#assuming I can get it somewhere for cheap

[tarn-ati0n]

Ah shit I'm becoming a Fire Emblem guy aren't I.

[snekdood]

idk who needs to hear this but growing native plants is not hard at all, at all

[kimuzostar]

YOU CAN'T HIDE

ᝰ bountyhunter!terry x black fem reader ᝰ warnings: 18+, smut, degradation kink, mask kink, headlock, blackmail if you squint, and more ᝰ a/n: thank you to Epiphany for the tips and tricks! it's still bad tho

divider by @cafekitsune

“Springville Police are looking for a black female suspect regarding the committing of an armed robbery that occurred last Wednesday night.”

“The sheriff’s office is offering $50,000 for the capture or information leading to the capture of the suspect.”

“The suspect is said to have last been seen somewhere ne-“

You turned off the tv, tired of seeing and hearing yourself be talked about. Looking around your 5th cheap,shabby motel room, you sighed. 

You had yet to be identified, but your picture was plastered on every local news channel. And considering the small town, anyone could recognize you.

“Time to move again.”, you say to yourself. 

Grabbing your bag, you scan around, making sure you’re not leaving a trace of yourself. You leave through a back window, being wary of those who could be hanging out front. You were aware of the bounty hunters wanting to take you in for their prize. 

You glanced at your watch. 

6:19pm

You needed to find another motel. You did not want to be out after dark and you did not want to sleep outside. It is never that serious. 

Looking around the backlot, you take in your surroundings: trees, trash, a truck and who you assume is its owner leaning on against it. 

The man was tall and burly. You couldn’t see his features from this distance but you could see he was looking directly at you. 

Thinking he was just being weird, you brush it off. Pulling your hood over your head, you turn and begin your journey. You head west, following the sunset.

……..not noticing the man get in his truck to begin following you.

-

8:27pm

After two hours of walking, you finally found a suitable motel to hide out in. It’s secluded with the nearest building being a mile and a half back. 

Majority of the building was dark and there were only two cars: a van and another truck, eerily similar to the one you saw earlier. 

The front desk clerk was hardly interested in you, not even looking at you as you handed him your cash. Too focused on whatever was on the tv. 

Good. He didn’t see what you looked like. 

Entering your room, your turn on the dusty lap that’s set on the bedside table.  It looks better than the last few so called “best getaways”. You kick off your shoes and unzip your jacket, throwing it on the corner chair. Plopping down on the bed, you sigh with relief. 

“Hopefully I can get a few days of peace," you say. 

You get up to run a bath, needing to soak the stench of the day away. It’s summer time in Louisiana and you couldn’t hate it anymore. 

After bathing, you put on a pink camisole and a pair of shorts to match. As you climb into bed, you throw the comforter on the floor, keeping only the sheets. It’s too hot for all that. 

You wrap your curls into a bun and reach over to the lamp to turn it off. 

Finally being able to relax, you eventually found sleep. 

-

You’re jolted awake by a sharp knock on the door. Looking at the bedside clock, you see the time. 

3:14am

Who the fuck could that be at this hour? 

There’s no peephole nor a window so you can’t look to see who’s outside. You slowly walk to the door, putting your ear to the cold metal. 

Feeling a bit uneasy, you call out. 

“Who’s there?”, you say. 

“I’m Terry from the front office. Housekeeping forgot to stock towels so I brought you some fresh ones.”, a man replies. 

Why couldn’t he just bring them in the morning? Curious of his arrival, you unlock the door. 

Before you could turn the handle, the door suddenly pushes open. You fall back on the floor, hard, knocking the wind out of you.

“Hey, what the fu-,”

The man forcefully grabs you by your hair, causing you to cry out. As he pulls you up, you meet his gaze. He’s wearing a mask, only his eyes being visible to you. His irises were a mix of brown, green and gray. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you ?”, you ask. 

“You’re what’s wrong with me.,” he replies. “You doin’ all this runnin’ and can’t even hide properly. Did you not see that bounty on yo head? What kinda criminal are you?”

You thought back to where you went wrong. You always covered your face. You only paid in cash. You made your voice deeper. You never walked along the streets. How did he find you?

Then it hit you: that fucking truck. 

He releases his grip on your hair, dropping you to the ground. He quickly flips you over, cuffing your hands behind your back. 

He lifts you up with one arm, throwing you onto the bed. 

“If you want the money, you can have it. Just lea-,”

“Oh, I don’t want the money.”, he says, cutting you off.

You felt his deep voice directly in your core. 

You watch his eyes as they scan you. Your hair cascaded around your face, as his previous grip undid your bun. Your camisole had slid off your shoulder and your shorts were now bundled up around the top of your thighs. 

You were exposed and at his bidding. 

His big, tall body loomed over you, his chest heaving. He was wearing a skintight, gray shirt that accentuated every ridge of his muscles. He moves forward, closing the gap between you. You rub your legs together absentmindedly. 

“What do you want?”

”I think you know what I want,” he says while running his fingers along your shoulder. “I’ve been chasin’ yo ass all over Louisiana. Ima teach you a lesson.”

Aware of his intentions, you cringed at the excitement you felt. 

-

“Look at me.”, Terry demands. 

You looked up, teary and wide eyes

You were, cuffed, sitting on the end of the bed, throat stuffed with dick. Your camisole was ripped and your shorts were thrown somewhere in the corner. 

Terry’s hands were tangled in your curls as he fucked your face. He pulls back, leaving behind strings of saliva. Your chins and breasts are covered in spit. 

“Stick out your tongue,” he demands. He adjusts his hands in your hair, making two ponytails with his fists. 

You oblige, opening your mouth wide for him, tongue hanging out.

He starts to rub his tip against it, using your hair to help you meet his thrusts. 

“You look so pretty like this,” he mocks. 

He continues to rub his tip before putting his dick back in your mouth. He thrusts a bit more before holding your head steady at his base. You see him throw his head back as his cums down your throat. The sudden intrusion catches you off guard and you gag a bit. 

Terry pulls out of your mouth and you take a deep breath. You look at him again, wondering what he will do next. 

Terry pushes you on your back. He wraps his arms around your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the bed. 

His rough hands travels up your body, rubbing against your hips, stomach, and all the way to your breasts. He begins to fondle them, rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. You let out a low moan. 

“You’re so soft,” he coos. 

Terry lifts one of your legs on his shoulder, gripping your thigh to keep it stable. He starts to rub the underside of his dick on your clit. You whimper at the contact. 

“You like that, don’t you, slut?”, he says. 

You nod vigorously. “Yes, please give it to me!”

Terry pushes into you. His dick was so big, it felt like you were being split in half. 

“Oh, fuck!”, you moan out. 

Giving you no time to adjust, Terry begins to pump in and out of you. He put his hand on your lower stomach, applying a bit of force . 

You felt every vein of his dick. It curved left, hitting that spot you like. 

“That feels so fucking good,” you say. 

You felt so full. The feeling is a bit too much. You couldn’t push him away as your hands were still cuffed beneath you.You back began to arch off the bed. 

“You’re such a good slut, maybe I won’t turn you in after all,” he says. 

You ignored him, only focusing on the orgasm you so desperately needed. If you were going out, you were going out with a bang. 

Terry drops your leg. He lays down, putting his full body weight on you. 

He begins to roll his hips. Your eyes rolled back in your head. That and the pressure of him laying on you was sending you over the edge. You’d never had dick like this before.

He grabs your cheeks, making you look in his eyes. 

“You got some good pussy on you. You gonna cum on this dick?,” he growls. 

“Yes it feels so good daddy, I’m gonna cum,”you cried out. 

Terry starts pounding you harder, his balls slapping against your ass. His hand was still on your face, making you watch him as he fucked you through the mattress. 

Your toes curled. Just a few more strokes before you felt your release. 

Terry suddenly stops, pulling out of you. He stands up, looking down at you. You can see the smile in his eyes. The sensation of your orgasm leaving you. 

“No!”, you groaned. 

Terry laughs. 

“I can’t let you do that just yet.”, he chuckles. 

He grabs you by your hips and flips you over. Tugging at your cuffs, he pulls you back, making you arch. 

Without warning, he enters you again. Thrusting into you like he wanted to break you. 

You tried to scoot forward but his grip and the cuffs kept you in place. 

“Nah, ain’t no running. Stay right there and take this dick like a good slut.”, he growls. 

“I can’t, it’s too much,” you cry. 

He pulls you up by your cuffs, bringing your back to his chest. He rubs his mask against your face. 

“You’re a big girl, you’ll be alright.”

Terry wraps his arms around your head and neck, putting you in a headlock. He slows down his thrusts. Pulling out just enough to leave the tip, then slowly pushing back in. You felt his dick kissing your cervix. 

The knot in your stomach started up again. He was fucking you so good, you couldn’t speak. You begin to fuck him back, doing you best to catch what he was heaving.

Terry’s breathing became louder in your ear and his thrusts became faster. He reaches down to rub your clit, the rough pad of his finger going in circles. The sensation send you over the edge.  

“I’m cumming!”, you cry out. 

Your orgasm hit you like a freight train. Your vision went blurry and you saw colors you’ve never seen before. 

Terry tenses up, releasing him cum inside of you. You felt every rope as he continued to fuck you through your own orgasm. 

You both take a moment to catch your breaths. You fall forward, too weak to continue sitting up. He pulls out of you, watching himself leak out. He reaches over, unlocking your cuffs, freeing you. Before leaving, he leans down to your face once more. 

“Time to move again,” he says. 

PLEASE GIVE FEEDBACK

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @skvrpion @avoidthings @jimmybutlrr @persethegawd @nayaesworld @mymindisneverhere @theereina @thabiddie23 @planetblaque @megamindsecretlair @melaninpov

[lordprettyflackotara]

WhoGoesThere? || Eyeless Jack || Part two

tw: the tiniest bit of blood

Jack hadn’t seen you for a few days.

He tried to casually stalk the area you two had met, hoping you’d come back. Sometimes he’d even sleep in the trees, hoping that you’d wake him up. Yet that hadn’t happened, until tonight.

He could smell the liquor from a mile away, a mixture of your scent flooding his nostrils. He inhaled deeply, his ears twitching as he focused on the sounds of the forest. He could hear it. Your heartbeat. It sounded oddly slowed, but your blood sounded like it was working harder than usual to pump through your heart.

Jack ran towards it, not caring about how far away he was straying from his usual path. The deeper he sprinted away from Slender’s forest, the less protection he’d have. But he could hear you. He could smell you. The liquor. Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

Jack feared the worst as he sprinted in your direction. Were you hurt and attending to a wound? He didn’t doubt your ability to heal yourself, but Jack had years of practice on the proxies. Who were literal people to practice on. He reached a different part of the forest, one he hadn’t been to before. The sun had freshly set, the moon just coming into view in the sky. His gaze landed on you, your small figure leaning against a tree for support. Jack rushed over to you, helping you stand upright.

“Hey? Are you alright?” He asked, his words rushed. Your mascara was smudged, your eyes glazed with a fresh layer of tears, and in your hand sat a bottle of vodka. “Jack..? What are you doing here?” You slurred. Jack curiously looked behind you, noticing what he assumed to be your college dorm was less than fifty feet away. Your small black dress was riding up your thighs, revealing cuts that covered your left hand and upper legs. “What happened to you?” He questioned. You practically fell onto him when you tried to stand up on your own. He grabbed you, his large hand cupping your waist. He ignored how flustered it made him feel, looking over his shoulder.

“Those fuckers made me drop my pink vodka. Now i’m left with this cheap shit,” You say bitterly. Jack noticed a few of the partiers were looking into the woods. Jack couldn’t risk being seen, nor could he risk you returning to a party in your condition. He hoped the shadows of the trees and nightfall had concealed him enough. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” Jack said calmly. You turned around, flipping off the party still in full swing. “Yeah! You hear that fuckers?! Jacks a real man!” You yelled. Jack could feel heat rushing to his cheeks. You were stumbling as he attempted to help you. He sighed, picking you up bridal style instead. You squirmed at first, the bottle of alcohol slipping out of your grasp.

“Hey! Thats mine!” You fussed. Your squirming didn’t affect Jacks grip on you at all. He continued to walk into the forest, concluding that bottle was the very last thing you needed. “We’ll come back for it later. We need to get you cleaned up,” He said softly. You drunkenly crossed your arms, sighing. “I’m gonna be a doctor I can take care of myself,” You muttered. Jack would’ve rolled his eyes if he had them. He continued to take you deeper into the woods, knowing the journey was going to be long. He needed to make it into Slender’s forest, a safe cabin planted right along the border.

It was designed as protection from The Rake, but was mostly used current day for creeps who needed somewhere to crash without questions. “Where are you taking me?” You murmured. Jack was thankful for his acute hearing, your words running together as you spoke. “Somewhere safe. Somewhere where you can’t trip over your own two feet,” Jack explained. You stuck out your legs, pointing at your heels. “I’ll have you know that these are Ralph Lauren heels! They’re worth every trip I take,” You argued. You were feeling groggy, your drunkenness weighing on your shoulders. “I stole them from my roommate, since I know you’re wondering how I could afford them,” You explained. That was in fact, not what Jack was thinking at all, but he decided not to intervene with your train of thought.

“Do you enjoy partaking in substances?” Jack asked. He stepped over an overgrown root of a tree, careful to not disturb you. “Doesnt every college student?” You said, your tone argumentative. Your eyebrows raised as you looked up at your masked friend. “How old are you anyways?” You questioned. Jack tried to not tense, swallowing as he trudged forward. The correct answer was unknown. Physically Jack had stopped aging at twenty five. The better question was, how long had Jack been twenty five? He had lost count of the years, the cycle of his routine repeating mercilessly without intervention. That was of course, until he met you.

“Isn’t it rude to ask someone their age?” Jack mused. He had heard that before, when Ben decided to ask Jane how old she was. “That only works on women bozo. As long as you aren’t like fifty this is fine,” You mumbled. Jack was puzzled. Something he thought he knew about human culture was wrong. Huh. He had a lot to learn from you. “I’m not fifty,” Jack chuckled. He wasn’t physically, anyways. He was the oldest of the creeps he had met. And they weren’t even demons. Only Slenderman was older than him. Jack sighed in relief as the cabin came into sight. “Good. I have daddy issues but not that bad,” You grumbled.

Jack couldn’t help but wonder about you and your life. Intoxication made you more honest and talkative. Maybe beyond a certain point of appropriateness, considering he had met you less than a week ago. But you didn’t care about any social construct of what you could or couldn’t discuss early on in a friendship. Jack liked that. He kicked open the old cabin door, noting the amount of dust. He brought you over to the kitchen counter, setting you down on the cool marble. “Where are you going?” You asked, confused. Jack made sure you could sit upfront before taking a step back. “I’m just grabbing a first aid kit,” He replied. He knew exactly where it was, having planted it there himself.

He was back in a flash, kneeling in front of you. He tried his hardest to ignore how short your dress was. “I could do this myself you know,” You protested weakly. Jack shook his head, forcing himself to look at the little cuts that stained your otherwise perfect skin. Jack didn’t know which was harder, ignoring the fresh blood that was prickling from your wounds or the fact your cunt was inches away from his face. Even with his mask on he could smell how delicious your scent was. Especially your blood. He grabbed a rubbing alcohol wipe, tearing the package open. “This may sting. You may want to grab onto something,” Jack advised cautiously. He was surprised when you leaned forward, putting your hand on his shoulder.

You grabbed a handful of his hoodie, your eyes screwed shut as if you feared the worst. He knew it was best to avert your attention from his work as he patched you up. “So, did you know anyone at that party?” He asked. He wiped the small cuts, a hiss escaping your lips. Jack held your leg still, wiping off the dirt and grim as well. “Sort of. I only went because of Ryan. He’s this fourth year psychics major,” You admitted. Jack set the dirty wipe aside, grabbing a clean one. “What’s Ryan to you?” Jack asked curiously. You flinched as Jack wiped your other leg, noticing a piece of glass peaking out of your skin. “A cute guy,” You answered honestly.

Cautiously Jack set the wipe aside, grabbing the tweezers. He had to word his next questions carefully, his blunt way of talking going to make you uneasy. “How is your pursuit going?” He asked. He firmly held your leg into place, grabbing the edge of the glass. He knew if he warned you that you’d freak out, especially with the alcohol clouding your senses. Instead he yanked it out steadily but quickly, causing you to yelp. “Fuck! What the fuck!” You screeched. Jack was sure The Rake might’ve been able to hear you with how loud your scream was. He set the piece of glass aside, bringing a damp towel to your now oozing wound.

“I’m sorry. You had glass stuck in there,” Jack apologized. You took deep breaths, your vision getting spotty. Jack could see the paleness in your face, your lips turning white along with it. He brought his hand to yours, giving it a squeeze. “Hey. Stay with me. How’s the pursuit of Ryan?” Jack asked, trying to keep you conscious. You swallowed, your mouth dry. “Terrible. It’s nerve racking every time I like a guy,” You admitted. Jack applied pressure to your wound, trying to ignore the smell of metal invading his nostrils. “Whys that?” He asked. He went to remove his hand, your small one pawing at his to stay in place.

