensuring the blankets were tucked snugly around your shoulders before he allowed his body to sink back against the pillows. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Harry.” You drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a certain brown-haired boy that you knew wouldn’t be leaving your mind anytime soon.

[ditzydoe444]

MDNI 18+

mechanic jason! smut

older mechanic jason who is always covered in grease and oil whilst working on cars, and either wore a flimsy white tank stained with lil and grease or completely shirtless. though, it was usually the latter.

his large hands could easily grip the tools which looked comically small in his grasp, like children’s toy. the muscles in his bicep would flex and become more pronounced as he worked on the car, and the veins on his hands becoming more prominent.

his garage was old, rusty and dark. the lighting was quite dim with only one main source of overhead light, oil and grease stains on the dark concrete floor and the sound of his occasional grunts and curses when working on a stubborn car.

essentially, this place was not meant for a girl that looked soft, prim and proper. he remained focused as he worked on an old convertible, with the hood popped up. the summer heat and the lack of air ventilation resulted in jason ditching his tank and working shirtless, his bare skin glistening with sweat.

when he heard small footsteps coming closer he spoke up gruffly,

“what can i help you with?” he asked without even looking up, still focused on fixing the car.

“i need an engine repair, i think,” a soft voice responded which resulted in him turning his head.

he tried to suppress the shock that entered him when he first saw you, the juxtaposition couldn’t be more obvious. prim and proper against his rugged dirty state.

“an engine repair?” he questioned, as he wiped his grease stained hands on an old rag before walking to where she had parked outside his garage, the pink convertible couldn’t be more telling of her personality. spoiled, princessy, high maintenance.

he watched as you followed him like a lost puppy, as you nodded. clearly, you didn’t know a thing about cars.

“i can take a look at it now, i just finished up with the other one back there,” he motioned to the black convertible he was working on in the garage.

he tried to turn his gaze away from your exposed legs in the small mini skirt you were wearing, but he just couldn’t. when you were talking about the car’s issues all he could focus on was either your plump pink glossy lips, or your legs. when you had went to grab the lip gloss that you left on the passenger seat, your skirt rose up to a shockingly short length, though he quickly averted his gaze before he could see anymore.

it was inappropriate.

**

though it didn’t stop him from being balls deep in you when the price of the fix was too high, where his mind drifted off into other ways you could repay him. at first, he brushed it off thinking someone as prim and proper as you wouldn’t even think of it and he was just being dirty. however he was wrong, very wrong.

hence why you were sprawled out on the rough work bench on your back, random incoherent mumbles coming out, filling the empty garage with your lewd noises.

the small mini skirt and panties discarded on the dirty concrete floor, it was like a sign of your prim and proper self gone.

his large hands encircled nearly the whole of your waist, gripping the sides tightly as he moved harshly.

“never thought a girl as prim and proper as you would be doin’ somethin’ like this,” he grunted, his large hands roaming, one slid up, going over your breast before sliding higher to grip your throat.

you couldn’t even form proper thoughts, your mind going blank when you saw the small bulge in your stomach as he moved. he was big, too big.

“jay,” you mumbled your hand reaching out but falling back to your side when he continued to hit deeper.

he gave a low tut, almost mean, before a small sly smile formed on his rugged features.

“i know, i know” he cooed, bending to kiss your neck, one of his hand still wrapped around your throat squeezing it slightly.

“you gon’ keep this our lil secret huh?” he whispered as he bit your earlobe softly, “can’t have the word getting out i’m getting dirty with my customers,”

you didn’t even know what he said, but the sensation was too much, his was deep inside, and kissing you senselessly.

you mumbled a response, tears stained your face, mascara running.“glad to know we are on the same page sweet thing,” he whispered before both of his hands went to squeeze your stomach a little, just around where the outline of him was.

“all this for me?” he questioned a little breathless, as he stared at the mess you were making, small damp spots on the rough working bench, and a small white ring around his fat cock.

you nodded, you were too dazed to do anything else as he used you like a rag doll. he slipped two fingers into your mouth, shoving them down, whilst his other hand remained glued to your side, holding you down. you didn’t want his hand there, you wanted it somewhere else and he knew it. he was just being mean.

“jay,” you cried, though it sounded more muffled with his fingers stuffing your mouth as you choked out a response. though he knew exactly what you wanted, his fingers slipping out before going down, to the small sensitive bundle of nerves. he was rough, the sensation was too much, you kicked your legs, attempting to wiggle out but he kept you in your place, bullying your cunt.

he moved more vigorously, his harsh thrusts moving the work bench slightly, the table legs scratching against the concrete floor. “sweet thing, you ok?” he cooed, though you probably looked like anything but ok. your mascara was running down your cheeks, your lipstick and gloss was either smudged or completely gone, and saliva dripping down your chin.

“give me a smile baby, and i’ll give you want you want,” his grip on her was tightening. god you were so desperate for it, you attempted to give him a smile, the immense pleasure making it hard to do anything really. you gave him a soft smile, that lasted quite short when he kept hitting deeper.

“there we go, love that smile,” he grinned before giving you exactly what you wanted.

[nerdygirlramblings]

Off to See the Wizard (5)

previous | next

It takes you over an hour to get your brain online because after that talk at breakfast, John walked you to your office and kissed you. It was a kiss on the cheek, but still.

His lips.

Your skin.

Your brain short-circuted.

There was no way to deny it, even to yourself: Captain John Price was interested. In you. Romantically.

You try to shove the little gleeful voice - the one with crushes on all your boys - to the side so you can work. But she keeps chirping about the kiss. About how his beard felt, rough and soft at the same time. About how warm his lips were. About the promise look in his eyes as he pulled back and whispered, "'Til later, dove"

You finally put the kiss in a box of 'Things to Deal With Later' and focus on digging back through mission intel again. You flag two items to bring up with Laswell and a third to follow-up with John about. You're not sure how a closed door meeting with the captain will go after this morning's display, and you pray he's better at separating work and play than you.

You find your groove and are startled by a knock at your office door. You glance at the clock and see it's nearly 2. After being so rattled by John's admission, you'd gotten into the zone and practically missed lunch. You almost expect it's going to be one of your boys. You don't know if you want them to come to you or not.

You're surprised to find Corporal Avery on the other side. "Ma'am," she inclines her head politely. "Cap'n Price wanted to make sure you ate. Told me to help you find the mess and said to tell you, 'I know you're a big girl, but you haven't tried to find your way around on your own yet.' 'm supposed to let you lead and correct the path if necessary." She looks apologetic as she says it, like she understands the ridiculous nature of the command, but since it is a command, she's going to follow it.

You close up your workspace and follow the corporal into the hall where she lets you take the lead. You're loathe to admit you probably need the guide as the corporal corrects your directions at least twice. At least she's polite about it. "Almost got it, ma'am. Another trip and you won't need help at all."

Lunch is a quiet affair as most of the mess has already cleared out. Corporal Avery stays with you but tells you she ate with her squad earlier. "Don't want you to eat alone," she says. "Besides, I wanna make sure you've got the route between your office and food down pat as my guess is your barracks, your office, and the mess are where you'll spend time while the 141 is on mission."

You hadn't given much thought to what you'd do when the boys are gone, but it strikes you suddenly how lonely things will be. You only know your boys, and now Corporal Avery, but that doesn't leave much for socialization when they're away. "Hey, Corporal? Is there someplace on base - besides the mess - people hang out? Like, I dunno, a base rec room or something?"

She looks at you for a long moment, her brow furrowed in question before a look of understanding passes over her face. "Uh, yeah. There are a few. I'd be happy to show you where they are, introduce you to a few other soldiers and civilian employees." You smile gratefully at her, glad she picked up your subtext. "We can do it after the 141 are gone."

The latter part of your day is spent contemplating Corporal Avery's comment to you. You'd been a little surprised when she hadn't offered to show you to the base common spaces sooner, so you asked. She floored you when she admitted she could but "thought, what with them leaving, you'd like to spend as much time as possible with Captain Price first."

Are your desires, or his, that obvious? Certainly she'd seen the two of you together in the hallway that morning, but that couldn't have been enough for her to draw the conclusions she was drawing, was it? And if so, is she telling other people? Does the whole base know? Does the rest of the 141?

You know you're spiraling, but you can't seem to stop yourself. It takes a series of repeated knocks at your door and someone calling your name for you to come back to yourself. You see it's about 7:00 and expect this is someone - Corporal Avery or one of the boys - come to drag you to dinner.

You open your office door and see Simon standing in the hall. He's still wearing a mask, but you see enough of his eyes to tell he's smiling. "Evenin' luv," he says, stepping up beside you. "Ready for a meal?" You nod at him and start walking toward the mess, ready to show him you can find you way without getting lost.

As you walk, he matches your stride and casually drapes an arm over your shoulder. "Look a' ya, already a natural on base. 'S like you belong here." You beam at the praise and don't miss the way his arm tightens ever so slightly at his last comment.

"Like havin' you 'ere, luv," he says, so quietly you can act like you didn't hear it. And you're tempted to ignore it because that's a lot easier than dealing with what it might mean. When your silence stretches too long, however, Simon slows you both down. "D'ya like bein' 'ere?"

You give an enthusiastic, if non-committal, "Of course!"

"D'ya like bein' with me?"

You're almost at the mess, can see the door from here, but you stop dead in your tracks at his question. "What?" you squeak out.

Simon turns to look directly in your eyes. The emotion in his gaze is raw: desire, fear, vulnerability. He searches you long enough you feel he's looking at your soul. "I need to know, luv, if ya like me."

You try to go for a quip, but it dies on your lips. You whisper, "I'm not sure what you want me to say, Simon. I'm not sure what to do here."

He looks pained when he pleads, "Say ya wan' me like I wan' you."

And for the second time today, your brain simply stops responding.

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 6

~~

Taglist: @blackhawkfanatic @starriestarlight @grayskel @mxtokko @imjustheretofightforlove @miss-vanta-likes-to-write @thriving-n-jiving @madsothree @silly-starfish @danielle143 @beelzebee @nova-willow-541 @alchemyfreak321

[demigod-shenanigans]

Oh Thalia for sure is absolutely miserable about the whole thing. She’s pulled right back to when Annabeth went missing in Titan’s Curse. This is the second time she hasn’t been able to protect her, except this time there isn’t even a quest or a mission she’s supposed to be involved in that hints at where she might be. She’s just gone. Vanished overnight without a trace. And then finding out Jason might be alive? (And it’s always might be in her head, she doesn’t really allow herself to hope) Yeah, she’s having a Time about it all

Ooof, yeah, Percy would probably react poorly to the way Reyna is taking charge at camp—which is obviously just what she’s used to having to do, but she also handles a few things very similarly to how Annabeth would have, and he does not like it. Her being similar to Annabeth is probably actively a comfort to the campers who usually looked to Annabeth for guidance, and that’s super upsetting to him because it’s not the same!

I’m also very amused by the thought of Piper and Leo kind of beefing with Percy for a while because they’re annoyed he’s trying to start shit with Reyna when she hasn’t done anything wrong. Reyna herself doesn’t even mind that much because she also has a vague feeling that she doesn’t like Percy (due to him destroying Circe’s Island, which she doesn’t remember, but the bad vibes are still there). Anyway, I feel like they eventually sort this out by severely butting heads in combat training and coming out of it with a begrudging mutual respect lmao

Reyna wanted her memories back because not knowing terrified her, but the moment she gets them back she wishes she could go back to the day before, when things may have felt complicated, but not nearly as much as they do now. She’s been confused about her messy feelings for Piper for a while, but before knowing about the prophecy she was way more certain she could figure it out eventually, especially because Piper is super patient with her and doesn’t seem to mind her taking her time to figure things out. But suddenly she’s got memories of the Aphrodite prophecy and her unrequited crush on Jason and she’s pretty sure she’s never liked a girl before, so that’s several new layers of confusion to add to the pile. (Honestly, it might be good to send her and Nico to see Cupid together in this scenario. Maybe that finally helps her figure things out.)

And she likes Camp Half-Blood. So much. Which she feels awful about, because she’s got a prophecy linking her to a completely different home. Is she allowed to feel even semi-comfortable here? Is that a betrayal of New Rome? Is it confirmations of the fears her father had that led to the way he treated her and her sister?

Actually, speaking of the whole thing with her dad, I’m sure her learning what happened to Leo’s mom and all the ways thats still affecting him when she doesn’t have her memories would result in some… complicated feelings that she in no way understands.

Piper also has messy complicated feelings about the situation with Reyna because in her fake memories, falling in love with Reyna played a huge role in her realizing she was queer. So learning those memories are fake is really hard on her. Her feelings are still very, very real, though, and if nothing else it at least plays into her being very patient with Reyna, because she remembers—and she knows that part isn’t fake, even if the context was—how much of a mess it was for her to figure out her own sexuality.

Jason hates this job. He likes helping people. But he doesn’t like being in charge, and he doesn’t like that that’s what people always expect of him when they look at him. He actively joined the worst cohort and befriended the unpopular kids and he still couldn’t escape what his father’s legacy made him. But if the last few months have proven anything, it’s that he’s not cut out for this job. He can fake it for a while, sure, but he’s just stressed and miserable all the time. The only parts of this he liked was helping people and spending time with Reyna, but Reyna wasn’t there and he hasn't felt like he’s really been able to help anyone in months. He’d probably jump at the opportunity to join the quest and just get away from everything for a while, because he may be miserable as a praetor, but he’s good at the hero part of things. I’m thinking Jason probably takes Reyna’s part from the books, except he tries to deescalate the situation way sooner and then also dips way faster to help out, because at some point it clicks for him that maybe they messed up by assuming the storm or fire part of the prophecy is about Percy and Leo because there’s a decent chance the storm part might be him. Reyna and Nico take the Athena statue back to camp and it kills her not to be there for the final battle but maybe that’s part of her arc—going where she’s needed and realizing it’s okay to leave leadership to other people. She’s the one to build a bridge between camps, which started with her, but New Rome’s survival doesn’t fall entirely on her shoulders. She actively has to take the weight off and leave it to other people to save the world. And that terrifies her, but it’s also a hugely important lesson for her and makes it way easier for her to accept that she can find a home at both camps without it being a betrayal of her person or her beliefs or the prophecy thats haunted her her entire life.

Your Annabeth thoughts are making me weep, oh my god? All of that is so so excellent? Her questioning whether Percy would even like her back with her not remembering everything they went through is agonizing but makes so much sense because of how used she is to not being anyone’s priority. She can’t know she’s found that permanence she’s always looked for in him because everything about him just got ripped away from her, too. Nothing feels steady anymore, so she focuses on what she can control. And that’s the things she can fix at Camp Jupiter. She knows how to run a camp. She knows how to do quests. Hell, New Rome has so many buildings her little architect heart would probably love to take a closer look at and potentially find ways to improve, so that’s also super helpful for her to focus on.

The thing with her dad is heartbreaking. Because yeah, how would he know? Annabeth has been away for so many years, and almost her entire life still takes place away from him. But obviously she doesn’t remember running away at age seven. She doesn’t remember how strained their relationship is. She comes home without any of her memories, to a dad who can barely offer her any answers on things any normal parent should know. And she may not have her memories, but when she leaves feeling confused and hurt, she knows it isn’t the first time.

Thinking about a concept where Juno swaps Annabeth and Reyna instead.

Annabeth and Reyna are fine, because they’ve always been able to handle just about anything the gods threw at them. Piper accidentally has her gay awakening via fake memories of a relationship with Reyna and is really confused why her girlfriend is acting so weird. Reyna and Leo bicker non-stop because even without her memories Reyna knows what she’s doing and she’s very used to getting people to listen to her but Leo will not be serious for even one second.

Percy would start fist fighting the gods in the first week. Jason has never been more stressed in his life because he never even wanted to be praetor but it was manageable while he was doing it with Reyna and now he’s alone. What the hell is he supposed to do.

By the time Annabeth shows up at Camp Jupiter, Jason is so relieved someone knows what they’re doing that he immediately asks her to be praetor, now if she’ll excuse him he needs to go have an anxiety meltdown in a corner somewhere

[ubeb0nes]

Sevika x Fem!Bar Owner!Reader - The One Who Pours the Drinks

Pt. 3 (can be read as standalone)

༇ ༇ ༇

Summary: After their (very homosexually-charged) estrangement a few weeks ago, Angel tries to bury the sour Sevika left in her heart. Sevika does the same, dismissing any meaning to be found in how she still makes sure to walk by the Five-Copper Furnace at least twice a week.

But one thing remains true: No one threatens the one who pours the drinks.

a/n: i'm a dirty filthy liar, i finished pt. 3 for bar owner reader before i even started my warmup for writing sevika's character LMFAO. will still do that prompt at some point!!

w/c: like 4.3k ish

༇ ༇ ༇

The world doesn’t stop spinning because of one person.

It’s a sentiment you were forced to be fond of in your life before the one you had now. People had always come and gone, it was the nature of the crime life, and it was certainly the nature of the Zaun one too. To stop and mourn for too long was to die.

And you had a business to run.

You did your best to count your lucky stars every night, reminding yourself as you wiped down the bar that there were other people. Plenty of women with smokey laughs and eyes like the moon. You were a good-looking bastard, you’d find the next one. You had all the time in the world now, away from the strife that used to follow you like a shadow.

Pay no mind to how you always swiped harder at the bar as you had these thoughts, slamming tumblers and plates into their places beneath the bar with extra vigor. Nor to how Zaun was about as different from Bilgewater as steel to iron.

Sevika’s men and their presence started to dwindle with hers, albeit more slowly; many of them almost seemed hesitant, apologetic. You caught one of them on your way into the bar to open it for the evening.

“I’m real sorry, Angel,” he’d said.

“I’m sure she’s got other work for you,” you said, waving him off as if it was- and indeed, it was- nothing personal. You only had problems with one ex-frequent of your bar. You weren’t even all that inclined to include the heavy muscle she brought in with her on the last visit.

“Always other work where the boss is concerned,” he affirmed, “But… this has been one of the better gigs.” You stayed static outside your bar for a moment as he walked away, your key still stuck in the lock.

