#but does that lead to more awkwardness or weirdness between them? no

[theborgqueen2]

This is slowly turning into a "every jc moment ever" thing and I have no regrets.

[maelancoli]

Writing Intimacy

i often see writers sharing a sentiment of struggling with writing kiss scenes which honestly bleeds into other portrayals of physical intimacy. i see it a lot in modernized styles of writing popularized by the recent trend in publishing to encourage short, choppy sentences and few adverbs, even less descriptive language. this makes intimacy come across awkward, like someone writing a script or clumsy recounting of events rather than a beautiful paragraph of human connection.

or just plane horniness. but hey, horny doesn't have to be mutually exclusive with poetic or sensual.

shallow example: they kissed desperately, tongues swirling and she moaned. it made her feel warm inside.

in depth example: she reached for the other woman slowly and with a small measure of uncertainty. the moment her fingers brushed the sharp, soft jaw of her companion, eliza's hesitance slid away. the first kiss was gentle when she finally closed the distance between them. she pressed her lips lightly to gabriella's in silent exploration. a tender question. gabriella answered by meeting her kiss with a firmer one of her own. eliza felt the woman's fingers curling into her umber hair, fingernails scraping along her scalp. everything inside eliza relaxed and the nervousness uncoiled from her gut. a warm buzz of energy sunk through her flesh down to the very core of her soul. this was right. this was always where she needed to be.

the first complaint i see regards discomfort in writing a kiss, feeling like one is intruding on the characters. the only way to get around this is to practice. anything that makes you uncomfortable in writing is something you should explore. writing is at its best when we are pushing the envelope of our own comfort zones. if it feels cringy, if it feels too intimate, too weird, too intrusive, good. do it anyway! try different styles, practice it, think about which parts of it make you balk the most and then explore that, dissect it and dive into getting comfortable with the portrayal of human connection.

of course the biggest part comes to not knowing what to say other than "they kissed" or, of course, the tried and true "their lips crashed and their tongues battled for dominance" 😐. so this is my best advice: think beyond the mouth. okay, we know their mouths are mashing. but what are their hands doing? are they touching one another's hair? are they scratching or gripping desperately at one another? are they gliding their hands along each other's body or are they wrapping their arms tightly to hold each other close? do they sigh? do they groan? do they relax? do they tense? are they comfortable with each other or giddy and uncertain? is it a relief, or is it bringing more questions? is it building tension or finally breaking it?

get descriptive with the emotions. how is it making the main character/pov holder feel? how are they carrying those emotions in their body? how do they feel the desire in their body? desire is not just felt below the belt. it's in the gut, it's in the chest, it's in the flushing of cheeks, the chills beneath the skin, the goosebumps over the surface of the flesh. everyone has different pleasure zones. a kiss might not always lead desire for overtly sexual touches. a kiss might lead to the desire for an embrace. a kiss might lead to the impulse to bite or lick at other areas. a kiss could awaken desire to be caressed or caress the neck, the shoulder, the back, the arms etc. describe that desire, show those impulses of pleasure and affection.

of course there is the tactile. what does the love interest taste like? what do they smell like? how do they kiss? rough and greedy? slow and sensual? explorative and hesitant? expertly or clumsily? how does it feel to be kissed by them? how does it feel to kiss them?

i.e. examine who these individuals are, what their motives and feelings are within that moment, who they are together, what it looks like when these two individuals come together. a kiss is not about the mouth. it's about opening the door to vulnerability and desire in one's entire body and soul.

[starsintheskyandtheeye]

Respect for the Dead

By Lois Lane and Clark Kent

1,436 words

By now most of the world has been shaken by the news.

Ghosts are real! And ghosts are in danger! The original publication written by Lois Lane can be found here but we are not here to follow that well trodden avenue of discussion.

Here at the Daily Planet we have elected to focus on speaking to the ghosts themselves, rather than debate their existence alongside our fellow papers. During the hunt for the new source of Kryptonite that sparked this discovery Lois Lane made contact with one Danny Phantom. Originally he chose to anonymous but since the outpouring of support from much of the world he has since chosen to come forward publicly.

Given that the ghostly teenager is operating as a hero similar to our own Superman much of his personal history could not be shared. What was safe to share however was very different from what this reporting team had been expecting.

We had gone in prepared to hear the story of what caused a ghost that looks like a schoolboy to lead a life of ghostly vigilantism.

What we got was sweetly sarcastic individual giving us amusing anecdotes of his start as a hero, descriptions of the stranger habits he's gained since his death, and many many tips on how to politely interact with a ghost. At our confusion (who knew there were so many different types of ghost!) Phantom went on to explain and correct several common misconceptions about ghosts. So without further ado; here are the highlights of that discussion.

We begin with what was given to us as the number one rule of human/ghost etiquette. Never ask the individual, be they glowing werewolf, ghostly lunch-lady, or undead rock star, about the circumstances of their death.

It seems simple does it not? A matter of everyday politeness, and yet that is the number one reason for communication breakdowns between ectoplasmic entities and still living humans. Fortunately for the health of the interview this reporting team did not make that mistake. Phantom did not explain the nature of the offense but did not need to. It was clear that the, until then, friendly conversation would have ended abruptly if we had gone any farther down that path.

What we were encouraged (and warned) to talk to a ghost about was their obsession. As Phantom explained, "It's what drives a ghost, why we are still here, or why we formed at all."

When asked about his own obsession Phantom laughed a bit and said, "I'm a bit young for a ghost, so I don't really have one yet, I bounce around a lot. My doctor, he's a yeti, says it's normal for me though! The options are all over the place though. I know one ghost that haunts the high school to prevent bullying, a really nice guy. Another just wants to have her music heard by the world. Unfortunately her music brainwashes people to love her so we aren't super close. Or another that is all about granting wishes, but not in a singing blue genie way, in a fairy tale way, it's a mess whenever she gets over here."

That seems to be a common theme in ghostly/human interaction. Ghosts largely mean no harm but the pursuit of their own obsessions can have devastating effects on any that stand between them and their goal. Something to keep in mind if you're ordering pizza when the Box Ghost is at large.

Hoping it wouldn't cross into the realm of ghostly faux pas we went on to ask how old Phantom is. Once again Phantom seemed somewhat awkward although no more than what seemed to be his baseline when talking to (self claimed) famous reporters, saying only, "Time works differently in the realms. It can be really weird sometimes, you'll be talking to someone that looks like a toddler only to learn that they were last in a human world during the 1400s or something."

As Phantom continued to share however, the everlasting aspect seemed to be the least interesting part of the Infinite Realms, or the Ghost Zone as the Doctors Fenton, previously mentioned as ghostly experts here, call the place where the vast majority of ghosts dwell.

Ghostly yetis practicing medicine, while certainly not the least of the inhabitants were just the start. Phantom went on to share with us a sampling of the being he has encountered in his travels, medieval women moonlighting as temperamental dragons, the very concept of time, a warden of any ghosts that cross his path, and of course the ubiquitous creepy toddler so often featured on the silver screen.

According to Phantom up until extremely recently (whether by ghostly or human terms we were unable to determine) the Infinite Realms was closed off from our own home except for the occasional haunting. Which was explained to us by the telling of what was, to Phantom, a very funny joke about pop culture influencing ghost culture as people died and brought it over with them. From this we can glean several things. That the realms of the living and the dead have never been so far apart as it would have seemed to the living. That the near future will hold many changes as major religions, governments, and the common people hear what the dead have to say as they weigh in on what respect for the dead really means. And that while many things do translate, ghostly humor is not one of them.

Although of course that may be that, despite his real age being possibly many times our own - combined, Phantom is still eternally a teenager. And a teenagers jokes are often incomprehensible to any who do not share that state.

When asked about the sudden ghostly interest in our own living Earth Phantom had this to say, "Lots of ghosts want to go to the lands of the living. Especially anyone that used to be alive themselves. And anyone that didn't is curious what the fuss is about. Earth is so different from the ghost zone but it's still where a lot of us came from. If someone gets a chance to hop through the portal they'll go, to see how things have changed, or to keep things from changing, or just to stretch their obsessions. Really it's a chance to go home, just for a little while," he said, reminding us that for all they look like aliens ghosts are just as human as you or I.

With a few caveats.

The portal Phantom spoke of is an invention by the Doctors Fenton, Ectobiologists. Up until recently Jack and Maddie Fenton had been the worlds foremost ghostly experts, building a portal to the "Ghost Zone" in order to study what up until recently had been considered to be a non-sentient classification of emotional ectoplasmic imprintation.

We spoke to the researchers after our interview with Phantom, at his request. Despite the recent evidence come to light the couple remain the foremost (living) human scientists in the field. When asked about the setback to their work they had this to say, "We were devastated of course. To learn that we won't be able to study spooks -" Jack Fenton broke off there, at an extremely well executed elbow jab from Maddie Fenton who then said. "We got an extreme tunnel vision, a hazard of obsessive science. We were told we were wrong about the existence of ghosts for so long that we forgot to check that we were correct about their nature. We look forward to pivoting to ghostly anthropology and human/ghost interaction technology."

Ultimately we did not learn any groundbreaking secrets, but then if a ghost willing to go on record ( a written record at least, our recorded transcript of the conversation was near unusable due to static) you sit down and listen. We can never anticipate what a reader will take from an article but if we could make a suggestion? In this reporting teams opinion, the balance of ghost and human realms is not unlike the inversion of a mirror. We are reflections of one another. Opposite, yes, and dangerous to one another for it, but ultimately we are all the same. After all what is a ghost but emotion and ectoplasm (according to current science)? And for all that we try to rise above it, what is a human but emotion and flesh?

Fin.

Coming Soon!

Keep an eye out for top ten tips on ghostly interaction and interviews with the Justice League on diplomatic efforts with GHOSTLY ROYALTY!!

[dancingdonatello]

2012 Leo X Fem Reader Leo just being the gentleman he is to his queen. Like literally the biggest gentleman. Like holds the door open when their walking, helps them get down from something, like everything he could possibly do he does

2012 leo x reader

Your turtle boyfriend had more manners than most human men you’d met in your life time.

You smiled at him as he opened a door for you, even if it was the door of an abandoned Kraang lab. A normal date location for sure. To be fair, it was the only place you two could really go together that wasn’t the lair.

He led you to an empty room that was filled with a bunch of candles. You weren’t sure if their purpose were to be romantic or just a way to light up the room since there was no other light source available.

He had dragged in a table, it was obvious with the deep scratch marks in the floor that lined up with the table’s legs, and had two chairs facing each other.

He waited for you to walk over and pulled out the chair you had chosen for you. “Thanks!”

You both jumped as a piece of the ceiling came crashing down onto the floor next to the table. He laughed nervously and kicked it the debris into a pile under the table. You used it as a dirty foot test. Good thing you had worn your old sneakers.

He set a half broken picnic on the table and rooted through it, having to almost stick his head inside to be able to see with how dark it was.