“Because i’m a virgin,” You confessed. Jack was sure if it were possible he was blushing. The mere confession made him flustered, his eye sockets widening. “Don’t make it so obvious you’re judging me,” You grumbled. Jack cleared his throat, pulling his hand away and removing the damp towel. “Not judging, just surprised,” He admitted. You peeled open your eyes, looking down at him. You wished you could see his facial expression under his mask. “Whys that?” You asked. Jack could hear your heart slowing down. You weren’t losing too much blood, but you were definitely minutes away from being unconscious. “Here let’s get you laid down,” Jack suggested. He picked you up, laying you down on the kitchen floor. He pulled down your dress, adamant to not let his lust curve his intentions of taking care of you.

“Answer me. Why are you surprised?” You asked. Jack grabbed a few bandages, putting the first one on. “Because you’re absolutely beautiful. Any guy who doesn’t see that is blind,” Jack answered honestly. You felt your face flush pink, your eyes looking around the cabin to avoid looking at him. It was then you sat up, your vision getting spotty again. “I have an idea!” You announced. Jack went to guide you to lay down, his hands on your shoulders. You grabbed his wrist, giving him a big smile. “I really think you should lay down,” Jack insisted. You shook your head. “Wait wait. Hear me out. Why don’t I have sex with you?” You asked. Jacks heart skipped a beat, heat rushing to his cock.

He tried to ignore it, swallowing and focusing on the thumping of your heart. “Why me?” He asked. You felt yourself getting nervous, your eyes avoiding his gaze. “It saves me from losing my v card to some bozo. Besides, i’m sure you can teach me all sorts of things, right?” You asked, tilting your head to the side. Jack had an attractive aura, as odd as that sounded. His voice was deep and his hands were aesthetically pleasing. He carried you like you were as light as a feather. It only made you wonder how he could throw you around in the bedroom. “You’re drunk,” Jack said simply. He couldn’t believe you wanted that. Wanted him.

“Jackkkk i’m serious,” You protested. Jack wrapped your final wound, before picking you up once more. “So am I. If you remember this conversation we’ll discuss it tomorrow,” Jack said. He was trying his hardest to remain composed as he laid you down on the bed. He unzipped your heels, sliding them off of you and allowing them to fall to the floor. He helped you under the blanket, trying his hardest to ignore your dress riding up your thighs again. He went to stand and leave, turning his back to you. Your meek voice stopped him dead in his tracks, “Where are you going? Please don’t go.”

Jack felt pity, swallowing as he turned around. He grabbed a dusty old rocking chair, pulling up to the side of your bed. “It’s okay. Close your eyes. I’ll be here in the morning,” Jack said. You then allowed your head to fall against the foreign pillow, your eyes fluttering shut. Jack didn’t know what to make of you. Your life. Your confession. Your request. He didn’t know what to do with you. Yet you pulled at his heart strings, ones he didn’t even know existed. He shifted in his seat, watching you peacefully drift off to unconsciousness. Once he was sure your heart beat had slowed enough, he slid off his mask. He inhaled the cool night air deeply, the oxygen flowing much better through his system when his mask was lifted.

Jack inhaled deeply once more, making himself comfortable in his chair. He knew he’d be there for a while.

[salteytakesonmanga]

Your explanation about retconing made me think Oda's way of writing is exactly what bring people to think he has every single thing planed down from the start, even if he didn't.

The story has been going on for 20 years, and Oda himself has admitedly had ideas along the way that he added. But the fact he's still able to connect every new idea instead of having to retcon things is what makes one piece feel so perfectly planned and tied.

Anon, you innocently sent me this ask to share your thoughts and unknowingly triggered one of my rants. I’m sorry/thank you.

Anon is referring to this post.

Oda is just a good writer! He is good at the craft of writing! Even if you don’t like the story (I’m assuming you do, but for people who don’t…) it’s just WELL WRITTEN. People really aren’t used to seeing good writing anymore, to seeing tropes deployed effectively and having plot lines actually connect. This isn’t just me being cranky and old, it’s just truth. People are talking about this in film, TV, books… One Piece has been around so long that it comes from a generation of storytelling that is vastly different from our modern media landscape.

I think people are burned out on the way modern storytelling never delivers (looking at you, JJ Abrams) or constantly jerks people around to elicit a reaction, all for the sake of nabbing that viral moment. When they see Oda deploy a trope or a storytelling device they’re immediately suspicious and fearful that it’ll turn into another unsatisfying gotcha. They rush to look for proof that it’s either all part of a detailed master plan, or it’s just a cheap trick to sell more issues.

In both cases, people are looking for a reason to be LESS INVESTED in the story. If he has a master plan, they don’t need to get worried or excited because it’s all heading to some inevitable conclusion that’s been clearly telegraphed and once you’ve cracked the code then you can already tell what the ending will be, so you don’t actually have to care. If he’s winging it, then the story is just a sequence of loosely connected meaningless scenes whose only purpose is to get you hype about a plot leading nowhere, so you don’t actually have to care.

And it breaks my fucking heart.

When it comes to One Piece, so many people are insistent that One Piece is EITHER 100% planned in advance down to every minute detail, or Oda is completely winging the whole thing. But the real answer is somewhere in between, in some muddy grey area that people find really unsatisfying. They want one clear answer that they can hold up as “The Right One,” but life is not made up of black and white answers.

Honestly it makes me really sad that people can read ALL THIS - pirates are evil except actually pirates are good and the Marines are evil except the Marines are trying to protect civilians by keeping countries stable so that's good except the rulers are evil tyrants so that's bad except when they’re not and then they’re good but only sometimes and… - and what they come away with from it is, “Okay but what’s the RIGHT answer.”

The thing that makes One Piece feel like it’s so cohesive despite Oda constantly changing his mind and making shit up is that he has a very strong and clear idea about what’s actually important to the story and what’s flexible. Because he has that as a guide, he can add the Shichibukai and change Vivi from a villain to a princess and make up who Ace’s parent is without diluting what he wants to say.

That’s what it MEANS to be a writer. Foreshadowing isn’t “boring,” it’s good writing. A plot twist you didn’t see isn’t “cheap,” it’s good writing. Fleshing out a backstory isn’t “reconning,” it’s good writing.

[such-expensive-mistakes]

Superpham AU (part 5)

Masterpost

-----

This is more of an interlude, but I figured I would get it posted for WIP Wednesday. Enjoy!

-----

Ellie lost her phone somewhere between San Diego and Vancouver. Normally, that's not a big deal; she loses or breaks a phone every few months, and each time she just gets another of those cheap pay-as-you-go phones to replace it. She has Danny's number memorized, and that's the important one.

Except that Danny hasn't answered his phone for the past week.

For the first few days, she assumed he'd broken it in a ghost fight and Tucker hadn't got around to fixing it yet. But it's day six and Danny still hasn't answered. At first, Ellie planned to go to Amity Park, but before she's halfway there she thinks better of it. Danny's stronger than her, and if something bad happened to him, she wants to be prepared.

So instead, she's invisibly flying around the campus of UPenn, looking for Jazz and kicking herself for not memorizing which dorm the older girl is living in. There are a lot of people, and a surprising amount of them are tall redheads.

Eventually, she spots Jazz leaving one of the lecture halls. There are dark circles under the other girl's eyes, and she seems to be ignoring all the people around her.

Ellie slips around a corner to a spot no one is watching and lands, turning visible. Then she runs to catch up.

"Jazz!" she calls.

Jazz whirls around, eyes wide. "Ellie? What are you doing here?"

Ellie is taken aback at her sharp tone. "Just leaving, I guess."

"No, wait!" Jazz grabs her wrist before Ellie can slip away. And sure, she can always go intangible to escape, but she doesn't need to just yet.

"It's not safe for you here," Jazz says. "Let's go back to my room."

She's quiet as she leads Ellie back to her dorm. They get stopped in the hallway by a few other students, but Jazz extricates herself from the conversation by introducing Ellie as her "little cousin" and saying she's going to show Ellie around.

Finally, they arrive in Jazz's dorm room. It's roughly the size of a closet, and with two beds, two dressers and two desks, there's hardly any room left to stand in. It's easy to tell which side belongs to Jazz; it's the one that's actually organized.

Oh, and the picture of Jazz and Danny taped to the wall are also a dead giveaway.

"My roommate has class til four," Jazz says. "So that gives us some time." She sits on her bed, and Ellie perches on the nearby desk.

"Danny isn't answering his phone," Ellie says.

"Danny is missing."

The fear that Ellie has been trying to ignore sets in.

"Missing, like…" she trails off. Maybe "missing" just means he's dealing with Vlad, or with something in the Ghost Zone.

"Mom and Dad are dead. Their portal was destroyed. Sam and Tucker said it was the GIW. And no one has seen Danny since." Jazz sounds close to tears. "The GIW is still looking for Phantom, so we don't think they have him, but I don't know where he is. Tucker thinks he might have made it through the portal, but we don't have a way to check."

"I can check," Ellie says. "I can use Vlad's portal."

"Are you sure?" Jazz's voice is gentle, like she thinks Ellie might break. And yeah, Ellie hates Vlad and his stupid lab and his stupid house, but anything is better than sitting around and waiting for answers.

"I'm sure."

[the-marshals-wife]

Strangers Like Me (Orm Marius x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

A/N: I love Orm so, so much, and I've wanted to write for him since my major obsession with the first movie back in 2019. The sequel was everything I could have wanted for his character, and now that he's had the perfect open ending to his cinematic story, I finally let the inspiration run wild. This is the longest fic I've ever posted, and I'm proud to say he was the muse that inspired it.

Description: Orm Marius/Ocean Master x Fem!Reader (human), friends to lovers | Warnings: suggestive themes, steaminess at the end, cataclysmic levels of fluff throughout | Setting: after The Lost Kingdom | Word count: 5.8k

Gif credit: user acecroft

Imagine Orm opening up to you about who he truly is, and wanting to be part of your world

If someone had asked you a few months ago where you liked to be most, you wouldn't have said the boardwalk. Now, it'd become your favorite place in the world. Not for the noisy crowds, overpriced deep-fried foods, or vendors overflowing with cheap beachwear and souvenirs for the tourists. Those things you could have done without. That is, until you met Orm. Ever since that fateful day, everything around you had transformed into something new and exciting. Today was no different.

"I can't believe you've never had a corn dog before," you say.

Orm walks alongside you, well into his second serving. "And I can't believe something this abysmal in appearance can taste so good," he replies before taking another bite.

"Seriously, what have you been eating all this time?" you ask, wiping the mustard from the corner of your mouth with a napkin.

He swallows before answering, "Fish, mostly."

He was completely serious, as usual.

"You really love seafood, don't you?"

"Where I'm from, it's just called food," he counters.

Once again, you found yourself wanting to ask where exactly that place was. The last time you inquired yielded little insight. He gave a vague reply to the tune of "somewhere far away" and quickly changed the subject. For a while, you'd assumed he was originally European or something like that. Yet the more time went on, the more difficult it became to believe in that explanation. There must be a reason he did not want to talk about it, and you knew when he was ready, he would probably tell you. Still, you couldn't help but wonder where he had come from, and why he had not showed up sooner.

"So, what did you think of your first corn dog?" you ask instead.

"It was excellent. And I imagine it will not be my last," he says, tossing the stick into a trashcan as you walk by, "I still don't understand the name though, if it's not made of dog."

"Me either, honestly," you laugh as you toss your trash as well, "I'll have to look it up sometime."

"Speaking of, I listened to the singer you told me about."

"You did? What did you think?!" you exclaim, almost bumping into a passerby in your excitement.

"She is quite good, vocally. But I do think Ms. Parton would have more success exposing her rival publicly," he suggests.

"I know you're not talking about Jolene right now," you burst out laughing, covering your mouth.

"Indeed. This Jolene is a siren. She lures men with her wiles, and then goes unpunished because of her beauty," he explains wholeheartedly, holding his arms behind his back.

"Well that's the point of the song. Dolly is calling her out," you remind, "Plus what about her man? Shouldn't he get some of the blame? Falling for Jolene when he's already in a relationship? I mean come on, he's talking about her in his sleep. That's pretty low."

"Indeed, he misses the treasure that is right in front of him because he too has no honor," he expounds, his expression turning thoughtful, "You're right. Ultimately, they're deserving of each other."

"See! I told you," you chuckle victoriously.

Orm shakes his head, "I could not be tempted by such a woman."

"Oh, I don't know. You heard Dolly. Her beauty is 'beyond compare'."

"That is merely a facade," he dismisses, waving his hand, "Besides, I have seen far more beautiful than her."

You're about to inquire about his remark, but then you realize he's looking over at you. You can only hold his attentive gaze a moment before averting your eyes toward your feet, heart fluttering.

The previous moment still hanging heavy in the air, you walk together quietly for a minute before Orm stops in front of a beachwear vendor.

"Now that is amusing," he declares.

You backup a couple of steps to stand alongside him, "What is?"

He points to a pink tee shirt, the image of a mermaid riding on the back of a smiling dolphin printed on the front. "Dolphins are actually quite aggressive. They do not enjoy having riders on their backs. Sharks are much better mounts."

You stare at him, brow furrowed. "And how do you know that exactly?"

"I, uh, saw it on a television program," he stutters, "about taming sea life."

That was a lie if you'd ever heard one, and a strange one no less.

"Uh-huh," you reply unconvinced, walking away.

In silence, you resume your short walk to the end of the dock, Orm trailing close behind you. Once you reach the end, you lean over and rest your arms on the weathered wood railing, and he stands beside you. A few moments pass as you watch the waves crash upon the shore below and breathe in the salt air. It's not long before you feel his gaze on you once again.

He finally speaks, hesitation thick in his voice, "Something...on your mind?"

You smirk to yourself before looking over at him, "I'm just trying to figure you out."

"What do you mean?" he asks, concern visible in his bright eyes.

"I've never met anyone like you before. So much of what you say is a mystery," you remark.

"That is a fair point," he concedes, "I don't wish to vex you. There's just...so much that I don't know how to say."

You stand up straighter, smiling at him softly.

"I didn't mean it as a bad thing. Everyone has parts of themselves that they hide. Parts they don't want anyone else to see. There's nothing wrong with that," you reply, turning towards the ocean, "You don't like talking about your past, and I respect that. I just don't want you to think you have to hide. It's awful feeling like you don't belong, just for being yourself. I wouldn't want that for you."

"That is kind of you to say. Truly." He mirrors your posture on the railing, moving closer to you as a result. "You don't make me want to hide, Y/N. Quite the opposite, actually. I've learned so many things from you these past few weeks, and I have greatly enjoyed your company."

You look back to him, your heart skipping, "So have I."

His gaze softens. "I've also never met anyone like you before. You find joy and purpose in even the smallest of things. It inspires me how gracefully you view the world. And I've known no one whom I've wanted to share it with more."

Everything else around you melted away as you find yourself becoming just as lost in his eyes as you've been in his words.

Before either of you can move an inch closer, the chime of your cellphone cuts through the thick air between you.

Cursing inwardly, you shoot upright, embarrassed, and retrieve it from your pocket. It's an all-caps text from your sister with many exclamation marks, quickly followed by another. The sister you just now realized you forgot needed picked up.

"Oh no. I have to go," you say, frenzied, "My sister's waiting for me. I have to drive her home from her class, I completely forgot!"

"I understand," he nods, touching your arm assuringly, "Do you want me to accompany you back to the lot?"

"I really appreciate it, but I literally have to run. I'm so sorry, Orm," you say, turning to leave.

You make it only a few steps before you hear him call out.

"Y/N!"

Despite the urgency of your escape, you can't help but turn on your heel expectantly.

"Would you meet me tomorrow? Down on the beach, beneath the pier around sunset?"

A grin spreads across your face. "I'll be there!"

♆

It took everything in you not to grin like an idiot the entire drive to pick up your less-than-amused sister. You weren't ready for the brutal interrogation that would surely come if she saw the look you knew was on your face. After apologizing to her profusely and letting her chew you out, as was her sisterly right, her suspicions were already raised.

"You've never looked this happy for me to yell at you," she said, glaring at you.

"I'm just really enjoying my book! I started the sequel I told you about," you defended, flashing a smile even you knew was pretty fake.

"Enough to forget all about me," she rolled her eyes and punched your arm, "You're not telling me something, I know it."

"I'm dying to know if she's really the lost heir to the throne, I heard the reveal is like halfway through," you add, ignoring her last words.

"Mhm," she grumbled, "Fine don't tell me. I'll figure it out, just wait. You can't hide from me."

"The only thing I need to hide from you is my chocolate bars," you argue in a desperate attempt to throw her off the subject.

"I'll find those too," she snickered confidently.

You laughed it off and went back to biting down hard on your lip. It was the only thing you could do not to spill everything to her as she continued to give you the side-eye. Your body was at the steering wheel, but your mind, and your heart, were back on that boardwalk. The final glare she gave you in her driveway was unmissable, but for now, you'd evaded being found out as you made a getaway back to your own apartment.

That night you'd hardly slept, the moment at the end of the dock replaying in your mind over and over well into the morning. Work only made it worse, the monotony making the perfect backdrop to picture what the coming evening would bring. When your shift ended, you couldn't get out of there fast enough to go home and change.