It’s not like you needed protection in the first place, you were more than capable. Not that Sevika knew that. You grumbled to yourself as you organized the prep area behind the bar; you hadn’t had to give much mind to security the past several months, Sevika handled the matter in its entirety without you so much as having to ask.

It’s a sentiment you were forced to be fond of in your life before the one you had now. People had always come and gone, it was the nature of the crime life, and it was certainly the nature of the Zaun one too. To stop and mourn for too long was to die.

You’d have to add that back into your list of tasks. Along with putting all the stools up at closing time. And what were you supposed to do with all these damn cigarillos you had behind the counter? You didn’t smoke nearly as much as she did.

You smacked a hand that wasn’t yours away from the aforementioned stash, smirking when you heard a small, “Ow, jerk!”

“You’re not old enough to smoke.”

“It’s Zaun, babies would smoke if they could,” the boy, a little tail of yours named Kix, retorted, pouting as he hopped up on the counter. You sighed. “I finished that book you gave me.”

“Yeah? How was it?”

“Pretty good! And, I think, as a reward for finishing it, I should-”

“Yeah, I’m gonna stop you right there,” you said, stepping away to move the lemons you just sliced into a container. Your tail, of course, followed.

“Fine, can I at least finally get a knife?”

“When you can wield one of those batons without smacking yourself in the face, yeah. ‘Til then, hell no.”

“That’s a bad word!”

“Like you care!” You could only breathe out a laugh. The children of Zaun were sharp, often leaving you deeply amused and incredulous.

“Ugh,” he said dramatically, flailing against the bar. You shot one of your patrons an apologetic look at the antics of Stray Wet Cat #1. “But you have so many, Angel!” He exclaimed, “How’d you get those anyway? Did you kill somebody?”

I killed a lot of people, you wanted to say, but something told you that wouldn’t have been appropriate. “I told you before, Kix,” you started, voice gentle like a teacher’s, “Zaun isn’t the only place in the world where you need to defend yourself. The world is way bigger.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” he muttered to himself, pushing away from the bar and trudging back to the lounge area connected to the kitchen, where a few of the other kids spent their time. You frowned as you watched him walk away, then looked down at the paring knife in your right hand.

For the children of Zaun, life depended on which end of the knife you found yourself on, and oftentimes nothing more. How much were you really doing for them, giving them sandwiches to eat and rudimentary lessons on how to hold a blade? They all had to leave the bar at the end of each day, stepping back into the streets waiting to swallow them whole on their treks back home.

“Don’t be so hard on ya’self, Ang’,” the patron you’d shared a look with earlier interjected. You looked up at him in a daze, quickly putting on a thoughtful smile.

“I’m okay,” you replied simply.

“And so are those kids, thanks to you,” he said, “A little bit goes a long way in Zaun. These kids can stretch an inch of kindness, always have been able to.”

You saw eyes like slate in your mind as the gentleman went back to nursing his drink, and your smile faltered.

Weren’t these the kids Sevika claimed to be doing her righteous work for? What could she tell them as she chipped away at their safe haven, showing up bi-weekly just to take away a little more? You growled lowly as you swiped a cigarillo from beneath the counter, abiding the thought to linger in your mind- as if you could condition yourself to hate her faster.

You were busy staring down the end of the cigarillo as you lit it, almost too busy to notice how a wave of quiet had washed over the Five-Copper Furnace. Your eyes flicked to the door just in time, though.

Your busy mind halted all thoughts more trivial than the now, a low voice reminding you of the shotgun beneath your bar, the knives in your sleeves, and the preeminent experience in violence that scarred your skin. Four men wearing all manners of weapons, and gleaming belt buckles of meridian silver, stalked into your bar.

𒀭 𒀭 𒀭

Sevika was, for whatever reason, a woman well-versed in the department of odd and unwanted talents. Being weirdly good with kids was at the forefront.

“Oh! Captain-General Metal Arm Lady!” Well, she knew which kid that was*.*

“Why is my name so long?” She muttered to herself as she stopped anyway, and turned on her heel to face him. The boy, one of Angel’s little henchmen named Kix, skidded to a stop in front of her. “What is it, kid?” She asked gruffly.

“Where’ve you been? Are you and Angel having a lover’s quarrel?”

Isn’t he like twelve?? Sevika picked her jaw up from the ground as quickly as it’d fallen. “Who the hell even taught you what that is?” She asked incredulously.

“That’s a bad word. And I read it in a book. Are you coming to the Five-Copper?”

“No, I’m busy,” Sevika said flatly. Her brow furrowed at the way his face fell. Not like a child who’d been told no, but a boy who had something to fear. “…Why?”

“Well, uh… m-maybe you could just stop by?” He rocked back on his heels, looking over his shoulder at the bar in question. He’d caught Sevika so close to the place, he just needed to get her through the door… “I think Angel might… u-um…”

Sevika sighed. “Before tomorrow, Kix.”

“I think Angel might need you.”

Sevika scoffed, turning with a small flare of her cloak (drama queen), “She’s a big girl, she can handle herself just fine, kid. I gotta go.” A small, surprised grunt rose out of her when she felt a tug on her metal arm. She looked down at the boy, shooting him a glare that lacked even an inch of fire.

“Please, Miss Sevika! A bunch of guys just walked in and I don’t know them, a-and they have really ugly, scary faces, and-”

“Okay! Okay. C’mon, let’s go,” Sevika rattled her arm out of Kix’s grasp, sweeping it back beneath her cloak. The boy let out a small cheer as her broad form turned in the direction of the Five-Copper Furnace, and he fell into step under the cover of her shadow. “And don’t call me ‘Miss Sevika’. Just Sevika is alright,” she made a small, grossed-out sound.

“Okay! Does that mean we’re friends?”

“No,” she replied, giving his head a small nudge as they walked.

“Ack! Bully!”

The smile that began to flicker across her features promptly melted back into her perpetual frown as she watched almost half a dozen patrons leave the Five-Copper in succession. “How many of them were there, kid?” She asked in a low voice.

“Uh, I think four?”

Sevika hummed, stopping beside the entrance. She pulled Kix aside by the collar with her, as even more patrons filed out. “Are your friends in there?” She asked. The boy nodded. “Okay. Go get ‘em through the back. And go home.”

“But-!”

“Uh-uh. She’s already pissed at me enough, can’t imagine how mad she’d be if you brats got hurt once this goes down.”

“So…” Sevika felt a few grey hairs grow in at the same time Kix’s frown faded into a grin, “…it is a lover’s quarrel?”

“Kix!”

“Okay, bye Sevika!” He hopped up and down as if to charge himself up before sprinting off. Sevika watched as he nearly tripped over himself when he quickly halted again. “Uh… you won’t let them hurt Angel, right?”

“She’ll be fine,” Sevika said. She sighed as his feet stayed planted in the ground. Her voice was softer when she spoke again, “You have my word, kid. Angel will be okay.” He gave her a final grin, before darting off. Sevika cracked her neck as she zeroed back on the entrance to Angel’s bar. “Guess collections is early this month,” she muttered wryly, before pushing the door open.

𒀭 𒀭 𒀭

“These people don’t even know, do they?”

You breathed out tendrils of smoke from your nose, lowering your voice in line with the bounty hunter’s. His friends had stayed mute, opting to survey your patrons and the bar itself like three angry lighthouses.

You smiled slightly at those who hadn’t left yet, whose postures were coiled tightly like metal springs.

“I can’t imagine it’d change a thing,” you replied. You picked up the wanted poster (old fashioned, you were aware) he’d thrown on the counter, giving it another flippant once-over. Your likeness had been- rather skillfully- illustrated in the center, with meaningless words like ‘Wanted’ and ‘approach with care’ swimming around it.

God, I’m good-looking, you thought with a smile and a nod.

“And yet you have ‘em call you a different name. Bury your old one with the rest of your money, huh?”

“Oh, that isn’t buried. Not one bit,” Your face spread into a grin, wolfish teeth crushing the filter of the cigarillo. You saw the hunger that flickered in his eyes, a greed so romantically entwined with the people of Bilgewater that men died for it. Like this one would.

“Well, good to know! Between that and the hundred Golden Krakens on your head, you’ll make a fine cashout,” the rancid man said, “Angel.”

Your eyes widened slowly, mockingly. “A hundred Golden Krakens?” You echoed, “…Can I turn myself in?” Your eyes flicked casually to the door as you heard it open once again.

“Very funny. Now…”

Whatever the hunter had to say ceased to matter as you watched her walk in. Wide shoulders curved inwards, entering with the same intent your remaining customers all had. Sevika met your eyes immediately.

On one hand, not only was your safety further secured, but a return in a casket to your old city was all but out of the question now. Sevika wouldn’t let you die, at the very least, you knew that much.

On the other hand… Sevika was in your bar. Your eyes narrowed at her, and you gave her a look that practically screamed ‘piss off’ in spite of your other senses relaxing. She shook her head at you, matching your rising agitation with an annoyed curl of her lip.

Kix, she mouthed. Oh, thanks, kid. What a wingman.

You would’ve found it silly the way she stuck to the walls as she moved through the bar. Trying to get closer to you, you realized. A hand slamming down on the table and another grabbing your collar brought your attention back to more pressing matters.

Sevika felt her heart jump higher in her chest, and she resisted the urge to rush right to you and pluck that man’s head from the rest of him. A firm hand on her shoulder was all that prevented her, and she leveled her gaze with the fool who’d stepped in her line of view.

“We called dibs on this job, you’re too late,” the hunter said. Sevika furrowed her brows in brief confusion, but the pieces came together quickly in a mind as sharp as hers.

Bounty hunters? For you?

He gave her shoulder a shove, and Sevika let herself be moved. Some distance to deploy her left arm’s blade, good. “Go on,” he growled.

A scream from the bar counter swiveled all heads in that direction.

Sevika’s eyes widened as your name started to rise in her throat, until she saw the main perpetrator sink like a stone in water… his hand left behind in your grasp. You wiped the knife on your apron, throwing your still-burning cigarillo at him as he writhed on the floor.

Sevika threw her cloak to the ground before her sensibilities turned to steel.

𒀭 𒀭 𒀭

You would’ve made a fine alchemist, if you hadn’t chosen the more profitable industry of alcoholism instead.

You also would’ve been far less likely to have ever encountered Sevika and the all-consuming rage she inspired in you if you’d started an Apothecary. What with her- very much expected- aversion to seeking out any medical assistance of any sort.

“Ow.”

“Stay still.”

“Ow.” Sevika hissed when you pressed the tonic-doused cloth to her wound with the exact same vigor as before, thrashing away from you. You sat up straight, leveling her with a look that seethed with your indignance.

“You’re acting like a wuss.”

“And you’re acting like a child who didn’t get her way,” she snapped. Your eye twitched, and so you closed them to take a moment to gather yourself.

You missed the way Sevika’s gaze fell slowly to your lap, eyes creasing as she frowned at your battered hands. You hadn’t had time to pull your gun from beneath the bar before shit went down, and so you’d resorted to hacking with hand and blade. Sevika had been at your back like a magnet, sticking to you and letting the hunters come to her. You’d held your own valiantly.

She only serviced you a lukewarm glare as you moved back to her, this time gently easing the cloth onto her wounded cheek. You held her in place by the other side of her face. “You can take a punch but not a wound disinfectant,” you quipped.

“I took more than just a punch recently, princess.” Sevika side-eyed you when your touch faltered, letting out a shallow huff from her nose.

“Unbelievable…” you muttered.

“Who the hell were those guys? What could they possibly want with you?” Sevika asked. You jutted your lip at her in annoyance when her movements shifted the cloth.

She looked down to ponder the fight from a few hours ago (the lower floor was still an absolute wreck, but that was a problem for you to deal with tomorrow). Silver teeth; and weaponry not at all reminiscient of anything you’d find in Zaun, or Piltover. They had moved with an erratic tick to their attacks, not completely unlike the Shimmer-dependent henchmen Silco kept; although their addiction ran strictly red.

“They weren’t Zaunites,” she mused aloud.

“…No. They weren’t. They were from Bilgewater.”

You freed your other hand to reach for your wanted poster you’d nabbed before heading upstairs, and handed it to Sevika. There was a hanging silence between you as she read the same words over and over again.

“They got your likeness wrong,” she said. You pursed your lips, waiting. “Your head is bigger than that.”

“Shut up.”

Sevika chuckled; or at least gave a limp attempt at it. Her hand holding the poster fell with a soft crunch as she sighed. You let your own hands rest in your lap as she closed her eyes, and leaned her head over the back of your couch.

She had such a pretty neck. The lines of that strange scar were like wisps of blue smoke on her skin. You wanted to reach out to touch them, to thank her sweetly for defending you even as you spat fire on her wounds. You wanted to kiss all the smooth and rough patches you could see, lull her into a soft sleep-

“This is gonna get back to Silco in a couple of days tops.”

You scoffed. “What, is he gonna raise my rent? Doesn’t he have a revolution to claim to run?”

Deep down, you were impressed with what Sevika let you get away with saying to her. Inadvertently discounting her life’s work was no small thing, and you’d seen her put others on the ground for less. It was even more surprising when she gave a real answer to your poor-faithed question.

“You should’ve kept your head low. And let me deal with it. Not- cut a guy’s hand off.” She shook her head, rubbing her forehead. You opened your mouth to refute your lost honor, but she beat you to it, “You’re too… competent. He’ll wanna bring you in now. And you’re no good to the Undercity if he pockets you.”

You’re about to ask her why the hell does she work for him then, but another piece clicks into place before the words surface. Sevika watches the realization cross your face. “So that’s why you…”

“Trust me,” Sevika took hold of your wrist as she raised her head to stare scrutinizingly at your wall, and guided you to press the cloth back to her face. “The collections I take from you are cheaper than really being under his heel. You should see what he takes from that Sheriff up in Piltover.” She breathed out a humorless laugh. Your eyes widened, as the scope of Silco’s reach did too. **

You were a fool. Had going straight truly dulled your cunning mind? (Or was it just the handsome woman sitting in your living room…)

“That’s the discounted price too, by the way,” she muttered. You were pulled from your thoughts with a soft laugh.

“I knew you were fond of me.”

“I like what you do for the kids.”

“It’s nothing,” you said softly, surveying the injury on her face and deeming it sufficiently stabilized to move onto the next. You were glad, at least, that the brunt of the pain had been inflicted on you two rather than your good-willed customers.

Sevika’s brow furrowed as she watched you go through the motions of prepping her next injury. Truthfully, she didn’t know why she let you drag her upstairs in the first place; the way you coupled your attentive- if not presumptuous- touch with barbed jabs at her gall for walking into your bar should’ve pissed her off. But she let you move her like you were a breeze.

Your movements were practiced, like you’d spent a whole lifetime sweeping up the broken pieces of stupid, pointless fights. Sevika looked down at the wanted poster again. “…How much is 100 Golden Krakens?” She asked.

You hummed as you tried to think of the best comparison in Zaun’s economy, “Probably eightteen months’ worth of what I make running the bar.”

“Janna-”

You laughed heartily as you carefully peeled the wax paper from a bandage. Subconsciously, you rubbed over the wound once it was patched to soothe the ache, not noticing how Sevika’s gaze immediately went to your nimble hand. “Why, you thinkin’ about turning me in?” You teased.

“Funny,” she deadpanned, “Would be one less pain in the ass for me, though.” She gave you a pointed onceover. Her feigned exasperation melted into a grin when you slapped her leg (albeit very weakly).

“You just said you like me!”

“That isn’t what I said,” she said, still feigning dismissal so smugly. You hated how well she wore a petty smirk, or how pretty her teeth were when she gleaned a real smile.

(You wanted to kiss that stupid look right off her face.)

Instead, all you did was roll your eyes, collapsing on the opposite end of the couch. In Sevika’s mind, she just won that encounter.

“You mind if I smoke?”

You waved your hand, looking out the window of your kitchen, “Worse has happened in my house today.” She didn’t pull your gaze back to her until you heard her shifting around for a longer amount of time than it should’ve taken for someone to find a cig and lighter. “Lose your lighter?” You mocked, taking in the cigarillo hanging out of her mouth as she patted down her pockets with mild frustration on her face.

“One of the bastards must have knocked it out of my pack,” she said with an agitated sigh. Her eyes perked up at the metal clink of… your lighter. You laid your head back against the arm of the couch, resting the open lighter slightly above your abdomen. Sevika’s breath caught as she realized how close she’d have to get to you- how close you’d make her get to you- to get a light.

Her eyes narrowed into a glare as they slid up to meet your gaze. She wasn’t about to make a coward of herself now, though. She held your expectant stare as she leaned down between your legs, one of her hands boldly bracing on your shin with a slight squeeze. She cupped her hand protectively around yours as she lit the end of her cigarillo. The way your eyes widened and your chest stopped rising with breath wasn’t lost on her.

I take it back, Kix, she thought, I don’t think she’s all that pissed.

She turned her head to the side as she blew smoke from her mouth. “Tell me something,” she said, her voice nearly a purr. You had to fight with your own goddamn eyes to tear away from the small puffs of smoke that left her mouth as she spoke. You cocked a brow. “Were you a pirate or something?” She asked. Her eyes widened slightly when you met her with silence. “Oh, sweet hell…”

“Don’t laugh!”

She laughed. You loved that she did.

“That was… a long time ago,” you waved your hand like you could bat the memories away, but they’d never felt more with you than today. You had nearly forgotten how easy it was to snatch someone’s life away. You’d made a fortune on it once, and yet… the muscle of ruthlessness had grown weak and disoriented with lack of exercise. You frowned to yourself, shaking your head. “I did a lot of things I’m not proud of.”

Sevika shrugged, taking another drag. “We don’t choose where life puts us,” she replied. You shouldn’t have been surprised by such a… thoughtful sentence leaving her mouth. But your brows still raised slightly as you looked at her. “I’m not gonna be the one to judge you around here.”

You frowned, guilt jabbing in your gut. “But I did you.”