After you two ate, he seemed pretty bummed out and ready to go. He helped you back through the broken glass you two had to pass to get to the chosen room, holding your arm to help balance you as you tried to step on the empty spots.

“Something wrong?” You asked as he lead you the way back to your home through a bunch of secluded alleyways where it was almost certain no one would see you too. You never had to even think about the twists and turns, he never minded that you never knew the way he had shown you hundreds of times. He’d show it to you over and over, as long as it gave him more time with you.

“No,” he sighed, frowning at all the trash thrown everywhere. He shoved some aside with his foot to clear your path. “I just wish… This could be different.”

“How come?” You frowned up at him, grabbing onto his arm to stop him from walking. He turned to face you, head angled downwards to look at you.

“You deserve to be at a restaurant or something.” He grabbed the hand that was on his arm and held it in his three fingered one. “Not in an empty Kraang base.”

“But I can’t go to a restaurant with you… only the one with Murakami.”

“Exactly.” He gave you a pointed look. You frowned at him and forced your fingers to interlock with his. Yes, it felt weird and awkward but who cares?

“Even if some jerk head took me to a five star restaurant, I probably wouldn’t have had the same experience as going to some weird, jank, abandoned building with you. I haven’t met anyone as thoughtful as you yet, Leonardo.”

You pressed an angry kiss to his cheek and he stared at you, confused at the mixed signals coming off of you.

“Seriously, Leo, I don’t think you realize how good I got it!” You started to walk and swung your hands back and forth between the two of you, giggling as he gave you an odd look. “I mean it!”

“If you say so…” He tugged you closer to his side to avoid you stepping in a puddle you hadn’t noticed.

He had not a clue in the world, did he?

[14dayswithyou]

The 14DWY brainrot is real... >_< were ypu planning on sharing koi ren's design here too or is it discord only for now? remember to drink lots n lots of water today 🐸☔️

i don't rmbr if i included this but can you share any koi crumbs too?

✦゜ANSWERED: aaaaa I'm 14 years late to this ask (/silly), but thank you for reminding me!! I'll add the new Mer Ren design to da queue >:3

I'll also put the Koi Ren (I'm rocking with this new name!!) crumbs under the cut!!

"Stop rocking the boat, Ren." Without sparing a glance in his direction, you continue to stare out into the vast, open lake. "You'll scare away all the fish."

Had you turned around, you would've seen the faux-deadpan look on his face as Ren takes in the irony of your words. As if to prove a point, he gently swishes his tail in the water, which causes small ripples to form and (eventually) disturb your bobber. "I don't think the boat is the problem here."

"Okay, how about this... One more fish, then we can go back." You finally look back at your scaley companion — who was still leaning against the edge of your tin boat with a lazy smile — and give him a resolute nod. "Promise."

"Sure," Ren casually reaches into the boat to pick and pluck at some of your live bait. "But you said that about the last three fish."

"This will be the last one. I swear."

"You... swear?" You try to ignore the way Ren swallows up one of your minnows as if you weren't using them for bait as he continues to speak, "Like... curse words? Humans sure are weird creatures."

As if realising his comment, Ren's ocean-blue eyes widen slightly and shift towards your form. "N-Not... Not you, though."

With a laugh, you playfully try to nudge him off of the boat. All it does is cause it to tip slightly, but Ren steadies it when you show signs of losing balance.

"Alright. One more fish, then?"

You nod and cast your attention back to your rod once more. You don't even notice the silence — nor Ren slipping away — until you suddenly feel a tug on your line and call out to your companion in excitement. "That was quick!"

Quickly reeling it in, you wonder what kind of fish you'd just caught — it's definitely stronger than you anticipated, given how the rod drastically bends and snaps at every movement from the fish. And just as you see the shadow from the murky depths get closer, the ripples get bigger and cause a stir underneath your tin boat. Standing up now, you try with all your might to reel it on board...

...Only for a mess of black hair to emerge from below and peer up at you with a smug look.

"Ren!"

"Looks like you got a big one."

"C'moooon." You practically whine, though you allow Ren to haul himself into your tiny boat and rest his head in your lap. You can still feel his body shake from underneath your touch, no doubt still laughing at his poor attempt at a joke. "This doesn't count."

A beat passes before your fishy companion responds. "...Hm? Fine then."

Another moment of silence follows before he slithers back into the water without another word. Half of you worries that you might've said something to offend him (there was still the tiniest hint of a language barrier between you two). Still, it ultimately leads to nothing as Ren soon emerges once more — only this time, he's hauling the biggest largemouth bass you'd ever seen into your boat.

"This good enough?" He looks at you with wide, blue eyes. "If not, I can probably find a sturgeon and—"

"It's bigger than my boat!"

"Is this what your kind calls... exaggeration? Because your boat is big enough even for me to—"

"—Arghh! It's getting water everywhere! Put it back!"

It was almost comical how Ren tossed the fish over his shoulder and back into the water without breaking eye contact with you.

Another wave of silence hits, yet neither of you seems to move or break the awkward staring contest you'd somehow started. It's then when you notice Ren's grin get bigger — most likely at your resignation and embarrassment — which causes you to fall back into your seat in defeat.

"Fine. Enough fishing for today. Let's head back." Busying yourself with the bucket of fish and tacklebox in front of you, you secure your gear and pack everything away. But it seems Ren had other plans, seeing as he took it upon himself to climb back into your boat and rest his arms on your legs. No longer able to move as freely, you have no choice but to indulge in his carefree whims.

"But you caught me. Aren't you going to bring me home too?"

"As much as I want to," Truly, you do. You've always wanted to show Ren the world outside of Lake Bluemoss. "There's no way I'm carrying you all the way down the mountain."

"You never know until you cry."

"Try." You correct him. "Until you try."

"Your kind sure are funny." Ren nuzzles himself closer. "Perhaps another time, then... Stay here tonight."

Your body pricks up at his words, and you spare a glance at the abandoned boathouse near the dock. Despite its rough and rugged exterior, you and Ren actually made it quite comfy. It had some of your old blankets and sheets thrown over one of the boats to make it comfortable to lounge in — alongside a giant empty tank that you and Ren filled with water for him to sit in as well. Despite the lack of human traction, the place still felt homey and well-loved.

"...I guess I could."

"Then what are we waiting shore?"

You had to roll your eyes at his attempt at a pun.

[bbydoll18xx]

Pet Names And Airplanes (Part 2)

The aftermath of the airplane ride leaves Paige moaning once more.

Paige Bueckers x reader

Part 2 based on this request: I have a request but it's not fully thought out but all the traveling she's been doing has got me thinking. Basically Paige x friend where there's some tension emotionally and physically but neither of them know it rlly. Paige is groggy bc they had to catch an early flight to go somewhere and while sitting next to each other on the plane, her mind starts wandering and she accidentally says smthg dirty out loud to the reader which obviously leads to a build of tension on their flight that they end up having to deal with. How they deal w it and such can be up to you.

Read Part 1 here :)

Themes: bottom!Paige, SMUT, but also some fluffiness

Word Count: 2.7k

To whoever requested bottom Paige, I hope this is acceptable lol

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

How the hell did you get here?

Your heart is beating furiously, and your head feels fuzzy. You are pulled away from the grounding grips of reality as Paige continues to lick into your mouth with a delicious fervor. It was all-consuming, and you think that you would surrender everything in order to keep Paige’s mouth on yours.

Her lips ghost across yours once more before trailing down to attach to the delicate flesh of your throat. Quiet whines are spilling from your lips, as she alternates between hot, open mouth kisses and sucking, soothing the marks with her tongue. You anticipate the trail of tattoo kisses that would soon adorn your neck, leaving you with undeniable proof of Paige’s affections.

Her hands are wandering now, and your eyes flutter shut at the pure absurdity of the situation. Paige is kissing you. And neither of you were dreaming this time.

Paige’s hands fist at the oversized shirt you had been sleeping in, and her lips find yours once more. As her warm hands find their way onto the soft skin of your abdomen, your phone rings, cutting through the room harshly. Your eyes fly open, meeting Paige’s, and she hesitantly pulls away from you, allowing you to grab your phone that was resting on the nightstand. 

“Fuck, it’s Nika,” you whisper, trying to fix your hair and lopsided shirt. Paige does the same, and she fixes the wrinkled bed sheets quickly.

Sliding the screen to open the FaceTime, you wave to a smiling Nika. 

“Hi guys!” Nika practically yells over the phone. “I can’t wait to see you tonight! How was the flight here?”

Looking at Paige, who turns a delicate shade of pink at the mention of the airplane ride, she mumbles, “The plane was aight. Mostly just slept. Can’t wait to see you, too.”

You nod your head in agreement, avoiding meeting Paige’s gaze on the screen of your phone. The three of you chat a few more minutes, cementing your plans for later in the evening once Nika was out of practice. She soon hung up, leaving you and Paige to stare at each other once more. 

You desperately try to avoid glancing down at her lips, but it was nearly impossible. Her tongue darts out to run across her bottom lip, slightly swollen from the kiss. The action unwittingly causes you to catch your own bottom lip between your teeth, biting down in an attempt to subdue your skepticism. 

“We should definitely do that again,” Paige declares, and your heart nearly stops at her words. You were expecting things to be awkward, worried that your friendship would dissolve into a weird dynamic. 

You laugh, and a pink blush blooms across your cheeks at the boldness of your best friend. A wave of relief washes over your senses, and your rapid pulse slows at the realization that things would be okay between you two. Maybe even better than okay.

“I agree,” you whisper, trying to hide the huge grin that was threatening to give away your casual act. “But let's go sightseeing first.”

Paige, who typically was eager to go out exploring, sighed dramatically before acquiescing as you flashed puppy dog eyes and a not-so subtle pout in her direction. 

She was so whipped.

The two of you spend the afternoon in downtown Seattle. The weather was surprisingly sunny, and as you strolled down the street with an ice cream cone, the sheer domesticity of the day hits you like a fucking truck.

Paige has her free hand in yours, the other holding her own ice cream. You glance up at her, and try to hold back a giggle as her tongue chases a stray drop that is sliding down the cone onto her wrist. It was getting harder to ignore the feelings you had for her, and it threatened to overtake you until you were a withering mess of nothingness. 

You are pulled out of your head, as Paige squeezes your hand. As you look up at her once more, the fond smile adorning her beautiful face makes you realize that you were not necessarily alone in your affections. And it was so comforting. 

~

You and Paige walk through the door of your hotel room, and as it shuts, apprehension fills you up once again. You were alone with Paige. And the idea of kissing her again was fucking with your mind.

You kick off your shoes and sit on the edge of the bed, looking up at Paige to see where her head was at. You’re greeted with bright blue eyes and that ridiculous tongue of hers peeking out of her mouth seductively. It was positively sinful, and it gave you the courage to grab her hand and pull her between your parted legs. She leans down to kiss you slowly. While her earlier kisses had been full of want and lust, this one was pure passion. It was a promise, and as you kiss her back, you let all the unspoken words fall from your mouth into hers. 