Now, with sunset fast approaching, you were circling the parking lot trying to find a space, and close to bribing someone to move, when a spot finally opened up.

"Someone loves me," you exhale, hurriedly locking your car as you throw your bag over your shoulder.

The words linger in your thoughts. You can't help but blush at the notion, given your current destination, and who was waiting there.

In some ways it seemed like a lifetime since you met Orm, and in others it felt like only yesterday. The memory of that fateful day comes to the front of your thoughts as you start the long trek to the path that cuts through the dunes.

Unlike your fib from last night, you'd actually been desperate to finish the book your coworker had been pestering you about all summer. With only four chapters left, you'd escaped to the boardwalk one sunny Tuesday afternoon, hoping to find a bench, a fresh lemonade, and far less crowds than the weekend so that you could finally finish in peace.

Just as you'd sucked up the last drop of your drink and reached the last handful of pages, you noticed something out of the corner of your eye. On a bench across the way from you, you saw a man trying to untangle the most knotted pair of earbuds you'd ever seen in your life. You watched him from behind the top of your book, and suppressed a giggle as he became more animated in frustration. He ran a hand through his blond hair and seemed near to giving up on the whole endeavor. Unable to watch him struggle any longer, you tucked your book beneath your arm, tossed your empty cup in the trash, and started to walk over.

"He did this on purpose," he muttered as you approached.

"I can take a crack at them, if you'd like."

In his fierce concentration, he hadn't noticed you approach. He jumped a bit at your greeting, and squinted up at you, confused.

"Hi. Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Would you like some help with those?" you smiled hesitantly, "I just, I couldn't help but notice you were having a hard time with them."

"Well, you are welcome to try," he invited with a sigh, extending them to you, "Although I have seen seaweed less entangled than this."

You took them and sat down beside him, analyzing the knots.

"Earbuds are pretty notorious for getting tangled," you began, pausing to focus a moment, "These, however, look like a sailor used them to practice tying his knots."

"Courtesy of my brother," he said with no small amount of exasperation, "He delights in making things difficult for me."

"As brothers are wont to do."

"Indeed," he conceded.

Untying your own numerous pairs of earbuds over the years had more than prepared you for this moment. You'd made quick work of separating the right and left buds, down to the last few kinks in each.

"You're quite skilled at this," he observed.

"I should probably put it on my resume, huh?" you chuckled as you conquered the final knot.

"I think you might consider it," he laughed as well.

At last, all the tangles were gone.

"There you go," you declared, handing them back, "Good as new."

"Impressive," he remarked, marveling at your handiwork before looking back at you, "Thank you for your assistance."

"You're welcome," you smiled and pointed to the iPod in his lap, "What do you like to listen to, if you don't mind me asking?"

He hesitated, picking it up, "I'm...not actually sure how this device works. Are you familiar with the technology?"

"An iPod?" you laugh, "Yeah, I had one in high school. It's been a while and it wasn't this exact model, but they're all pretty much the same. MP3 players, that is. I had so many songs on mine, I couldn't add any more. Never went anywhere without it. I had to tape it together in senior year because I used it so much."

"Perhaps you could show me how to properly operate it?" he posed, turning towards you more, "My brother sent it to me. He said it contains music inside that I must hear, but I'm at a loss on knowing how to make it play."

You gazed at him bewildered a moment, caught off guard. Never had you met anyone who didn't know how to work an iPod before. But then again, you reminded yourself, not everyone had a chance to own one.

"Sure," you grinned, "I can show you. There's not too much to it, really, once you know the basics."

"Thank you," he replied sincerely, "It's not often that I've met a lady with such kindness, and lightness of fingers."

Heat immediately rushed to your cheeks at his gracious works, and suddenly it was difficult to hold the gaze of his rich blue eyes.

"It's no problem at all," you replied, offering your hand, "I'm Y/N, by the way. Nice to meet you."

"I'm Orm Marius, and the pleasure is mine."

Before you could blink, he'd taken your hand, and instead of shaking it, he kissed your knuckles. If he had lingered, perhaps it would have alarmed you. But he did it so quickly, it was like it was second-nature to him. Practiced or not, your head spun nonetheless, and launching into an urgent, flustered spiel about how to power on the iPod was all you could do to keep yourself held together.

You spent the next half an hour showing him everything from the buttons to the way to change the background image on the menus. Before long, you were talking about all of your favorite songs and artists, simultaneously making lists for each that he would have to listen to. Orm listened eagerly to your recommendations, and soon the conversation turned to any and every subject, from foods to places to dreams. You still remember the feeling of the rest of the world fading away as you talked to him, afternoon turning to evening. And the thrill you felt when he asked if he could see you again.

In the almost four months since, every meeting followed much in the same manner as that first day, with introducing Orm to the many things he'd never experienced before, and hours of conversation on the pier or walking along the beach. You'd stolen away to this area as many times as possible to see him, well over a dozen now. Of course your sister was more suspicious than ever after yesterday, but you still weren't ready to reveal where you'd been spending so many evenings, and who you'd spent them with. There was something exhilarating about you and Orm meeting secretly, and you wanted that feeling to last as long as possible.

He had such wonder about the world, like someone who'd not been in it very long. It was one of his oddest qualities, but his curiosity was endearing to you. Despite knowing so little about his past, you'd come to trust him like few others in your life. Whoever he'd been before, and wherever he was from, it seemed he had no intention on going back. If you were honest with yourself, you didn't want him to. There were so many places you wanted to take him further inland, yet he was still hesitant to go far from from the ocean. You'd never gone beyond a couple of blocks from the boardwalk together, but tonight, with the energy of yesterday's encounter fresh in your mind, you'd planned to breech the topic with him.

Now, the sun is sinking lower in the pale orange sky and your pulse quickens with the threat of being late. With all your reminiscing and daydreaming, you'd lost track of the time. You nearly run across the wooden walkway over the dunes and down the broad stairs. As soon as your feet hit the sand, you remove your sandals. Grasping them in one hand and the strap of your bookbag in the other, you take off into the best sprint you can manage. The pier is still a good distance up the beach, and you want to curse out whoever built the access so far away. You run at an angle towards the water, the wetter ground giving you better traction than the loose sand.

Just within the shadow of the great structure, you finally see Orm up ahead, his back turned. Out of breath, you slow your pace and try to catch some of it back before you reach him. Once he's within ear shot you call out to him.

"I'm sorry I left in such a hurry yesterday," you pant.

He spins on his heel. Relief is written all over his face.

"You came. I was afraid you might not," he sighs, walking up to meet you.

"Of course," you exhale, dropping your shoes and brushing away the hair clinging to your forehead, "Why wouldn't I?"

His expression indicates he had not thought of an answer to that question.

"I don't know," he hesitates, "I didn't mean anything by that. I mean, I wouldn't have blamed you if you hadn't. I did ask you at the last minute."

You can't help but chuckle as he stumbles regretfully all over his words.

"I brought you something," you declare to change the subject, much to his gratitude.

"A gift? For me?"

You can tell by his tone that he is actually baffled. Reaching into your satchel, you retrieve the item. In your outstretched palm, you hold a small snow globe, a miniature skyline of New York City contained inside.

His confused expression leads you to elaborate. "It's called a snow globe," you say, turning it upside down so that the little flakes inside swirl around, "You told me once that you never get to see snow where you're from. Now you can see it whenever you want."

He tentatively takes it, entranced by the miniature flurry.

"That's where I'm from. Well, I grew up there. We moved here when I was sixteen," you add, chuckling, "It's a little bit nicer in person."

Orm looks up at you, visibly touched by the gesture, "It's wonderful. Thank you."

"You're welcome," you smile, "I, hope that I can show you the real thing some day."

"I would like that," he replies with the smallest hint of sadness, pausing to behold it again, "I will treasure this always."

You'd never met anyone who talked like he did. Everything word he spoke was with full conviction. Others might sound pompous or conceited speaking the way he does, but when he said something, you believed he truly meant it.

"I'm glad you like it," you say, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"I do, very much," he says, frowning a bit, "I'm only sorry that I have nothing to give you in return."

"That's alright," you dismiss.

"Will you keep it safe for me while we are by the water? I regret that I have no pockets large enough to carry it."

"Absolutely," you say, putting it securely back inside your bag, "I know that feeling all too well."

When you finish with the zipper and lift your head up, you see Orm offering his arm to you. Surprised, and twice as excited, you take it.

As you cross beneath the pier and set off down the beach together, you suppress the urge to glance up at him. You agonize over what to say next, hoping he would speak first. When he did, it only made your heart beat faster.

"Actually, when I said I had nothing to give you, that was not entirely true," he said, clearing his throat before going on, "As much as I enjoy your educating me in foods and traditions I've never tried, I was hoping this evening we might enjoy a treat of a different kind."

Just up ahead, something on the shore comes into view. Your mind races in anticipation, and moments later, you come upon a blue blanket spread out neatly across the sand. A single white rose lies in the middle.

"Oh Orm," you breathe.

"It's not much, but I thought you would like to watch the sunset with at least some level of comfort," he says, a veil of nervousness in his voice.

"It's perfect," you exclaim.

He releases your arm and picks up the rose, presenting it to you.

"For you."

You feel nearly breathless once more as you take the flower and inhale its sweet fragrance.

"It's beautiful," you sigh, "Thank you."

He smiles timidly at your approval. "Shall we?"

"This is amazing," you say, removing your bag and carefully sitting down on the soft blanket.

He follows suit, and you gently place the rose in your lap as he comes to rest close beside you. The glow of the setting sun warms your skin, but it's nothing compared to the warmth in your chest.

You'd never seen him act like this before. He was normally so calm and collected, but now he was almost pure nerves. You work up the courage to glance over at him. He's staring hard ahead, clenching his jaw and rolling a seashell between his fingers. It's slowly becoming clear that you're not the only one who wanted to say something this evening. Normally, you found the rolling of the waves to be one of most soothing sounds in the world. But at this moment, they were far too loud.

You decide you have to break the excruciating silence.

"I've only watched a true beach sunset alone before."

Your voice brings him out from his trance. "I've also been by myself. I'm glad I have someone to share the splendor with."

"Me too."

He smiles weakly, and fixes his stare back on the horizon.

To your disappointment, the silence returns. Before long, everything is bathed in golden light. The sky transforms into rich oranges and reds before your eyes. The beach is surprisingly deserted apart from the seagulls and sand pipers, making it seem all the more that this moment was tailor-made just for the two of you.

Just when you're about to speak again, Orm at last turns towards you.

"I wish I could show you my world, Y/N. It is a realm of beauty, and strength, and light. You belong in such a place."

You feel your cheeks flush as he continues.

"Where I'm from, you can't see the stars at night. But there is a place with magnificent, glowing lights. A cave, filled with luminescence of every color you can imagine. You would absolutely love it."

"That sounds magical." You hang on his every word as you try to picture it.

"My mother used to take me there when I was a boy. I remember my whole hand disappearing inside hers." He smiled at the memory, but it faded as he spoke once more, "We used to go there seeking solace from my father."

Frowning, he throws the seashell towards the water. The sun begins to dissolve into the ocean, but neither of you take notice.

"Did you not get along?" you ask, hoping it was not too personal to do so.

His gaze falls downward again. "That's one way of putting it. Growing up in his shadow was- challenging. He was severe about many things, and against all of the rest. He expected me to become just like him. Demanded it, more like. Yet he was never up to the task of teaching me how. I wanted nothing more than to please him, but as I look back on it now, I'm not sure that I ever did. I was never worthy enough to be his son."

His words make your chest ache. You reach to gently touch his hand on the blanket.

"You are not an unworthy son," you assert, your feelings coming to the surface, "He was an unworthy father. I don't need to have met him to know that. Because I know you, and you are a good man. The most thoughtful, polite, decent man I've ever met."

He stares at you, emotion all over his face. A wistful look shines in his eyes.

"If only I had known you then," he reflects, "Perhaps I would not have gotten so lost in the tides of his storm."

"I wish I had known you too," you agree, more shyly than you'd expected, "But wouldn't have needed me. You already survived it, all on your own. You're stronger than he ever was."

His expression steels.

"Y/N, there is something I must tell you," he says, his tone turning grave, "It will not be easy for you to hear it, but I can't go on without you knowing what I am. I cannot hide it any longer. You deserve to know the truth."

Your heart starts to race quicker than your thoughts at his startling declaration. "What do you mean?"

Without warning, he casts off his jacket and stands up.

"Orm, what are you talking about?"

"Perhaps, it would be better if I showed you," he says, reaching out his hand to you, "I want you to understand. No more secrets."

For just a moment, you look up into his pleading eyes. Then, as if it had even been a choice, you carefully set the rose aside and take his hand. He helps you to your feet and leads you down past the water's edge. The cool water on your feet sends a shiver up your spine. The foam is lapping at your ankles when he stops just in front of you.

"You see that marker?" he points ahead.

The breeze whips your hair into your sight as you fight to push it away. You have to squint to see the outline of the buoy, the red light on top twinkling faintly in the twilight.

"Yes," you hesitate.

"Keep your eye on it," he directs calmly.

With that one instruction, he retreats further into the water, stopping until it is well above his waist. You cross your arms against the chill of sea spray and wait worriedly. He looks up and down the beach, as if to make sure no one is watching. You are still alone. Before you can call out to him, he dives headlong into the waves.

What follows you can only describe as a thunder beneath the water. It looks as if a missile has been launched from where Orm stood, careening toward the marker. Mere seconds later, a blast like a whale spout shoots above the horizon, and the buoy rocks violently as it is landed upon by the figure that flew up out of the sea.

A gasp escapes from your agape mouth as you witness the silhouette wave at you, and proceed to dive back into the blue.

Three pounding heartbeats later, Orm immerges from the surf and walks toward you, slicking back his dripping hair. His tee shirt clings to his muscular form, and his soaked jeans don't seem to encumber him at all. You're frozen in the sand, staring at him with only one word on your parted lips.

"How..."

"There's no simple way to say it, but you must know. I am from the Kingdom of Atlantis," he confesses, struggling to hold your stare, "I am Prince Orm Marius, son of Queen Atlanna. Although I was once ruler, I made many mistakes during my time on the throne for which I was banished. My penance is served by my exile here on the surface. I deserve my fate, and I gladly uphold it, but it is not something I wanted to keep from you any longer. I'm sorry that I was not honest with you sooner, but I didn't think that I could trust any surface-dweller with my secret. I was...proven wrong."

"You're a real Atlantean?" you manage to get out.

"I am," he nods, apprehension still in his voice, "I was raised to hate the surface and its inhabitants, but much has changed. You, Y/N, have had no small part in that."

Despite your reeling head, it's slowly becoming clear what Orm is saying by this grand unveiling of his true identity. As you struggle to process it, however, your silence compels him to go on.

"If all of this is too much, I understand. It is my burden to bear, and you did not ask to be part of it."

"I-It's not that," you stammer as the shock starts to wear off. You step closer to him. "Not at all. It's just a lot to take in. I need a minute, that's all. I promise."

Hope lights up his eyes.

"Absolutely," he agrees eagerly, "I apologize, I know this reveal was sudden. Please ask any questions that you have. I will withhold nothing from you."

As you finally begin look at him instead of through him, only one question lodged in your throat.

"Why?" you ask through threatening tears, "Why did you tell me all this?"

You knew why, because it was the same reason you wanted to tell him all of your own secrets. The same reason you came back to this beach over and over. The same reason your heart skipped every time you saw his handsome face, and heard him speak your name. You just wanted to hear him say it. For any of this to work, you needed to hear it.

His anxious gaze softens as he weighs his answer.

"I meant every word of what I told you yesterday. When I'm with you, I see a future that I never thought I would deserve. You make me feel like I can be more than I've ever been. And for the first time in my life, I have felt true happiness," he says, finding the words along with his conviction, "I never thought I would belong anywhere but Atlantis, but now, I want to know more about this world and its many gifts. And most of all, I want you to be by my side to show it to me."

"I want that too," you respond, tears threatening.

He gently takes your hand in his. "Even after all that I've done, part of me hoped that I might find some kind of redemption here on the surface. I wasn't sure how, and then I met you," he says tearfully, searching your eyes, "Y/N, you gave me that hope. Your goodness, your charity, your beauty. This realm has much to offer, more than I ever dreamed, but you are what I love most about the surface. From that very first day we spoke, I knew that you were what I was meant to find here."

Your vision blurs as he reaches to gently stroke your cheek.

"All of that to say...I've fallen in love with you, Y/N."

A sob escapes your throat as you look into his eyes and see it.

"I fell for you too. From the first day," you nod, finding your own confidence, "Being Atlantean doesn't change that. I don't care about who you've been or what you've done. I want to be with you. I love you too, Orm."

His composure crumbles along with yours as you embrace. The distance between you vanishes as your lips meet in a desperate kiss. You rest your hands on his chest and melt into his touch. He sighs and deepens the kiss, pulling you close against him. You feel the coolness of this still-dripping clothes soak through to your skin as you become lost in the taste of salt and longing. When you're forced to come up for air, you're both beaming.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," he smiles, caressing your face.