“Maybe you weren’t wrong for it,” she retorted softly. Your eyes widened. She inhaled softly before continuing, swiveling her gaze to meet yours again. “I used to try an’ push Silco to do more for the kids. Get books smuggled in in between all the Shimmer requisitions,” she scoffed, shaking her head. Your heart squeezed as you watched her carefully begin to pull the curtains around her true self back- for you. “Give people resources, just… something. I didn’t realize I let four years go by ‘til I saw you doing all that for the kids the moment you touched down here.”

You sighed, swinging your legs over the edge of the couch to rub your face with both hands. “You really think I won’t be able to help them at all once Silco comes knocking?” You asked, biting your lip as you felt like what was the only answer was slowly enclosing around you.

Immediately though, Sevika shook her head. Your mouth opened slightly in confusion as she stood up from your couch. “No. I’m gonna handle this,” the determination in her step would have been beyond adorable if it weren’t for your utter bemusement. “I… owe you,” she said slowly. You wanted to laugh at how her fierce bravado seemed to come to a skidding stop the moment she had to make an admission on her pride.

“Oh yeah?” You teased.

She rolled her eyes as she pulled her cloak back on over her shoulders, concealing that absolute unit of a figure from your prying eyes. You smiled at how her broad shoulders were still very apparent, and the beginnings of her v-line peeked out with that damn cropped vest- get it together, Angel. “He’s gonna know I was here anyway, might as well make something out of it,” she explained (right, you bought that…), pausing again to scrutinize you, “You’re all good?”

Trigonometric equations started floating around in your head as you tried to decipher what she could possibly mean with that question, until her arched brow turned judgemental at how long you were taking to answer.

Oh. She was just asking about your… general wellbeing. Aw!

“O-oh, yeah, I’m all good,” you said. Truthfully too, you were more used to fighting the Bilgewater types than her, and had come out of the confrontation mostly unscathed. Your jaw stuttered as if to say more when she hummed and took a swift step forward, tilting your head up with her index and thumb.

“You’re not lying?” She asked lowly, turning your head gently from side to side.

“E-even if I was, it’s none of your business,” you snapped defensively. Dumbass. Did you have any idea how red your face was?

With an amused exhale from her nose, Sevika gently let go of your chin, fleetingly brushing her crooked index over your cheek. “Whatever you say, princess,” she said. She didn’t even give you a chance to shoot back something clever (as if you had something prepared) before she was sweeping towards the door, fixing her cigarillo in the corner of her mouth. “Your bar’s a mess,” she quipped over her shoulder, just to be a dick.

“Fuck you!” You called after her, the smile on your face crystal-clear in your tone. The last thing you saw was her pretty side-profile as she half-glanced at you with smug amusement lining her face, before she closed the door behind her.

You slumped back on the couch, letting out a heavy sigh. “That goddamn woman…” you muttered, “Fuck.”

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Start Again (Honkai: Star Rail Short Fic)

Tingyun (Fugue) x Reader

It's 2am as of writing, I get up at 7 for work, but I refuse to sleep until this brainworm has left. Burn by FLOW and many Gundam Unicorn songs inspired this piece. Post edit note: IT'S 3:44 AM BUT THAT WAS TOTALLY WORTH IT Content: Angst to Comfort(Considering the circumstances, anyway) Word Count: 1.6k Apologies if this is OOC, the brainrot was VICIOUS

Fugue's dreams have led her here again. Sitting at a familiar setting, with a familiar face by her side.

It takes her a moment or two to recall where exactly she is. The...Earl?

The exact name escapes her, but she knows the feelings it brings her. Comfort, yet sadness. She knows returning there on the Loufou will not be as it once was.

But the person next to her smiling? The one holding her hand, failing to contain a laughter that instantly makes her at ease? She could never forget your name.

And yet in this instance, your lips move, but no sound comes out. The only noise that she can hear is her own breathing, one that grows ragged with every second she looks at you.

Her hands squeeze yours back without her input, feeling her own lips move. But just like you, she says yet another line lost to time, and still your eyes glimmer with such excitement.

What promises had she made to you back then?

What promises will she not be able to keep?

Just as Fugue had gotten bearings of her surroundings, the dream seems to fragment yet again, as her vision fades into darkness.

...

Fugue's eyes rapidly blink, forcing her daze out and focusing back on the present. She can see the reflection of herself on the glass, half expecting to see her past appearance.

She was aboard the Astral Express, staring out into the stars again. Fugue continued only for a few seconds longer before realizing that she wasn't alone in the car, with the Trailblazer standing behind her.

(Fugue) "Oh, Benefactor! My apologies, I didn't know you were standing there."

Fugue smiled with a hand over her chest, though the pain from the memory had yet to fade. Something that was all too evident, apparently.

(Caelus) "Are you okay? You're crying."

Fugue's hand immediately reached for the corner of her eyes, finally feeling the trickle that was building up, and with a sigh she let her hand drop back down to her waist.

(Fugue) "...Would you mind indulging in a question of mine?"

The Trailblazer leaned against the glass next to her, crossing his arms as he gave a thoughtful nod.

(Caelus) "Ask away."

Fugue turned back around to face the stars, trying to compose herself and find the proper way to ask Caelus a nagging thought of hers. Before, she could have easily found away to articulate her thoughts, but alas that was yet another part of her taken.

Her eyes drifted along the rim of the windows, eventually staring out into space again.

(Fugue) "What would be the first thing you would say to someone who thought you were gone forever? Someone who loved you more than anything else?"

Fugue didn't hear a response from him, not for a little while. When it was clear that was her only question, Caelus eventually sighed and gave her an answer.

(Caelus) "I guess...Hey."

...Hey?

That was it?!

Fugue immediately turned her attention back to Caelus, who was now awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck at her sudden frown.

(Fugue) "That is wildly inappropriate! How can the first thing I say to them just be a simple greeting?!"

Caelus's lips curled into a smile, moments away from saying something either witty or irritating, only to stop at the last second as his expression became serious again.

(Caelus) "You remember (Y/N)?"

(Fugue) "...So you've met them too."

Caelus nodded, motioning towards the nearby couch for them to sit down. After they had gotten comfortable, he leaned forward with both his hands clasped together.

(Caelus) "Only a few times, when they were with...-"

Fugue suddenly felt it hard to breathe, imagining the pain you must have felt realizing the person you loved was actually a monster wearing their skin, thinking that you would never see them again.

Caelus's next response immediately snapped Fugue out of her reverie.

(Caelus) "-...They still love you, Fugue."

She said nothing, taking a moment for his words to settle in.

(Caelus) "If I saw someone again after a long time, anything they'd say would be of some comfort. At least, that's the way I see it."

Fugue looked again towards the stars, but this time her reflection in the glass seemed all the harder to ignore.

(Caelus) "That's why I think a greeting is a way to start again. The best way? Probably not but...It's better than nothing, or just leaving them alone."

Fugue's gaze eventually trailed down to her own hand, her tail slowly swishing to her side.

(Fugue) "...Even when the person they loved is no longer the same?"

Caelus leaned back into the seat, staring out into the stars with his friend.

(Caelus) "Even then."

...

You decided that it'd be a good time to take a small break, and relax on a nearby bench, hearing the distant hum of starskiffs from above.

This was a quieter part of the Loufou, though it could never become entirely silent. Regardless, it always helped calm you down, at least somewhat, when your mind began to race again.

Truth be told, you wish you could be busy to keep your mind off things. Even though almost an entire year had passed since the funeral, your mind still couldn't help but think about Tingyun.

Sighing, you began to move off the bench when a familiar voice called out to you.

(???) "H-Hello, (Y/N)..."

Your swore your heart stopped for a moment or two as your body quickly swiveled to the person you swore was-

(Y/N) "Tingyun...?"

The woman in front of you looked almost exactly like your now dead girlfriend. Though her hair was longer, the clothing darker-The details differed ever so slightly, but you were sure.

That's Tingyun in front of you right now.

You wanted to reach out and hug her, to start crying on the spot and begin shouting to the skies how much you missed her. And yet...

Her eyes. Her eyes that once held such warmth for you alone, no longer sparkled in that same way. As if...she were talking to a stranger.

What seemed like a small eternity had passed before she sighed, sitting at the bench beside you, though not quite close enough, leaving a noticeable space between you two.

(Y/N) "...Are you really?-"

(Fugue) "Yes and...No."

Calling herself 'Fugue', she began explaining what exactly had led to her return, and although she was the woman you loved, at the same time it wasn't.

Her memories were fragmented, and although the finer details were lost forever, certain people and things that held significance to her seemed to be the only things intact.

Meaning that you were one of the anchors allowing her to even survive.

(Fugue) "...And now, I have a second chance at life, perilous as it is still."

(Y/N) "...What exactly do you remember of me, if I can ask."

Fugue pursed her lower lip, brows furrowing as her expression alone told you how little actually came to mind. Every second that passed was like a dagger twisting further into your heart, only stopping momentarily when she collected her thoughts.

(Fugue) "Besides your name...your smile...How warm your hands are, and how nice they feel when I hold them..."

Fugue tried with all her might to recall that dream. Even though it was so damn vivid every night, why did she struggle to recall it the moment she needed it the most?

(Fugue) "I...I think we had tea in front of the...Earl...?-"

(Y/N) "The Sleepless Earl, hah..."

You closed your eyes as tears threatened to spill out. Hearing her speak again was agonizing, yet relieving all at the same time. It was her, yet not her...Despite that, you finally knew in some capacity, she was safe and breathing next to you again.

Though, you must have done a poor job of masking your emotions since you felt a familiar touch you've missed brush against your cheek, feeling a thumb wipe away a tear that fell out.

(Fugue) "I...I didn't mean to hurt you. I shouldn't have come to you. I'm so-"

(Y/N) "Don't!"

Your body moved faster than your mind, immediately grabbing her hand when it tried slipping away. Fugue was somewhat startled, yet she quickly relaxed, seemingly soothed by your touch as well.

(Y/N) "...Sorry."

Clasping her hand again, you struggled to let go before gently putting her hands on her lap and maintaining that respectful distance.

(Y/N) "Knowing that you're alive again is more than enough for me. E-Even if you are on a razor's edge right now."

Truthfully, you didn't know if that was actually any better. You weren't sure if your heart could handle seeing her die again, but the illogical part of your brain was just happy to see her, to hear her speak, to hear her call out your name-

(Fugue) "(Y/N)."

You turned back to Fugue, who now had tears prickling the corners of her eyes too, her hand sitting in the middle of the space between you two.

(Fugue) "Do you know what my name means?"

You nod. You weren't oblivious to the symbolism of her new name.

(Y/N) "A loss of self."

(Fugue) "...And someone who's starting again."

She shifts her hand, her palm now facing outward. Now, she's giving you the smile you adored for all these years, one that never failed to make your heart race and cheeks flush.

This time, her smile is making tears rush down your face freely.

(Fugue) "I think it will take some time, but...I'd like to start again with you. And...to fall in love with you once more."

The smile you give back seems to have the same effect, even if Fugue doesn't entirely know the reason why she feels connected to you.

Not that particular bit stopped you from wiping away her tears this time, and letting your foreheads rest against each other.

Starting again didn't sound too bad.

[dixons-sunshine]

To The Place I Belong | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: The world could be cruel. Especially now, as dangers lurked behind every corner in the forms of both the dead and the living. However, despite all of that, Daryl found his solace in the two people he loved most—you and your daughter.

Genre: Fluff.

Warnings: None.

Word count: 1k.

A/N: Requested—or well, a spark of inspiration given by— @holdmytesseract. I hope you like this, my love!

The chilling wind blew through Daryl’s hair as he looked out the window of the truck. Rick was driving the vehicle, the former sheriff’s deputy silent as he focused on getting them both home safely. The gates of Alexandria loomed closer, the promise of safety, of security, a mere few yards away.

You and Hazel were almost within reach.

The vehicle soon came to a stop within the gated community. The sun had just begun its slow descent into the horizon, the ball of flames disappearing behind the mountains. Daryl and Rick both simply left all the supplies on the truck and took different paths to their own homes, the found brothers both silently agreeing that sorting through everything and taking things back to the pantry could wait until the morning. Although Daryl usually would have taken on the task himself and worked late into the night to finish it, he could not be bothered to do so that night. It could indeed wait until the next day.

Daryl’s boots made dull thuds against the pavement as he made his way towards the all too familiar porch. He carefully climbed the few steps that lead up to the front door, and slowly turned the doorknob that would lead him to his own private sanctuary, his escape from the horrors of the world run by the undead.

The crossbow-wielding archer was instantly greeted with the amazing aroma of freshly cooked stew. It made his stomach rumble, making him aware of the fact that he had not eaten anything that day. He had slipped from the bed at the crack of dawn when the house was completely silent. You had still been asleep when he had left for the planned scavenging trip with Rick, your baby girl also still deep within the realms of slumber in her crib in her nursery, dreaming of whatever babies dreamt about.

Daryl smiled his signature half smile when he approached the kitchen and saw what you were up to. You were humming to yourself as you went about tidying up the space, your efficiency being hindered by the fact that you held Hazel in your embrace as well. However, as you had said many times before, it did not bother you. You loved your little munchkin with all of your heart. A little more time spent on cleaning meant nothing in comparison to the love you held for your daughter.

“Somethin’ smells amazin’,” Daryl spoke up after a good twenty seconds of simply observing you.

You spun around at the sound of your husband’s voice, a loving smile gracing your features. “You’re back.” You laughed lightly when Hazel eagerly wriggled around in your arms, her babbles incoherent but clearly getting her point across—she wanted her dad. “Looks like someone missed you.”

Your husband smiled and stepped forward, plucking Hazel from your arms and gently holding her against him. “Hey, babygirl,” he cooed to her softly. “Did ya miss me?” All Daryl got in response was a little adorable giggle. “Well, I certainly missed you, Hazelnut. You ‘n your mama.”

“And we missed you,” you voiced softly, stepping up to stand beside Daryl. You reached out and stroked Hazel’s head tenderly, still in awe—even all those months later—by the fact that you had created such a beautiful human being with the man you loved so much. “We missed you so much.”

Daryl’s heart fluttered in his chest. “Yeah?” he asked rhetorically.

You nodded nonetheless. “Yeah. You were gone for far too long. Isn’t that right, Baby?” Your lips twitched up at the coo you got in response from Hazel. “You should probably just forget all your responsibilities and spend all your time here with us.”

“S’that right?” Daryl asked, turning his head to press a soft kiss to your temple. “’Cause I ain’t against that plan at all. Y’sure you can handle me twenty-four seven?”

You laughed and nodded. “I’m sure a couple more hours of you everyday won’t kill me,” you joked, nudging his shoulder with yours.

Daryl simply chuckled and shook his head. “Well, when ya put it like that, how m’I s’posed to say no?”

“You can’t,” you began playfully. “You can try to decline, but your attempts will be futile. It will be met with resistance in the form of kisses and baby cuddles.”

“Oh, god. Please no. Not the baby cuddles,” Daryl gasped in mock fear. “How s’anyone s’posed to survive the baby cuddles? M’doomed.” He tickled Hazel’s stomach, laughing with her when she squealed happily.

Your heart swelled with love as you watched the two people you loved most. Daryl had come so far. He had grown from that man you had first met at the quarry to he one you got to see now every day. The one you got to love and cherish. The one you got to call your husband.

You smiled softly when Hazel let out a big yawn and lowered her head to rest against Daryl’s shoulder. “I think it’s time we get her to bed,” you said, placing a gentle hand on your archer’s arm.

Daryl shared a look with you, one that voiced more than words ever could. “Alright.”

You both worked together to put your little girl to bed. It was relatively easy to do. One lullaby with some gentle rocking and she was out like a light. You watched as Daryl slowly and carefully lowered Hazel into her crib, before lowering himself down to press one final kiss to her forehead. It was a sweet gesture, one that spoke volumes of his love for the tiny human being that rested within the crib.

You quietly closed the door behind you when you and Daryl left the nursery. Daryl opened his mouth to say something, but it was cut off by the unexpected feeling of your arms wrapping around him. He easily returned the gesture, holding you tightly against him.

“I missed you,” you spoke up, your voice muddled as you nuzzled your face into his chest.

Daryl smiled. “Missed ya too, Sweetheart.” And he meant that. Despite only being apart for a few hours, he had missed you. He had missed Hazel. He had missed his little family. After years of wandering around and wondering where he fit in, he had found it. He had finally found the place where he belongs. His home.

You.

[rafesbabyg1rl]

Private Session - part three

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Summary: Rafe likes to watch reader while she works as a stripper. He pays her for private sessions, in which he gets to take her home and do whatever he pleases. When he finds out Barry has been selling you to customers, he gets jealous. After you're short on a payment for Barry, he makes you pay in a different way. Rafe eventually finds out and he's not happy. Can Rafe get you out of this sticky situation?

Pairings: Stripper!Reader X obsessive!Rafe

Warnings: Rafe is obsessive of reader. Reader is a stripper. Mention of drugs, violence (fighting), death threats, guns, p in v, unprotected sex, language, praise, SMUT!, use of y/n like one time.

Word Count: 5.0k

Author Note: Hey babes! I originally got this idea from this GIF , like just imagine he's sitting in the strip club throwing dollar bills at you like that. Some of this part was inspired by Dexter s7 ep9. This fic is NOT fully proofread. I'm SO SO SO sorry for being so inactive :(

This is the last part of Private Sessions! I'm actually pretty pleased with how this fic ended up, since it was only meant to be one part. If I get requests relating to this, or if I get struck with random inspiration, I'm not against writing more for this!

Credits: GIF from this post

After you’d hooked up with Rafe–well, you wouldn't exactly call it a hook up. After you had another private session with Rafe, your top paying client, also the entire reason you’re now a hooker, you stayed the night at his place. That morning, following the many, many orgasms he had gotten out of you and the half-hearted ‘goodnights’ you two had exchanged before falling asleep, Rafe had left you alone. He had woken you up, briefly mumbling to you about having some business to attend to, making sure you know that you’re allowed to stay for however long you please. Before leaving, Rafe gathered your scattered clothing and left it in a neat pile on one of the chairs in his bedroom. On top of the pile, he left you money. Sure, he had already given you nearly a thousand dollars for your time, but he felt that you deserved a tip, so he left a crisp hundred-dollar bill for you to find, as well as money to call an uber, since he’s unable to give you a ride back.