Your hands roam to find her waist, and your touch causes Paige to speed up the kiss. Longingness fuels her, and soon enough, your lips are meeting hers with an unbridled urgency that you had never experienced before. Falling backwards onto the bed, Paige’s lips pull away from yours to attach to your neck once more, and through the haziness of your thoughts, you think that maybe she has a certain fascination with it. She trails messy kisses down your throat and adds a few small marks below your ear to the ever growing collection. The thought of them fading away causes a pang in your chest, but somehow you just know that Paige will no longer let you go without the purple marks embellishing your skin. 

Paige pulls away from your neck, making you pout at the loss of contact, and she meets your eyes with a smug smirk. She just knows the effect she has over you. Your panties are fucking soaked, and your pupils are blown wide with lust.

You don’t forget, though, how she was moaning out for you in her sleep this morning. And the thought of this pulls out an equally smug look from you. It was your turn to be in control, and you were going to turn Paige into a whimpering mess. 

You sit up in the bed, and Paige moves with you, a surprised look flitting across her face. Now you both are sitting straight up, legs still entangled and eyes connected in a wordless conversation. 

You make the first move.

Your hand reaches out to cup Paige’s cheek, reconnecting your lips in another bruising kiss. She lets out a groan at the contact, relishing in you taking control. You wish you could spend the rest of your life hearing her little noises on repeat. 

Pushing Paige back once more against the soft pillows of the hotel bed, you position yourself on top of her. Your right knee comes to rest in between her parted legs, and as you press it against the sopping heat of her core, she moans out your name. 

“Fuck, P, you like that?” You purr, secretly exhilarated at her pure, unadulterated neediness. She nods at your question, eyes shut in pleasure as you find a spot right under her ear to suck and bite at. She wasn’t going to get away with silence, and you reach up to loosely wrap a hand around her throat. “Use your words, baby,” you murmur, pressing several small kisses up and down her neck as she gives in.

“Need you, princess,” Paige whines. The words are so unfamiliar to the confident Paige you knew and loved, but the stark want in her voice had you nearly drooling with lust. 

You were going to make her feel so, so good. And that was a promise.

“You’ve got me, Paigey,” you whisper, and your hands find the bottom of her shirt, pulling it over her head. She allows you to pull off her pants, lifting her butt up to let you slide them over her hips. As she lays back against the pillows, clad in only a sports bra and boxers, you let your gaze wander over her athletic body. The heat of your stare causes Paige to writhe impatiently, desperate to feel some pleasure. 

“My pretty girl,” you breathe, sliding a hand down the side of Paige’s ribcage, admiring the pale flesh of her toned stomach. You lean down and press open mouth kisses up and down her abdomen before taking off her bra. You admire her again and attach your mouth to a nipple, eliciting another whine from Paige. The sound inflates your ego, and you bring a hand up to pinch the other one. 

“More,” she chokes out brokenly, and you were not going to deny the blonde. You were going to give her everything until she was begging you to stop. 

Satisfied with the marks you leave scattered across her chest, you move down to the waistband of her boxers. Your breath fans over Paige’s belly button, and hers hitches in the anticipation. Looking up at her, trying to gauge her reaction, you see her eyes screwed shut in concentration. 

“Open those pretty eyes for me, baby,” you request gently, and your heart lurches once she complies. Her clear, blue eyes flutter open, revealing her neediness in blown pupils and a darkness that you’ve never seen before. 

She had never looked so beautiful. 

You pull down Paige’s boxers, throwing them onto the floor. The cool air of the room hits her sopping center, and Paige lets out a gasp. You wanted to immediately dive in, but you knew it would be more fun to tease. Pressing hot, open mouth kisses all over her hips and down to her inner thighs, you revel in the moans pouring from Paige’s mouth. 

She is now just short of begging. 

“Please, princess. Need more. Touch me.”  

Getting drunk off of her desperation, you swallow your own instincts to just give in to her and fuck her senselessly. But you weren't going to give in that easily.

“Gotta tell me where you wanna be touched, pretty girl. Just gotta tell me, and I’ll take such good care of you.” Your words are husky, now, darkening your typical giggly disposition, and Paige secretly savors the dominance pouring out of you.

Another kiss to her inner thigh pulls another whine out of Paige, and she’s bucking her hips up in an attempt to feel a shred of pressure against her pulsating clit. 

“Please, baby…please. N-need you to touch my…pussy.” 

Fucking finally. 

For a moment you thought Paige’s stubbornness would prevail, but it seems that her overwhelming neediness was hijacking her typical need for control.

You take a second to savor it. Paige Bueckers was spread out in front of you at your every whim, and you were going to enjoy this. 

Two fingers ghost across her inner thigh and come to rest at her dripping hole. You gather her wetness, swirling it around her folds and up to her clit. 

A long groan falls out of Paige’s mouth as you finally touch her, followed by several expletives when you replace your fingers for your hot, wet tongue. You had been dying to taste her all day, and your patience was rewarded as you licked a fat stripe from the weeping hole of her pussy up to flick across her clit with a maddening pace. 

With no intent on stopping, or even slowing down, you push in two fingers, and the sudden entry causes Paige’s moans to grow even louder. Torn between wanting the whole world to hear just how good you were making her feel and wanting to keep her all to yourself, you whisper “Gotta be a little quieter for me, baby. Can you be a good girl?”

The last thing you needed was unnecessary attention distracting you from making Paige cum like she never has before.

A quieter whimper leaves Paige’s throat, satisfying you, and you reward her with a third finger, curling them all up to the spongy flesh that holds all the pleasure. 

Paige is humping against your hand now, moaning out, “Feels so good, princess, oh my…god.” Her noises are nothing short of pornographic, and you feel your own wetness slide down your inner thighs.

“Tell me who’s making you feel this good, Paigey,” you grit out, intoxicated from her essence and needing the extra validation to push you over the edge.

Paige moans out your name, and your head soars. You had spent many nights dreaming of scenarios just like this, but nothing compared to having her wrapped around your finger, as she was now. 

Quite literally. 

Continuing your brutal assault on her g-spot and eating her out as if she was the last meal left on earth, you feel Paige’s pussy start to clench around you. 

“Gonna cum for me, baby?” You urge, and she lets out a strangled whine. “Let go, cum for me, P.”

And she does. The sound was heavenly as your name leaves her lips over and over again, like it was a prayer. She throws an arm across her face, as if the release was just too much, and you revel in your abilities. No one else made Paige feel like this but you. 

Giving the blonde a few moments to ride out her high, you slow down, letting the orgasm wash over her. Paige’s chest rises and falls, giving way to labored breaths, and once her legs stop twitching from the sheer pleasure of it all, you crawl up to meet her in a slow kiss. 

It’s different than earlier. The passion is still there, but there is no longer something to prove, and the two of you bask in the glow of a friendship that had developed into something more.

“That was fuckin��� incredible,” Paige murmurs, voice raspy now, and you grin at her praises. 

“What can I say? I’m pretty great,” you gloat, feeling like you had an orgasm yourself.

~

Nika is due to arrive at your hotel any second now, and you finish the final touch ups of your makeup. Paige is behind you, staring at you through the mirror with a fond look on her face that has your stomach erupting in butterflies. 

Paige spins you around and pulls you into a tight hug, whispering, “Look at my pretty princess. I can’t wait to fuck you tonight.” A blush engulfs your face at the thought, and it takes an impressive amount of restraint to avoid pushing her up against the wall and attaching your lips to hers.

A loud knock sounds through the hotel room, pulling the two of you away from your affections. Nika’s smiling face appears as you open the door, and she pulls you into a huge hug. 

“Oh my god. I missed you so much,” she mumbles into your neck. You giggle, repeating her words, as the two of you rock back and forth in a friendly embrace. 

Nika pulls away and steps behind you, jumping onto Paige, yelling in Paige’s ear about how she had ‘missed her twin.’ Paige lets out an affectionate chuckle, telling Nika that she had missed her, too. 

Once the hugging was over, Nika stands in front of you and Paige with a smirk on her face. “So what have you two been up to today?” she asks, a playful glint in her eyes. 

You feel her gaze roam over the hickey peeking out under the collar of your shirt, and your cheeks heat up. 

Paige runs a hand across her face, trying to avoid looking guilty, and Nika gives her a knowing look. 

“About damn time, honestly you two.” 

And there was no point in even trying to deny it anymore. 

~

Part 3

this was a lil too much fun to write. hope you beautiful people enjoyed it

[luna-azzurra]

Date Gone Wrong

Writing a date gone wrong is an awesome opportunity to show character development in a real, relatable way. When your characters walk into the date, they likely have their own expectations, maybe one of them is hoping for a fairytale romance, while the other just wants a fun evening. The key is to set up that contrast between their hopes and what actually happens. A date gone wrong doesn’t always have to be a massive disaster, sometimes, it’s the little, awkward moments that create tension and humor. A spilled drink, a clumsy comment, or a weird silence can be just as effective as a big argument.

Think about how each character reacts when the evening starts going off the rails. This is where you can really dig into who they are. If the conversation stalls, does one character try to fill the silence with nervous rambling, or do they embrace the awkwardness with humor? If something embarrassing happens like tripping or an accidental insult, how do they recover? Do they get defensive or laugh it off? Their reactions give you a chance to show their personalities, vulnerabilities, and insecurities in a way that feels natural, because dates are one of those situations where people can’t always hide how they really feel.

It’s also important to think about the power dynamics of the situation. Maybe one character is trying too hard to impress, while the other is more relaxed, leading to a weird imbalance. Or maybe they both have completely different expectations for how the night should go , one wants a deep, emotional connection, while the other is just looking for a casual hangout.

[icallhimjoey]

hello love, i have a request for a smutty and fluffy joe fic ❤️ (it's a bit of a personal one) the reader experiences some pain and discomfort during PIV and their past partner(s) never took the time to make sure they are fully comfortable and heard... but joe does. 🥺 xx.

thanks for your request! i didnt deliver much on the smut (my apologies) but i tried to do it justice for ya ❤️ Wordcount: 2K

---

And I'll Listen

“What’s wrong?” Joe asked, after climbing up onto your bed and sitting down right in front of you, mirroring you exactly. Legs criss crossed in front, elbows pressed into the inside of your knees. 

“What? Nothing’s wrong.” You smiled, but your words came out without any confidence. It sounded like a fat lie, even to your own ears, so you knew Joe wouldn’t be convinced. 

“Okay,” Joe said, narrowing his eyes a little, but letting his hands find yours in between your laps and leaning in for a kiss anyway. 

You’d had a whole day that built up to this.

Every little thing leading up to this moment.

Of having Joe in bed with you, the unsaid expectation of getting to connect past kisses and wandering hands.

Joe had been extra sweet, had really done his best to make you giggle and blush a little more than he had done on any previous dates. Not because he was hoping you’d repay his kindness with anything. That wasn’t the type of person he was. But because he wanted you to feel comfortable around him. He wanted you to enjoy this just as much as he was probably going to.

Which, you did. You did feel comfortable around him.