"Me too," you giggle, lacing your arms around his neck, "What did you think of your first surface-dweller kiss?"

"Not too bad. I think I'll have to try it again before I decide if I really like it," he smirks.

"Well, if you get me out of this frigid water, I'll see what I can do about that," you tease back.

"Now that I can do," he announces.

You shriek in surprise as he swiftly lifts you from the water and into his arms as if you weighed nothing at all. He chuckles in amusement and carries you bridal style back toward the shore.

"Orm!" you protest, in an obviously half-hearted fashion.

"I have to admit, concealing my Atlantean strength has been considerably more difficult than I anticipated," he reveals, wincing a bit, "I intended to bring a bottle of wine tonight as well, but- the glass here is far weaker than what I'm accustomed to."

You laugh. "Well, it's the thought that counts."

"I'm glad you think so. Because I thought since I'm responsible for us missing the best part of the sunset, that perhaps we could lie under the stars instead?" he suggests, setting you down gently on your feet upon the blanket.

"I would love to," you say, looking up at him, "But aren't you freezing in those clothes?"

"I'm used to it," he shrugs, "I don't think I feel the cold the same as you."

"In that case," you say, pulling him closer into a tender kiss, "What do you think about that?"

He grins.

"It was perfect, and I'm certain it will not be my last."

You no longer feel the chill as you cling to him, and he rests his forehead to yours. It didn't matter where the tides of life would take you next. As long as Orm was there to hold you in the waves, you would always be in your favorite place.

[delopsia]

ride the lightning | rhett abbott x reader

Word Count: 7,200 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, slice of life, Rhett's shoulder injury, showering together, outdoor sex, unprotected sex, food, absolutely zero plot to this one. Brief Summary: What's more fun than a post-rodeo party? Running off and having your own personal rodeo right before the storm hits.  

"You've got to quit eyeing those cowboys," Autumn's already chiding you, her words distorted by the glass resting against her bottom lip. 

Hesitant, your gaze drifts back to her. Weren't quite done scanning the room, but if you don't stop now, then you'll lose the luxury of feigning stupidity. "What do you mean?" 

"You're not slick!" She pauses, taking a sip of the liquid gold that fills her cup, the taste so bitter that her nose wrinkles. "I see you looking over there." 

"Because I'm looking for someone," you chirp, your nail tapping against the table as you begin to look around again. 

There was no way that wasn't his truck out in the parking lot. You'd know that aftermarket lightbar anywhere. But you don't see him. Not by the jukebox or the pool table. Hell, he's not even with his buddy Archie over there beside the empty water trough. 

"It's that bull rider from the rodeo, ain't it." Autumn's hit the nail on the head, and she knows it. Swirling the ice in her glass, grin growing wider with every second that passes. "You sure have a type."

It's not as if you could ever defend yourself from that accusation, but you're leaning forward, voice low as you whisper. "Yeah, like you don't have a thing for blue-eyed blondes."

"Blue-eyed blondes with money." She tips her glass at you as if to further her correction. It's not until after she's downed another greedy gulp of beer that she opens her mouth again.  "At least we have the eye thing in common."

All the men in the world, and here you two have picked men that happen to be neighbors. Arch enemies at that. Classic, century-old feud stuff. At this point, they don't hate each other for a reason; they do it for tradition.

You reckon a family hobby would be healthier, but that's not your dog, and it's certainly not your fight.

...not yet, at least. 

"At what point are we obligated to hate each other?" Dipping a finger into your drink as you speak, mindlessly swirling the ice until it forms its own little whirlpool. It's pretty to look at. Blue in color, with a little cherry and framed in a dainty glass, but whoever mixed this gave you all tequila and no juice. 

She hums, looking at something behind your head. "Whenever someone coughs up a half-mil."

Your finger stops, feeling the alcohol keep spinning past your finger. The cherry stem scrapes your skin. "Our friendship is only worth half a million to you?" 

"No," her eyes finally dart back to you, glinting in the light, "but that's how much is in Luke's checking account."

You don't even want to know how or why someone would have that much money ready to spend at a moment's notice. Or, better yet, where the hell that money came from.

Whatever is behind you, Autumn seems pretty interested in it, and you've got a good enough guess that it's the face of a man you're not interested in seeing. If you make eye contact, he'll take that as an invitation. 

Music sparks to life, blaring from a pair of cheap speakers somewhere on your left. You vaguely recognize the start of the song, but you're too busy scanning the crowd to pay attention to the lyrics. There are so many cowboy hats that you can't even cling to your usual method of finding him. Fuck, and hardly anyone has taken off their rodeo chaps. How are you supposed to—

There he is, beside the coolers. Red solo cup in hand, full of what you can only assume is more cheap beer. 

He's already looking at you, the corner of his lip lifting as you meet his gaze. 

"Speaking of," Autumn's already beginning to get up, the plastic table jolting as her hip bumps into it. "I just found who I was looking for."

"Have fun," pausing to glance at who she's so focused on. You're not sure why you expected it to be anyone other than Luke. "Try not to show up on the Abbott ranch with another hangover."

"No promises!" And just like that, she's left you. 

If history is anything to go off of, she'll charm him into driving her around in one of those fancy sports cars again. You've got a feeling that she's gonna be up in Jackson before sunrise, nestled in a fancy hotel for the weekend. 

"'s this seat taken?" 

You recognize that voice.

You've got to tilt your head to see him. Towering over you like some kind of giant, all broad shoulders and scruffy as can be, rodeo dirt still decorating his unshaven jaw. He hasn't even bothered to change out of his flannel, the ripped upper sleeve falling open to reveal the thick bicep lurking underneath. The left one sits a little awkwardly. Higher. An old injury aggravated by tonight's ride.

You want to climb him like a damn tree. 

"Maybe it is." Coy.

"Oh really?" His head cocks off to the side, hair falling into his face. "Who's it for?"

You've already got an answer brewing, but you hold it on your tongue for a moment, feigning thought. "His name is Rhett."

He hums. "Never heard of him." 

Silence. 

And then—

Rhett's laugh twists through the air like a melody, the plastic chair squeaking as he all but falls into the poor thing. One of these days, he's gonna do that, and it'll snap in two, but today doesn't seem to be that day. 

His hand motions toward the lone drink resting on the table, with its obnoxious blue color and lone cherry still swirling from when you toyed with it. "What's that?"

"Something terrible," you're already lifting the glass, holding it out for him to take. 

It's strange seeing him sipping from a dainty cocktail glass. Looks so much smaller when it's in his hand. You're not even sure if he notices the severe lack of juice, entirely unphased by the tequila that greets him. The cherry slips between his parted lips, the stem catching between them. 

"I thought you didn't like cherries?" Your head tilts to the side, curious. 

"I don't." His brow furrows, all too focused on something that you can't see. "But I like doin' this." Before you can begin to process what he's just said, his mouth opens, a tied cherry stem resting on top of his tongue. 

And here you thought you'd seen it all from him. "Is this your new party trick?" 

"Somethin' like that," the stem falls, landing somewhere that you don't see. Maybe you would know if you weren't too busy watching him lean forward, eyes sparkling with something he has yet to share. "Hey, do y' wanna get outta here?" 

"Not having fun?" Your answer is yes, but you're not sharing that yet. 

"I am, but..." then, lowering his voice, as if there's a risk of someone hearing him over the booming music, "'s more fun when it's just us."

You don't know where he's planning to go after this, but you're sold.

"I still can't believe you!" The squeal of the passenger door nearly drowns out your giggles, plastic grocery bags rustling as you climb out of the truck. 

You haven't the slightest clue which bag has the popcorn and which contains the chips, but the weight of the drinks is painfully obvious, the plastic handles rubbing uncomfortably against your arms. Curse the cashier for cramming all the bottles into one bag.

"Yeah, like you ain't never distracted me so you could pay for somethin'." Rhett's still laughing, that big cocky grin plastered across his face.

"But I never pretended I lost my keys!" Raising your voice for added effect, rounding the back of the truck. 

He's already beaten you here, opening the beaten tailgate. "Maybe ya should've." Wink.

Your eyes roll so hard that it hurts. "I'll remember that for the next time we get snacks."

Rhett's shoulder nudges yours, pushing just hard enough to make you sway. "You'll forget." 

"I'll forget." Immediate acceptance. You've sung this tune so many times that even you know that you never follow through in the end. 

The back of his truck is a damn mess; square bales of hay, two empty gas cans, the shredded remnants of a flannel, a handsaw, and you think that's a bag of chicken feed over there in the back corner. The tailgate is the only open space for you to set the bags on, and it's only now that you realize how many snacks you've actually gotten.

"We probably should have gotten dinner at Odessa's instead," you find yourself saying as you poke through one of the bags. Where in the world are those candies you got?

He reaches past you, plucking a stray screwdriver out of the mess that is his truck bed. Something tells you that he's been looking for that. "What makes ya say that?" 

"Look at all the junk we got!" Opening up one of the bags for him to see, as if he wasn't there when you both picked out and bought these things. 

But Rhett just shrugs, "Don't see nothin' wrong with it."  

Hypothetically, it shouldn't take you that long to find your candy. There are only five bags, but even as you poke through them all, you don't see that brightly colored packaging anywhere. But you know they were rung up. They're on the damn receipt! So where the hell...did you miss them somehow?

By the time you find them sitting in the front seat, nestled up against Rhett's lost bag of sunflower seeds, he's already set up the blankets. Thick, old things layered on top of each other as a makeshift cushion, protecting you from the rocky ground lurking beneath the grass. One of the downsides of choosing a pasture to lounge in, you suppose. 

He's already sitting on the corner of his makeshift blanket nest, half-lidded eyes drinking you in as you settle down next to him, your knee clumsily knocking into his thigh. You'd pay attention to him if you weren't too focused on this box of candy, pushing your thumb under the thin cardboard edge, forcing it open. 

Weight appears on your shoulder. 

Those Western romances always talk about the allure of a stoic, gunslinging cowboy, weathered by the elements and the human definition of fearless. They always fail to mention the cowboys who blink up at you like a puppy, too shy to verbally beg for a piece of your snack. 

"Do you want something?" Dipping your fingers into the box, pulling out one of the candies.

Rhett hums. Not quite a yes, but not quite a no, either. It's one of those sounds that you've heard enough times to know what it means, already lifting the first piece of candy to his lips. The scruff of his chin tickles your skin when he takes it.

Blind, your hand feels along his face, stealing away the overwhelming warmth residing there, drinking in the soft drag of his facial hair, finally at that perfect length where it no longer feels like sandpaper but has yet to begin looking like the beginnings of a beard. His tongue presses on the soft inside of his cheek, pushing against your fingers.

"Quit that!" You squeal, yanking your hand back.

"'s it really feel that weird?" His head tilts, and you don't need to look to know that he's peeking up at you.

"Yes!" And there might be more to add to that, but you're pushing one of the candies into your mouth, the sweetness effectively shutting you up. Remaining quiet even as he tilts his head to press a prickly kiss to the side of your neck, such a simple gesture that should not have your lower belly twisting with something familiar.

You've got to think about something else. Something that doesn't involve jumping on and biting him like a flea. Sucking hard on that little piece of candy, eyes scurrying for something to look at. But all you're finding is darkness and more darkness.

No lampposts or porch lights or flickering campfires, just the pale glow of the moon and the speckling of stars hanging in the sky. There are so many of them up there. Almost looks as if someone has dumped a bottle of glitter atop a roll of never-ending black velvet fabric, twinkling proudly against their backdrop of nothingness. 

The weight on your shoulder disappears. Leaves behind an absurd sense of coldness as he gets up to fetch something from the truck. Odd, how you never seem to realize how warm he is until after he's gone. 

Even the poor lighting can't hinder you from taking him in. The rodeo spurs clinging to his muddied boots. The leather chaps that hang low on his hips, with the thin little buckles in the back that squeeze the thick meat of his thighs. You know there's a reason for them to be there, but the irrational part of your brain reckons they exist solely to make you dizzy. 

"Are you ever going to take those chaps off?" You find yourself asking, after a moment, dragging your gaze away from his ass. 

Rhett freezes, his hand still wedged in the plastic bag as he looks down at his own two legs. "Eventually," he pauses, cracking open one of the cans. You haven't a doubt in your mind that it's one of those spiked lemonades he's recently discovered. "Whenever my shoulder loosens up enough t' let me mess with it."

"Need help?" Words firing off your tongue before you can process what they mean.

The black and yellow can lifts to his mouth, poorly concealing the upward turn of his lips. "I ain't never said no to you undressin' me, doll."

One little sentence, and you've forgotten about your candy entirely, letting it fall onto the blankets without any care for whether or not it spills. You've hardly got to move; settling onto your knees is more than enough. He steps forward, standing right on the edge of the blanket, that oversized buckle glimmering in the moonlight. Your fingertips brush over the edge of it, dented from the hoof of last week's bull.

"I thought the clasp broke on this?" Audibly tapping a nail against it as you make your way to the much smaller buckle hanging underneath. Not thin or frail by any means, but the contrasting sizes isn't doing it any favors. 

Your fingers hook beneath the belt, tugging on the tiny strip of leather until he gets the hint.

He grunts, boots shuffling as you drag him forward. "Nothin' a little weldin' couldn't fix." 

It's easier to see the awkward hang of his left shoulder from down here, tense and lifted higher than the right one, like someone's wound the muscle too tight. Maybe that dislocation would have healed correctly if he agreed to that hospital visit. But...here you are.

All you've got to do is pull the leather strap backward, and the prong pops out of the hole. For such tough-looking chaps, they sure come off easily. One weak tug is all it takes to have them falling down his legs, falling as quickly as you'll let them, hands gliding down the sides of his thighs and past his bony knees, eating up as much time as you can.

It's a shame that you don't need to undo the buckles around his thighs, too; you wouldn't mind the tedious process of helping him buckle them back up, either. But it's too late for that. You've already gotten the leather past one of his boots, working it over the other just as quickly. 

Even as you set those old chaps to the side, Rhett doesn't make much of an effort to move, standing idle as you fold them. Eyes locked with yours, transfixed by the simple image of you on your knees, right in front of him. You know what he's thinking. You're thinking it, too. Memories so prominent in your mind that you're already beginning to act on them.

Something booms in the distance. A deep noise that rolls through the pasture like a warning of something more to come. You think that's lightning, you see, flickering in the corner of your eye, but you're not paying attention. You can't. Not when your hands are moving on their own whims, gliding up the sides of his thighs. 

Rhett's hum echoes into his half-empty can. Seems to carry for miles. "Didn't realize we were gettin' another storm."

His breath hitches. Eyelashes fluttering. 

Your hand drifts across the tent in his jeans once more. Warm. Growing heavier with every passing second. "Think we have time?" You ask as if you don't already know the answer. As if there isn't a sudden heat flushing between your legs, the voice in your head impatiently demanding that you hurry up and pinch open his belt.

"'n here y' say I'm the one with a problem," but just like that, he's sinking to his knees. Face to face, all too quickly. 

"It's not my fault that you look like...that!"  Floundering for an escape from the situation you've created all by yourself. 

One side of his mouth quirks upward, that lopsided smile so bright that it ought to put the sun to shame. Wind rips past, nudging his hair out from behind his ear and into his face, but it does nothing to hide his pretty face. Scruffy as it may be.

It must be the breeze that nudges you forward because you don't feel yourself moving. But you're leaning forward, mouth blindly clashing with his. A little too far to the right at first, and then his hair is in the way, and...

oh.

You've missed this. 

It's hardly been a few hours since the last time, but your heart argues that it's been a lifetime and a half. One little chaste peck, and then another, and another, and another, until you cease to part ways altogether. Those big arms wind around you, his palm pressing into the small of your spine, drawing you up against him.

And you're melting into him like ice cream in the summer sun, any semblance of control vanishing alongside it. Hands roaming up the broad expanse of his chest, tickling against his neck, curling around his prickly jaw, tangling in the curls resting at his nape. Your touch is nothing special, and yet he groans into your kiss anyhow. 

Callouses catch on the soft skin of your lower back, his hands shamelessly wandering beneath your shirt. Pulling it off is tempting, but Rhett's lemonade-flavoured tongue is licking into your mouth, and the wind whispers that you don't have the time for that kind of luxury. Not if you don't want to get rained on by another one of Wabangs popup storms. 

But you do have time to reach for his flannel, dragging your finger through the buttons, audibly snapping apart at record speeds. He needs to wear pearl snap flannels more often.

"Shit," he's gasping against your lips, breaking apart for the slightest of seconds, "'s a lil cold."

The world spins around you. Back hitting the ground with all the grace and ease of a newborn deer. A bolt of lightning tears across the sky, set off by the burning hands that appear on your hips, tugging at your waistband. Your body lifts, and they're gone. You're not even sure what has become of your shoes. Don't recall feeling them come off, but your socked feet are sliding against the blanket, fighting for purchase. 

Rhett's eyes snap shut, squeezing so tight that his forehead wrinkles with the effort. 

"What hurts?" You already know that look. Already have a vague idea of what could be bugging him. 