Of course this kind of treatment was completely unbeknownst to you. You had never expected Rafe Cameron to treat women this well, especially those he has to pay to fuck. But you’re not complaining. Your other clients never even spare a thought about how you feel, it’s only about them. But Rafe…he makes sure you feel good. He wants you to feel good. He cares about making sure you get what you need more than he cares about his own experience. This isn’t just confusing to you, since he’s also wondering why he cares, or why he’s even paying for you specifically when he has a variety of women he could fuck for free. All he knows is that he needs more of you–he needs to make things right with you somehow.

After you left his house later that morning, you had gone back to work. Barry wasn’t happy with you, you hadn’t come back like he asked last night. He needed you to work the floor, since you’re the ‘star’ of the club–the favorite. Which, all that means to you is that Barry’s got you working unreasonable hours.

“Shit…” he huffs, taking in your appearance as you show up at the club. Since it’s still morning, nobody else was there. You really had hoped he wasn’t there either, just wanting to get in, grab your shit, and go home. But of course that wasn’t the case. You stand there, gathering your items from your locker, feeling smaller with each passing second that he stares at you, laughing at your disheveled appearance. You had stolen some of Rafe’s clothes since you didn’t feel like wearing that tiny, itchy little dress you had left in last night. 

“I’ll be back for my shift tomorrow.” You tell him as you try to leave the room. However, he moves to block the doorway, causing you to pause, looking down at the ground with a huff, trying to keep your cool.

“Where’s my money, princess?” Barry asks, his voice cold. You sigh, having forgotten. You reach into your duffle bag, pulling out the cash Rafe gave you for your most recent session. You do the math in your head, determining what 25% of your earnings are. You round his cut up to about $300, handing him the cash.

“There.” You shove the money into his chest. “Your cut.”

Barry chuckles at your attitude, clearly not appreciating it. His hand lingers on yours for longer than what’s needed as he grabs the cash from you. He quickly counts the bills in his hand, sighing and looking back up at you. “This is all? You were gone all night and this…” he waves the cash in front of your face. “This is all you’ve got for me.”

You swallow roughly, nodding at him. “That’s 25%.” You say, keeping your voice strong. “And then some.” you add, with a bit less confidence this time, knowing it’s not enough to keep him from getting all worked up. 

Barry makes a small tsk sound, softly shaking his head. “How you gonna make this up to me then, hm?” 

“That’s your cut. I’m off today, so…I, I’ll see you tomorrow.” You try to move past him, but he grabs onto your shoulder, stopping you.

“Nah…no, I don’t think so. You were out all night, not my fault you settled for less than your rate.” Barry still thinks you had gone with the client you were meant to meet last night, not knowing you went off with Rafe. Not that it would change anything if he did know. Really, Rafe had actually overpaid, again, for your time and effort. But, you hadn’t planned on staying the night in his bed, he had just pushed you past what you could handle, tiring the both of you out. So you get why he thinks you were underpaid. “Not my fault you stayed out all night, like a real fuckin’ slut.” His words cause you to wince, you hated being called that, because you aren’t a slut. You never chose to sell out your body, you just need the money.

Barry can see the fire behind your eyes, the calm demeanor you try so hard to maintain threatening to snap any moment now. He can tell he’s getting under your skin, which makes him enjoy this all the more. “You’re gonna pay for your mistakes.” You can feel his grip on your shoulder tighten as his eyes scour your clothed figure as you two stand in the doorway.

“Barry, please. I need that money, It’s my money. We made a deal, and you got your cut.” You plead, except your voice isn’t polite and soft like usual, you’re clearly pissed. 

“Well…that’s not the only way.” He starts. You have a confused expression etched onto your face as he speaks. “You can always put in some hours today…” he explains, his hand dropping from your shoulder to the hem of the t-shirt you stole from Rafe. 

“But, we’re closed?” You remind him. “I guess…I guess I can come back later for a few hours.”

“No.” He leans in closer, smirking. His mouth is almost touching the shell of your ear, close enough that you can feel his hot, sticky breath against your skin. “You’re gonna put some time in right now. A little private session, hm?” His hand moves around to your backside, slowly trailing down the curve of your lower back. 

You recognize this tone of voice, the suggestion of his words hanging in the air heavily. Really, you can’t say no. Because there’s no fucking way you’re giving him another cent of your hard earned cash. So, you reluctantly agree.

Barry wants the full show, so he makes you get into uniform. He even went through your things, picking out what he wants you to wear. And of course he picks your newest pieces of lingerie, the ones Rafe had just gifted you last night. The one he told you was for his eyes only, which you had fully intended to honor his request, but you couldn’t say no to your boss. Barry had turned on all the club’s lights and music, setting the perfect scene for you both. He takes you into one of the private rooms. 

First, he has you start off slow, just simply sucking him off. After that, he makes you dance for him for what feels like an hour, until he’s hard again and ready for more. He fucks you. Though it doesn’t last long, which you’re glad, since he’s not giving any regard to how you feel. He fucks you selfishly, using you however he pleases. The only thing he does that shows any sort of regard or care for you is not finishing inside you, instead making you swallow his loads. After a couple of hours, he finally lets you leave, saying that you’re all paid up…for now. You figure that since he’s crossed this line with you, it’s not going to be the last. Knowing Barry he’ll be making up absurd excuses to make you ‘pay’ some more. 

You feel disgusting, so immediately you go home and shower, scrubbing any trace of him off of you. As you stand in front of the mirror wrapped in a towel, you observe the various marks covering your body from your clients. You hate the proof they leave on you, proof that you’re a hooker. You glance at the newer, more vibrant marks on your neck, you can’t help but smile a bit as you run your fingers over the bruised skin, remembering how Rafe has created them. Once you realize that you’re smiling at his memory, you immediately stop, shaking the thoughts out of your head.

The next day you return to work, absolutely dreading having to face Barry. Not only him, but you’re getting really over having sex with these wrinkly, old, men who can’t even get it up without taking a little pill. Each session you have with a client chipping a small part of yourself away. As you enter the staff room, you practically run into Rafe’s chest, his hands coming up to rest on your shoulders, stopping you. The two of you make brief eye contact before he walks out of the room that you’re entering. Barry stands in the center of the room, shaking his head as he looks up at you.

“Well shit,” he scoffs, rubbing a rough hand over his face. “Some boyfriend you got, huh?” Your eyebrows furrow immediately. Barry notices the crease between your brows. “Looks like you’ve only got one client now.” He chuckles.

“Wait…Rafe talked to you?” You ask, wondering if he was being truthful when he said he’d talk to Barry for you. 

“Yeah, Rafe. But don’t think that means you ain’t gonna get more hours on the floor. I ain’t losin’ my main source of cash just ‘cause your boyfriend’s a little jealous.”

You have to fight the urge to roll your eyes and tell him that he’s not your boyfriend. You can tell he’s pissed and doesn’t want to listen to Rafe. Which makes you wonder how he got Barry to agree to this, since you are the ‘star’ of the club. Barry scoffs, walking out into the main portion of the club. 

You feel like a major weight has been lifted off your chest, feeling so much better now that you don’t have to sell out your body. Well, other than when you’re dancing. But that’s different. At least nobody has to touch you anymore…other than those who you actually want touching you. 

After changing and getting prepared, you work the pole per usual. About an hour into your shift, you spot Rafe sitting across the club, getting a lap dance from one of the other dancers, except he looks like he could care less about her–he’s looking at you. You’re not jealous–no, definitely not. Why would you be jealous? He’s just your client; your customer. You make eye contact with him and instead of looking away, you find yourself staring right back at him while you dance.

On your break, you make your way into the back room, where a few of the other girls are also taking their break. You’ve never had problems with the other girls, but you’ve never called them friends either, just coworkers. You can hear them talking before you enter the room, and when you walk in, suddenly it’s silent as their heads turn to you. You ignore their stares, heading over to the fridge to grab a yogurt. You hear their whispers as you turn your back to them. 

“She’s fucking the boss.” One of them says earning a few gasps and a ‘really?’ from the others. “Yeah, I heard she doesn’t have to take clients anymore.” She responds. 

Another girl adds, “shit, I’d fuck him too if it meant I’d get special treatment”, earning laughs from everyone in the room. You take a deep breath, slamming the fridge closed and turning to face them. 

“I’m not getting special treatment!” You say harshly, a stark contrast to your typical shy demeanor. 

“So you’re not fucking him?” 

You’re so engulfed in frustration that you don’t even notice Rafe and Barry walk into the room. “Okay yeah, I fucked Barry once but it was because–” you don’t get to finish explaining before you’re cut off by Rafe’s sharp voice, which startles you.

“You fucked my girl?” He snaps at Barry. In which Barry just smirks in response, only serving to further piss Rafe off. 

“They’re my girls while they’re working. And I gotta say, she takes her job very seriously–”. Before Barry can get anything else out Rafe cuts him off with a quick punch to the jaw, causing him to tumble back. You jump back as all the other girls collectively gasp, but they know better than to intervene. Barry rubs his Jaw, standing up straight and chuckling dryly. 

“Country Club,” he laughs. “You really wanna do this, huh? All for a fuckin’ slut?” Rafe steps forward, punching Barry again before looking up at the others in the room.

“Get the fuck out!” He shouts before looking at Barry, moving to punch him again as the others quickly scurry out of the room. You stay, shocked at the event unfolding in front of you–because of you. The fight continues, Barry trying to fight back as best he can, but he’s no match for Rafe, especially since he’s got no motivation. 

Barry manages to get a few punches in, making Rafe step back for a moment. You see him reach into the back of his jeans, grabbing the gun he has tucked into the waistband of his jeans. You gasp again when you see the gun and step back until your back hits a wall. You know Rafe’s involved in some bad shit and you’re used to seeing him use cocaine, but you’re not used to him having a gun, especially with it being pointed at someone. Before you have time to even think, Rafe hits Barry with his gun, pistol whipping him and making him fall to the floor. 

Rafe leans forward over Barry, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling his head up until they’re face-to-face. “Call her a slut again–touch her again and I’ll fucking kill you.” He spits, letting go of Barry, making his head drop back against the floor, all bloodied and bruised. You make yourself look away, not wanting to see the damage Rafe did–the damage you caused. “Consider this her notice.” He mutters quickly, tucking the gun back into his waistband as he turns to face you. “Let’s go.” He says quickly, moving to walk out of the room. But you can’t move, you’re still in shock from what you just witnessed. When Rafe turns around and sees that you’re following him he lets out a sharp breath, walking over to you and grabbing you by the arm. “I said let’s go.” His words are demanding and mean, different from the way he typically talks to you. His eyes are cold and distant as he tugs you out of the room, through the club. The others watch him drag you away, not daring to say a word as they stare. 

Rafe takes you out to the parking lot, shoving you into his truck. You still haven’t even spoken a word by the time you get to his house. He pulls into the driveway, putting his truck in park and killing the engine. He speaks, still looking straight out of the windshield and not daring to look at you. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” His voice isn’t as rough anymore, though still distant. You don’t respond which makes him look over you after a few silent moments. “I said m’sorry.” His voice is a bit louder, making you jump back in your seat. 

“I heard.” You mumble coldly. 

Rafe scoffs at your mumbles, feeling like you should be grateful for what he did for you. But you’re the exact opposite. You can’t let yourself feel relieved that you don’t have to work for Barry anymore. Because that was your job. And unlike Rafe, you actually need a job to survive. Plus, you have no idea what you’ve gotten into with Rafe now. You think back to what he had said to Barry just before the fight. He called you his girl. What the fuck does that mean?

His strong grip pulls you out of your thoughts as he tugs out of his truck, bringing you inside his house. He gets you up to his bedroom and you sit on the bed, just thinking in an uncomfortable silence. You blame this on yourself. You’re the reason the other girls have to sell themselves, because you fucked Rafe…and you can’t stop fucking him. You’re the reason they’re in that hell, and you got out of it because of Rafe. It’s not fair to them. And you’re the reason Rafe nearly killed the man he’s closest to. 

You watch as Rafe goes into the adjoining bathroom, trying to wash the blood off of his hands, which only reveals that his own knuckles are all battered and bloody. You get up from the bed, padding over to the bathroom. He sees you approach him in the mirror, he keeps his eyes on you. Silently, you tap his waist, signaling him to turn around. When he turns away from the sink, now leaning up against it instead as he watches you curiously. You carefully take his hands in yours, briefly examining them. “Here…” you let go, grabbing a nearby rag and getting it damp with warm water. “Let me…” you speak softly as you take one of his hands in your own, gently dabbing at his knuckles with the rag. He winces at the contact, “shit, I know, sorry. But I need to clean them.”

“S’fine.” He mutters. Not once does he take his eyes off of your face. He notices how your tongue sticks out of the corner of your mouth as you focus, making the slightest hint of a grin form, which you don’t notice of course since you’re too busy cleaning his knuckles. 

You finish one hand, now cleaning the other which isn’t quite as bad since it’s his non-dominant hand. Once you’re done, you look up at him. He’s standing so close you can practically feel his breath on your face as he stares down at you. Now that you’re finally looking at him for the first time since the fight, you see the bruise forming on his jaw and the slight blood stain at the corner of his mouth. You lift your hand up, gently caressing the bruise. You can tell he wants to wince, but he doesn’t let himself, not wanting you to pull your hand away. The tension is so thick it’s almost visible; the silence unbearable. The only sound being that of both of you breathing. 

“About Barry–” you start, feeling like you need to explain why you had slept with him. But Rafe doesn’t let you finish, walking away into his bedroom.

“Doesn’t matter.” He speaks sharply as he strips down into his boxers, setting his gun in the top drawer of his nightstand. You follow behind him.

“No, please just let me–” you cut yourself off, annoyed at the fact that he’s avoiding looking at you. You step closer behind him, gently touching his arm which makes him finally turn around. “Rafe…”

“What?” Rafe snaps, his eyes making uncomfortable eye contact with you, but you don’t turn away. 

“He made me give him a private session. ‘Said I didn’t bring back enough money for him. I had to. It was that or give him my money, b-but I need that money. I swear I didn’t want to-” You ramble, not sure why you even care to explain yourself to him, it’s not like you need to. 

“Jesus, shut up. I don’t care, alright? Just go to bed.” He waves your hand off of his arm, turning his back to you again as he pulls the comforter back and gets under it. 

You want to ask why you’re even here with him. He brought you here to…sleep? Why? But, you decide against it. Instead, you just walk over to his dresser, pulling out a pair of his boxers and a t-shirt. You quickly strip out of your “uniform”, feeling his eyes burn holes into you as you change into his clothes. You turn the bedroom light off on your way back to the bed. You climb in next to him, keeping somewhat of a distance between you two. You’re not exactly sure where he stands in all this or what you are. You wait for him to make a move and get closer,but he doesn’t. You both just lie there in silence. Eventually you start to doze off, but are immediately woken up by the faint sound of a car pulling up, followed by some shouting. 

“Rafe Cameronn,” the voice calls out, soon banging on the door. It’s Barry. Fuck. 

You jolt up, but Rafe is already out of bed, pulling on a shirt and sweats, quickly getting downstairs to the door before Barry lets himself in. 

Still feeling loopy from sleep, you sit in bed, listening to what’s happening. You can only hear shouting between the two, but you can’t tell what they’re saying. You leave Rafe’s room, walking more towards the front of the house where you can slightly make out the conversation. 

You hear Rafe yell, “The fuck is wrong with you? Did you not hear me say I’ll fucking kill you, huh?! Because I will. You know I will.”

“Nah,” Barry laughs. “I don’t think you will, country club.”

“You’re fucking dead.”

“No, you are.” Barry responds. 

When it gets silent, you get worried and peek out one of the windows facing the front of the house. “Fuck!” You panic when you notice that Barry has a gun pulled on Rafe, Rafe with his hands up. He doesn’t have his gun. You run back into Rafe’s room, grabbing his gun from inside his nightstand before you get the chance to think about what you’re doing. After fiddling with it for a moment, you manage to get the safety off.

You rush downstairs and with a deep breath, you swing open the front door, stepping outside with the gun raised, pointing it right at Barry. “Put it down.” You say weakly. Barry laughs at you, which is probably reasonable, you probably look ridiculous standing there with a gun, your hands shaking. You repeat yourself with more confidence and higher volume this time. “Put the fucking gun down! I swear to god I’ll fucking shoot!” You’d never pictured yourself like this. Hell, you’ve never even touched a gun before. And right now, it’s not the situation that scares you the most, but the fact that in this moment, if need be, you will pull the trigger. And it’s that fact that scares you. 

After some time, Barry gives a dry and defeated chuckle. “Alright, alright! Look,” he tosses the gun aside. You immediately move to give Rafe his gun and you stand behind his large frame. At this point, Barry knows he needs to accept the defeat. He knows he’s not gonna beat Rafe in this, not when it comes to you. “Fine, I’m leaving. I didn’t know she was yours like that, ‘aight? She’s done, she’s all yours now, Rafe.” Rafe slowly picks up his gun, tucking it into his waistband before retreating to his car. Once Barry finally drives off, Rafe lowers his gun.

Your heart is racing from the adrenaline. So when you both get inside, you’re practically jumping his bones before the door even closes. Rafe doesn’t protest. He carries you up to his room, dropping you down onto the bed. Quickly, he’s shedding his layers until he’s completely bare in front of you. You do the same. He stands over you, staring at you for a moment with a hungry look in his eyes, making you feel like prey. In one move, he’s on top of you, kissing you eagerly. Pulling back to nibble on your earlobe, whispering to you. “Fuck that was so fucking hot, baby. Saved my ass back there, huh?” 

“I…I couldn’t watch him hurt you.” Is all you say before his lips are on yours again, his hand that’s not propping him up over you traveling your naked body, quickly finding your clit. You’re glad because you didn’t want to have to explain any more, because you don’t know why you did what you did. Obviously you care for him in some weird, twisted way if you were willing to kill a man to protect him from being shot. 