You liked Joe a lot.

You wanted him in bed with you. You wanted Joe to kiss you, and so when he leant in for one, it was easy to accept his lips as they brushed against yours.

It was just that... you were nervous.

Sort of scared.

There was a little seed of fear left over from unpleasant experiences with other men, and you hadn’t realised how all throughout the day you’d been silently watering it.

It was a whole big leafy plant now, and it made you turn Joe’s kiss into a quick peck. 

You wondered if Joe would accept it if you just wanted to cuddle all night. 

Joe smiled at you, and he noticed the blush high up on your cheeks. You looked real cute like this, in the low light of your bedroom that turned everything into soft oranges, and he let go of one of your hands to curl it around your neck. 

He pulled you in for another kiss, and you liked the strong fingers that held your head up, but you did the same thing again. Broke the kiss just as quick as it started and moved back a little, biting into your bottom lip and bringing a hand up to softly rub at the side of your nose. 

Your nose wasn’t itchy, but by covering your mouth you ensured Joe couldn’t quickly try for another kiss. 

This felt awkward. Which was weird, Joe thought.

You’d kissed lots already.

You’d surprised him with kisses a lot, actually. Like in public, right outside a pub, when he hadn’t expected it at all and he had nearly dropped his beer. Or earlier when he’d shown you the eyelash on the tip of his finger that he’d carefully taken from just underneath your eye and made you make a wish before you both blew it off.

It was strange that you were cutting off kisses and keeping him at a distance.

Joe moved back a little more, and you saw how he observed you for a moment before his brows pulled down into a confused frown.

“You seem nervous…” he said, smiling still.  

“Yea, it’s the nerves.” you joked dryly, using the moment to try and get rid of the uneasy feeling that you couldn’t seem to shake. You hoped a little humour would help, and it did help, because Joe burst into loud laughter.

But then the moment Joe’s laughter subsided and he went in to kiss you again, murmuring “I’m trying to set the mood, stop being so funny,” against your lips, the fear and anticipation returned full force. 

God, why were you panicking?

This was Joe.

He’d done nothing to make you believe he was like… like the others. Like any of them, actually.

Your clear mind was convinced you could just tell Joe about the issue and that he would react the way you’d want him to. The problem, however, was that your mind didn’t feel all so clear right now, unfortunately. And Joe could feel it in the way you froze on him a little. You were letting him kiss you, but you weren’t really kissing back all that much.

“What’s got you so nervous, hey?” 

Joe knew he wouldn’t be in bed with you if you didn’t want him there. There was no question about where the night was headed; you had both been very clear about it, so there was no doubt in Joe’s mind at all.

He guessed it was normal to feel a little nervous, but something about you felt a little off. Something different in your eyes. 

“I just said,” and you just couldn’t fucking help to use the same joke to deflect, “It’s the nerves.” 

This time you didn’t get a laugh, but just a small smile and eyes that slid down your body before they found yours again to lock onto.

“I know that...” Joe started, face serious enough for you to feel uneasy with his eye-contact. You looked away, and it made Joe pause.

You weren’t really letting him in.

“I know that being vulnerable can be scary, but…” Joe looked at your hands and cupped one into his palm so he could let his other hand tickle the inside of yours. He glanced up to see that you were staring at it too.

“I think that you think it takes a lot of effort to be a little more exposed... that it’s hard work to open those doors.” 

Oh, shit. 

You did think that.

You didn’t like how Joe seemingly saw right through you. 

“But if you ask me, you’ve got it wrong. It’s not hard work. But you know what is? Keeping the doors closed when someone else is trying to take a peek inside.” Joe stressed his words and made it obvious he was talking about himself. “We’re just gonna be pulling on either side… and, you’re strong. You’ll probably manage to keep it shut if you were really determined. And then what might happen is that I’ll grow tired eventually and stop trying...” 

You inhaled a shuddery breath. That wasn’t what you wanted. It was frustrating that Joe even framed it like he had to work hard for it, but you didn’t want Joe to stop trying.

“And I don’t even want to get inside. I just want to... I don’t know, I guess I just want to open the door and have a look. Wanna see you.” 

Somehow the concept of being seen felt just as bad as letting someone in.

“Joe…” you whispered, and watched as Joe grabbed hold of both of your hands, interlacing your fingers together in a bid to feel closer. Your touching knees weren’t really covering Joe’s want for closeness.

“Am I making sense? Do I–” he sounded impossibly sweet and gentle, it was almost too soft for you to bear.

“Yea, no, you are! You are, but…”  

“But what?” 

But your fingers had held onto those doorhandles for so long they’d sort of cramped into their set position and prying them loose was actually the painful bit. That first step of opening up was what had you worried, because what if Joe got a little glimpse inside and didn’t care for what he’d see. 

Because that had happened before. 

Or at least... that’s how you had always interpreted it.

Because you’d felt like you had let people look inside, but then they hadn’t really seen you. They’d just barged in and didn’t listen when you’d said, stop, that’s enough. 

Rational thought told you not to accuse Joe of things he hadn’t done, but you couldn’t help your body anticipating the worst all the same.

“Hey,” Joe whispered and pulled you from your thoughts, big eyes filled with worry that didn’t feel pitying to you. More warm and kind, like he was trying to show you that he would see. That he would listen.

“It’s just me.” 

“Well… you see, it’s not. It’s not just you. It’s you and,” you glanced down between the two of you and, for a split second, thought of mentioning Joe’s dick.

Classic joke.

It’s you and your huge shlong that counts as its own individual.

But Joe hadn’t just tried to convince you to be honest with him for you to throw a dick joke into his face, and so instead you let your eyes find Joe’s again and you finished, “me.” 

You said it like it should really worry Joe that it was you he was with.

Like he had made a great mistake by being here.

Like there was something terribly wrong with you.

Which, you kind of thought there was. A little.

But Joe didn’t think so, and his facial expression pulled into something past confusion. He seemed almost offended at the light that you’d just placed yourself into, so you scrambled to explain what you meant.

“It’s you and me, and I don’t… you know, there is... so, before it’s not always been- s-sometimes it’s not been– not that I don’t trust you, like, I know you wouldn’t want to hurt me, but, it’s not like, like, it’d b-be your fault, it’s just that it’s scary ‘cause then, what if it does, a-and–”

“Hey.” Joe stopped you. He’d heard enough.

You were getting ridiculously close to crying, Joe might as well just start getting dressed again, you thought. This was going nowhere, fucking pathetic. Joe hadn’t flirted with you all day for him to spend his evening comforting his crying date.

“Take a deep breath.” he instructed. Wasn’t a question.

You shuddered through an exhale first before you took a quick big gulp of air. 

“Slower. Do one more, slow. Close your eyes.” 

Joe sounded more stern than he had done before, and you reluctantly followed his instructions. Sort of. Joe had to give you a raise of his eyebrows and a little nod before you closed your eyes. When you exhaled your slow breath, you noticed how dropping your shoulders stopped your lips from wobbling. 

“Another one.” he said, sounding a little bit more gentle this time.

You felt Joe press a thumb in between your eyes, pulling upwards, easing your frown. He did that a couple of times until he couldn’t see it anymore. 

“Okay. Good. That’s better.” 

Then he used both his hands to trace lines from your forehead down either side of your face until his finger tips met over your lips.

You visibly relaxed a little more, eyes still closed as you let your head hang to the side a little.

After doing that for a while, after your lips had slightly parted on their own, Joe softly asked, “Does this feel nice?” 

“Mhm,” you tried nodding but weren’t sure you even moved all that much. 

“Good. S’all I want.” 

You snapped your eyes open, immediately tense again and ready to argue, because intentions didn’t matter. No one had even intended to hurt you before, but it had still happened. Hence this whole fear-plant that lived inside you now.

“But, what if–”

“You tell me.” Joe quickly interrupted you. 

“Okay, but–” 

“And then I’ll listen.” 

Oh.

Hit the nail right on its head.

You inhaled a sharp breath and pulled your bottom lip into your mouth.

“You tell me, and I’ll listen, okay?” Joe sounded dead serious.

You thought for a moment, and then nodded.

“Yea, okay.” 

“Yea?”

“Yea.” 

“Promise me one thing.” Joe pulled both your hands into his chest, curling them under his chin as he forced eye-contact with you.

“You have to tell me. Talk to me. I don’t want you– you’re not allowed to… I don’t know. To push through. I don’t want you to pretend everything is okay when it’s not, all right? Any discomfort and you just say stop, okay?” 

You felt your eyes well up and before Joe could witness tears spilling over, you were quick to lean in and kiss him, pulling your hands from his grasp and using both to pull him closer by the back of his neck.

“Mm– promise me, you gotta promise–” Joe was hardly stopping you from kissing him, but he needed you to say it.

“I promise, I promise,” you urgently said, not even sure if you even knew how to tell Joe to stop, but your gut-feeling overwhelmingly wanted you to kiss him, so you did.

And feverishly so.

You felt Joe smile against your mouth as he let both arms curl around your middle, pulling you into his lap, and it felt a little silly how suddenly, Joe’s earlier words settled within you.

“It’s just me.” 

He was right.

This was just Joe.

It was like you had only just understood what he had even meant when he’d said that.

“It’s just you.” you repeated in a whisper, reassuring yourself as Joe kissed down your neck.

But Joe actually thought that what you’d said made more sense. That you were actually right, and he needed you to know he understood.

“It’s me and you, all right?” Joe corrected, breaking from you just long enough for you to pull your top off, and then going back in for your mouth.

“It’s me and you.”

---

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add yourself

[the-maddened-hatter]

Honestly Monk was SUCH a good show for me to see as a young teen I'm ngl. Like yeah, it's not an overly accurate representation of OCD and I'm sure there's things that probably didn't age very well, but OH MY GOD can you even comprehend how amazing it was to get to see a canonically disabled, ND, and, more specifically, PROFOUNDLY ANXIOUS badass main character when you're a freshly diagnosed autistic & anxious young 12-13 year old with the only real advice from a crappy psychiatrist being to "learn to step out of your comfort zone or consider beginning prescription medications."

To get to see "do it scared" depicted in cinematic action in both heroic and relatively mundane contexts. A touch-averse, routine adhering, socially awkward, sensory issue having character as a SMART AND COURAGEOUS PROTAGONIST!

Hell, it was pretty amazing (for me at least) to see a character use those disinfectant handwipes every episode! I have severe food allergies and I have to carry a pack or canister with me for when I need to eat in town or when I've had to go into a grocery store and now that there's a pandemic and food allergies are rather more of an understood issue it's not all that weird a thing to have, but at the time it was definitely yet another step apart from peers and by god was it awesome to see a (again, smart and awesome) character use them too, even if it wasn't for quite the same reasons.

There's things that took longer to germinate too (and tbh still are).

That you don't owe people being "normal and easy". Yes, you have to be cognizant of their needs, boundaries, and how your behavior affects them, but it's still okay to need help and to do things in odd ways and have unusual needs.