"Shoulder," speaking through gritted teeth, not bothering to ease up, as if relaxing his jaw could bring on another wave of pain. "moved it too fast." Slower this time, he leans forward, hands falling onto either side of you, and—

"Shit." He's hissing under his breath. Sounds more like a snake than a man. There's no way that he's going to be able to put weight on that left arm, not with his shoulder visibly twitching, sent into an angry spasm. 

"This isn't gonna work," you whisper, chasing the dwindling hope that your words will reach his ears but not his already sore ego. 

Rhett hasn't even opened his eyes, but he's already shaking his head. Stubborn to the end. You know what he's going to say before it even leaves his mouth. "Hold on, if you give me a second..."

You've already got an idea. "Lay on your back." Your hands find his chest, gently pressing until he gets the message, limbs awkwardly tangling as you exchange positions. Straddling his plush thighs, settled a little bit lower than you'd intended.

It's not quite what you originally had in mind, but you've never been one to complain about riding a cowboy, already beginning to reach for his belt buckle. You don't know how you found this difficult when you first got together; all it takes is the slightest motion, and it pops open. Then comes his belt and the crooked zipper that struggles to run down the tracks.

His hips jerk, thighs smacking into your ass. "Not that I'm complainin', darlin'," there's a weakness to his voice that wasn't there a moment ago. Like he's run a marathon in the time it took you to blink. "'s there somethin' rilin' you up?"

"No." Then, smiling, "Just you."

Blue eyes dart away. Looking off to the side. "Oh."

If it were lighter outside, you think you'd catch a whisper of a blush coloring his cheeks, but your vision has been reduced to dark blobs of color. Can't even tell what color his boxers are, even when your hand dips through the front of them, blindly reaching until—

Rhett sucks in a breath. 

It's hardly been a few minutes, and yet he's already so damn heavy. Thick in your grasp, a bead of precum running down the underside of his tip. Your thumb swipes across it, dragging it back up to his plush cock head.

"You're already so wet, cowboy," you muse, lazily tracing circles around his slit. There's so much of it. Dripping like a damn faucet, so much precum that you can see the glisten of it in the darkness. 

Thunder rumbles to your left. Closer now. But you just can't help yourself. 

Your mouth finds the underside of his cock. Pressing kisses onto the vein that runs along there, working your way up from his base. Tongue lazily poking out to swirl around his head, so used to the saltiness of his precum that you hardly even notice it. One of those advantages that comes with knowing him like the back of your hand. 

Like how you know that the delicate scrape of your teeth will make him—

"Ah!" Sharp. Pitchy. The closest thing you'll get to a squeal, the kind of sound that has your thighs trying to squeeze together, suddenly warm. 

Something in your jaw pops as you take him into your mouth. Sucking lazily, like you're savoring a piece of candy, not even making an effort to stop the drool from slipping past your lips. The wetter the better. Because you're pretty sure you know the answer to the question you're about to ask.

"Condom?" Pulling off of him with a soft 'pop.' 

Rhett's head tilts toward the truck, brow furrowing, visibly thinking for a moment. Then, his lips flatten into a line. "'s in my jeans at home."

Thunder rumbles once more, urging your already racing thoughts to scramble even faster. Pulling out could be an option if not for the fact that it's never worked out for you in the past, always seeming to forget in your final moments. Riding in that bouncy passenger seat with his cum leaking out of you has never been the most comfortable thing. Cleaning up is the worst, but...

Fuck, you really can't seem to make yourself care about any of that.

Rhett's belly flexes with the effort to sit up, his right elbow bracing his weight. A familiar blob of black peeks out from beneath his open flannel, that old bucking bull tattoo. Under the thin veil of darkness, it's easy to convince yourself that it's brand new. That the poor-quality ink hasn't caused it to fade quicker than it should have. 

A kiss presses to your cheek. "What're ya thinkin'?" 

"A little mess never hurt anyone," you don't know if you're talking to him or yourself. Maybe both. 

You don't realize how close you are until your noses clash, knocking together as you squirm up to settle in his lap. His left hand finds its way to your hip, burning against your chilly skin. Doesn't do anything more than rest there, touching you for the sake of touching you. 

It's a bit crude, reaching down to pull your underwear to the side rather than pulling them off entirely. But then you're guiding him up, and his dripping tip is dragging through your folds, and you can't think about anything else. 

"You're just as bad as I am," Rhett's laugh is so much bigger than any of that distant thunder, rumbling through you in delicate waves. 

"Like this hasn't been a known fact for years," and for that statement of his alone, you're stringing this out even longer. Bringing him back up before he can begin to sink into you, selfishly rubbing him against your clit, sensitive from lack of attention.

Lightning flickers. Rhett's hips shift, slipping back down your cunt, stubbornly nudging against your entrance. Manages to lift himself enough to create a blooming pressure there, the very tip of him slipping inside. 

Fuck, you're still aching from the bit of fun you had before the rodeo. Tangled up on the couch, too wrapped up in each other to pay attention to the rapidly ticking clock. Or maybe the discomfort is from the severe lack of lube. Nothing but spit, precum, and your own wetness to soothe the drag of him as you begin to sink down on him.

"Mmph," Rhett's head tilts back, pale throat exposed. "How're you so—shit. How're you still so damn tight?"

On its own, something in your lower belly loosens, almost as if it didn't realize it was doing it in the first place. Allows you the fleeting courtesy of a breath of air before his tip fully slips into you. Heat jumps up your spine, swirling around in the back of your head. 

"I should ask you the same thing," your voice comes out weaker than what you anticipated, "why are you so damn big?"

And all that's done is make him laugh again. Nose nudging your cheek as he leans in to press another kiss to your lips, his smile too big for it to be anything more than a peck. But you want more, chasing after him as he tries to lean away, helpless to do anything but fall forward. 

Gravity quickens the glide of your body, his cock sinking further into you. The curve of him rubs into a set of nerves, never has taken very long for him to find them, thick length incessantly dragging against it. 

A heavy fist strikes the land to the west, the resounding boom washing over the surprised grunt that wrangles its way out of Rhett's throat. The only reason you catch note of it is from the way it rumbles against your bottom lip, pulling the corners of your mouth up into a giddy smile. 

All too quickly, you're fully seated in his lap, fitting against him like a puzzle piece. Bodies carved to fit seamlessly against one another, lost in the blending of limbs, tangling until you can no longer tell where one of you begins and the other ends. A shiver races up your spine, pussy involuntarily spasming around his thick cock. 

"Didn't think I was gonna be the one gettin' ridden tonight," there's no reason for Rhett to be grinning up at you like this, with that healing split in his lip and those glistening eyes. Mesermized. As if he's taking in the sight of a precious painting lost for centuries. 

If you didn't know any better, you would think he was looking at the stars behind your head.

But he's only looking at you. 

It's got you lifting yourself a little too quickly; haven't even begun to adjust to his size yet. "You'd better hope it lasts longer than eight seconds."

Something sharp digs into your knee as you lift yourself, but it's impossible to pay attention to. So fucking full of him that your every racing thought has wrapped itself around the shape of his name. Oh, and it's not helped by the burning drag of his cock; a little too big for you to be riding him without lube. 

You're sinking back down when his hips lips, snapping up into you midway. Fuck, you're burning alive out here. Growing wetter from that little motion alone, that tingling heat climbing your spine and settling into your cheeks. 

"Impatient," you're huffing, lacking any bit of the conviction you'd hoped you would have.

"Them bulls buck, y'know," that smug grin of his falters as your hips swivel, readjusting yourself, "'m just playin' my part."

So annoying. 

So, so annoying.

Something about the change in an angle has him rubbing up against something he hadn't before, air catching in your throat as he presses directly into it. Shit, it's too early for your thighs to be shivering like they are, and it's all you can do to flatten your palms against his chest, forcing yourself to remain upright. 

"Keep—mmh keep doin' that." Stupid cowboys and their stupidly pretty whines. Has no right to be squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head back and forth like he's trying to shake the feel of you out of his head.

And he just keeps rubbing against those little nerves, over and over and over. Stars sparkle across your vision, so many of them that you can no longer tell which hang high in the sky and which stem from your own imagination. Whether or not that's thunder or the hammer of your own heart, you're not even remotely sure. 

A stray hand meanders up your back, his touch so feather-light and ticklish that it's got you arching away from it. Unintentionally angling him into those soft little spots even more, your pussy clenching around him so tightly that you nearly freeze in place. 

You hardly feel yourself reaching for his wrists. Only recognize the feel of them in your grasp, thick and strong from years of manual labor, yet so willing to be pinned over his head. Falling into place like they always longed to be there.

"Fuck," Rhett's teeth sink into his bottom lip, stifling a noise that you wish you could have caught, "so fuckin' pretty on top of me." 

"And here I thought you were marveling at the storm," panting into the open air like a damn dog, breathless all too quickly. As if the slow rise and fall of your hips is simply too much for you to handle. 

Rhett's biceps flex, muscle visibly rippling as the thunder crackles. "Nah," grunting, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, "could watch y' ride me all fuckin' day." 

God, what is it about sex that makes him so fucking talkative?

Your hand darts out to the side. Blindly patting the blankets until you find one of the candies that spilled out of the container, shoving it past his parted lips before he can utter another word.

His mouth wobbles. Torn between a smile and something he wants to say. Neither manages to win the upper hand, instead beaten by a secret third thing. Because now he's sitting up, wearily bracing himself on that good arm, eyes falling shut midway as he leans in to kiss you. Knocking into each other so abruptly that your teeth audibly clatter.

But the wind is twirling past you with a kind of ferocity that wasn't there before, and in the back of your mind you're convinced that you've inadvertently caused it to happen. Distant storm falling into a rage as you tumble forward, forearms resting on either side of his head, hands in his hair, drowning yourself in the lemonade and candy that paints his tongue. 

Something sparks behind your eyes. "Rhett..."

He doesn't respond. Doesn't need to. The lift of his hips is more than enough of a reply, so sudden that it rips a sharp noise out of your throat. A decade of bull riding has made him too fucking strong for his own good, pushing up into you with devastating ease. 

This...thisis something. His breath tickling your skin. Your chest against his, nails scraping at his scalp. Helpless to do nothing but whine as he brushes against those little spots once more. Long, heaving motions that jostle you with every thrust, your eyes already struggling to remain open. 

"Rhett," repeating yourself like a broken record, panting into his ear like you're getting paid to do it.

The ground shakes. Lightning strikes somewhere in the distance, volting through the soil, up through your knees, and into your belly. Or maybe it's not lightning at all, simply the dizzying sensation of his cock driving up into you with a sickeningly wet noise. You can't help the way your legs squeeze impossibly tight around him. Can't stop the familiar tingle from settling into your core, spreading down into your thighs. 

You don't remember when the babbling started, but you can hear the sound of your name twisting through the air, chanting beneath his breath like a melody. His prickly cheek rubs against yours, and you just know that it's going to leave your skin raw, but you can't bring yourself to pull away. 

"'m gonna..." the rasp of his voice has you clamping tighter around him. A whimper slips off his tongue. "I—"

He doesn't need to finish that sentence. One look is all you need. 

You are, too. 

There's no need for you to reach down and touch yourself. His cock alone is enough to have you crumbling like a house of cards, burying your head into the crook of his neck, unable to muffle every little noise he punches out of you. Downright merciless as he rubs into those sensitive little nerves over and over and over and—

A ghost of wind is enough to push you over the edge. Tumbling over the edge and into the abyss, the world around you going quiet as you cum around his cock. Not a sound breaking past your lips, head swirling round and round until you can no longer tell which way is up. 

You're only distantly aware of the sudden stalling of Rhett's hips, pushing up into you so hard that he lifts you up. Can't miss the sensation of his cock twitching, his cum spilling into your pussy, rope after rope of it, so much that you think you can feel it pooling inside of you.

A drop of rain hits your shoulder. Cold. Biting into your skin with its sharp little teeth. 

The storm is so much closer now, thick clouds hanging overhead, blocking out the stars entirely. Electricity arcs across the sky as you begin to lift yourself up before your body is even ready to move. 

Rhett's cock slips out of you with an awkward noise, slapping audibly against his belly. Shit, you can already feel it beginning to spill out, don't know how you plan to get home without making a mess of your clothes. 

A groan sounds from below you. "So fuckin' full of it," the soft tip of his cock presses back into you, and you don't need to look to know that Rhett's eyes are fixated on the obscene sight of his cum leaking out of you. "God damn."

"Well, don't...mmh, don't keep pushing it in," but your complaint is futile, and you're making no effort to try and stop him. No point in it, you suppose; it's not as if you can clean yourself up out here. 

He chuckles at that. You think the stars have secretly gathered in his eyes, sparkling in those deep blues. "Can't do nothin' 'bout it now."

"Hold on!" Your giggles echo through the kitchen, wet feet stumbling across the tile. "I can't move that fast!" 

But Rhett's hand keeps tugging you along, sliding around the corner and into the hallway. Water pours from his hair and shoulders, speckling across the floor, leaving a trail in his wake. A mess that you'd complain about if not for your own soaked clothes, so cold that you've gone entirely numb. 

Lights flicker overhead, power fading in and out as the storm rages on. Rain striking the windows so hard that you can hear it, even as you fumble down the hallway. Wet socks slide against the tile as you try to turn, your shoulder bumping into Rhett's. His hip smacks into the door frame. Your feet tangle. 

"We ain't never doin' that again," he's stumbling toward the shower, reaching for the knobs. Twists until he can't crank the hot water up any hotter. Something, anything to melt away the ice that's about to freeze over your skin.

You reach for the hem of your shirt, the fabric clinging to you like a second skin. "I thought you liked having sex outside."

"I do," he pauses, pulling the material over your head. It audibly hits the floor, the beginnings of yet another mess. "I don't like downpours 'n hail!" 

The red mark on his forehead is only just beginning to bloom, sure to darken as the night rages on. It's a little too high up to be blamed on a bar fight, but you're sure he'll find a way to play it off when his momma asks about what happened. 

Your pants are on the floor before he can finish getting his flannel off, not a care in the world for where they land. Your mind only has enough room for one thought at a time: hot water. A cloud of steam greets you as you step into the shower. The water has yet to hit your skin, and yet you can already feel yourself melting, the heat eating away at the invisible frost that has long since settled upon you. 

It's almost too hot, the spray seeming to burn little holes straight through your chest, and your toes sting. Such a sharp contrast compared to the heat that you wonder if it'll eat you alive.

A firm chest presses against your naked back, familiar arms settling loosely around your waist. "Y' jus' gonna leave me behind like that?" His attempt at sounding irritated doesn't miss your ears, but it dies before he can finish the sentence. Isn't helped by the kisses that appear on your shoulder.  

"If you can ride bulls, then you can climb into the shower by yourself," leaning back into him, your eyes fall closed. It might be the first time you've blinked since the rain began to fall, starting the moment you'd begun gathering the blankets into your arms. Mother Nature's punishment for not taking her warnings seriously.

Rhett hums, the vibration tickling the side of your neck. "Then." Kiss. "I should probably." Kiss. "Tell you." Kiss. "That we didn't bring any clean clothes..." Kiss. "Or towels."

...the towels. 

Your groan bounces off the tile walls and out into the hallway, probably even ventures past the closet and out into the living room. Why did it never occur to you to grab towels and clothes before you climbed in here?

"We'll rock paper scissors it after we rinse off," it's the same solution he uses for every conflict, but you find yourself agreeing with the idea anyway. 

He loses. Never deviates from playing rock, even when he knows full well that you will forever play paper. You're not sure if he's waiting for the day that you crack and play scissors or if he's intentionally losing, but you've got the sneaking suspicion it's the latter. He's way too content to dart into the hallway for towels, returning with more than either of you could possibly need.

"Did you grab every towel in the closet?" You laugh as you pull one of them around your shoulders, hugging it to yourself like a blanket. It's too damn cold in this house.

"No," then, grinning, "I left one behind."

He's gone before you've finished drying off, comes back one more time with your favorite pajamas in his hand, then disappears into the darkness of the house. Where he's gone, you're not sure; it's hard to tell when he never turns any of the lights on, navigating based on muscle memory alone. 

But you can hear the television turning on, your forgotten movie picking up right where it left off. 

"Rhett?" Calling out as you mosey out of the bathroom.

Damp carpet squishes beneath your feet, frigid and not at all what you expected to find yourself standing on. Only seems to get worse as you make your way down the hall, hopelessly soaked with rainwater. The old fan is already out, cool air blowing across the worst of it, licking at your heels when you step past.

Rhett's pale shoulders stick out like a sore thumb in the living room. All too visible as he moves around, hands audibly patting something down on the couch. Blankets. The ones off the bed, out of the closet, hell, he's grabbed the decorative one off the rocking chair. All to build an oversized nest, high around the edges, like he's trying to keep something out. So focused on the task at hand that he doesn't notice you until it's too late.

"Jesus!" His naked back jumps away from you as if burned by your kiss.

"Watcha buildin'?" Your speech mimicking his just a little more than usual, already leaning in to press a second kiss in between the knobs of his spine. Rhett twists in your arms before you can land a third, the swell of his chest mere inches from your lips now.

You'll smooch him here, too. 