His fingers start to circle your clit, making you moan into his mouth. You close your eyes in pleasure. Without warning he thrusts into you, gentler than your previous times with him. This time he actually gives you time to adjust. When he starts moving his hips against you, his thrusts are slow and sensual.

“Fuck…” you cry out. Your noises rile him up even more, he speeds up, finding the pace that makes you scream out his name. Your fingers dig into his muscular torso as he moves your legs to rest over his shoulders, making him hit the spongy spot deep inside of you. 

He leans down to kiss and nip at your neck, leaving faint marks behind. His lips trail lower and lower until he reaches your chest, latching onto one of your nipples. Between his unforgiving pace that he’s drilling into you at, his mouth on your chest, and his fingers teasing your clit; you’re seeing stars like you never have before. Your hips try wriggling away from the immense and almost unbearable pleasure, but he pulls you right back in even tighter.

“Fuck baby, so fuckin’ tight. Such a good girl f’me…” he groans against your chest, pressing quick, open-mouthed kisses to your soft skin. “My fuckin’ good girl, yeah? All fuckin’ mine now…” he leans back to watch your face, noticing how your eyes are squeezed shut. He takes his hand away from your clit, grabbing your chin roughly. “Look at me.” Rafe demands. 

You obey, making direct eye contact with him as the band in your stomach snaps, releasing a burning heat that spreads throughout your entire body. His pace slows, working you through your high. Soon after, you feel the unforgivable feeling of him painting your insides with his hot, sticky release.

Eventually he stills inside of you, leaning down to kiss all over your body. When he’s fully soft, he pulls out and rolls off of you, laying on his side next to you. You catch your breath, turning on your side to face him. You can’t stop the grin that spreads across your face. “Holy fuck…” you mutter in disbelief. You hadn;t thought the last time with him could’ve been topped, but you’ve been proven wrong. Something about it was…different. This time, it wasn’t just sex and you knew it. 

He reaches out, his touch gentle now rather than rough and desperate. His hair sticking to his sweat-beaded forehead, the look in his eyes and the smile on his face making you melt. “God, you’re beautiful.”

“Rafe…” you say, slightly turning your head. Which he just moves right back to face him. 

“What is it?” His tone is soft and caring, like he actually wants to know what’s got you so quiet. 

“Nothing…well, it…it’s just…” you pause, taking a deep breath before saying what you’re thinking. You prepare yourself for the worst. “You keep…you keep calling me your girl?” 

He questions you back in response, his tone carrying a more serious note this time. “Is that an issue?” He runs his thumb over your eyebrow, admiring your features.

“No…well…I, I guess I just don’t know what you mean.” You say honestly, making him breath out a quick sigh. Shit, you think. 

“I mean…you’re my girl, y/n. You don’t need a job, alright? I got plenty money for us both, yeah? You can stay here whenever you want. You’re mine…’n I’m yours, yeah? How’s that sound, hm?” You just stare at him for a bit, questioning if he really just asked that or your brain is making it up so you don’t have to deal with the embarrassment. “Y/n?” He repeats softly.

“Yea…yeah.” You stutter, making him chuckle at how flustered you are. “Like…boyfriend girlfriend?” 

He laughs at your question, finding it adorable. “Yeah, like boyfriend girlfriend.” Rafe reassures you, his hand moving from your face to brush through your hair again.

“Yes!” You spit out a little too eagerly. You quickly flash a bright shade of red in embarrassment. You gather yourself, speaking at a normal speed now, “yeah…um that, that sounds good. I like that.” You smile.

He slides in a quick “I like you.” He smirks, thinking he’s so smooth which makes you laugh. He pulls you in for a soft, tender kiss. Rafe pulls you in, wrapping an arm over you as your head rests on his bare chest. He pulls a sheet up over you both. 

You lie there in a comfortable silence. Just when you’re about to drift off you tilt your head up to look at him, and he’s already staring at you of course. You mumble, “thank you…f-for getting me outta that club.” You lay your head back down and tilts his own head down to kiss your forehead. 

“Thanks for saving me, baby.”

THANK YOU FOR READING!!! I love you so so so much!!! I just hit 200 followers and I'm shocked, I literally just started posting in the beginning of November, so this is insane. Also, HAPPY NEW YEARS!

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Taglist: @munsoncultedits

[nonbinoclard]

>>> TUNES TO LOSE YOUR MIND TO <<<

KEEP IN MIND: This is a living playlist! Songs may be added and removed at times to further curate the vibe I'm going for. I'll try to keep this post updated, but you can just check out the link for an up-to-date track list.

(EDIT: Song discussions are not finished! I have a lot more to say. I'll reblog when I've updated.)

This is set in a sort of nebulous time between Harry's life right before Martinaise and the night before he lost his memory. I wanted this playlist to feel erratic-- full of manic energy one second, then slow and bleak the next, dreamy, unreal, then right back to ridiculous.

(In no particular order. Shuffle for full emotional whiplash effect.)

I Don't Like My Mind - Mitski

I don't like my mind, I don't like being left alone in a room [...] And then I get sick and throw up and there's another memory that gets stuck / Inside the walls of my skull waiting for its turn to talk / And it may be a few years, but you can bet it's there, waiting still

The days before cleaning out the rooms... also, eating an entire cake and throwing it all up again feels very harry-esque... Overindulgence

A whole cake, so please don't take / Take this job from me

End Of The World - Hether

I mean, I could just post the entire set of lyrics as evidence, tbh. Struggling to find meaning and purpose in his life in the wake of heartbreak (5 year old heartbreak, but who's counting anyway)

I wake up in the morning and I wonder / Why everything's the same as it was I can't understand / No I can't understand / How life goes on the way it does

Cane Shuga - Glass Animals

Baby, don't go / I'll stop breathing coke / No more bloody nose / No more John Does Burn through my love / Just like your drugs / I've had quite enough / Or lack thereof

This is about the last moments of Harry and Dora's relationship to me. The chorus (a kind of circular, endless, self-aggrandizing internal monologue likely fueled by stimulants, implied in the song) continuing after the second verse kind of reflects the solution for Lonesome Long Way Home.

"11 Voyager Road. You no longer live there. Those times are gone, and so are those people. Why did you come here? Why are you still here? And where’s the dealer? You have to get back to work. That’s all you have now."

Hot Venom - Miniature Tigers

Hot venom is mixing with my blood / I can feel it on my fingers and taste it on her tongue / It feels so good to fall in love with you

I've heard a lot of people say this song is about heroin addiction, which is thematically appropriate for this playlist, but also. Harry's unhealthy obsession with Dora/Dolores Dei. Adoration (and hatred) so strong it's killing him.

Her venom makes me strong / Stronger than I am on my own / Before too long, I'll wake up to it gone / Wondering how I ever was happy [...] You can't go back now; that's not how this works / And as long as she's gone, I can never be happy

Who Is She ? - I Monster

This is just straight up about Harry's recurring dream to me. Just. Gestures at the lyrics.

Oh, who is she? / A misty memory / A haunting face / Is she a lost embrace? Am I in love with just a theme? / Or is Ayesha just a dream?

I feel like it falls in line really well with the idea that Harry's mind has been affected by the Pale-- a lack of memory, or maybe mixed memories, in a misty haze beyond the boundaries of reality. (and maybe Dolores Dei has started haunting him via Pale? Like some theories I've read.)

Somewhere across the sea of time / A love immortal such as mine Will come to me / Eternally

I Don't Miss You at All - FINNEAS

Dummy - Portugal. The Man

F the World - The Northern Boys

You Stupid Bitch - Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV Show)

These shards are a metaphor for my soul Won't stop the self-pity 'cause I'm on a roll

This song perfectly captures the inherent melodrama of a mental downward spiral imo. Catastrophic and all-encompassing. This is what I think it sounds like in there (Harry's head).

You ruined everything / You stupid bitch / You ruined everything / You stupid, stupid bitch / You're just a lying little bitch who ruins things / And wants the world to burn / Bitch / You're a stupid bitch / And lose some weight

Oleander - Mother Mother

Intermission - Scissor Sisters

Skit #2 - Kanye West

Self explanatory. He's got no money. He's got no clothes. He has no car and he has no hoes.

We broke, broke broke phi broke We ain't got it Broke, broke, broke phi broke We ain't got it Don't spend no money, ain't got no clothes Ain't got no cars, ain't got no hoes

Nobody - Mitski

My God, I'm so lonely, so I open the window To hear sounds of people, to hear sounds of people

This one is more about the feeling of the song itself rather than the lyrics specifically; I love the upbeat tempo that continues through the song (trying to remain steady, continue working), how the beat is simple at first then builds into a kaleidoscope of sound by the end of the track (overwhelmed by the world), then ending in a distorted loop (trapped in a cycle). This song has always felt really authentic to my own experience with mental spirals. The themes of loneliness tie it all into a nice bow.

I'm A Broken Heart - the bird and the bee

Not Allowed - TV Girl

Party Time - The Northern Boys

Comfortably Numb - Scissor Sisters

(Do The) Act Like You Never Met Me - TV Girl

Novocaine For The Soul - Eels

Basket Case - Green Day

Do you have the time / to listen to me whine About nothing and everything all at once? I am one of those melodramatic fools / Neurotic to the bone, no doubt about it

I just think this one fits him well during Martinaise... just shaken up and unloading trauma onto unsuspecting strangers like a can of soda (bad analogy lol), depending on the dialogue you choose.

I went to a shrink to analyze my dreams She says it's lack of sex that's bringing me down I went to a whore, she said my life's a bore So quit my whining 'cause it's bringing her down

Sometimes, I give myself the creeps / Sometimes, my mind plays tricks on me It all keeps adding up / I think I'm cracking up Am I just paranoid, or am I stoned?

Also it's just a little pathetic, which just... it fits. Sorry Harry.

Labyrinth - Miracle Musical

[delopsia]

the kind that money can't buy (calico creek) | rhett abbott x reader

Word Count: 12,200 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, friends to lovers, size kink, general awkwardness due to a love confession gone wrong. Cunnilingus, creampies, multiple orgasms, hand jobs, grinding, usage of the 'snowed-in' trope, slightly implied inexperienced reader. Reader generally being overwhelmed at times. Notes are subject to be updated because I feel like I'm forgetting something... My almost-late entry for @lewmagoo's holiday celebration!

Brief Summary: Sometimes, all love needs is a botched love confession, broken bridges, a tiny cabin out on Calico Creek, and an inconceivable amount of snow. Inspired by the Stephen Wilson Jr. song, Calico Creek.

"And what's the plan if we die on this mission?" 

"There ain't one," Rhett chuckles, his eyes flickering between the bridge and the rearview mirror. Whatever he sees isn't enough, has to twist in his seat to look out the back window. "Might as well write your will and send it via carrier pigeon." 

He's gonna die with the left side of his neck, and the lower portions of his jaw smeared in cheap paint, and he doesn't even know it. Hell, there might be some in his hair now that you look at it.

You don't know how he can manage to do this. You can hardly look away from the window for more than a second, staring down at the edge of the bridge. Nothing but rushing waters and wood laid decades before you were born, no guardrail to prevent you from plummeting a hundred-something feet to your rocky, hypothermic demise. 

The turn onto this old-fashioned safety hazard is almost too tight for the trailer, one of the tires briefly hanging midair as it crawls onto the bridge. Something creaks below, low and grumpy, an ancient spirit disturbed from its eternal slumber. 

"I still think it's cracking beneath us." That sounds like wood cracking. Does he not hear it? Why is he not putting it in reverse yet? 

"Well, we don't seem to be fallin' yet." The idiot seems to have left his intelligence back at the rodeo. 

You must have forgotten yours, too, because you're the one who stupidly agreed to this whole venture, knowing full well you would have to cross this godforsaken bridge. This thing has been ready to collapse since the day you were born and has threatened to take you down the countless times you've ventured over it. But, like clockwork, the truck crawls out the other side, emerging onto safe, solid ground. 

"Oh, I forgot all about this," you don't mean to say it out loud, but it slips past your defenses, a breath that you can only hold back for so long. 

Snow-covered trees decorate the sides of the beaten gravel road, arching overhead, their baren branches seeming to kiss the silver sky itself. Icicles hang from some of them, twinkling in the light. Stunning in its own right, but nowhere near as gorgeous as Calico Creek herself, still just as wild and alive as she has always been. 

It's a wonder the Tillerson's haven't tried stealing this out from under the Abbotts, too. There's no way they haven't heard the stories about this place, and there's no way they have never wondered about where the water beneath the bridge on Warm Creek Road leads.

"The cabin is still standing?" It looks the same, too. Time itself must stop every time someone leaves this place.

"For some reason," Rhett's nails tap against the steering wheel. "Mom comes out here to pull weeds every other month in the summer."

"Still?"

"Old habits die hard."

And that...fuck, what do you say? Nothing? That was an invitation for a follow-up.

...no, maybe it wasn't. Why are you making it weird? Come on, think.What is it that you usually say when Cecelia comes up in conversation? Oh! You should ask about...no, he already said that she's spent all day cooking a roast. 

The tires slip beneath the truck. Rhett reaches for the gear shifter. His paint-mottled hand spins across the wheel, drawing the vehicle off the ice as quickly as it crawled onto it. Focused entirely on the road and nothing else.

Rodeo lights flicker through your mind. Old dirt flies through the air again, a neverending plume of dust that still makes your nose burn. Your stomach is twisting around, working itself into a knot it'll never get out of.

"Hello?" A gloved hand waves in front of your face. "Y' in there?"

"Huh?" 

The truck has long since stopped. Crudely parked in front of the cabin with no regard for how it may look to anyone else. It's been stopped for a while, too; you can already feel the cooler air creeping through the vents. How a cowboy like him can put up with a truck that only blows heat when it's moving is beyond you. You would have sold this thing years ago. 

"I was askin' if you're ready," Rhett's brow furrows, and for a moment, you're worried that he can see straight through you. "Are you sure you slept last night?" 

"Yeah." Lie. 

The corner of his mouth wobbles up and down, lips parting with the beginnings of a sentence. Then, flattening into a line. Your eyes meet. You don't know what to say. Neither does he. Your face feels hot all of a sudden. 

It's too damn quiet in this truck.

Your saving grace comes in the form of a squealing door hinge. Shrill. Screaming at the top of its lungs as Rhett shoves it open. Yeah. Okay. You'll get out, too, then.

If life were a comic, then the rush of frozen air would have steam rising from your heated cheeks. Fortunately, no such thing happens; it's just your burning skin and the vicious bite of single-digit temperatures eating away at what little moisture you have left, not satisfied until your skin has been left raw and chapped.

Snow crunches beneath your boots, soft at first but growing firm as it compacts under your weight. Every step feels just as unsteady as the last, and with each one, you're nearly certain that this time, you will find uneven ground and go tumbling head-first into this pristine, wintery hell that has encased the entire state of Wyoming. And yet, you continue to find solid footing.

"Remind me again why we're looking for a...?" Your words die in your throat, lost to the howling wind. Did he ever mention what you were looking for out here?

A moment passes. Rhett turns his head to you. Gives you a few more seconds to conjure up the words you're looking for. "Horse-drawn grain drill?" Finishing your thought. "Mom saw a post on Facebook and thinks she can turn it into decor."

You don't know what a horse-drawn grain drill is, but you've got a feeling that it's the old jumble of rusted metal that has been decaying against a cedar tree since you were in kindergarten. Somewhere behind the cabin, beyond the tree line. "Is this another one of those projects that she starts and you have to finish?"

"What makes ya guess that?" The corner of his eye crinkles with his smile; now that you've got something to compare it to, the snow doesn't seem so bright anymore.

"Well, last I checked, she was the one repainting the walls downstairs," the ground shifts beneath your foot. Sends you stumbling. "But half of your jaw is a nice shade of Beacon Gray."

"Shit." His hands rise, blindly pawing at his face with the backs of his gloved hands, digging at it the best that he can manage. "Why didn't ya tell me I had this shit all over my face?" Flecks of gray rain down like snowflakes, scattering across the front of his jacket. 

He pauses, those expectant blue eyes landing on your shivering frame. Hopeful, even. Poor thing hasn't the slightest clue that his neck is stained with the imprint of his own hand right now. 

You shake your head. "I think you're gonna have to shave to get it all off." 

His whine echoes through the empty trees. "But I just got it to the right length again!"

As if it would get to last past the weekend, you can already hear Cecelia fussing at him to shave and tidy himself up for Christmas Service. She'll probably try squeezing him into that old suit she had tailored for him after he graduated high school, too. So tiny and narrow that the fabric visibly struggles to contain those broad shoulders...

You've gotta think of something else before you start drooling and a damn icicle forms. 

"What, you don't think it adds character?" Rhett leans over, knocking his arm against yours. If he hears your heart lurch in your chest, he doesn't comment on it. 

Looking at him is the worst thing you could possibly do. He's just so close, and he's waited until this very moment to tilt his head down and ease that old cowboy hat on, the felt one with the chipped brim. Rugged, just like his four-day-old scruff and the unruly hair that curls behind his ear and hasn't been cut since spring began. 

"It adds...something," you don't know what your conclusion is supposed to mean. Fortunately, he doesn't ask any further; just rolls his eyes and keeps walking. 

Against all odds, that old bench Royal built for you is still sitting and facing the creek. The piles of snow almost entirely obscure its frame, but it's the bench nonetheless. Two wooden pallets crudely cut and nailed together, Abbott engineering at its finest. 

"Do you remember the tire swings?" You vaguely remember them, hung from trees that once occupied the space the bench now occupies. But they weren't ordinary tire swings. No, they were fashioned to look like horses, with old recycled bridles and name tags. Isabela and Flash. 

Rhett shakes his head, chuckling at a memory. "I remember jumpin' off of 'em a lot."

"And breaking your arm because you overshot and landed in the creek?" You can still hear Cecelia screaming at the top of her lungs. "No wonder why you turned out to be a bull rider. You're still chasing the high of nearly breaking your neck in Calico Creek." 

All he can do is laugh; there's no defending himself from this one. 