That sometimes you're going to fail, do things badly, not be able to be as reasonable as you logically know you should. That logic can't always beat fear even when it should, and that it doesn't make YOU a failure, it means you have to try again another time or try differently.

And that sometimes people aren't as good for you as they seem, no matter how much history you have, and it hurts, it truly does, but sometimes it leads you to connect, by pure chance, with a compassionate stranger, and time will make the disparities between them clearer to the point that when you look back you don't know how you ever thought they were your ally just because they put up with your problems

[naomiarai]

bsf tyun coming over to your place, finals just ended and god, you could use some relaxing time with him. a little talking somehow leads to the topic of “if youve ever received head” now sex talk with taehyun wasn't weird, it just wasnt often and that aspect made it a little awkward. but when you let out a quick “no” at the said question; you think youve never seen taehyun so wide eyed. youve seriously never been eaten out? he asks with pure amusement. all you could let out was another pathetic “no”, this was embarrassing in a way, what if he thinks you're really inexperienced with this kind of shit even though you guys have been friends to the point to even talk about it?

is that weird or something..? you ask, anticipating his answer, no, god no thats not weird, i just couldn't fathom that nobody ever made you feel good like that he says in a rush. wow,, for it to be surprising, oral sex must be the base of even putting a dick inside a pussy you think. but now it intrigues you, how does it feel to have someone's tongue right on your cunt? its definitely strange to imagine but its a thought that comes to mind if youve got someone surprised and only ever had dick inside you.

b..but im curious, i wonder how it feels.., you mumble to yourself, but seeing taehyun turn his head towards you, he heard it too. he pauses for a moment before saying,, i can make that happen, if you want to that is, he says ever so simply like he just didn't ask he if he could eat you out. your heart drops, did you hear that right? did he just blatantly ask if he could possibly eat you out? oh my god. you feel so warm all of a sudden, something along your mind giving you the feeling of saying “yes”.

but what if it ruins your friendship? what if, you gain feelings for him after he gives you head and its never normal again?. over here...wouldn't the bed be more convenient..? you say before you could regret it. taehyun looks at you again, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a genuine grin, so im guessing that's a yes? hm? he asks with a tone of triumph. you look at him with doe eyes,, whispering uh..h yes..

and thats how found yourself here, naked legs spread open, and taehyun in-between them, a tight grip on your thighs to keep you from moving. anticipation fills you as be simply urges you to relax and he'd take care of the rest >< (how is taehyun so calm here idk) you slightly flinch at the feeling of his tongue flat against your hole, the cold feeling sending vibrations down ur spine. his fingers move in circles around ur inner thigh, as he sucks at your clit as he uses his other hand to flick at it. god, its seriously just making you wetter, it felt so fucking good.

a-...ah, dont stop- god you say letting out soft moans, you could feel taehyun smiling at your cunt, really happy huh? your thighs start shaking right as he slips his tongue inside your gaping hole, smoothly rubbing against your walls, edging you so close to your orgasm. i can feel ur close, come for me yeah? he says and its got your pussy throbbing, almost immediately cumming at the end of his sentence.

he looks at you with delight as your chest heaves up and down, recovering from your orgasm. you feel heavenly, gosh was he good ;3 he goes back to lick up the mess u made,,, youll have to do this again, with an excuse that you'd only done it once...

[inbarfink]

I'm pretty sure my very first post about 'Fionna and Cake' was about pointing out this line in "Fionna Campbell"

Is a reference to "I Remember You", where Marceline said that very same line to Ice King

At the time I just took it as another little bit of Foreshadowing for the connection between Fionnaworld and Simon.

But now that we've established a bit more about Cake's plights, and I started thinking more about this... I wonder if this line is meant to highlight the ways in which Simon's struggles under the Curse of the Magic Crown and Cake's struggles after having her Magic taken away from her kinda mirror each other.

You know, turning into Ice King took away Simon's mind and ability to reason (by pumping his brain full of Madness and Sadness) and his ability to communicate (by tanking his already-kinda-awkward communication skills) and even kinda took away his body.

And becoming an ordinary cat did all of these things for Cake as well - took away her mind and ability to reason (by giving her an intelligence closer to a regular housecat) and her ability to communicate (by making her unable to speak or even comprehend human speech)

And taking away her voice and the Stretchy body that is clearly the one she feels most comfortable with.

And ... so what happened in that scene back in IRY is Ice King, in the middle of writing a love song about Princess Bubblegum, suddenly has a moment of Clarity about how lonely and miserable he is. Enough Clarity to know that he's unfathomably sad and that there's something Wrong with him that's sabotaging all of his relationship - but not enough clarity to know what it is. So he just... has a total breakdown

Lashing out and throwing ice magic anywhere. Then Marceline, uncomfortable and worried about Ice King's behavior, tackles him and says the Line.

Meanwhile, in the first episode of 'Fionna and Cake'...

Both Fionna and Cake feel like there's something off about their lives, But Fionna can at least articulate it better as like, general ennui or a quarter-life crisis, rather than Cake's little housecat mind not really comprehending or capable of fully expressing what she's feeling at all.

Leading to concerning behavior such as her apparently not eating for the last three days.

And suddenly, she has her moment of Clarity. She sees these Portal Sparkles and she seems to know on some level that they'll do something good for her. Especially as she tries to shove her head in the ice

And later is shown obsessed with ice in general - even without the sparkles directly being around.

On some level, Cake understands the mechanics of the Portal Sparkles better than Fionna does - but on all other levels she's still a housecat and probably has no idea what is going on with her own mind as well.

And from Fionna's perspective she's just acting weird and spreading ice all over the house and lashing out at her in her confusion over her own feelings.

I think, perhaps whatever part of Simon's subconscious has subtle control over Fionnaworld noticed the similarities between Cake's situation and his own memories of being the Ice King - and thus, Marceline's old words coming out of Fionna's mouth.

The similarities don't end there, either. Cake and Simon both have to go through a lot grief with people still treating them as their old selves. General folks in Ooo treating Simon like Ice King

And Fionna's tendency to be overprotective of Cake even though Cake is now an incredibly OP shapeshifter and Fionna's still just an athletic human

And to speak for her even though she can speak for herself now

And sometimes kinda condescending to her about her own judgement

All make Cake feel, and not unjustifiably so, that Fionna still sees her as her old self, as a Housecat. She literally says so in the same episode where Fionna and Cake's friendship is tested the most.

And Cake's anxious desire to bring Magic into her world even after it was confirmed that she can at least stay as herself in Fionnaworld, I think that's also a mirror of Simon's anxieties. Simon felt like he, an ordinary non-magical man, could never truly fit in within the wacky and magical world of Ooo

And Cake might've been afraid of the same being true in reverse about being a Magical Cat in the least Magical world in the whole multiverse. At the very least she must've been worried about being forced to pretend to be a non-magical cat again like Simon tried to make her do back in Farmworld.

(Remember how her failure to pull this off almost got her eaten?)

And in the end, the resolution to both of these mirror dilemma was... kind of the same? Well, sort of. Fionnaworld now has a bit more of the Magic and Weirdness in it but it's not like Simon made Mainworld Ooo less wacky. But even with that extra bit of Multiverse Wackiness going on in Fionnaworld now... if the Normal Guy can get along among the strange and magical creatures

The Magical Cat can get along with all the normal and mundane people.

[delopsia]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Still?"

"Old habits die hard."

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

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

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

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

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

"Huh?" 

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

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

"Yeah." Lie. 

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

It's too damn quiet in this truck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's reasonably light, all things considered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And why did you agree to it?

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

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

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

"You as an accountant?" Snickering. 

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

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

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

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

"Rhett?" 

"I hear it."

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

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

Rhett jumps for the shifter. 

Wood snaps.

The truck dips forward.

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

And everything is still.

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

"Did it...?"

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

The bridge is gone. 

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

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

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

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

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

Something thunks against the floor. Heavy. Solid. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You look away. 

...yeah. 

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

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

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

Life...stops.

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

You're right back at the rodeo again. 

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

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

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

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

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

"I love you."

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

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

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

Rhett hasn't said anything about it.

Neither have you.

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

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

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

Rhett's hum dissolves into a chuckle. "Guess we really should have listened when she told us to watch what we wish for." 

He peeks at you through the corner of his eye, a strand of brown hair falling out from behind his ear and into his face. You catch his gaze, locking for a lingering moment. His mouth rises into a weary smile.

"We should have wished for endless snacks and a million-dollar lottery ticket while we were at it," you can only imagine what other things you two have begged poor Cecelia for. "And maybe a spare blanket."

Rhett blinks. Staring into the fire. His eyes widen, lighting up with a realization. "I got some in the truck."

"Lottery tickets?"

"Blankets," he's trying his best to sound annoyed, but his own grin betrays him. 

Something in his knee pops as he stands up, audibly protesting, but he's already on his feet. There go those spurs again, chiming away with every step, glinting in the light, and...

"What is that?" You ask, with a tilt of your head. It doesn't help you see any better, but the effort is there. 

Rhett freezes. "Huh?"

"Come here," beckoning him closer. "You've got something on the back of your boot."

"Those are called spurs, sweetheart," but Rhett comes back to you anyway.

He...meant that as a joke. Yeah. That's what it was. 

...right?

"No, it's..." There's something silver just above the spur on his left heel, so sharp that it pierces straight through the leather. Something long and gray hangs from it. Feels like plastic. It looks like...a rubber fish?

"'s that a damn Rapala?" Rhett's voice rises in pitch. Confused. 

"I didn't know fishing lures could catch cowboys," giggling, you pinch the hook, tugging it from the hole it's created in his shoe. The thing is ancient. Its once brilliant silver scales now a muted yellow, the singular remaining hook mangled and warped into an unrecognizable mess. 

He reaches down, opening that big hand of his. The little lure practically shrinks when you place it in his palm, suddenly nothing but a minuscule hunk of plastic and metal. "I knew they were in the creek but I didn't expect them to be all the way up here, too." 

You think that you can still hear Cecelia calling out, warning you two to watch where you step and to be careful in the shallow creek waters. It's a wonder how neither of you ever got a hook in your foot. You've lost track of how many summer Sunday afternoons you've spent in Calico Creek. You don't think you even liked visiting their church; you only ever tagged along because of what came after the service ended. 

Thump_

"What was that?" You're pretty sure it came from outside, but you're not about to dismiss the potential of someone lurking in the shadows of the room. 

"Dunno," but he's about to find out, slinking toward the door like a stray cat. You don't know how he does it, but his boots are suddenly quiet. The spurs on his heels don't even sing. All holding their breath as he opens the door. 

It's snowing so hard that you can see the shape of the wind when it bursts through the gap, cloaked like a ghost in a white sheet. Swirling around the room, all too eager to eat away at the warmth of the fire. Circling closer and closer with all the ferocity of a pack of hungry wolves. A shiver races up your spine.

"Hang on."

The door slams shut, and—

"Rhett?" You squeak. Where did he...did he go outside? He must have. You only looked away for a moment, and you would have heard it if he had rushed into the backroom. 