"Our last line of defense," his giggle rides on the coattails of another roll of thunder. "Jus' in case that storm knocks out the power 'n steals our heat."

You don't realize his arms are around you until he's falling toward the couch, taking you right along with him, landing in a messy heap on top of the blankets. A box of candy rattles behind your back. Someone bumps into the remote, the movie pausing on the television screen. 

A piece of the candy bounces off your chin, narrowly misses landing back in Rhett's hand. You find it squished between your chests, pushing it between his parted lips. 

"Y' gonna keep force feedin' me candy?" He asks, that little candy rolling across his tongue as he speaks. Wonder if you'll be able to taste it if you kiss him. 

You lean in, nuzzling your noses together. "It's my new party trick."

His eyes roll so hard that you hope they'll get stuck. 

[crappymixtape]

soft sweet sounds

EDIT -> there’s a part II cos 🫠 — okay, well apparently you get this from horny!me at 7:30am on a monday ( idk what my problem is 😵‍💫 ) – roommate!steve comes home from work to hear you in your room upset and he just can't help himself from offering you a shoulder to cry on | ( 958 words – roommates -> something?, tiny fluff, tiny smut, steve x you )

S O F T S W E E T S O U N D S 🎶 touch tank, quinnie

It had seemed silly to Steve at first, living with you. Living with his best friend, but it was cheap and made paying the bills easier because god knew Family Video wasn’t making him rich anytime soon. And you’d figured out a routine, shared your work schedules, told each other when you’d be out late or staying over with your boyfriend — or Steve with someone else. Cooked dinner together and watched movies until 1am and no pressure. Ever.

Until now.

He’d just come home from his shift at Family Video and could hear soft crying coming from behind your door. His stomach twisted with worry as he sat his keys on the counter, wondering what happened, wondering what your asshole boyfriend did this time.

Steve hated him. Your boyfriend. He was a complete douchebag and if it wasn’t him forgetting to pick you up at work it was making plans and flaking out an hour before, so you’d have to excuse Steve for assuming your crying was his fault.

Walking down the hallway Steve pressed a his palm to you door, the other resting on the handle.

“Hey,” he called out, gentle, sympathetic, “Everything okay?” And as he slowly pushed it open, he swore what he saw was going to kill him right there on the spot.

Your cries weren’t cries at all, not even close to sad or upset as his brain worked overtime to process what he’d walked in on.

You.

Laid out all pretty on your bed.

Panties hooked around your knees and your shirt rucked up your stomach. Hand pressed between your thighs as your fingers drew tight, messy circles over your clit. A pinch between your brows with how good it was making you feel, so good you didn’t hear the door at first, but then you did hear Steve.

Heard him asking if you were okay.

Heard him coming into your room without knocking and it was all just a second too late.

“Oh shit–Jesus Christ–oh my god–I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, fuck-“

“Steve??” you gasped, yanking your sheets over your body in a failed attempt to hide as he practically tripped over his own feet and back out into the hallway.

“Fuck. Shit,” he pressed his back into the wall, chest heaving and heart hammering heavy against his ribcage, unable to breathe. What was he thinking??

A huge invasion of privacy. A fucking rookie move. ‘Doesn’t anyone knock anymore??’ he hears a voice mock in his head. There’s no way you’d trust him after that.

Burying his face in his hands he groaned, you idiot! Waited for you to yell at him to get out, to take his things and find somewhere else to live, but then your door slowly opened again revealing a sliver of your face. Cheeks flushed and pink, a lighter tinge than the deep red that had settled on his.

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut for a minute as he let out a heavy sigh. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I just heard crying and–but obviously you weren’t crying—I just thought something bad happened and–and I know how he can get sometimes, so I thought you were upset and maybe I’d try and cheer you up, but I didn’t know you were in there doing that and–“

“Steve,” you said softly, cheeks still pink. Still warm from teasing yourself. Still warm from Steve, “It’s okay.”

He opened his eyes slowly and looked at you through the crack in the door. Your curls perfectly messed. Framing your face. The soft curve of your lips, the long sweep of your lashes, the half smile you were giving him and he exhaled. A small sigh of relief.

“I’m really sorry,” he said again, features still pulled down with concern as he roughed his hands through his hair, still stressed and worried about what you’d think of him now.

“It’s okay, it was really sweet of you to worry about me,” you reassured him, opening the door a little more. Enough for him to see you’d put on a pair of pajama shorts, you shirt half tucked into the waistband in haste.

“Sure, course,” he murmured, the lines of worry on his face melting at the sound of your voice.

“I broke up with him,” you confessed, chewing at your bottom lip. The sting of having an ex now instead of a boyfriend still fresh, but the lack of weight on your shoulders told you you’d made the right decision.

“Oh,” fell from his lips softly, sorry again, his mouth pulling down into a half frown again.

“I know,” a small sigh pushed itself from your lungs as you leaned against the door frame, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Anything I can do?” Steve asked, and he meant it. He’d give you the world and all the stars and galaxies. Give you whatever you asked for. Anything.

“Uhm,” you murmured, a little shy, but feeling bolder as Steve took a step toward you. His hair falling messy across his forehead, big brown eyes edged with long lashes. Your best friend. Your roommate. Your Steve. His lips parted ever so slightly, hanging on your silence. Waiting.

Anticipating.

“Could you help me?” you asked, swallowing down the nerves in your throat as your hand reached out to tangle your fingers up with his.

“H–help you?” Steve’s voice sounded strangled, like he couldn’t quite understand what you were asking of him, and so you decided to show him instead.

“Yeah, please?” and you lifted the hand that was wrapped up in his and pressed his palm against the plush of your waist. Pulled him back into your room. Tugged him down into you and kicked the door shut behind you and asked him to help you forget about things for just a little while.

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[dearharriet]

hello! Congratulations on reaching 150 followers milestone! Really deserved, girly!

Can I get a🍸with Remus Lupin + Lovers Rock? Thank you so much!

hi!! i’m so sorry this took me so long my love, i’ve had the busiest weekend 😭 thank you sm for the request, i hope you like it! <3 (wc: 859) (cw: implied/attempted use of a roofie/date-rape drug)

If you were less drunk, you’d be abashed about flirting so openly in front of Remus, but you’re not. He’s watching you lean into the man’s advances from the bar booth you’re both sitting in, a mean look brewing behind his eyes. You’re praying to god it’s jealousy. At least then he’d feel something for you.

“Real pretty get-up you’ve got on, babe,” the guy is saying, and you’re just sober enough to know he’s staring at your chest as he says it.

“Looks even better on the floor,” you tell him. It’s a cheap response, but he perks up anyway. Remus spins his beer on the sticky booth table, sighing irritably.

The stranger has a silky smooth voice, one that seems to smooth over other, less admirable traits in your mind. He says, “I can make that happen,” and you hear a promise, not a boast. You also don’t notice in his towering over you that he’s tampering with your drink.

Remus isn’t nearly as entranced. He’s on his feet in a second, whipping the man away from you by the collar of his button-up shirt.

“Hey—?”

Cutting him off with a vicious shove, Remus bites, “fuck off out of here. I know what you want.”

You stand then on wobbly legs, approaching the growing scene. Remus was clearly jealous, but you never assumed he was the violent type. He looks ready to crack teeth at this point, and the man still hasn’t left.

“Remus, what—?”

He turns to you with wild eyes, holding up a hand to keep you at bay.

“You stay there,” he says, and the anger he held for the man has ebbed away. He points to your cocktail on the table. “Don’t drink that, okay?”

Blinking, you frown at him. Something about his behavior makes you uneasy, but he’s your friend. You’d trust him over any stranger.

“Hey,” he snaps, demanding your hazy attention. “Did you hear me? Don’t—”

“Don’t drink it.” You nod.

From there all you can do is watch him shred the poor guy apart until Sirius and James finally notice something is wrong from their place at the bar. By then you have a pretty good idea what happened, and you feel sick to your stomach thinking about it.

James keeps you company while Sirius and Remus get the guy thrown out on his ass, and then they both reconvene at your shared booth. Most of the girls have come to see what happened, too, but Remus shooes most everyone away.

“Fucking pig,” Marlene mumbles, petting your hair gently before leaving a small kiss there. She looks to one of the boys, though you’re too busy picking at your nails to know which one. “I can make sure she gets home?”

“I’ve got her,” he replies, and you’d know Remus’ voice anywhere.

Marlene and the other two boys seem to accept this fact easily, though Sirius stops Remus before leaving.

“Go easy, yeah?” he says. “It wasn’t her fault.”

Remus doesn’t reply, but when he takes James’ place beside you his eyes are much calmer than before.

“Hi, dovey.” His hand comes up to rub your back. “You ready to go home?”

Sniffing, you nod slowly, still quite drunk and lethargic. Remus helps you out of the booth, carting you to the door with careful touches.

“It’s okay, Remus,” you assert, feeling more embarrassed by everyone’s worrying than anything now. “You’re not going to hurt me. I’m fine.”

Remus looks down at you with conflict coating his features.

“That was really close, Y/N. I almost didn’t see him do it.”

“But you did,” you correct. “And thank you, by the way.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t thank me. Not for that.”

Pushing the bar door open, he ushers you out into the mild night. It’s not cold, but his arm slung protectively over your shoulders is a relief anyways. Outside the safety of the bar, the man might be lurking somewhere. The thought makes you curl further into Remus, shivering.

“Remus?”

You can tell he’s in the same line of thought as you, because his head is on a swivel, checking behind you periodically. He hums in response to your question.

“If we’re going to my place, would you stay with me? In case he’s following us.”

You’d like to tell yourself the man wouldn’t, but you’re not sure you can put anything past him. Again, Remus appears to think the same.

“‘Course. I'll probably sleep better that way, anyways.”

In your drunken mood, you can’t help the way your heart squeezes at Remus’ doting. It’s a fiery feeling, to be cared for as if you’re an extension of himself, to have witnessed the sharpness of his affection in real time. It’s the barest human decency, but you suspect it was rooted in a much more complex emotion. Or perhaps that’s wishful thinking.

“Okay,” is what you finally say, flagging your thoughts for a later date, when less pressing matters than your safety are on the table. For tonight, it’s enough to let Remus walk you home, and to fall asleep under the warm blanket of his protection.

+

thank you for reading! xx

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join the celebration!

[feasibilities]

Sweet As Honey - Patricia 'Kitten' Braden x AFAB Client!Reader ⚢

Warnings: Prostitution, Pet Names, Teasing, Overstimulation, Pining (like really badly), Love at first sight, P in V, Soft!Dom/Sub Aspects, etc. Author's Note: I wouldn't have survived the year if I didn't write something about the goddess that is Patricia 'Kitten' Braden. A beauty who deserves everything good in this world. I was shook making the GIF above but that's neither here nor there. Enjoy!

“Am I really about to do this?” You thought as you stared at the red neon ‘GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS’ sign outside of Xanadu. Opening the door, you met the confused glance of a John—and the smell of cigarettes & cheap perfume. You quickly brushed past him and went to the front desk. Setting a few dollars on the counter, the madame gave you change. 

“Booth 7, darlin’.” She purred, looking you up & down. You hesitantly walked to the booth and shut the door. Sliding 4 coins into the slot, the booth’s window slid open. You were met with the gamine beauty on the other side.

“Hello, sir. What’s your name?” Patricia hummed, rocking back & forth on her flower-covered swing. Her view of you was obscured, so she assumed you were among her male clientele. 

“Y/N.” You spoke softly into the shoddy microphone. You felt your temperature rise after hearing her silken voice. Tilting her head, Patricia barely managed to hide her surprise that a woman was behind the wall.  Giggling to herself, she decided to toy with you.

“So…what brings you here, sweetheart?”  Patricia inquired, already knowing the answer. 

“Just looking for some company, I suppose…” You trailed off as you stared through the window. She was wearing a blue silk nightie & her hair was curled beautifully. Thoughts of the beauty that lie underneath were too much to bear.

“You can go to your local pub for company. Why are you really here, love?” Patricia purred, running her hands in between her smooth legs. You caught yourself rutting against the velvet chair before you realized she asked you a question. 

“To fuck.” You admitted, hoping she’ll accept your offer. 

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” She teased. Standing up, she walked to the booth window and stared inside at you. Her blue eyes widened with curiosity. It took every ounce of restraint to not kiss her. 

“A pretty little doll, aren’t you?” She praised. Your heart fluttered at her words. 

“I normally don’t do this but…” She trailed off, pulling a gold key from her bra. She unlocked the booth’s door and took your hand in hers. Pulling you to her bedroom, she quickly shut the door. Paper dolls & Marilyn Monroe posters covered the wall. Her vanity had a wonderful assortment of makeup and perfume bottles. A beautiful canopy hung over her bed with a mirror on the ceiling. 

“C’mere, darling.” She whispered as she pulled you closer. Taking some initiative, you slipped the sheer robe off her shoulders. She followed suit by reaching under your shirt and unfastening your bra. You moaned when her cool fingers teased your nipples. She hushed you with a fervid kiss. You whimpered softly when she nipped at your bottom lip. Pulling away, you saw that her lipstick was smeared and her pupils were dilated. Desire boiled over in the resplendent room. 

You took off the rest of your clothing as she watched with starved eyes. Growing impatient, you began to untie the silk strings of her nightie before she stopped you once more. “Patience is a virtue, my love. Lay down.” She chastised sweetly. You followed her orders and soon felt her lay next to you. Sliding her hand between your legs, she grazed the sensitive flesh of your clit. You bit your lip as you ached for her touch. She slipped her fingers inside and pressed against the spongy flesh of your g-spot. A wicked smile formed across her face when you gasped and your legs began shaking.

“Mhmm…” She purred, nipping at the flesh of your collarbone. Her fingers sped up while her plump lips moved to your nipple. You watched yourself in the mirror above the bed. You got off on the salacious visual and the sounds of your arousal gushing around her fingers. Her tongue swirled around the delicate bud as you unraveled. Your vision blurred as your climax took possession of your body. You cried out Patricia’s name like a Hail Mary. She held you close as you rode out your high. 

Removing her mouth from your nipple, strings of saliva clung to her lips as she stared up at you. She put her coated fingers in her mouth, savoring your taste. “Sweet as honey, beloved.” She whispered, sending chills through your body. She sat up to remove her nightie & was just as beautiful as you thought. You kissed her shoulder softly and moved your hand to her dick. Stroking gently, you heard her whimper. You held her in place as you stroked faster. She moaned sweetly as her eyes fluttered shut. Soon after, ejaculate began spurting out of her onto her torso. Her mewls were like music to your ears. 

“I..I don’t think I can take much more, sweetheart.” She relented.

“Of course you can.” You said, kissing her neck.

You pulled her down on the bed and straddled her. She hastily slid into you and thrusted her hips upward, bottoming out. A indecorous moan left your lips. She responded with murmurs of pleasure. Adjusting to her size, you started to grind slowly. Patricia stared up at you with appreciative eyes. Her pouty disposition, messy hair, and flushed cheeks almost made you cum once more. 

“So beautiful…” You praised, trying to keep the floodgates from bursting. 

“Just- mmm, just like you.” She replied, feeling the elixir of your arousal drip down her shaft. She ran her fingertips up your legs before stopping at your sides. She wrapped her arms around you and started thrusting at a searing pace. You buried your face in her neck and weeped at the overstimulation. She smelled sweet, especially of Chanel No. 5. Sounds of skin hitting skin filled the room. You tried to squirm out of her grip, but to no avail. 

“Hold still, sweet pea. We’ll be done soon.” She breathed as your walls fluttered around her. You cycled through one high after another before going numb. Patricia stared up at the mirror again and fell in love with the visual of herself plowing into you. The thin layer of sweat on her face made her glow. Seeing you pant in her ear made her want to pull out and finish all over your face.  However, she wanted to hold back her 2nd orgasm until you were deranged with pleasure. 

Your voice was a raspy whisper from constant pleas of mercy. The numbness from earlier faded as she started rutting against your g-spot once more. Your legs began to tremble involuntarily as another tsunami of delectation washed over you. Patricia finally followed suit as her thrusts staggered and hot ropes of seed spilled into you. 

“Fuck…” You groaned, drawing out the monosyllabic word. You made sure to clench tighter to drain every drop of her. Patricia whimpered once again as she throbbed inside of you. You kissed her lovingly while she held you close.

Things were silent for a bit as you two admired each other. She massaged the soft flesh of your hips. You toyed with one of her blonde curls. “Look at you, all fucked out, aren’t ya?” She giggled, examining the leftover tears around your eyelashes. You gave her a weak smile as reality started to creep back in. You understood that this gorgeous maiden didn’t belong to you, and this could be the last time you saw her. 

“I love you.” Patricia declared, virtually reading your mind. 

"I love you too." You replied, trying to hide your excitement for what was to come.

[arcadia-of-pluto]

Twist of Fate; Chapter Eight

Pairings; LADS OT4 x reader

Word Count; 2,969 (nice)

Themes; isekai, eventual smut

Rating; 18+ for swearing and some mature language

Notes; Last chapter for the weekend, so I hope you all enjoy it! Also, the first of many Sylus-centric chapters. I'm a Rafayel girlie at heart, so it feels wrong to have so many Sylus focused chapters, but it feels like Sylus needs a lot of chapters since he has a lot of good scenes.