Fortunately for him, the conversation dies at the sight of that old hunk of metal. It still lies in the same spot it's always been, somewhat sunken into the soil and leaving behind an indent in the tree it rests against. The thing has all the right in the world to stubbornly cling to its resting place, but Rhett doesn't even seem to struggle when he pulls on it.

It's reasonably light, all things considered. 

...or maybe it just feels light because Rhett is doing most of the pulling. 

But the metal is frozen in a thin sheet of ice, and by the time you get it within distance of the trailer, it's melted and seeped into your gloves. Frozen water gnawing at your already cold fingers, eating through flesh and straight down into the bone. Solidifying in your joints for extra measure.

You've got no choice but to drag it along for no reason other than you can't let go. Trudging through the snow, audibly crunching with every step, every inch of your exposed skin burning in a frozen fire. And it must freeze your memory, too, because the next thing you remember is the rear trailer gate falling open, clattering against the ground. It creates a ramp of sorts. 

"I can pull it up from here," Rhett, ever the gentleman.

You'd love to let him take it, but...well, you're trying, but your fingers are hardly budging. Frozen in place, another piece of the machine. You don't remember when they went numb, but you can hardly feel them anymore; they may have even detached from your body entirely. But, slowly, they pry themselves open, stiff muscles fighting against your effort to pull your hand back to your chest.

Rhett tilts his head. "'s your hand frozen?" 

"My glove got soaked," pausing to blow air onto it. The heat of your breath is nice...until it fades and leaves you even more aware of the difference in temperature. "It's fine, just a little cold."

"'Cold' my ass," muttering under his breath. He reaches out, his big hand practically engulfing yours as he pulls it toward him, plucking the soaked glove off before you've even realized what he's doing. "I ain't havin' ya get frostbit."

His other hand dives into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief that's been wrapped around something. You can feel the heat radiating off of it before he's even placed it in your frozen palm. A hand warmer.

The wind nips at your frosty skin, but the handkerchief is big enough that you can wrap the fabric around your hand entirely. A thin shield to block off at least some of the cold. 

Truly, you don't think Rhett even needed you to come along in the first place because he gets the old piece of equipment onto the trailer without the slightest hint of a struggle. It's so easy that you almost catch yourself looking back to see if there's a bigger piece to haul up. Why did he ask you to help with something so simple?

And why did you agree to it?

It's something you're still wondering when you heave yourself back up into the truck, squeezing into the corner of the old cloth seat like it'll somehow save you from the burst of frigid air that races out of the vents. God, why were you wishing for snow last week? This is hell.

"How do you put up with this every winter?" You're fighting to keep your teeth from chattering, not even going to make an attempt at straightening yourself out to put the seat belt on. Curling into a ball sounds like a much better option than that; safety be damned. 

"Layers 'n a dash of self-hatred." The truck rumbles as Rhett's foot presses on the gas pedal, the beaten tires frantically searching for traction on the slick ground. They find it. Lurching forward. "I shoulda become an accountant or somethin'."

"You as an accountant?" Snickering. 

Somewhere, in the effort to almost entirely spin the truck around, Rhett finds the chance to lean over and knock his elbow against yours. "Hey, y' don't see none of them office folk freezin' for a livin', now do ya?" 

"I'd love to see you crammed in a little cubicle," you laugh, and all he can do is roll his eyes, shaking his head all the while. 

A beam of light bounces off the creek waters. You know it's merely the change in angle that caused it, but the little voice in your head quietly wonders if old Calico Creek is laughing with you. She keeps doing it, too. Light-reflecting in little sparks, bouncing off chunks of broken ice and the rushing silver water itself, following you all the way up to the bridge.

You don't remember the bridge groaning like this last time. Maybe more towards the middle, but certainly not this early. Though, even as you untwist from your huddle and peer out the window, you can't see anything crumbling. 

"Rhett?" 

"I hear it."

Still, he eases the truck forward, but you can hear the whir of the window as he rolls it down. You would do the same and stick your head out, too, if you weren't just now regaining sensation in your nose. 

It sounds like popcorn beneath you. Soft little popping noises that you can feel when you press your feet against the floorboard. 

Rhett jumps for the shifter. 

Wood snaps.

The truck dips forward.

Something roars. You're going backward. The earth spins. White and silver and brown blurs into one big mess. Metal and tires scream. Your head bounces against the back of the seat.

And everything is still.

You're facing the river. The cabin is on your right, and the bridge is...the bridge is...

"Did it...?"

"Yeah..." Rhett whispers, his eyes as equally glued to the sight as yours are. "it did." 

The bridge is gone. 

"I have good news and bad news." Rhett's voice bounces off every wall in the cabin, almost makes it hard for you to figure out which of the two rooms he's walking out of. As if you didn't watch him disappear into one the moment that his phone started ringing.

"What's the good news?" You ask, squeezing the hand warmer just a little tighter. But there's no longer any heat radiating from it, reduced to nothing but a dull, rapidly fading warmth. 

"The bad news is," it seems he's completely ignoring what you just said. "The roads are shit 'n Perry doesn't think he can plow out the upper path 'till at least tomorrow afternoon." 

And then he's gone. Vanishing back into the room he just moseyed out of. 

"The good news?" You know he can hear you, but you don't get a reply. Nothing but a load of underwhelming silence. "Rhett?" 

Something thunks against the floor. Heavy. Solid. 

"Remember that time we snuck out and went over to Idaho for that rodeo mom didn't want me goin' to?" The echo is so bad that it takes a moment to catch up to what he's just said.

A memory stirs to mind. "I remember you getting drunk and busting your lip falling out of the truck."

Rhett's head pokes around the corner, his pale nose wrinkled with what you can only identify as disgust. Maybe a hint of embarrassment. Not his favorite memory, you suppose. 

"I don't know if y' remember it, but Dad was so furious that he made me come out here 'n chop every downed tree he could find for weeks." He disappears for another moment. Then, steps back into the room, lifting a chunk of split wood into the air. "Come to find out, all of it's still here." 

"Suddenly, I'm considering forgiving you for the grilling your mom gave us after that." You can't resist your smile. For once, your teenage antics pay off, even if it was all his idea. 

"It's inappropriate for you two to be alone together like that!" Mocking in the shrillest voice he can manage as he steps over to the fireplace, bending down to load the wood inside. "Don't know why she always thought that we..." His Adam's apple bobs. Glancing at you.

You look away. 

...yeah. 

Your lower belly twists, inexplicably filling with butterflies who have blades for wings. Or maybe they're moths, eating through you like old laundry. Whatever they are, they worsen when you peek at him through the corner of your eye, the momentary flicker of a memory nearly making you nauseous.

"Do you need help?" You don't know why you're asking when you're already reaching out, ready to take the next chunk of wood from him. It'll be easier for you to put it in; you're already down here on the floor.

"No, it's—it's fine," he freezes mid-crouch. Your fingers brush against the back of his hand. "I've got it. You should..." 

Life...stops.

For a split second, you fear that your fingertips have melted and become one with him, stuck together for the rest of eternity. But the blaze of the fire burns before you can reach melting point, jerking away as if burned. Rhett looks away. You do, too. 

You're right back at the rodeo again. 

Dusty Sunday night air spirals around you. A dry earthy scent burns at your nose, disguising the already vague tinge of sweat and what you can only describe as animal that clings to him. Dirt clings to his glistening jaw, smeared all the way down his neck and the left side of his jeans. 

If you didn't know any better, you would think they replaced Rhett with that of a wild-eyed mustang, icy blues damn near about to swallow you whole. It hardly matches his stuttered whispers, so damn shy in comparison to what lurks at the surface. 

"I...I uhm..." his boot kicks at the ground, stirring up another plume of dirt. "I know ain't good at this sort of thing, but I—" His tongue hitches, lips still moving, but not a damn thing comes out. 

Broad shoulders shiver. Caving in on themselves. And he drops his head, the brim of his hat concealing everything but his mouth from view. Hiding in plain sight. This doesn't nearly match the excitement that the shiny new championship buckle in his hand should warrant, but now it's been reduced to nothing but a toy for him to fidget with. Twisting it round and round in his wavering palm. 

"Rhett...?" Hooking your finger under the very edge of his hat, lifting it until you catch sight of red cheeks and impossibly wide baby blues. A deer caught in the headlights. 

"I love you."

It's there and gone with the breeze. So swift that if not for the sight of his lips shaping around those three little words, you would think you made it up entirely. 

But it was there, still clear as day in your memory; if you try hard enough, you can almost convince yourself that you can step through time. Re-enter your starstruck body and kiss him before the sheriff can cut in and shoo you away to ask questions about another spat between his family and the Tillersons.

But time travel doesn't exist, and that confession still hangs in the air, its rusty hinges squealing every time you think you've finally forgotten about it. What do you even say now? 'Hey, I'm sorry that in the span of a few weeks, I couldn't conjure up a better way to revive the topic, but I love you too. Hope you haven't taken my silence as rejection and moved on already!' What if he didn't even mean it as a love confession? 

Rhett hasn't said anything about it.

Neither have you.

The crackle of the fire is the only thing present to fill the silence. Occasionally broken apart by the pops of Rhett's joints every time he goes to fetch another piece of wood, ancient floorboards groaning in tandem with the thump of his boots. Even his jingling spurs are a welcome sound, shrill as they might be.

Nightfall is either your greatest blessing or the biggest curse known to mankind. The darkest corners of the cabin are lost to the shadows in a matter of hours. God knows if anything is lurking in there, ready to pounce at any given moment, but with it, Rhett's solemn face disappears, too. Reduced to glistening eyes and flashes of skin in the firelight. 

"Do you remember when we used to beg your mom to let us spend the night up here?" The sound of your voice is borderline shocking. A smidge too loud for the heavy silence that covers the room like a thick winter blanket. 

Rhett's hum dissolves into a chuckle. "Guess we really should have listened when she told us to watch what we wish for." 

He peeks at you through the corner of his eye, a strand of brown hair falling out from behind his ear and into his face. You catch his gaze, locking for a lingering moment. His mouth rises into a weary smile.

"We should have wished for endless snacks and a million-dollar lottery ticket while we were at it," you can only imagine what other things you two have begged poor Cecelia for. "And maybe a spare blanket."

Rhett blinks. Staring into the fire. His eyes widen, lighting up with a realization. "I got some in the truck."

"Lottery tickets?"

"Blankets," he's trying his best to sound annoyed, but his own grin betrays him. 

Something in his knee pops as he stands up, audibly protesting, but he's already on his feet. There go those spurs again, chiming away with every step, glinting in the light, and...

"What is that?" You ask, with a tilt of your head. It doesn't help you see any better, but the effort is there. 

Rhett freezes. "Huh?"

"Come here," beckoning him closer. "You've got something on the back of your boot."

"Those are called spurs, sweetheart," but Rhett comes back to you anyway.

He...meant that as a joke. Yeah. That's what it was. 

...right?

"No, it's..." There's something silver just above the spur on his left heel, so sharp that it pierces straight through the leather. Something long and gray hangs from it. Feels like plastic. It looks like...a rubber fish?

"'s that a damn Rapala?" Rhett's voice rises in pitch. Confused. 

"I didn't know fishing lures could catch cowboys," giggling, you pinch the hook, tugging it from the hole it's created in his shoe. The thing is ancient. Its once brilliant silver scales now a muted yellow, the singular remaining hook mangled and warped into an unrecognizable mess. 

He reaches down, opening that big hand of his. The little lure practically shrinks when you place it in his palm, suddenly nothing but a minuscule hunk of plastic and metal. "I knew they were in the creek but I didn't expect them to be all the way up here, too." 

You think that you can still hear Cecelia calling out, warning you two to watch where you step and to be careful in the shallow creek waters. It's a wonder how neither of you ever got a hook in your foot. You've lost track of how many summer Sunday afternoons you've spent in Calico Creek. You don't think you even liked visiting their church; you only ever tagged along because of what came after the service ended. 

Thump_

"What was that?" You're pretty sure it came from outside, but you're not about to dismiss the potential of someone lurking in the shadows of the room. 

"Dunno," but he's about to find out, slinking toward the door like a stray cat. You don't know how he does it, but his boots are suddenly quiet. The spurs on his heels don't even sing. All holding their breath as he opens the door. 

It's snowing so hard that you can see the shape of the wind when it bursts through the gap, cloaked like a ghost in a white sheet. Swirling around the room, all too eager to eat away at the warmth of the fire. Circling closer and closer with all the ferocity of a pack of hungry wolves. A shiver races up your spine.

"Hang on."

The door slams shut, and—

"Rhett?" You squeak. Where did he...did he go outside? He must have. You only looked away for a moment, and you would have heard it if he had rushed into the backroom. 

In his place lingers, what you can only describe as a sentient winter wind, rushing through the thick fabric of your clothes as you stand and make your way to the door. It doesn't matter how long you've been huddled by the fire. By the time your hand finds the ice-cold door knob, you're shivering again. 

Snow bursts through the gap once more, splattering across your face. Clinging to your eyelashes, wiggling down through the collar of your jacket. 

"Rhett?" But the midnight air swallows your voice like a sponge. It doesn't even echo. You can't see a thing. Not the truck, not Calico Creek, not a damn thing. "Rhett!"

No such reply. It's as if he was never even here in the first place, but you can vaguely see his footprints in the snow. They don't go far. 

Or rather, you can't see them go very far out. You could be floating through space right now, and you would be none the wiser about it. It's all just...black. Even as you step through the door, your unsteady frame slammed by a bigger, angrier gust of wind.

"Rhett!" Your voice should be able to get louder than this, but no such thing happens. Maxed out. "Rhett!"

You still don't see him. What the hell did he go looking for? Shit, what if it was someone lurking outside that grabbed him? And now you've just made it known to the whole forest that you're out here by yourself! 

A shape moves in the distance. 

You jump back, snow-caked boots sliding across the floor. Your grip on the door handle is the only reason you don't fall.

It's getting closer. You think you can see two legs. Walking closer and closer, and—

"Rhett!" Your voice breaks this time.

But it's him. Shoulders coated in a dusting of snow. Hair blowing into his windburnt face. Some kind of thick fabric bundled up into his arms. Blankets, you think. The wind blows harder, and he disappears into the sea of white once again, the waves trying to suck him back into the abyss.

Snow tumbles into the front door as he steps inside. He's carried half of tonight's snowfall into the damn cabin. But you can't think about that right now.

"Blankets?" You don't know if your voice is shaking from the cold or if you're just mad. "You run out into a blizzard and scare me half to death for fucking blankets?" 

Rhett Abbott has had his soul replaced with that of a newborn deer because he looks like one caught in the headlights. Wide blue eyes staring back at you, can't possibly fathom what has got you so mad. As if he's not the one who just inexplicably ran off into the night with no regard for his own safety. 

Those snow-dusted eyelashes flutter. "You said you wanted one." Innocent as can be. 

And you...you did ask for those, but. "You could have said something before you just up and walked out." 

"Were you worried about me?" His head tilts to the side. 

"Maybe I was," muttering, you turn back to the fire. There's a chair sitting in the back corner. Wooden. Didn't look all that inviting until just now, swallowed up by one of the many shadows cast by the fire. The chilly air has collected over here, clustering into its own little storm, but you can't feel it. Not with how hot your face has gotten all of a sudden. 

The chair creaks beneath your weight. It breaking is the last thing you need right now, but fortunately, it seems to hold. You lean forward, face falling into your hands. Of course. Of course, he went to get the blankets that you asked for. And here you are yelling at him like a damsel in distress as if he wasn't born and raised in conditions worse than this. 

Something drapes across your shoulders. Fuzzy. Smells like the bonfire the Abbott's had a few weeks back, burning away the brush collected from the most recent storm. Another one wedges itself into your lap, Rhett stubbornly pushing it onto you as if you're the one covered in snow and not him. 

"What are you doing?" Peeking through the gaps in your fingers.

"Buildin' you a cocoon and hangin' ya from the ceilin'," he hums, and if you didn't know him any better, you might have thought he was dead serious. "Wanna see if you'll come out with wings like one of them butterflies."

You're putting on your best frown. 

Or at least, you think you are. You can't really feel your face. "This implies that I look like a caterpillar." 

"Hey, caterpillars are cute," says Rhett Abbott, the man who yelped when he saw a bright green caterpillar inching up his pant leg last summer."Y' remember that book we used to have where the little dude kept eatin' everything?"

"The one you took a bite out of?" Yeah, you remember that. 

"The caterpillar did that." Still just as defensive as he was when Cecelia started asking questions about what happened to the book. "Not me."

"Uhuh." Sure.

The last of the snowflakes scatter from his eyelashes, cascading down onto his bright red cheeks and melting into minuscule little droplets of water that seem to dance in the firelight. A tiny galaxy that is wiped out by a singular stroke of your thumb. 

...you're touching his face.

You don't recall when your hand left your side, but it's resting against his jaw, your thumb still damp with the evidence of your crime. He's noticed it. There's no way he hasn't noticed it, but he's not telling you to stop. And...well...you're already here. 

Properly curling your hand around his cheek is the easiest thing you've done in a lifetime, his soft scruff tickling your palm. Rhett still doesn't say anything. Hell, it's so quiet that you can hear the minuscule sound of him breathing through his nose. His lashes flutter again. Thinking about something.

He tilts his head, leaning into your touch. 

"You're frozen." You noticed that a long time ago, but if you don't break the silence, you're gonna combust.

"Yeah, that kinda..." his mouth hangs open, tongue visibly faltering for a good moment or three, "happens when...you snow."

Your giggle is so loud that it echoes, but you hardly notice it. "When you snow, huh?" 

He's running from you. 

You can't believe it. He's squirming up to his feet and turning around, his hands rising to cover his face in a fashion identical to what you did mere minutes ago. Mutters something, but it's so muffled that you can't understand a word he's said. You don't necessarily care to figure it out, either. A little bit distracted by the sound of puzzle pieces clicking into place. 

You think you get it now. 

The floorboard squeals as you stand, the sharp sound eating away every bit of the certainty that you just built up, but your momentum still carries you forward. Feet falling one after the other as if caught in a trance. 