In his place lingers, what you can only describe as a sentient winter wind, rushing through the thick fabric of your clothes as you stand and make your way to the door. It doesn't matter how long you've been huddled by the fire. By the time your hand finds the ice-cold door knob, you're shivering again. 

Snow bursts through the gap once more, splattering across your face. Clinging to your eyelashes, wiggling down through the collar of your jacket. 

"Rhett?" But the midnight air swallows your voice like a sponge. It doesn't even echo. You can't see a thing. Not the truck, not Calico Creek, not a damn thing. "Rhett!"

No such reply. It's as if he was never even here in the first place, but you can vaguely see his footprints in the snow. They don't go far. 

Or rather, you can't see them go very far out. You could be floating through space right now, and you would be none the wiser about it. It's all just...black. Even as you step through the door, your unsteady frame slammed by a bigger, angrier gust of wind.

"Rhett!" Your voice should be able to get louder than this, but no such thing happens. Maxed out. "Rhett!"

You still don't see him. What the hell did he go looking for? Shit, what if it was someone lurking outside that grabbed him? And now you've just made it known to the whole forest that you're out here by yourself! 

A shape moves in the distance. 

You jump back, snow-caked boots sliding across the floor. Your grip on the door handle is the only reason you don't fall.

It's getting closer. You think you can see two legs. Walking closer and closer, and—

"Rhett!" Your voice breaks this time.

But it's him. Shoulders coated in a dusting of snow. Hair blowing into his windburnt face. Some kind of thick fabric bundled up into his arms. Blankets, you think. The wind blows harder, and he disappears into the sea of white once again, the waves trying to suck him back into the abyss.

Snow tumbles into the front door as he steps inside. He's carried half of tonight's snowfall into the damn cabin. But you can't think about that right now.

"Blankets?" You don't know if your voice is shaking from the cold or if you're just mad. "You run out into a blizzard and scare me half to death for fucking blankets?" 

Rhett Abbott has had his soul replaced with that of a newborn deer because he looks like one caught in the headlights. Wide blue eyes staring back at you, can't possibly fathom what has got you so mad. As if he's not the one who just inexplicably ran off into the night with no regard for his own safety. 

Those snow-dusted eyelashes flutter. "You said you wanted one." Innocent as can be. 

And you...you did ask for those, but. "You could have said something before you just up and walked out." 

"Were you worried about me?" His head tilts to the side. 

"Maybe I was," muttering, you turn back to the fire. There's a chair sitting in the back corner. Wooden. Didn't look all that inviting until just now, swallowed up by one of the many shadows cast by the fire. The chilly air has collected over here, clustering into its own little storm, but you can't feel it. Not with how hot your face has gotten all of a sudden. 

The chair creaks beneath your weight. It breaking is the last thing you need right now, but fortunately, it seems to hold. You lean forward, face falling into your hands. Of course. Of course, he went to get the blankets that you asked for. And here you are yelling at him like a damsel in distress as if he wasn't born and raised in conditions worse than this. 

Something drapes across your shoulders. Fuzzy. Smells like the bonfire the Abbott's had a few weeks back, burning away the brush collected from the most recent storm. Another one wedges itself into your lap, Rhett stubbornly pushing it onto you as if you're the one covered in snow and not him. 

"What are you doing?" Peeking through the gaps in your fingers.

"Buildin' you a cocoon and hangin' ya from the ceilin'," he hums, and if you didn't know him any better, you might have thought he was dead serious. "Wanna see if you'll come out with wings like one of them butterflies."

You're putting on your best frown. 

Or at least, you think you are. You can't really feel your face. "This implies that I look like a caterpillar." 

"Hey, caterpillars are cute," says Rhett Abbott, the man who yelped when he saw a bright green caterpillar inching up his pant leg last summer."Y' remember that book we used to have where the little dude kept eatin' everything?"

"The one you took a bite out of?" Yeah, you remember that. 

"The caterpillar did that." Still just as defensive as he was when Cecelia started asking questions about what happened to the book. "Not me."

"Uhuh." Sure.

The last of the snowflakes scatter from his eyelashes, cascading down onto his bright red cheeks and melting into minuscule little droplets of water that seem to dance in the firelight. A tiny galaxy that is wiped out by a singular stroke of your thumb. 

...you're touching his face.

You don't recall when your hand left your side, but it's resting against his jaw, your thumb still damp with the evidence of your crime. He's noticed it. There's no way he hasn't noticed it, but he's not telling you to stop. And...well...you're already here. 

Properly curling your hand around his cheek is the easiest thing you've done in a lifetime, his soft scruff tickling your palm. Rhett still doesn't say anything. Hell, it's so quiet that you can hear the minuscule sound of him breathing through his nose. His lashes flutter again. Thinking about something.

He tilts his head, leaning into your touch. 

"You're frozen." You noticed that a long time ago, but if you don't break the silence, you're gonna combust.

"Yeah, that kinda..." his mouth hangs open, tongue visibly faltering for a good moment or three, "happens when...you snow."

Your giggle is so loud that it echoes, but you hardly notice it. "When you snow, huh?" 

He's running from you. 

You can't believe it. He's squirming up to his feet and turning around, his hands rising to cover his face in a fashion identical to what you did mere minutes ago. Mutters something, but it's so muffled that you can't understand a word he's said. You don't necessarily care to figure it out, either. A little bit distracted by the sound of puzzle pieces clicking into place. 

You think you get it now. 

The floorboard squeals as you stand, the sharp sound eating away every bit of the certainty that you just built up, but your momentum still carries you forward. Feet falling one after the other as if caught in a trance. 

Rhett turns to look at you, then back to the door. 

He tries to, at least. 

It happens on reflex. You grabbing ahold of his jacket collar, pulling so hard that you both stumble. He gasps. So do you. Chest to chest in this tiny old cabin, nothing but the flickering fire to guide your eyes as you drink in his face. The same old, big blue eyes you've always known. Pouty lips wobbling, torn between a lopsided smile and trying to come up with something to say. 

If this were a dream, it would be perfect. Seamlessly falling into place like trained actors.

But this is real, and you're both moving at the same time, and your noses clash at the same time your mouths do. You stumble. His arm cinches around you. Pulls you closer. Teeth clatter. It's everything that a Hallmark first-kiss scene isn't, and it's incredible. All those movies, and they still couldn't quite capture the dream of kissing your best friend in—

Best friend.

"Shit, I..." Jerking away. Eyes wide. Breath caught in your throat. "I shouldn't have..." Shouldn't have what? Kissed him without asking? 

Oh, but he's grinning at you like a damn fool. Wobbly smile and sparkling gaze, flickering back and forth between your lips and eyes. You don't feel the hand resting on the small of your back until it's pulling you back in, lips crashing once more. 

A faint twinge of mint and chocolate still lingers on his lips, the only remaining evidence for his crime of raiding his momma's jar of Christmas chocolates. Or maybe cowboys just taste like that. Rough as stone, carved and broken into jagged edges by the test of time, but sweet as can be on your lips. 

He steps forward at the same time you do, already can't stand the minuscule gap between your bodies. But your foot slips between his, and the side of his spur catches on the toe of your shoe, and you're falling. 

Your elbow slams into the wooden floor. Chin bouncing off his too-firm chest. It's a damn miracle that he's the one who fell backward. You may not have survived if your positions were reversed, solid as he is. 

"Guess I fell for you," Rhett wheezes, groaning low in his throat. 

"Idiot," giggling.

Figuring out where your legs have landed is a task of its own, your frozen joints protesting any further movement for fear of another catastrophic fall. Rhett doesn't make much of an attempt to move. Content to part his legs and let your body fit between them, knees resting against your hips. 

His palm finds your cheek, calloused fingertips stroking the soft skin there. You're melting into it before you can realize what you're doing, drowning in the sensation of how big his hand is. You think it could cover half of your face without even trying.

"'n here I thought I'd fucked this all up," his hum vibrates through his chest and right into yours; kind of feels like distant thunder. 

"I didn't know how to bring it back up after Joy left." It's easy again. Talking to him, confessing exactly what's on your mind without fear of further fracturing things. "Then you didn't say anything either, and I...figured I'd read into it the wrong way." 

His thumb finds the corner of your mouth, gently tugging it up into a squished smile. "Oops." 

You can't help but reach for him, too, your hand finding his cheek once more, just for the hell of it. In the shadows of the fire, you can see the small chunk of skin permanently missing from his nose. An old scar from a kitchen fight with Perry a while back, courtesy of Perry's wedding ring and an argument that you don't remember the context of. Something about a remark Perry made on an already tense night. 

Should you?

Rhett blinks.

Yeah, you should.

"Watcha doin'?" He asks, scrunching his nose as you lean in, pressing your lips to that little scar. 

"Something I've thought about doing ever since you barged through my front door with blood pouring down your face," pressing another to the tip of his nose. 

"Funny, I recall y' wantin' to hit me at first." 

"Because you scared the hell out of me." 

"'s that why y' tripped me just now?" There's that light tone in his voice. Taunting. "Revenge?"

"Shut up." You know where this is going.

So does he. "Make me—" 

Kissing him quiet. Another thing off your bucket list. Maybe it was on his, too, because he laughs into your mouth like he's been waiting on this his whole damn life. Hell, you know you have. 

Your skin prickles beneath your layers of clothing, burning from head to toe, and you can only peel your winter coat off so fast. Pulling away from him might be the hardest thing you've ever done, but in the time it takes you to shrug it off, Rhett has gotten his off, too. That old black undershirt hugs his frame a little bit too well; you almost stop and stare.

Almost. 

Rhett's arm loops over your shoulders as you come back to him, hand curling around your bicep, lazily hanging on. Those jackets must have been a mile-thick because you don't recall being this close last time, his chest against yours, heart beating so heavy that you can feel it. 

But you're a little bit too far down, an ache blooming in the back of your neck at the strain to reach him. You don't want to move, but now that you've noticed it, the pain is the only thing that you can think about. Gives you no real choice but to dig your knees into the hard floor and scoot up—

"Mmh—!" 

You don't remember breaking away from Rhett, but you must have because you're blinking down at him, and he's found time to clamp a hand over his mouth. Eyes the size of dinner plates. Red in the ears.

"Did I...?" Suddenly aware of where your thigh is resting right now. 

"Just a little bit," he doesn't seem to have any interest in making you move, either, using the arm around your shoulders to pull you back down once more. 

You don't know how you've survived so long without this. 

The pressure of his lips, the stubble on his jaw, the awkward bump of noses that haven't learned where to go quite yet. It's all so new, and yet you can already feel the embers of an addiction burning to life, roaring as hot as the fire, and you might need him more than you need to breathe. Heaven is a place on earth, and its name is Rhett Abbott. 

Your forearms brace themselves on either side of his head, steadying yourself before you can become inconceivably lost. And again, your thigh unintentionally presses into him, and he's groaning low in his throat, lithe hips bucking up into it. You can't help yourself this time, intentionally grinding into the growing tent in his jeans, feeling his knees flutter around you. 