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Don't forget to check out my ideas for the future to see what other plans I have for this story and any future ones I plan to write! Also since I accidentally posted seven early, I might as well post eight early as well and then I'll do nine later on today as a treat! 🩷

The next time you wake up, you're in the back of a van with your hands tied together. Your head was pounding, your mouth felt drier than a desert and you could taste something metallic on your tongue. You really didn't even want to open your eyes because of the pain, but you do take a few mental notes. The smell of cheap leather and that the van was still moving, be it shaky and rickety. You're most likely on a dirt road or a road that hasn't been used in some while.

Even though the man threatened to inject you with the neurotoxin, you really thought he'd at least keep his word and not go through with it if you didn't fight, but it seems like he did anyway. Good thing you took the inhibitor Xavier gave you.

Even though it's dark inside the vehicle, you notice your jacket is off to the side but your watch and your guns are missing. Possibly in the vehicle somewhere. As you think of a way to get out of this mess, you notice the man is talking on the phone.

“I took a big risk snatching prey from the Nest. The reward needs to be better than that.” You try to look and see what the man looks like but he's wearing a black cap and a mask over his mouth, though you can at least see his hair. It's not white so he's not the man you're looking for.

You begin struggling with the binding on your arms, trying your best to make them even a little bit more loose.

“You sure this is right? I've driven down this same road three times. I'm not going anywhere.” You hear the man sigh before the van makes a noise. “Just my luck. The car broke down all the way out here..” He angrily opens his door to step outside before he opens the back of the van. “Get out. We'll wait here.” He grabs you by your restraints and pulls you out of the van. You take the chance to look around at your surroundings hoping to see anything familiar but it's dark out.

He all but throws you to the ground on your already injured knees and you hold back a hiss between your teeth. “Not a soul to be seen..Just an abandoned yard. Hurry up and send someone over.” The man was still on the phone.

You notice dead trees, a metal fence that seems to have been broken before, large boulders and rocks. This place seems more like a graveyard than anything. Your gaze turns to a dirty cobblestone structure nearby, you assume it used to be white but its more of a cream or light tan colour now.

“You're wide awake, huh. Guess you're a tough gal but I'm warning you, don't try any trick on me. You hear? I'm not against hurting a woman.” The man scoffs, clicking his tongue as he brandishes a pocket knife and taps it against his palm. “So you're just a middleman. Are you working for people in the N109 Zone?” You ask with a raised brow, putting on a tough act.

“Shut up. Let me inspect the goods before I hand you over.” His voice was cold as he points the knife at you. “Where did you hide the aether core?” You can't help the laugh that bubbles from your lips, finding it amusing that he's looking for something intangible. He'd have to cut it out if he really wanted to 'inspect the goods'. Though before you can say anything else, you hear another voice.

“Kidnapping Onychinus’ prey without letting us know..Wow, that's not exactly polite now, is it?” The disembodied voice sounded amused and taunting.

“Who's there?” Your masked kidnapper quickly pulls you to your feet, holding the pocket knife to your throat as he looks around. Seems like he's panicking. But Onychinus? Hmm…so it seems like they weren't the ones who kidnapped you.

“She's ours, by the way. We called dibs a long time ago.” and then, seemingly out of nowhere, the man's hand gets cut.

You flinch and the man drops you from the sudden pain in his hand. You fall to the ground once more, scowling at the pain in your legs before sitting down on the ground so as to not hurt your bloodied knees anymore. Maybe a skirt was a bad idea… You turn back to look over at your kidnapper who was now on the ground as well, holding his arm.

Your eyes widen as you notice two masked men appearing from red and black smoke. “I'm really curious..She's brave enough to drink from a black glass.” One of the newcomers twirls a knife around in his hand before resting his foot on your kidnapper's back. The other man starts walking toward you. “I wonder what will she do when backed into a corner?”

The masked man kicks your kidnapper to the side, taking a few steps toward you and that's when you notice they're both wearing a full black mask with a hooked beak. You can't see their eyes or anything. They have their hood up and it seems like there's tiny red horns on the top of the hood. “You're pretty bold for releasing information about the aether core in the Nest like that.” The one with a piercing through his left horn says and the other, who has one through his right, leans his whole upper body to the side. “Explains why boss is interested.”

“I see…So Sylus sent you.” The man on the ground laughs as he rises up to his knees. “But the aether core….is mine!” He suddenly pulls out a gun from behind his back and aims it directly at you before shooting.

The smell of gunpowder fills the air as you flinch back with your eyes closed. Though, you don't feel any pain. Instead, when you open your eyes, you see the man covered in a dark crimson and black mist. His actions constricted and the bullet, so close to your face, wrapped in the same mist before it disintegrated the bullet as if it were never there. The fog wraps around the man's hand, causing him to drop his gun before it swells up around him, wrapping around his neck and lifting him into the air. The mist swirls around him, almost seeming like it's working its way through his body until the man…explodes. Or at least that's what you think.

You see no blood, only the smoke slowly falling down toward the ground as if it's job is done. Then you notice that the two men in crow masks are walking away. It seems their part is done so that must mean…your gaze is brought back to the cobblestone structure, there's now a person standing on top of it with their thumb looped through their belt loop. The sound of a large bell chiming in front of a seemingly red moon.

You now realize your binds are undone, you could leave at any time but you're paralyzed with fear. You haven't been sure what to expect for awhile now and you honestly thought you'd be happy to see Sylus for the first time but, in fact, it's actually terrifying.

A crow caws, flying through the sky until landing on his shoulder as the man on top of the wall reabsorbs his energy with a stretched out hand. He then steps toward the edge of the wall and disappears in a swirl of that same coloured mist before appearing a few steps in front of you.

“Take out the vermin that are still running amok.” The white haired man says, his voice a deep timber that you'd usually be freaking out over but right now you're freaking out for an entirely different reason. The men in the crow masks echo a ‘yes sir’ as Sylus slowly walks up to you. Once he's in front of you, he tilts his head to the side with a scoff.

“You're…also here for the core, right?” You manage to say, trying your best not to look at him because he's hot, but also scary. He crouches down, leaning a bit forward as he says, “Even if you wanted to sell your soul, you still have to find someone who can pay the price.”

He reaches down to grab your chin, lifting your head to look at him. “Look at me.” His voice void of any emotion, even though his facial expression was rather soft. “You-” you flinch as his right eye begins to glow. Voices that you feel like shouldn't be here begin chanting in your head. “Devour him..” They echo. "Take the power.”

Your head begins to pound as blood rushes to it. You suddenly look down and your hands are bloody. “Take it…” “Just…kill him.” You want to hit your head, you want to tell yourself this isn't real because you know it isn't. You're confused and your head hurts and you try to look away from him, realizing something is wrong with his eye.

Your hand darts out to grab the dropped pocket knife and you find yourself cutting Sylus’ cheek, the black and red energy holding your wrist in place so you can't cause anymore damage.

He chuckles, amused by your actions. “Is this how you greet a new friend?” He swipes his thumb across his cheek, the wound disappearing as if it were never there. “I guess you don't remember anything.” He says as he brings his hand up to brush his knuckles against your cheek. “Allow me to jog your memory.” His hand goes further down before wrapping around your throat. That's when you begin to panic, grabbing his wrist with your free hand. “Let go of me.” But your attempts are weak at best.

With his hand around your throat, he makes you look back into his eyes. “From your past to your future…to even all of the crimes you'll inevitably commit. After all, you and I… were the same. True kindred spirits.”

You've must've blacked out because the next time you come to you're on the ground. “Three days. Yet we're unable to achieve even a simple resonance. How disappointing.” You hear Sylus before you see him. Three days? How come you don't remember any of that? You wince and turn your head to look in his direction, noticing that he's sitting with his legs crossed on a plush red chair. It almost looks like a throne.

With a wave of his finger, his evol wraps around you and pulls you toward him. “What do you want?” You ask, exasperated and you're almost to the point of giving up. Especially when you don't know what'll happen next or even what path is the safe one. You tug at the energy wrapped around you but your hands go through it like smoke until you find yourself in Sylus’ lap. Now any other time, you'd be throwing a party about being in a hot man's lap but right now? You're not sure how to feel.

“You went through all that trouble to enter the N109 Zone. I must fulfill my duty as your host.” He says before he uses his evol to lift your arm up, his fingers dancing along the soft skin of your wrist before making their way to your tightly closed hand. His index finger trying to wiggle its way under your fingers before he adds a bit more pressure, using his evol to pry your hand open. His palm pressing flat against yours before he intertwines your fingers and pulls your connected hands to his chest. His eyes closing as he tries to force the resonance. “Stop-” you try to pull your hand away but his energy evol keeps your hand and your body where he wants it.

The voice in your head coming back to rear its ugly head. “Devour him…He's yours..” You get that, you get that he's hot and all, but do you really need to devour him? It's not like he's yours either- “He's right there..before your very eyes.” Damn okay voice, chill. Thirsty much? “His..” “eye..” the voice is cutting in and out, you can only hear a tad bit of what it's saying until the energy dissipates with a tiny flash of light. The resonance worked?

Sylus scoffs, looking at the light dancing across his hand, “It's a shame your evol has deteriorated into its current state.” You take a deep breath, trying to steel yourself and you throw some bait out. “My family's deaths…You're behind them, right?” If he's a love interest, you know there's no way he is but you have to, at least, act that way to find answers. “Family?” Sylus chuckles to himself, “The people closest to you might be the ones who want to kill you the most.” Your brows furrow at that. Huh, that was a theory you never thought about. But who?

Wait, act angry. Right…uh say something, anything. “Shut up! Right now, I just…I just..” your head begins hurting again, “I just want to kill you myself!”

What? That's not what was meant by “say anything” but alright.

You flinch as soon as the words leave your mouth. You didn't mean to say that, did you? Though as you're unable to control your actions, Sylus catches your hand. “Do you think your evol will help you in a fight against me? Your courage is admirable.” He pushes your hand away with an unamused expression. “You're lucky I don't like picking on the weak, kitten.”

…what?

Before you have any time to dwell on what he just called you, he holds his hand out and uses his energy to pull something toward him. One of your guns lands in his hand. “What're you doing?” You ask, a bit nervous at the firearm held firmly in his grasp. He makes sure it's loaded, cocks it, and then holds the gun out to you. “Didn't you want my life? Or do your words just ring hollow?”

Ah shit, here come the voices again. “Kill him.” Wait, the voices didn't want you to fu- Nevermind that, you really don't want to grab the gun but it's out of your control. Your hand moves on its own, taking a hold of the gun and even your mouth moves on its own. “You think I won't do it?” You hold the gun up to his head, internally screaming and pleading to not let this happen because it would be a shame if you were the one to kill such a handsome man. “Now…that's much better. Though, you do owe me a curtain call grander than death itself,” Sylus muses, wrapping his fingers around the muzzle of your pistol as he slowly brings it lower and presses it against his chest as your hands shake.

“I..” “Why're you trembling? Has your resolve already begun to falter? You weren't just bluffing, were you?” He tilts his head to the side and you honestly want to yell at him and ask if he's crazy or thinks he has nine lives or something but you can't since whatever mysterious power you have inside of you is still controlling your movements. “No, of course not. It's just..” you trail off and he slowly moves his hand down to wrap around both of yours on the gun. “Want some help? Yes? No? Maybe so?”

He's so hot, he's so-

Bam.

You…you shot him? You actually shot him? Are you sure you won't regret this later? That's actually like crazy that you shot him just now. Well- it's not like you had any part in it. You couldn't control your actions to begin with..

Darkness.

Darkness is all you see. You felt so…hungry. So empty. Anything would be great to fill this emptiness you felt inside.

“Devour him..” Shit the voices were back. “Its…your power.” It was probably Sylus’ power, but pop off voice.

You weren't sure how long you had to endure the voices but they finally went silent. Leaving you in the dark, alone. It almost…felt cold.

The ending is a bit abrupt, so I'm going to apologize up front for that- I honestly didn't realize just how cut it was since it lines up pretty well with the next chapter. You'll have to wait to see that next week though, unless I end up feeling excited enough to post chapter nine early! 🤔 Either way, I hope you liked the comedic turn I took with the second half of the chapter. It was too good to pass up. Also, I tried something different with the paragraphs. I added double spaces between specific, important ones and just the standard singular with everything else. Let me know which you like between (between chapters 6-8 and I'll start doing them like that in the future!)

Anyway, if there's any spelling errors and stuff like that, then that's on me. I've re-read all of these chapters so many times and re-worked so much of it, but I'm bound to miss some errors so hopefully it's not too bad!

Taglist; @orphicmeliora

[schizochroal]

I think, right now if you're a transfem or trans woman, with any sort of income and address, in the US right now, who wants to go on hrt but for whatever reason you are waiting, I think you should seriously reconsider that. DIYing is still relatively accessible, and along with estrogen, while Spiro isn't the best anti-androgen it does the job for most people and is dirt cheap and easy to get. If you live somewhere and have the insurance or other means to afford it, I'd also recommend pursuing official medical hrt as well, but keep in mind that depending on restrictions put in place in the future, you might need to switch to DIYing. That being said, starting officially and then switching to DIY after a certain point really isn't that bad at all, hormone testing and stuff becomes much less important after the first couple of years. If you have insurance (and the right kind) , it could be basically free for you to pursue the official route, if ur insurance won't pay for it the doctors appointments will be expensive but you probably won't be spending more than 20$ a month for your hrt, assuming you go for something like Spiro as an anti-androgen. Even if you art totally DIYing , you're still probably not going to be spending more than a 30$ or so dollars a month for hrt, and I know it's possible to pay way less than that depending on some factors.

I live somewhere with pretty high food costs, so for me that kinda cost is the difference between say getting eating like just some rice and beans or something a couples nights in a month instead of getting fast food or whatever. Tbh most of the people I know are pretty poor by American standards, but still make random purchases on stuff like food , video games, clothes, caffeine, weed, etc. that are a lot more than they would need to pay for hrt even at full DIY prices.

Like if you're holding off for financial or other reasons, I think you really should seriously consider whether those reasons are worth continuing to put it off when in all likelihood beginning hrt is only gonna get harder in the future, and every year you wait is another year you could instead spend living the life you actually want.

Starting is always scary, but like nothing about HRT is instantaneous, depending on ur hair and fashion you can probably guarantee that u can still fly under the radar for at least a year after starting hrt, potentially a lot longer. And a year is a long time to figure out if uve jumped the gun and it really would be better for you to wait, and for the most part it takes a long time for any non-reversible changes to happen (other than maybe some breast growth, but like plenty of cis guys have gynecomastia, it's not that big of a deal). But the only way you're going to be able to find that out is if you start. And honestly, outside of some very specific individuals, I think for most of us there is not going to be another, better time to start her anytime in the near future!

[dangerousduckcloud]

Flowerbeds make up for a nice eternal rest

Read it also on AO3

“Don’t scream, bitch.” Your breath caught in your throat, the night wind cold in your face, a single lit blinking streetlight on top of you lighting up the street, the rest covered in darkness. “The boss will be happy to see you again.”

Chapter 11 < > Chapter 13

Masterlist

taglist: @kurai-hono-blog @katrina0-0 @readingfictionnothingelse @lookingforsyd

If anyone else would like to be added to the taglist, let me know!

This chapter took me a bit later to update than usual because a lot of changes (nothing bad) happened on my life, so I didn't have much time to be on my computer, but things are settling down now!

You couldn’t continue with the conversation, what else could you say? The boldness you’d felt disappeared as suddenly as it appeared, being replaced by shame that soon overcame your body, taking its rightful place in the part of your brain that fed of the worst possible outcomes your mind could think of at his lack of reply.

Because he didn’t even try to reply, to try and say something only to come out empty and leave it like that. No. He never even tried it, as the writing status never showed up (Not like you had spent half an hour looking at the screen in hopes of a response…).

He was certainly content with leaving it like that.

With a disappointed sigh, your gaze moved from the empty notification box on the phone to the droning voice in the background of the room, the weather cast of yet another raining week in Gotham. Why did they even bother? It rained every week in Gotham.

Letting your hand drop to the bed, you left the phone somewhere around the sheets, searching for the tv remote, surfing channels until you could find something mildly interesting.

“—llionaire Bruce Wayne, it sure is a wonder how he’s managed to keep his company afloat.” The host said, the show was one of those evenings gossip programs that only helped to spread rumors about famous people. “Must be from all the air in his head.” Fake, canned laughs accompanied the lame joke. “Seriously, who in their right mind hands seventy percent of responsibilities of their multi-billionaire company to their seventeen-year-old son? It’s only a matter of time before he drives it to bankruptcy.”

Your lip curled at hearing the presenter talk trash about Tim, if only they knew he was as smart —if not maybe even smarter— than Batman, they wouldn’t be talking shit. Tim could physically and mentally outsmart everyone watching the program right now. Hell, even the leader of the League of Assassins was so impressed by his smarts he wanted to work with him.

Huh, did Tim still had his spleen? You should make a note of asking him later.