Rhett turns to look at you, then back to the door. 

He tries to, at least. 

It happens on reflex. You grabbing ahold of his jacket collar, pulling so hard that you both stumble. He gasps. So do you. Chest to chest in this tiny old cabin, nothing but the flickering fire to guide your eyes as you drink in his face. The same old, big blue eyes you've always known. Pouty lips wobbling, torn between a lopsided smile and trying to come up with something to say. 

If this were a dream, it would be perfect. Seamlessly falling into place like trained actors.

But this is real, and you're both moving at the same time, and your noses clash at the same time your mouths do. You stumble. His arm cinches around you. Pulls you closer. Teeth clatter. It's everything that a Hallmark first-kiss scene isn't, and it's incredible. All those movies, and they still couldn't quite capture the dream of kissing your best friend in—

Best friend.

"Shit, I..." Jerking away. Eyes wide. Breath caught in your throat. "I shouldn't have..." Shouldn't have what? Kissed him without asking? 

Oh, but he's grinning at you like a damn fool. Wobbly smile and sparkling gaze, flickering back and forth between your lips and eyes. You don't feel the hand resting on the small of your back until it's pulling you back in, lips crashing once more. 

A faint twinge of mint and chocolate still lingers on his lips, the only remaining evidence for his crime of raiding his momma's jar of Christmas chocolates. Or maybe cowboys just taste like that. Rough as stone, carved and broken into jagged edges by the test of time, but sweet as can be on your lips. 

He steps forward at the same time you do, already can't stand the minuscule gap between your bodies. But your foot slips between his, and the side of his spur catches on the toe of your shoe, and you're falling. 

Your elbow slams into the wooden floor. Chin bouncing off his too-firm chest. It's a damn miracle that he's the one who fell backward. You may not have survived if your positions were reversed, solid as he is. 

"Guess I fell for you," Rhett wheezes, groaning low in his throat. 

"Idiot," giggling.

Figuring out where your legs have landed is a task of its own, your frozen joints protesting any further movement for fear of another catastrophic fall. Rhett doesn't make much of an attempt to move. Content to part his legs and let your body fit between them, knees resting against your hips. 

His palm finds your cheek, calloused fingertips stroking the soft skin there. You're melting into it before you can realize what you're doing, drowning in the sensation of how big his hand is. You think it could cover half of your face without even trying.

"'n here I thought I'd fucked this all up," his hum vibrates through his chest and right into yours; kind of feels like distant thunder. 

"I didn't know how to bring it back up after Joy left." It's easy again. Talking to him, confessing exactly what's on your mind without fear of further fracturing things. "Then you didn't say anything either, and I...figured I'd read into it the wrong way." 

His thumb finds the corner of your mouth, gently tugging it up into a squished smile. "Oops." 

You can't help but reach for him, too, your hand finding his cheek once more, just for the hell of it. In the shadows of the fire, you can see the small chunk of skin permanently missing from his nose. An old scar from a kitchen fight with Perry a while back, courtesy of Perry's wedding ring and an argument that you don't remember the context of. Something about a remark Perry made on an already tense night. 

Should you?

Rhett blinks.

Yeah, you should.

"Watcha doin'?" He asks, scrunching his nose as you lean in, pressing your lips to that little scar. 

"Something I've thought about doing ever since you barged through my front door with blood pouring down your face," pressing another to the tip of his nose. 

"Funny, I recall y' wantin' to hit me at first." 

"Because you scared the hell out of me." 

"'s that why y' tripped me just now?" There's that light tone in his voice. Taunting. "Revenge?"

"Shut up." You know where this is going.

So does he. "Make me—" 

Kissing him quiet. Another thing off your bucket list. Maybe it was on his, too, because he laughs into your mouth like he's been waiting on this his whole damn life. Hell, you know you have. 

Your skin prickles beneath your layers of clothing, burning from head to toe, and you can only peel your winter coat off so fast. Pulling away from him might be the hardest thing you've ever done, but in the time it takes you to shrug it off, Rhett has gotten his off, too. That old black undershirt hugs his frame a little bit too well; you almost stop and stare.

Almost. 

Rhett's arm loops over your shoulders as you come back to him, hand curling around your bicep, lazily hanging on. Those jackets must have been a mile-thick because you don't recall being this close last time, his chest against yours, heart beating so heavy that you can feel it. 

But you're a little bit too far down, an ache blooming in the back of your neck at the strain to reach him. You don't want to move, but now that you've noticed it, the pain is the only thing that you can think about. Gives you no real choice but to dig your knees into the hard floor and scoot up—

"Mmh—!" 

You don't remember breaking away from Rhett, but you must have because you're blinking down at him, and he's found time to clamp a hand over his mouth. Eyes the size of dinner plates. Red in the ears.

"Did I...?" Suddenly aware of where your thigh is resting right now. 

"Just a little bit," he doesn't seem to have any interest in making you move, either, using the arm around your shoulders to pull you back down once more. 

You don't know how you've survived so long without this. 

The pressure of his lips, the stubble on his jaw, the awkward bump of noses that haven't learned where to go quite yet. It's all so new, and yet you can already feel the embers of an addiction burning to life, roaring as hot as the fire, and you might need him more than you need to breathe. Heaven is a place on earth, and its name is Rhett Abbott. 

Your forearms brace themselves on either side of his head, steadying yourself before you can become inconceivably lost. And again, your thigh unintentionally presses into him, and he's groaning low in his throat, lithe hips bucking up into it. You can't help yourself this time, intentionally grinding into the growing tent in his jeans, feeling his knees flutter around you. 

"I'm sorry, I..." clarity strikes like lightning.  "I'm rushing things, aren't I?"

"Naw, I'm..." he looks off to the side. Sheepish. "Kind of into it." 

Even now, he's still Rhett. Bold one moment and shy the next, his impulses always a moment quicker than everything else. You don't need to ask if he's mortified about saying that out loud; the big dummy is already showing it. Gulping so hard that you can see the muscles in his neck flex with the effort, his cheeks three shades redder. 

You throw one of your legs over his, straddling it, the silence broken by the sound of your knee hitting the floor a little too hard. And again, he covers his mouth when your thigh grinds into him, but he fails to conceal the slight roll of his eyes. Breathing hard through his nose, impulsively twitching up into your touch.

"You're something else, cowboy," you can't help but find your way to his jaw, pressing kisses into the soft outline of bone. His legs flutter around your thigh, clinging onto it as you work it against him. The arm around your shoulders tightens; you fear you might be anchored here. 

It's on the side of his neck that you can feel the faint rumble of a moan, so quiet that it fails to make its way past his hand, but it's there. You suppose you shouldn't be surprised about it, but your daydreams never involved getting around this obstacle. There's no way you're prying his hand away, not with how he uses the same damn hand to cling onto the back of a thousand-pound bull every Sunday night. 

Your lips make their way to the space below his ear, sucking lightly at an old scar that lingers there. He jumps. Hand coming off his mouth just long enough to audibly suck in a breath, cutting off the beginnings of a whine. His back rises off the ground, grinding into you the best he can. But it's not enough. He's still chasing you like he wants more, and you still can't hear him.

You're so quick to replace your thigh with your hand that you can almost deceive yourself into believing you've done this before. Palm pressing firm against his bulge, gently massaging the heel of it into him, and he jerks again. Impulsively reaching for your wrist, head tipping back, lips parted. 

"That...you...I..." he can't talk. Words broken apart by surprisingly ragged breaths. Worked up over so fucking little. It has no right to make you clench around his thigh; desperation is a hellishly contagious virus. 

You might be drooling. 

Lazy, you fall into the space next to him, your leg splayed over his, hyper-aware of the way you've just tucked yourself under his arm and how perfectly you fit. That rodeo buckle falls open at the slightest pressure, button popping open just as eagerly. He shouldn't get anything out of the sensation of you tugging on his zipper, but his hips rise as if he can feel every bit of it. 

The moment your hand wraps around his cock, his head thunks against yours. Not hard enough for it to hurt, but the impact still makes you wince.

"Ow."

"I'm sorr—" his teeth sink into his bottom lip. Biting back a noise as your thumb blindly traces the underside of his tip. "Sorry. Shit." 

If only you could go back in time and tell yourself to do this sooner. You don't know how you can ever expect to go back from this. Lying with your head propped on the side of his chest, gingerly drawing him through the opening of his jeans, the head of his cock so wet that it glistens in the firelight, a bead of precum spilling over, barely caught by your thumb. 

Rhett's scruffy cheek presses against your forehead, blindly nuzzling into you as your hand wanders, gradually working down his length. It's such a simple motion, but his hips rise to chase you on your way back up, a stifled noise rumbling out of his chest. The tip of your index finger glides over his tip, rubbing past his slit and—

"Mmh!" Jumping like a live wire. Still muffled, but louder than last time. 

You can't help but repeat it, using your thumb to draw loose circles against his weeping tip. Those hips jump again, slipping from your grasp. But it doesn't take more than a second to get ahold of him again, a sharp little sound slipping out of him as you pick up right where you left off. Swirling around and around and around. 

"Who taught you how to..." He sucks in a breath. "Who taught..." But he can't finish that thought, trailing off into nothingness once more. 

You haven't the slightest clue where your voice has gone. Lost somewhere in your throat, stolen by the same thing that took Rhett's ability to speak. 

All of a sudden, he's moving. Rolling onto his side, blindly guiding himself with his nose until he can properly find your lips, stealing them away before you can find a way to talk. You don't know if you could have come up with words even if you wanted to. Not when he whines into your mouth like that.

Whatever you were trying to do before this is lost to the abyss. Too wrapped up in the feeling of his lips melting against yours and the tiny noises he's making to realize that you're properly stroking him now. Working up and down his cock as if you're already familiar with it, wrist lazily twisting on every upward glide.

"Shit, I'm—" His voice is raspy all of a sudden. "I..."

He doesn't finish that thought, either. Mouth hanging open with a silent moan, his hand reaching to cling to the side of your shoulder. Something to hang onto. He might crumble into a million tiny pieces if he doesn't. And he's panting into your mouth like a dog in the blistering heat; it's hardly even a kiss anymore, but neither of you is making any move to pull away. 

His breath audibly catches in his throat. Cock twitching, cumming with a whine. Painting your still-moving hand white, spreading over his length, makes this sickeningly loud squelching sound that ought to make your head swim. Fuck there's so much of it, rope after rope of white, making a damn mess that you haven't the slightest hope of cleaning up. 

"Sens—ah!" His big hand dwarfs your wrist as he grabs it. Forcing it still. 

"Too much?" 

"Too much." 

It's quiet. 

At least, it is for a moment or two. The wind squeals outside the fragile window, ripping around the edges of the cabin, frantically searching for a crack in the foundation to squeeze through, desperate to steal the heat of the fire out from under you. But the flames still dance, the wood crackling as it burns. 

The squeal of the wooden floor is your only indication that Rhett is moving, rolling over top of you in the blink of an eye. His mouth finds the side of your neck, the scruff clinging to his chin brushing against the skin there, as if the heat of his lips alone wasn't enough to make you gasp.

"I thought..." Words. Where the hell are your words? What were you even about to ask him?

"Never said I was done," his voice vibrates up your spine, rattling the thoughts swirling around your head. 

His body slips between your knees like it's something you've been doing for your entire lives. And maybe he did wind up there once a few months ago when you snatched the hat off his head and tried to flee the scene, but you don't remember it feeling quite like this. 

You don't get to linger on that thought for too long. Not when he's pepering kisses across your sensitive neck, his tongue boldly darting out to trace the outline of a vein. Heat flushes across your body. The tiny, invisible embers of a fire sparking to life, the smoke already beginning to cloud your head.

"Rhett," gasping. Now it's your turn to squeeze your legs around him, vaguely aware of how you can feel his hip bones pressing against you. Firm, nothing but muscle trained from a lifetime of ranch work, rippling under your touch. You can't help yourself, grabbing hold of a bicep with your only clean hand. 

And you can just barely catch how he pauses, peering up at you through thick lashes, like something has just occurred to him. Doesn't make any move to voice it, but his smile is enough of a hint. 

"Is this," smooching at the collar of your shirt, the flimsiest barrier that you wish wasn't there, "alright?"

On their own, your legs squeeze around him, forcing him closer. "More than alright." Because telling him that you never want him to stop might be a little too much too soon.

Big hands dip beneath your shirt, tracing with his nails as they glide up your sides. Your back arches up off the ground. Not sure if you're chasing the sensation or running away from it. The bottom of your shirt catches on his wrists, sliding up until he's pushed the fabric over your chest. 

"So fuckin' pretty," downright marveling at you, his eyes shimmering like he's just found a pot of gold. There's a whole night ahead of you, but he doesn't give himself time to linger. There's a whole lifetime of kisses to catch up on, and he's already getting started, peppering his way down your chest. 

You've waited all this time, only to have one available hand to use, forced to let go of his bicep and curl into his hair instead, fingers twirling in the loose curls that rest at his nape. Can't do both. Not without making a bigger mess out of your cum stained hand, and it might just be the worst thing that's ever happened to you. 

Because here he is. Real and warm and alive and kissing at the underside of your breast, those big blue eyes flickering up to drink in your expression, and you can't touch him how you want to. You feel like you're gonna float away. One more kiss, and you're gone. Out the window. Never to be seen or heard from again. One with the snow. 

Rhett laughs against your belly, almost sends you straight through the roof instead. "'m I takin' too long?"

"Huh?" Blinking.

"You're squintin' at me like you're mad 'bout somethin'," and now that he says that, you can feel your face begin to relax. 

"I'm not mad." Have your internal thoughts always been that obvious?

"Your little nose is scrunched up," kissing closer to the start of your sweats, poking his tongue out to lick his way down. "You're mad."

"I'm not mad," holding up your sticky palm, "I'm just frustrated that I can't use my hand." 

He was just in the process of curling his fingers beneath your waistband, but he pauses, fishing for something in his back pocket. That red handkerchief again. Passes it off to you before returning to the task at hand, but you're already one step ahead, lifting your hips until he's gotten the fabric over the swell of your ass. 

You don't realize he's stolen your underwear until the breeze hits you, thighs shyly squeezing together. Don't really know what for; it's not as if you weren't anticipating this, but now that you're in the moment...

Rhett tilts his head, looks kind of like a confused puppy sitting at your heels, those gears visibly twisting and turning in his head. His eyes widen with a thought, and before you know it, he's reaching for his own waistband, shoving them past his legs and over his ankles. 

Now you're both naked from the waist down. 

He reaches for your ankle, delicately lifting your leg until he can kiss at the inside of it. Not satisfied until he's marked every square inch of you. But your knees still remain defiantly glued together. Timid, as if you haven't thought about this more times than you'd like to admit. 

His hands dip beneath your naked thighs. Raking his nails down the sensitive skin there. And for a fleeting moment, the concept of worry has flown straight out the window, your legs falling open with a shiver. 

Fuck just the feeling of him kissing your inner thigh is enough to make you whine. A little spark of heat darting up your core is the tiniest thing, and yet it's the most overwhelming thing you've felt in your life. Because it's Rhett. It's Rhett fucking Abbott sucking a mark into your skin, right where it'll poke out from beneath your pajama shorts and tell everyone who sees it what you've been up to. 

"'s this too much?" He hums. He fucking hums. Sends you jumping.

"Yes." That's not what you wanted to say. "Maybe? No? I don't know." Your head thunks against the floor, can't give a damn about if it hurts or not.

Rhett pauses. "Want me to stop?"

"No!" Too loud. You said that way too loud. "No... I—I want you to keep going. It's just...new?" 

There go those hands again, massaging the fat of your thighs, stealing away whatever tension was lingering there. His mouth burns against them, working another mark into your skin, just in case the first one disappears too quickly. 

"You just tell me when it's too much, a'ight?" He murmurs, peering up at you, and it's all you can do to nod and utter a fragile 'yes.' 

There's a rising chance that he'll be bringing you home in a sack and spend the next week gluing you back together because you might fall apart at any given moment. Nerves alight with a newfound anxiousness. You don't know what for. This is Rhett you're talking about here. Same old cowboy that you've known for as long as you can remember. 

Lips find the thin skin where your thigh joins with the rest of your body. Jumping out of your skin is suddenly a very possible task. 

"Y've no idea how long I've been wantin' to do this." And that's the last thing you hear before his mouth is on you.

You might pass away on the spot. Off to heaven, hell, or whatever the fuck is out there. 

But all that comes of it is a hitched breath, a shudder racing through your body as his burning hot tongue licks a long strip up your cunt. Experimental. Does it again when your hips rise up off the floor; he's just started, and you're already impatiently chasing him. 

"Hang on, hang on. 'm takin' care of ya," you can hear the smile in his voice as he forces you back onto the floor. "Don't gotta chase me for it." 

It's a promise he's already making good on. 

Lazily mouthing at your clit, nothing but fleeting barely-there touches that have you squirming and biting into your fist. Oh, shit shit shit, he's twirling his tongue around it now, directly targeting that poor little bud for nothing but a few seconds.

Your whine is too damn loud for this little cabin; his folks probably heard you from ten miles up the road. But all Rhett does is curl his arms around your thighs, dragging you closer. One of your legs wind up over his shoulder, and you don't know when you started reaching down, but you're pawing at his forehead. Helpless as he prods his tongue at your entrance, pushing inside if only to feel you clench around him for a moment or two.

"Rhett," you don't know what you're babbling about. Didn't know you were talking until your ears catch the familiar tone of your own voice.

The bastard fucking hums, vibrating up your lower belly and through your spine, and again you're jumping. But you're not getting anywhere. Not with those arms around your thighs, holding you perfectly still as his tongue glides up through your folds, drawing a little figure eight around your clit. 

His lips wrap around it again, gently sucking on it as he flicks the tip of his tongue over it and—

"Too much!" Your hands are in his hair. Yanking him away. "Too much."

You don't know what the hell you'll do with the sight of Rhett's chin glistening in the light, thin lips stretched around a big ol' grin as he climbs back up your body. 