"I'm sorry, I..." clarity strikes like lightning.  "I'm rushing things, aren't I?"

"Naw, I'm..." he looks off to the side. Sheepish. "Kind of into it." 

Even now, he's still Rhett. Bold one moment and shy the next, his impulses always a moment quicker than everything else. You don't need to ask if he's mortified about saying that out loud; the big dummy is already showing it. Gulping so hard that you can see the muscles in his neck flex with the effort, his cheeks three shades redder. 

You throw one of your legs over his, straddling it, the silence broken by the sound of your knee hitting the floor a little too hard. And again, he covers his mouth when your thigh grinds into him, but he fails to conceal the slight roll of his eyes. Breathing hard through his nose, impulsively twitching up into your touch.

"You're something else, cowboy," you can't help but find your way to his jaw, pressing kisses into the soft outline of bone. His legs flutter around your thigh, clinging onto it as you work it against him. The arm around your shoulders tightens; you fear you might be anchored here. 

It's on the side of his neck that you can feel the faint rumble of a moan, so quiet that it fails to make its way past his hand, but it's there. You suppose you shouldn't be surprised about it, but your daydreams never involved getting around this obstacle. There's no way you're prying his hand away, not with how he uses the same damn hand to cling onto the back of a thousand-pound bull every Sunday night. 

Your lips make their way to the space below his ear, sucking lightly at an old scar that lingers there. He jumps. Hand coming off his mouth just long enough to audibly suck in a breath, cutting off the beginnings of a whine. His back rises off the ground, grinding into you the best he can. But it's not enough. He's still chasing you like he wants more, and you still can't hear him.

You're so quick to replace your thigh with your hand that you can almost deceive yourself into believing you've done this before. Palm pressing firm against his bulge, gently massaging the heel of it into him, and he jerks again. Impulsively reaching for your wrist, head tipping back, lips parted. 

"That...you...I..." he can't talk. Words broken apart by surprisingly ragged breaths. Worked up over so fucking little. It has no right to make you clench around his thigh; desperation is a hellishly contagious virus. 

You might be drooling. 

Lazy, you fall into the space next to him, your leg splayed over his, hyper-aware of the way you've just tucked yourself under his arm and how perfectly you fit. That rodeo buckle falls open at the slightest pressure, button popping open just as eagerly. He shouldn't get anything out of the sensation of you tugging on his zipper, but his hips rise as if he can feel every bit of it. 

The moment your hand wraps around his cock, his head thunks against yours. Not hard enough for it to hurt, but the impact still makes you wince.

"Ow."

"I'm sorr—" his teeth sink into his bottom lip. Biting back a noise as your thumb blindly traces the underside of his tip. "Sorry. Shit." 

If only you could go back in time and tell yourself to do this sooner. You don't know how you can ever expect to go back from this. Lying with your head propped on the side of his chest, gingerly drawing him through the opening of his jeans, the head of his cock so wet that it glistens in the firelight, a bead of precum spilling over, barely caught by your thumb. 

Rhett's scruffy cheek presses against your forehead, blindly nuzzling into you as your hand wanders, gradually working down his length. It's such a simple motion, but his hips rise to chase you on your way back up, a stifled noise rumbling out of his chest. The tip of your index finger glides over his tip, rubbing past his slit and—

"Mmh!" Jumping like a live wire. Still muffled, but louder than last time. 

You can't help but repeat it, using your thumb to draw loose circles against his weeping tip. Those hips jump again, slipping from your grasp. But it doesn't take more than a second to get ahold of him again, a sharp little sound slipping out of him as you pick up right where you left off. Swirling around and around and around. 

"Who taught you how to..." He sucks in a breath. "Who taught..." But he can't finish that thought, trailing off into nothingness once more. 

You haven't the slightest clue where your voice has gone. Lost somewhere in your throat, stolen by the same thing that took Rhett's ability to speak. 

All of a sudden, he's moving. Rolling onto his side, blindly guiding himself with his nose until he can properly find your lips, stealing them away before you can find a way to talk. You don't know if you could have come up with words even if you wanted to. Not when he whines into your mouth like that.

Whatever you were trying to do before this is lost to the abyss. Too wrapped up in the feeling of his lips melting against yours and the tiny noises he's making to realize that you're properly stroking him now. Working up and down his cock as if you're already familiar with it, wrist lazily twisting on every upward glide.

"Shit, I'm—" His voice is raspy all of a sudden. "I..."

He doesn't finish that thought, either. Mouth hanging open with a silent moan, his hand reaching to cling to the side of your shoulder. Something to hang onto. He might crumble into a million tiny pieces if he doesn't. And he's panting into your mouth like a dog in the blistering heat; it's hardly even a kiss anymore, but neither of you is making any move to pull away. 

His breath audibly catches in his throat. Cock twitching, cumming with a whine. Painting your still-moving hand white, spreading over his length, makes this sickeningly loud squelching sound that ought to make your head swim. Fuck there's so much of it, rope after rope of white, making a damn mess that you haven't the slightest hope of cleaning up. 

"Sens—ah!" His big hand dwarfs your wrist as he grabs it. Forcing it still. 

"Too much?" 

"Too much." 

It's quiet. 

At least, it is for a moment or two. The wind squeals outside the fragile window, ripping around the edges of the cabin, frantically searching for a crack in the foundation to squeeze through, desperate to steal the heat of the fire out from under you. But the flames still dance, the wood crackling as it burns. 

The squeal of the wooden floor is your only indication that Rhett is moving, rolling over top of you in the blink of an eye. His mouth finds the side of your neck, the scruff clinging to his chin brushing against the skin there, as if the heat of his lips alone wasn't enough to make you gasp.

"I thought..." Words. Where the hell are your words? What were you even about to ask him?

"Never said I was done," his voice vibrates up your spine, rattling the thoughts swirling around your head. 

His body slips between your knees like it's something you've been doing for your entire lives. And maybe he did wind up there once a few months ago when you snatched the hat off his head and tried to flee the scene, but you don't remember it feeling quite like this. 

You don't get to linger on that thought for too long. Not when he's pepering kisses across your sensitive neck, his tongue boldly darting out to trace the outline of a vein. Heat flushes across your body. The tiny, invisible embers of a fire sparking to life, the smoke already beginning to cloud your head.

"Rhett," gasping. Now it's your turn to squeeze your legs around him, vaguely aware of how you can feel his hip bones pressing against you. Firm, nothing but muscle trained from a lifetime of ranch work, rippling under your touch. You can't help yourself, grabbing hold of a bicep with your only clean hand. 

And you can just barely catch how he pauses, peering up at you through thick lashes, like something has just occurred to him. Doesn't make any move to voice it, but his smile is enough of a hint. 

"Is this," smooching at the collar of your shirt, the flimsiest barrier that you wish wasn't there, "alright?"

On their own, your legs squeeze around him, forcing him closer. "More than alright." Because telling him that you never want him to stop might be a little too much too soon.

Big hands dip beneath your shirt, tracing with his nails as they glide up your sides. Your back arches up off the ground. Not sure if you're chasing the sensation or running away from it. The bottom of your shirt catches on his wrists, sliding up until he's pushed the fabric over your chest. 

"So fuckin' pretty," downright marveling at you, his eyes shimmering like he's just found a pot of gold. There's a whole night ahead of you, but he doesn't give himself time to linger. There's a whole lifetime of kisses to catch up on, and he's already getting started, peppering his way down your chest. 

You've waited all this time, only to have one available hand to use, forced to let go of his bicep and curl into his hair instead, fingers twirling in the loose curls that rest at his nape. Can't do both. Not without making a bigger mess out of your cum stained hand, and it might just be the worst thing that's ever happened to you. 

Because here he is. Real and warm and alive and kissing at the underside of your breast, those big blue eyes flickering up to drink in your expression, and you can't touch him how you want to. You feel like you're gonna float away. One more kiss, and you're gone. Out the window. Never to be seen or heard from again. One with the snow. 

Rhett laughs against your belly, almost sends you straight through the roof instead. "'m I takin' too long?"

"Huh?" Blinking.

"You're squintin' at me like you're mad 'bout somethin'," and now that he says that, you can feel your face begin to relax. 

"I'm not mad." Have your internal thoughts always been that obvious?

"Your little nose is scrunched up," kissing closer to the start of your sweats, poking his tongue out to lick his way down. "You're mad."

"I'm not mad," holding up your sticky palm, "I'm just frustrated that I can't use my hand." 

He was just in the process of curling his fingers beneath your waistband, but he pauses, fishing for something in his back pocket. That red handkerchief again. Passes it off to you before returning to the task at hand, but you're already one step ahead, lifting your hips until he's gotten the fabric over the swell of your ass. 

You don't realize he's stolen your underwear until the breeze hits you, thighs shyly squeezing together. Don't really know what for; it's not as if you weren't anticipating this, but now that you're in the moment...

Rhett tilts his head, looks kind of like a confused puppy sitting at your heels, those gears visibly twisting and turning in his head. His eyes widen with a thought, and before you know it, he's reaching for his own waistband, shoving them past his legs and over his ankles. 

Now you're both naked from the waist down. 

He reaches for your ankle, delicately lifting your leg until he can kiss at the inside of it. Not satisfied until he's marked every square inch of you. But your knees still remain defiantly glued together. Timid, as if you haven't thought about this more times than you'd like to admit. 

His hands dip beneath your naked thighs. Raking his nails down the sensitive skin there. And for a fleeting moment, the concept of worry has flown straight out the window, your legs falling open with a shiver. 

Fuck just the feeling of him kissing your inner thigh is enough to make you whine. A little spark of heat darting up your core is the tiniest thing, and yet it's the most overwhelming thing you've felt in your life. Because it's Rhett. It's Rhett fucking Abbott sucking a mark into your skin, right where it'll poke out from beneath your pajama shorts and tell everyone who sees it what you've been up to. 

"'s this too much?" He hums. He fucking hums. Sends you jumping.

"Yes." That's not what you wanted to say. "Maybe? No? I don't know." Your head thunks against the floor, can't give a damn about if it hurts or not.

Rhett pauses. "Want me to stop?"

"No!" Too loud. You said that way too loud. "No... I—I want you to keep going. It's just...new?" 

There go those hands again, massaging the fat of your thighs, stealing away whatever tension was lingering there. His mouth burns against them, working another mark into your skin, just in case the first one disappears too quickly. 

"You just tell me when it's too much, a'ight?" He murmurs, peering up at you, and it's all you can do to nod and utter a fragile 'yes.' 

There's a rising chance that he'll be bringing you home in a sack and spend the next week gluing you back together because you might fall apart at any given moment. Nerves alight with a newfound anxiousness. You don't know what for. This is Rhett you're talking about here. Same old cowboy that you've known for as long as you can remember. 

Lips find the thin skin where your thigh joins with the rest of your body. Jumping out of your skin is suddenly a very possible task. 