A muffled ding from your phone had your heart beating fast, looking under the covers to find the device and check if he’d finally replied. You did have a message, but the sender, as well as the content, made you frown.

              | Come down to the cave.

It read. A second text popping up a few seconds later.

              | Please.

It was unusual of him to say his ‘please’s and ‘thank you’s, so you assumed it must be something important to him to say it. You stood up, not wanting to leave the kid waiting, switching your sandals for sneakers, as the cave tended to be quite cold, especially late in the evenings.

When you got down there, you couldn’t see anyone, specially since patrol wasn’t going to start until a couple of hours later, when the family would come down here to warm up before going out. Was he simply pranking you? You scoffed at being forced to get up from your comfy bed for nothing, turning around to go back to your room.

“Hiya!” A voice said from behind, hitting you on your arm with a cheap, plastic sword.

“Damian!” you groaned, rubbing your arm with the tip of your fingers. It didn’t really hurt; it was mostly the anger at being hit. “What the hell?”

“I gave away my location with a cry of war, you should have been able to block it.”

“Yeah, well, ‘s not like I was expecting to get jumped at here.”

“And that was your mistake.” He said, walking towards the training area, leaving the toy on the floor. “I shall rectify that for our next outing to the city in our civilian identities, shall we get confronted with an unfortunate situation once again.”

He took off his shoes, his socked feet bouncing slightly on the training mats, waiting for you to do the same. Your head tilt lightly to the left, the meaning behind his words dawned on you.

“You want to teach me self-defense?” The tip of his ears’ turning pink was enough answer for you, walking up to hug him. “Aww, Damian! I knew you cared!”

“Let go of me, dolt. I am only doing this to avoid another hostage situation that impedes the imprisonment of criminals.” You let him go, the kid dusting his clothes of any visible dust, with you feeling guilty at being reminded that Two-Face escaped because of you. “Now, remove your shoes so that we can begin.”

“But I’m not wearing gym clothes.” Your loose, red t-shirt, and black, cargo pants were probably the worst thing to train with.

“It is preferable to be wearing something you are most likely to wear if another incident were to happen, that way it doesn’t impede you from fighting back.” You hummed, using the tip of your foot to remove your shoes, not bothering to untie them.

The blue mat underneath you was firm. If you were to fall with even the least of force, it will most likely hurt for a second, but nothing that’ll do any kind of damage.

“Alright, what now?”

“You have been held at gunpoint already, but trying to disarm an armed man is the least thing you should do unless you are highly trained in martial arts like us.”

You frowned, kicking your right foot on the mat.

“So, what am I gonna learn, then?”

“Tt. I thought you were smarter. I just told you. Martial arts.”

You stood rooted in your spot. Damian Al-Ghul Wayne, grandson of the Demon’s Head, son of Batman, was going to teach you to fight?

“You want to teach me crime fighting?”

“No. Todd would endlessly hunt me if I did that— I am simply teaching you self-defense, whatever you decide to do with that knowledge is up to you.”

“What’s got Jason to do with— Umph!” Damian didn’t give you the opportunity to finish, instead, his foot swiftly knocking you on your back, the air leaving your lungs. You were right, the fall did hurt even on the padded mat. “Why?” You groaned, accepting his had to help you back up.

“You need to improve your surroundings awareness, but we can work on that during the day. Now, copy my movements.”

You did regular warming up exercises first, until he began to swiftly swing his arms as if to punch someone, going all the way out and then snapping them back in, going slow and then gradually upping the pace. While doing so, Damian thoroughly explained the exercise —the hook punch— would help you build muscle and getting your shoulders strong.

Once Damian was satisfied with your punches, he moved on to teaching you an uppercut, a right kick, side kick and a front back kick, first doing them in the air, moving to the training dummies, to a kick pad he was holding to teach you precision.

You were spent. Your shoulders hurt with the tiniest of movements, you were sure your knuckles were slightly bleeding from under the bandages, your legs were pulsating, tiny needles pricking you everywhere.

You felt like you wanted to nap for a thousand years, while Damian was barely sweating, taking a sip of his water, another bottle left on the floor next to your head, a straw pointed at you.

Lolling your head, you took the straw into your mouth, moaning once the refreshing water touched the desert it was your lips, an oasis for your broken body.

Damian sat down next to you, legs outstretched and his arms supporting him behind him. “He likes you too.”

“Who?” You asked, unsure if the two of you had been talking about someone and your brain didn’t register it.

“Todd. I had never seen him so upset when a civilian was in danger.”

Then why hadn’t he responded to your last message? It’s not like he didn’t know where you were all day, every day, to come and talk. And as much as you would like to believe love at first sight was real, it simply wasn’t. You two hadn’t spent that much time together for him to develop any kind of feelings, you wanted to believe there’s a possibility he might consider you attractive, but that was it.

“It’s simply because he knows me. I’m sure he would’ve been the same had it been you, or Cass, or Steph.”

“It has been us already, in our line of work it is not uncommon to be held at gunpoint; he worries, of course, but not like he did with you.”

Do not listen to Damian your mind screamed. But why not? your heart begged.

“It’s… different, Dami. He knows you’re capable of taking care of yourselves, I’m just a normal person, not a vigilante. I don’t know what to do in that situation.”

“Tt. What will it be? He would’ve been the same if it was us, or he does not worry as he is aware of our capabilities? Cloud your judgment with poor reasoning as much as you want. That is not the truth.”

Why were you so hellbent on not considering the possibility that maybe, just maybe he did like you? Every time the idea crossed your mind, your pulse quickened, and you felt empty. You always thought it was nervousness, excitement, maybe even hope.

But it was quite obvious if you thought about it for more than one second; it was fear.

Fear of having your feelings reciprocated, fear of having something real and having it taking away in an instant. You don’t belong here, you’ll leave and you can’t take that love home with you; they’re going to forget you, move on like they do from every single weird plight they’re drag to every month or so, while you’ll be left hollowed out with the longing of a life you’ll never be able to have.

“Ready for tomorrow?” You changed topics, heavily lifting your body until you were sitting, legs crossed, it pained you to do the simplest of movements, slowly closing and opening your hand to try and get rid of the pain. Damian had grabbed the plastic sword again, swinging it around as if it were a real one, his strikes to the dummy getting harsher at the mention of school.

“It is just a waste of my time, time I could be spending patrolling. Father does not allow me to go out during the week. Do you know how many cases I could be helping with?”

His last strike to the dummy broke the sword, the clattering of the plastic muffled by the training mat.

“Come on, school’s not that bad. I’m sure there’s some interesting clubs you can join, why don’t you check them out tomorrow?”

“Whatever…”

He picked up the broken part of the sword, checking to see if he could probably glue it back together. He walked past you, to where you’d seen some crates positioned to the far end wall. You’d finished your water already, but with doing more exercise this night than your whole life, you wanted to drink a whole river, however, that meant getting up and walking all the way to—

“Don’t scream, bitch.” Your breath caught in your throat, the night wind cold in your face, a single lit blinking streetlight on top of you lighting up the street, the rest covered in darkness. “The boss will be happy to see you again.”

No, no, no, no. That voice, that cold, metallic barrel on the back of your head couldn’t be real, they’re gone, behind bars and with several broken bones, courtesy of Red Hood.

Where was Jason?

Jason, Jason.

JASON.

You were back on the dingy basement, blood curling screams shattering the heavy atmosphere, steps were getting closer and closer from everywhere, echoing around the dilapidating walls.

“You thought you could escape?” A voice said, warping into a raspy, warbled voice reverberating all around you, eerie and screeching. “You can’t escape from the Scarecrow.”

The disembodied voice took form, a burlap mask with black, empty eyes that never stopped looking at you, even when he had his back to you, neck twisting like an owl’s.

“This will hurt, Jane.” He grabbed your arms, screaming in your face, the hold fickle until the palms were barely touching you, your name being called over and over again, but the voice wasn’t gnarled anymore, it was distant, raspy but childish-like.

“Jane!” It called again. Your vision was blurry, unfocused, bright blue lights enveloping you, the screams fading until they turned into a constant hum you’d learned to tune out. Through your tears, blurry green eyes met yours, but those were not the ones you wanted to see, these ones were harsh, cognizant, and hopeful, hiding his panic behind a green ocean. “Jane, you are safe. You are in the Batcave. I am Damian Wayne, not the Scarecrow.”

“Damian?” He nodded. “I—What happened? I wanted more water and then… Then I was there.”

“I am not sure. You had a panic attack, but I do not know what caused it.”

You screwed your eyes shut, trying to remember what the cause could’ve been. “I felt something, on the back of my head.” With a shaking hand, you prodded behind your head, feeling nothing but your hair and sweaty neck. “That’s when I heard the voices.”

Damian’s eyes widened, biting his bottom lip, looking at something behind you, following his gaze to see the taped-up sword discarded on the floor.

“I did not know.” His voice wavered the slightest bit. “I simply wished to annoy you, but when I put the sword to your head… You froze up, trembling and begging. I did not mean to cause such a reaction.”

You took a deep breath, calming your racing heart. Damian wasn’t here when you tried to escape, and knowing how great this family was at communicating, it was safe to assume no one had informed him of the kidnapping.

It was hard to be mad at him for something it wasn’t his fault (although you wanted to, for bringing you back to that moment), hell, you didn’t even know something like this could’ve happen, and with him looking so lost, out of the loop and believing it was his fault, you could barely hold the sentiment of anger. He looked so miserable, almost as much as you did. “I did not know that could happen.” Damian whispered, more to convince himself that this was an accident than anything else, and sat down away from you, afraid he would do something else to cause another panic attack.

With your heavy arms, you opened them, inviting him to hug you. The kid was wary, getting up a couple of centimeters. “Would you please hug me?” You knew you had to make him believe he was only doing it because you were distressed —which you were, a lot—, knowing he wouldn’t do it out of his own volition for not wanting to be seen as weak. Only when you said please did he stood up, sitting next to you, his arms encircling you in a way it showed he wasn’t used to hugging people and thus didn’t know how.

You hugged him tightly, resting your head on his hair, his head burrowing on your shoulder. You needed this as much as he did.

“Where… Did you go?” His voice was soft and doubtful in a way you’d never heard him speak. “You said that you were ‘there’.”

Taking a deep breath, you began explaining to him how unsafe you felt at the begging of all this, thinking you’d been kidnapped, and how you escaped only to actually be kidnapped.

“I am not surprised Drake did not bother to explain the situation. His incompetence is not surprising.” He scoffed, a light chuckle coming out of you. Midway during the explanation, you both laid down on the floor, some bats flying on the roof from time to time. “Are you… Will you inform Grayson of what happened?”

“Hm?” You were looking at a bat perched on the ceiling, cleaning its wings.

“I will understand if you do, and I will take any punishment you deem fit for my blunder.”

“What?” You turned to look at him. “Damian, I—Yeah, I will tell him, but not to accuse you or anything, just to let him know that things like that can provoke bad flashbacks for me, but you won’t be reproved for an accident.”

He nodded, turning his gaze back to the bats. What did he had to endure to believe that he had to be punished for a mistake? For something he had no control over and had no way of knowing it would happen? From what you’d gathered, he’d been here for at least a year, maybe a bit more. It wasn’t easy to understand the way you’d been brought up wasn’t the right one, to forget everything you’d been taught to in the span of a year, but his reaction made you think that not much had changed since he moved in to the manor.

You would have to pay more attention to the way he was treated around with everyone.

The silence that came upon was disturbed the sound of a motorcycle’s engine, only one person who could belong to. You both stood up, with Damian running to the parking pad.

“Akhi.” Damian greeted him. Jason got off the bike, taking off his helmet, his soft curls were all over the place, the tips wet with sweat. Did they have a heater in here or why were you feeling warmer?

“Hey, Demon Spawn.” Despite being a harsh nickname —and one would think it was because Jason didn’t like him—, it was the opposite, a warm smirk on his face, messing up Damian’s hair. “Oh, hey, Jane, what are you two doing down here?”

“Dami’s teaching me to defend myself.”

“Mmh.” Damian agreed. “I taught her five moves; she is a quick learner. I could have taught her more, but her brittle body had to take a break. Of course, I can still go on.”

It couldn’t be a compliment from Damian if it wasn’t also veiled as an insult.

“Really? You plannin’ on joining us on patrol now?”

Despite de carefree attitude, he was slightly tense.

“Not in a million years.” You chuckled, and the deep sigh leaving his lungs did not go unnoticed. “Just in case I get taken hostage again. The universe travelling agency didn’t mention anything about high crime rates.”

“That’s Gotham for you. Hey, is Dickhead here? Got some intel about the trafficking case.”

“He’s off planet with the League.” You replied nonchalantly, when had that become a normalcy in your life? “I’ll go find Tim; Dick left him in charge.”

“I will go.” Damian quickly piped up. “He should have been here already preparing for patrol.”

Without waiting for a response, he ran towards the stairs, and up to Bruce’s office.

The little shit left you and Jason alone on purpose.

[little-pup-pip]

Do you have any tips for buying/hiding littlegear or petre gear?

I have a few!! Good luck with this, friend!

Buying:

I was able to start collecting gear when I was pretty young, because my parents got me my own bank account at 13 and became uninterested in my purchases not long after. That's probably not the case for you, so my buying advice won't all necessarily be based on experience! If you can order things online though, Amazon has pacifiers and stuff for really cheap, and Etsy is usually pretty good, too!

Assuming you're able to go to in person stores alone, most of them have sippy cups, teethers and bottles for pretty cheap (especially dollar stores)!! I don't recommend pacifiers for babies because those aren't comfortable and can hurt your teeth! This is also a good way to get pet or kid toys!!

If you struggle with opportunities to be in stores, make up excuses like needing craft supplies for school or pet treats/toys if you have pets! If your people like to accompany you into stores, maybe saying something about how you want to try being more independent will work.

If your people are nosey about what you purchase, buying something else along with your gear, putting the gear in your backpack or something similar, throwing away your receipt, and only showing them the other item(s) can be a good cover! This also works for online purchases, as long as they arrive at the same time/in the same box!!

Hiding:

My favorite place to hide things was definitely behind the books on my bookshelves!! You can also store things in a container that implies something else is in there (ie boardgame box, jewelry box etc)! Another popular location is inside of a closet depending on how much space is in there! Closets are especially helpful for hiding bigger toys (again, depending on the size) if your people don't approve of you having stuff like that!

If your people are s u p e r nosey, inside of a vent is not somewhere people usually think to check, if your vent covers come off (mine did). If any of your pillows have zippers, that's a good place to hide fabric things like pet collars! Generally beds can obscure or hold things better than you'd think! Under pillows is an easy location if you and your people don't typically move them, but I'd consider that as a temporary location more than anything else.

That's all I got! I hope at least some of this stuff can help you out!! Good luck!

[omgwhatchloe]

why is the top post on my fav boys tag ai trash…

sean macguire modern headcanons to change that!!

-very firmly lives in the mansion with the rest of the gang and would never want to move out (like the marstons) because he doesnt want to pay bills

-took time and effort into decorating his room and even got lenny to decorate it too since he basically moved in. its filled with random ornaments, posters, cheap things from amazon and a huge irish flag over his bed. even if he didn’t resonate with the things in his room much, he would NOT have it looking bare.

-the worst for being on his phone constantly but wont respond to anyone but lenny or his da, not that anyone else is too keen to message him. his camera roll is also a mess off accidental screenshots and bad pictures of things he hasnt needed to look at in months. OCCASIONALLY theyll be a sweet picture of jack or lenny, but theyre buried so deep in his brain rot camera he forgets about them until a birthday or something.

-darragh always facetimes him at seans convience, so staying up late to speak to him. funnily enough, darragh knows tech more than sean.

“right, iv to go now da! where-how-”

“okay, sean…the red button. just click the screen-”

“i AM-" “and a red button-” “its this shite phone-" “ill just cut off…”

-buys cheap shit online as random presents for other people. lenny for some reason has a glowing turtle keychain…he doesnt have keys. abigail is plagued with random stuff he bought jack that the kid hasn’t bothered with in ages because he only cares about his ipad.

-is unfortunately subjected to being sent ‘relatable irish memes’ by many of the other members who just assume he relates and dont think twice. john sent him one of a “classic irish mammy” tiktok trying to be nice and it went like this

john: [video] lol i bet u went through this😂

sean: no cuz i dont have a ma john

there is also

mary-beth: [meme about growing up protestant in north of ireland/northern ireland that she didnt read hard enough]

sean: ?

mary-beth: Isn’t that how you grew up?

sean: im catholic and from the republic

mary-beth: ???

-related to the online shit one, he is a food hoarder. he is always ordering food from random sweet companys or just over spending in walmart then keeping it all in his room and barely eating any of it. it disappears because lenny steals it and eventually it gets left somewhere then put in the kitchen.

-he, along with bill, arthur and karen, is banned from a random bar and no one, not even those involved, has the slightest idea why. they just assumed it had something to do with a night out they can all barely remember and left it as that. sometimes he does wonder why it was just them four who got banned.

-has not got a drivers license, isnt planning on getting one, and drives the most in the gang because darragh taught him as a necessary life skill. has the least crashes but drives the fastest and most reckless. he is genuinely proud of how well he can drive.