"Cute thing," he chuckles; you pretend you don't feel how wet his mouth is when he kisses your cheek.

He's already hard again. Cock so heavy that it can't even stand, resting against a pale, freckled thigh. It's so damn close to where you want him. Can only imagine what it would be like to feel him push into you for the first time, but there's an item critically missing here. 

Rhett's nose bumps against yours. "Y' look mad again."

"Because I just realized that we don't have lube," you grumble. 

...or maybe you do because he's on the move all of a sudden. Grabbing the pant leg of his discarded jeans and dragging them over, rustling through the pockets until he finds what he's looking for. 

Lube packets.

"Were you planning on this, or do you just keep lube on you at all times?" You can't help but ask, can't really believe what you're looking at right now.

"Believe it or not, I use it when that fuckin' barn door gets jammed," he pauses, tearing at the corner of a packet with his teeth, "but I'd rather it be you than a rusty hinge."

Eyeroll. "How romantic."

Even his oversized hand isn't enough to make his cock look any less intimidating; you thought it would dwarf in comparison, but it's almost as if the complete opposite has happened. Daunting, even as he strokes a generous amount of lube over himself. The voice in your head suggests that you might have bitten off more than you can chew, but there's only one way to find out for sure.

The calloused tip of his middle finger glides between your folds. Has you jumping a little bit. A slight pressure blooms, slowly pushing into you, his gaze fixated on the sight. It certainly feels bigger than it looked, if that is even remotely possible, blindly feeling around for a particular little spot.

The asshole knows he's found it before you even do. Pushing a second, dripping finger into you, deliberately crooking them to rub up into it. Heat sparks between your thighs. Pretty sure that's just the lube, but you're convinced that you can feel yourself getting wetter, already hopelessly desperate. 

"Rhett," mewling in a tone so unlike you that it's almost insulting. 

"What?" Tilting his head.

You didn't really think that far. Aren't particularly sure of what it is you want or why you're saying his name, but your arms lift themselves into the air, hands opening and closing in a vague grabbing motion. You still don't know what you initially wanted, but you sure would like to have him closer.

And he gives it to you. 

Carefully settles into your waiting arms without a fuss, his lips wrangled up into another one of those wild grins that you can never seem to get enough of. A strand of hair falls out from behind his ear, just long enough for the ends of it to tickle your cheek, drawing a giggle out of you. And for reasons unbeknownst to you, he giggles, too. 

His length rudely bumps against your thigh, demanding attention from both of you. Damn thing is so heavy that he has no choice but to reach down and guide himself, dragging the fat tip through your folds just for the hell of it. A slight pressure appears at your entrance. Then, disappears. Slipping upward and gliding past your clit instead. 

But then the pressure appears again, and this time he's not intentionally screwing up to mess with you. Air jams in your throat. 

"Gonna have to relax for me, sweetheart," he whispers; there's that pet name again. God, you might legally change your name to sweetheart just so he'll call you that every day for the rest of your life. Something in your lower belly unwinds. "There y' go." 

The fat tip slips into you without any further warning, simultaneously puts a shiver in your bones, and steals away the little bit of clarity that you had left. You don't even know what you're shaking for. The fire is still crackling next to you, albeit dimmer than it was before. The room is far from cold, but you can't seem to keep still, quivering like an autumn leaf in the breeze.

Rhett appears like a fucking daydream. Cradling your face in his hands, a sudden presence that you've somehow managed to forget about, murmuring something against your lips that sounds like your name. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. You don't care to find out, too eager to steal him away in a kiss instead. 

Your arms wind around his shoulders, nails biting into the muscle that you find there, clinging to him for dear life as his cock gradually pushes into you. Inch after devastating inch, your chest progressively becoming tighter and tighter, as if you're running out of space to give. 

This can't be right. There's no way that you're really doing this. Lying here in the deserted cabin out on Calico Creek, nothing but a fire and Rhett's burning body to keep you warm, thighs squeezing his sharp hips as he sinks into you. It's a scene plucked right out of your own wild imagination. You should be waking up right now. Alone, in bed, like you have every other time this has happened.

But the scruffy chin that your hand has found its way to feels so real. The kiss breaks. Rhett leans back just far enough for you to catch sight of that stupid old grin, and holy shit, you've got Rhett fucking Abbott's cock in you right now. 

"Just a little more," he's murmuring so nonchalantly, and you really, truly, have no idea if that 'little more' is gonna fit or not. 

It either fits, or you pass away in the process of trying. The jury is still out for that one. One way or another, though, he's bottoming out, body flush with yours, not a centimeter left to take, and you think you've stopped breathing. Rhett has, too, for that matter. Completely and utterly quiet as he leans back, lashes fluttering at what he finds. 

"'m almost too big for your poor little pussy, shit." He's not staring; he's marveling at you.  "You're sure I ain't hurtin' ya?" The pad of his thumb traces where you're stretched around him, hopelessly bound together with no hope of ever untangling from each other.

Experimental, his hips roll, drawing a little noise past your lips. It's so much. So, so much. Helplessly curling your legs around his waist, heels digging into the swell of his ass, as if that can possibly save you. 

Rhett's not doing much better. Dropping his head into the crook of your neck, timidly drawing back by an inch before pushing back in just as slowly as he did the first time. His labored breath burns through your skin, grumbling something incoherent below his breath. But he's doing it again, and now, now...

"Fuck, Rhett,"  whimpering, clinging to his shoulders. 

The fire could go out at this very moment, and you would never feel even a wisp of the cold, not with how he's already finding a lazy rhythm. Hardly pulling out, rocking your body beneath him. His weight is the only thing keeping you from scooting up the floor, little puffs of air knocked out of you with every thrust. 

He's got it just as bad as you do. Panting into your mouth like a dog, the softest noises resting in the back of his mouth. Still sensitive from already cumming once. 

All of a sudden, he draws back, and for a fleeting moment, you're horrified that he's already pulling out of you. But he's pushing back into you a little quicker now and, and, and...

"'s that feel good?" He's grunting, already peeling back to do that again. The length of his cock grazes against a familiar bundle of nerves. Stars sparkle behind your vision.

"Uhuh," all that you can come up with.

Now that he's found it, he's not letting up. Moving a little quicker now. A wet little noise punctuating the snap of his hips, your poor pussy helplessly fluttering around him, so fucking full of him that it almost aches. Writhing beneath him, torn between wriggling away from the sensation and pushing into it, as if you have any choice when you're pinned beneath him like this.

"Can feel ya clenchin' round my cock, sweetheart," he's grinning as he says it, cocky in the worst way imaginable. 

Your face is so hot that you're gonna catch on fire. "Please quit talking."

To his credit, he does exactly as you ask, but that does nothing to wipe the stupid fucking grin off his face. You can't escape it. Not when he's leaning back onto his haunches, just far enough to gaze down at where his thick cock disappears into you, and suddenly you can see it. Such a wide fucking stretch that you feel bite-sized beneath him.

The weeping head of his cock strikes those little nerves. Knocks a cry right out of you. And it's the worst possible thing you could have done because he's doing it again. Tilting his hips, working just a little quicker now, drilling into that same fucking spot. 

"'s that the spot?" He coos, breathless, his hands finding your hips, dragging you into. Every. Single. Thrust. "Fuck, I don't know how I even fit in ya."

You don't even know how to talk anymore, never mind put up with his senseless mutterings. Voice caught in your throat, your cries completely and utterly silent. Blindly pawing at his forearms. Squeezing. Clawing. You manage to get ahold of one, dragging it up to your chest like you're trying to hug the damn thing. 

"Rhett," your voice wavers, "Rhett, I want—" Closer. You want him closer. But all you can manage to do is pull on his arm.

Those pretty eyes widen. The next thing you know, he's coming back to you. Using his only forearm to brace his weight beside your head, his chest snug against yours once again. You only let go of his arm in exchange for his shoulders, practically pulling him into a hug. 

Rhett nuzzles his nose into the side of your cheek, his hot breath tickling your ear. "Don't want me too far away?"

"No," grumbling. 

You've got just enough leverage to crane your neck up, mouthing at the sweaty underside of his neck. You're not trying to leave marks. Not when you know that you'll have no choice but to face his family after this; it's only a matter of time before Perry puts two and two together, but you can't help yourself. Lips finding a space just beneath his ear, mindlessly sucking on the skin there, uncaring of what evidence you leave behind.

Rhett whines. Loud in your ear, sends your lower belly twisting with something inexplicably warm, pussy clamping down around him, drawing a second sound out of him. His arms shiver. Fighting to keep his weight up. Hardly has the strength to pull away from your mouth, his hips stuttering.

"Look how well you're takin' me," he's peeled back just far enough for you to get a glimpse, mouth hanging open, can't seem to shut himself up.

"It's mortifying." 

"It's hot." 

You'd argue. You want to argue, but fuck, you can't. Not when he's got you pinned to the floor like this, fat cock bullying into your poor pussy, panting into each other's mouths like it's the only thing you're good for. A lewd smack of skin on skin defiling every innocent memory you've ever had here. 

There's a familiar coil in your lower belly, your cunt clenching down around him, legs locking around him. Your vision blurs. Chest tight. "I'm..." 

"Yeah," he's agreeing before you've even finished your thought. 

It's the mistake of looking down that does you in. The obscene sight of his wet cock disappearing into you, those strong hips stuttering as you clench around him again, punctuated by that stupid breathy moan that falls off his tongue. 

Your back arches off the floor, burying your face into the crook of his neck as it hits you. Heart hammering against your chest. Ears ringing. Cumming around his cock with nothing but a choked wail. Helplessly clinging to him, squeezing him so tight that your arms ache from it.

The fire might as well jump out and engulf you in flames; everything is burning. Distantly aware of how your legs have begun to tremble again, locked so tight around him that you can feel him try and fail to pull away from you. Babbling something about how you need to let him go, one of his hands pawing at your thigh. Pushing, trying his best to peel you away.

But it's too late. His hips are seizing up, and your eyes are opening to the sound of his strangled whine, collapsing back into you. The muscles in his back twitch beneath your fingertips as his orgasm washes over him, cock spasming so hard that you can almost convince yourself that you feel his cum flooding you.

Oh.

Oh shit, he's cumming in you. 

You should be more worried about it than you actually are, lazily letting your legs unwind from around him, uncaring about the kind of problems that this is going to cause in a few minutes. Worry is beyond you, on a completely different plane of existence. The only thing your mind has the ability to comprehend is the warmth of Rhett's face nuzzling into the crook of your neck, a final shiver racing up his spine before he becomes dead weight on top of you.

"You..." he tries, breathless. "Was that...too much?"

You don't even know where your voice has gone, wordlessly laughing into his shoulder. "It was perfect," is what you try to say, but your poor tongue can hardly shape around the letters, nothing but a senseless warble leaving you instead. And maybe Rhett's got the same condition because whatever he says next makes no sense, either.

It takes a minute for him to roll off of you, and when he does, you wind up rolling with him, your naked back facing the fire. You don't really mean to, just mindlessly following, can't look away from him for more than a second. The fire isn't nearly as bright as it was when all of this first started, but certainly not any cooler. Heat licking up your sensitive back. Pleasant at first, but the longer it goes on...

"This fire is hot on my ass," your sentence makes sense this time. 

His hand drifts down onto your ass cheek. Your eyes roll. Rhett's face lights up with a giggle, lips twisting up into a smile that you need to kiss off of him. Even if you can't really lift your head, noses crashing, kisses reduced to fleeting pecks. 

"If I woulda known this was gonna happen, I promise I would've brought somethin' to clean you up with," he murmurs, reaching to brush something off of your jaw. You don't want to know what it is.

"If I had known this was going to happen," your momentum is interrupted by a yawn, "we wouldn't have made it out of my bedroom." 

He winks at you. "We can still make that happen."

"Oh my god." Eyeroll. You're gonna walk home. 

Or, you would if he didn't curl an arm around your waist and pull you into him like a teddy bear that he's suddenly decided he wants to snuggle. And you just fit into the space below his chin so perfectly that you can't possibly bring yourself to move. 

The wind wails outside, and the fire desperately needs tending to, but neither of you are moving. If anything, you're making it worse, tangling your legs together, wedging an arm around his torso, and for a moment, you can convince yourself that you can stay like this forever. Wrapped up in your favorite person, out here on Calico Creek, never to be seen or heard from again. Lost to the magic of winter. 

Your stomach growls. 

So does his.

Laughter spins through the air. 

Maybe forever out on this creek would only work if you had electricity and a snack. But you don't mind losing out on forever, so long as Rhett's with you. Just like he always has been, snowstorm or not. 

[xxepherr]

.ೃ࿐NEW YEARS | MV1

summary — in which two strangers are each other’s new years kiss

pairings — max verstappen x named!fem!oc

pronouns — she/her

word count — 1143

note — i wrote this last year for new years on wattpad it’s probably not that great but. she has a name here for the sake of the plot

THE PARTY WAS LOUD. 

everly had lost her friend, bella, that had brought her here hours ago, and in the time since, she had just been awkwardly hanging around the kitchen. she didn't know a single person at this party, with the guy whose place it was being one of bella's childhood friends. 

from what she had worked out, it was a place max verstappen owned outside monte carlo. it was a two-storey house with a large front yard, a house that she was almost certain was just for parties. 

she'd heard of him before, but then again, who hadn't? he had just won his third world championship a month ago, and bella talked about him quite a bit because they used to kart together forever ago now. 

but bella had gone off with her boyfriend, and so everly was people-watching instead . . . and keeping a mental tally of the amount of couples she had witnessed grossly and clumsily make out, and of those who she had watched absolutely stack it on the tiled floor. 

"are you gatekeeping my kitchen?"

her eyes blew a wide. blinking a few times, she composed herself before spinning to face who the voice belonged to. she had to tilt her head back the tiniest bit to face max verstappen, who was a lot closer than she had anticipated. 

max had on a black button-up shirt on, with a good portion of the buttons undone. he was clearly a couple of drinks in, not drunk, but not exactly sober to the point where she could faintly smell bourbon lingering from him. 

"uh," she stupidly stumbled over her words. taking a step back, she found herself flush against the bench behind her. "well— no . . . sorry?"

he chuckled, absentmindedly leaning one hand against the counter beside where her body was. "relax. i'm fucking with you." he then reached past her for whichever the first bottle he could grab was: a stray beer that was the only one left from the case she had seen there half an hour ago. "i'm max."

"it's hard to not know who you are, if i'm honest," she shrugged, trying to ignore that, even though there was space between them, that he was still close. 

because yeah, sue her for getting flustered at how close an attractive and very successful dutchman was to her.

"but i didn't get your name," his smile left her shamefully breathless. damn it. "i bet it's something pretty, maybe like a flower."

she snorted at the irony. "try a wild pig," she gave into the little space between them, leaning back fully against the counter with her forearms. "everly," she said at his confused look, "google says it's associated with a boar in a woodland clearing."

"okay," max laughed, "maybe not a flower . . . but i'm sure woodland clearings are pretty."

"don't worry, i'm sure that line you used will work on someone with a nicer name," she giggled. "but it's nice to meet you, max."

"and you, everly," his accent, although lighter than it once had been, rolled over his words almost soothingly amidst the loud chaos of his house. "you do look really lonely though, especially this close to midnight."

everly's eyes flickered to the clock on the oven over his shoulder. 11:58. had time already passed that quick? her and bella had arrived at the house at 8:30pm, and everly had been in the kitchen for most of it. tragic. 

"two minutes until 2024," she hummed aloud before her eyes found his own again. his eyes were a dark blue in the darker lighting, a shade near lapis lazuli. "it feels like the year went so quick."

"yeah," max ran a hand through his hair, "tell me about it." he took a sip from the beer bottle he was holding by the neck before offering it to her. 

she grimaced, "beer is so gross," she said, "thanks though."

"fair enough," he nodded, setting the bottle down on the counter. he turned slightly to look over his shoulder, only to notice the same oven clock displaying the time. 

one minute to midnight. 

"everyone's running around trying to find their partners," he chuckled lowly. "y'know, the kiss and all."

"not surprised," everly snuck a glance behind her. everyone indeed was running around, just as he had said. "i never understood it."

"yeah?" he asked. 

"yeah," she agreed. "like, what if you start the year off kissing someone and then you break up with them later that year or something. i don't know . . ."

"that's why you should kiss someone you barely know," he suggested casually, shifting a little closer to her. "that way there's less risk."

"you think so?" she hadn't really ever thought about it like that. then again, she had never really been in any kind of relationship around new year's eve. she wasn't the best at long-term relationships. 

"i guess so," max shrugged. through the chaotic party music was suddenly counting, a countdown from ten.

ten. 

"you might be right," everly mirrored his shrug. 

nine. 

she noticed him shift a little closer, and it wasn't like she could really move; her back was to the counter. 

eight. 

"why not try it?"

seven. 

"try what— the kiss?" she questioned, eyebrows furrowed. 

six. 

"we barely know each other," max was so casual it had her head spinning. 

five. 

"so why the fuck not?" he continued. "unless you're uncomfortable."

four. 

she searched his eyes for something that could give her a firm enough reason to say no, hoping it would help her grasp onto whatever remaining restraint she had left. 

three. 

but she found nothing. nothing. 

two. 

without thinking much further, she moved her arms from behind her up to around his neck. his hands were slightly cold against the bare skin that her bustier didn't cover, the condensation of the beer bottle sending shivers across her body. 

"yeah?" he asked, trying to make sure she was comfortable. 

one.

"yeah," everly confirmed, closing the gap between them two connect their lips.

"happy new year!"

everly found herself giggling as she pulled back from the brief kiss with max. he looked amused too, his eyes doing all the speaking for him. 

he made the next move, pressing his lips against hers with a lot more need this time. everly melted a lot quicker than she cared to admit, melting into his hold and returning the kiss back in full in the middle of the kitchen.

she broke away first with a soft gasp when his teeth grazed her lip. forehead pressed against his own, she whispered, "happy new year, max," just loud enough to be heard over the celebrations around them. 

"happy new year, everly." but there was something in his eyes that spoke volumes louder than their surroundings: that this was only the start of something new, not the end.