"Y've no idea how long I've been wantin' to do this." And that's the last thing you hear before his mouth is on you.

You might pass away on the spot. Off to heaven, hell, or whatever the fuck is out there. 

But all that comes of it is a hitched breath, a shudder racing through your body as his burning hot tongue licks a long strip up your cunt. Experimental. Does it again when your hips rise up off the floor; he's just started, and you're already impatiently chasing him. 

"Hang on, hang on. 'm takin' care of ya," you can hear the smile in his voice as he forces you back onto the floor. "Don't gotta chase me for it." 

It's a promise he's already making good on. 

Lazily mouthing at your clit, nothing but fleeting barely-there touches that have you squirming and biting into your fist. Oh, shit shit shit, he's twirling his tongue around it now, directly targeting that poor little bud for nothing but a few seconds.

Your whine is too damn loud for this little cabin; his folks probably heard you from ten miles up the road. But all Rhett does is curl his arms around your thighs, dragging you closer. One of your legs wind up over his shoulder, and you don't know when you started reaching down, but you're pawing at his forehead. Helpless as he prods his tongue at your entrance, pushing inside if only to feel you clench around him for a moment or two.

"Rhett," you don't know what you're babbling about. Didn't know you were talking until your ears catch the familiar tone of your own voice.

The bastard fucking hums, vibrating up your lower belly and through your spine, and again you're jumping. But you're not getting anywhere. Not with those arms around your thighs, holding you perfectly still as his tongue glides up through your folds, drawing a little figure eight around your clit. 

His lips wrap around it again, gently sucking on it as he flicks the tip of his tongue over it and—

"Too much!" Your hands are in his hair. Yanking him away. "Too much."

You don't know what the hell you'll do with the sight of Rhett's chin glistening in the light, thin lips stretched around a big ol' grin as he climbs back up your body. 

"Cute thing," he chuckles; you pretend you don't feel how wet his mouth is when he kisses your cheek.

He's already hard again. Cock so heavy that it can't even stand, resting against a pale, freckled thigh. It's so damn close to where you want him. Can only imagine what it would be like to feel him push into you for the first time, but there's an item critically missing here. 

Rhett's nose bumps against yours. "Y' look mad again."

"Because I just realized that we don't have lube," you grumble. 

...or maybe you do because he's on the move all of a sudden. Grabbing the pant leg of his discarded jeans and dragging them over, rustling through the pockets until he finds what he's looking for. 

Lube packets.

"Were you planning on this, or do you just keep lube on you at all times?" You can't help but ask, can't really believe what you're looking at right now.

"Believe it or not, I use it when that fuckin' barn door gets jammed," he pauses, tearing at the corner of a packet with his teeth, "but I'd rather it be you than a rusty hinge."

Eyeroll. "How romantic."

Even his oversized hand isn't enough to make his cock look any less intimidating; you thought it would dwarf in comparison, but it's almost as if the complete opposite has happened. Daunting, even as he strokes a generous amount of lube over himself. The voice in your head suggests that you might have bitten off more than you can chew, but there's only one way to find out for sure.

The calloused tip of his middle finger glides between your folds. Has you jumping a little bit. A slight pressure blooms, slowly pushing into you, his gaze fixated on the sight. It certainly feels bigger than it looked, if that is even remotely possible, blindly feeling around for a particular little spot.

The asshole knows he's found it before you even do. Pushing a second, dripping finger into you, deliberately crooking them to rub up into it. Heat sparks between your thighs. Pretty sure that's just the lube, but you're convinced that you can feel yourself getting wetter, already hopelessly desperate. 

"Rhett," mewling in a tone so unlike you that it's almost insulting. 

"What?" Tilting his head.

You didn't really think that far. Aren't particularly sure of what it is you want or why you're saying his name, but your arms lift themselves into the air, hands opening and closing in a vague grabbing motion. You still don't know what you initially wanted, but you sure would like to have him closer.

And he gives it to you. 

Carefully settles into your waiting arms without a fuss, his lips wrangled up into another one of those wild grins that you can never seem to get enough of. A strand of hair falls out from behind his ear, just long enough for the ends of it to tickle your cheek, drawing a giggle out of you. And for reasons unbeknownst to you, he giggles, too. 

His length rudely bumps against your thigh, demanding attention from both of you. Damn thing is so heavy that he has no choice but to reach down and guide himself, dragging the fat tip through your folds just for the hell of it. A slight pressure appears at your entrance. Then, disappears. Slipping upward and gliding past your clit instead. 

But then the pressure appears again, and this time he's not intentionally screwing up to mess with you. Air jams in your throat. 

"Gonna have to relax for me, sweetheart," he whispers; there's that pet name again. God, you might legally change your name to sweetheart just so he'll call you that every day for the rest of your life. Something in your lower belly unwinds. "There y' go." 

The fat tip slips into you without any further warning, simultaneously puts a shiver in your bones, and steals away the little bit of clarity that you had left. You don't even know what you're shaking for. The fire is still crackling next to you, albeit dimmer than it was before. The room is far from cold, but you can't seem to keep still, quivering like an autumn leaf in the breeze.

Rhett appears like a fucking daydream. Cradling your face in his hands, a sudden presence that you've somehow managed to forget about, murmuring something against your lips that sounds like your name. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. You don't care to find out, too eager to steal him away in a kiss instead. 

Your arms wind around his shoulders, nails biting into the muscle that you find there, clinging to him for dear life as his cock gradually pushes into you. Inch after devastating inch, your chest progressively becoming tighter and tighter, as if you're running out of space to give. 

This can't be right. There's no way that you're really doing this. Lying here in the deserted cabin out on Calico Creek, nothing but a fire and Rhett's burning body to keep you warm, thighs squeezing his sharp hips as he sinks into you. It's a scene plucked right out of your own wild imagination. You should be waking up right now. Alone, in bed, like you have every other time this has happened.

But the scruffy chin that your hand has found its way to feels so real. The kiss breaks. Rhett leans back just far enough for you to catch sight of that stupid old grin, and holy shit, you've got Rhett fucking Abbott's cock in you right now. 

"Just a little more," he's murmuring so nonchalantly, and you really, truly, have no idea if that 'little more' is gonna fit or not. 

It either fits, or you pass away in the process of trying. The jury is still out for that one. One way or another, though, he's bottoming out, body flush with yours, not a centimeter left to take, and you think you've stopped breathing. Rhett has, too, for that matter. Completely and utterly quiet as he leans back, lashes fluttering at what he finds. 

"'m almost too big for your poor little pussy, shit." He's not staring; he's marveling at you.  "You're sure I ain't hurtin' ya?" The pad of his thumb traces where you're stretched around him, hopelessly bound together with no hope of ever untangling from each other.

Experimental, his hips roll, drawing a little noise past your lips. It's so much. So, so much. Helplessly curling your legs around his waist, heels digging into the swell of his ass, as if that can possibly save you. 

Rhett's not doing much better. Dropping his head into the crook of your neck, timidly drawing back by an inch before pushing back in just as slowly as he did the first time. His labored breath burns through your skin, grumbling something incoherent below his breath. But he's doing it again, and now, now...

"Fuck, Rhett,"  whimpering, clinging to his shoulders. 

The fire could go out at this very moment, and you would never feel even a wisp of the cold, not with how he's already finding a lazy rhythm. Hardly pulling out, rocking your body beneath him. His weight is the only thing keeping you from scooting up the floor, little puffs of air knocked out of you with every thrust. 

He's got it just as bad as you do. Panting into your mouth like a dog, the softest noises resting in the back of his mouth. Still sensitive from already cumming once. 

All of a sudden, he draws back, and for a fleeting moment, you're horrified that he's already pulling out of you. But he's pushing back into you a little quicker now and, and, and...

"'s that feel good?" He's grunting, already peeling back to do that again. The length of his cock grazes against a familiar bundle of nerves. Stars sparkle behind your vision.

"Uhuh," all that you can come up with.

Now that he's found it, he's not letting up. Moving a little quicker now. A wet little noise punctuating the snap of his hips, your poor pussy helplessly fluttering around him, so fucking full of him that it almost aches. Writhing beneath him, torn between wriggling away from the sensation and pushing into it, as if you have any choice when you're pinned beneath him like this.

"Can feel ya clenchin' round my cock, sweetheart," he's grinning as he says it, cocky in the worst way imaginable. 

Your face is so hot that you're gonna catch on fire. "Please quit talking."

To his credit, he does exactly as you ask, but that does nothing to wipe the stupid fucking grin off his face. You can't escape it. Not when he's leaning back onto his haunches, just far enough to gaze down at where his thick cock disappears into you, and suddenly you can see it. Such a wide fucking stretch that you feel bite-sized beneath him.

The weeping head of his cock strikes those little nerves. Knocks a cry right out of you. And it's the worst possible thing you could have done because he's doing it again. Tilting his hips, working just a little quicker now, drilling into that same fucking spot. 

"'s that the spot?" He coos, breathless, his hands finding your hips, dragging you into. Every. Single. Thrust. "Fuck, I don't know how I even fit in ya."

You don't even know how to talk anymore, never mind put up with his senseless mutterings. Voice caught in your throat, your cries completely and utterly silent. Blindly pawing at his forearms. Squeezing. Clawing. You manage to get ahold of one, dragging it up to your chest like you're trying to hug the damn thing. 

"Rhett," your voice wavers, "Rhett, I want—" Closer. You want him closer. But all you can manage to do is pull on his arm.

Those pretty eyes widen. The next thing you know, he's coming back to you. Using his only forearm to brace his weight beside your head, his chest snug against yours once again. You only let go of his arm in exchange for his shoulders, practically pulling him into a hug. 

Rhett nuzzles his nose into the side of your cheek, his hot breath tickling your ear. "Don't want me too far away?"

"No," grumbling. 

You've got just enough leverage to crane your neck up, mouthing at the sweaty underside of his neck. You're not trying to leave marks. Not when you know that you'll have no choice but to face his family after this; it's only a matter of time before Perry puts two and two together, but you can't help yourself. Lips finding a space just beneath his ear, mindlessly sucking on the skin there, uncaring of what evidence you leave behind.

Rhett whines. Loud in your ear, sends your lower belly twisting with something inexplicably warm, pussy clamping down around him, drawing a second sound out of him. His arms shiver. Fighting to keep his weight up. Hardly has the strength to pull away from your mouth, his hips stuttering.

"Look how well you're takin' me," he's peeled back just far enough for you to get a glimpse, mouth hanging open, can't seem to shut himself up.

"It's mortifying." 

"It's hot." 

You'd argue. You want to argue, but fuck, you can't. Not when he's got you pinned to the floor like this, fat cock bullying into your poor pussy, panting into each other's mouths like it's the only thing you're good for. A lewd smack of skin on skin defiling every innocent memory you've ever had here. 

There's a familiar coil in your lower belly, your cunt clenching down around him, legs locking around him. Your vision blurs. Chest tight. "I'm..." 

"Yeah," he's agreeing before you've even finished your thought. 

It's the mistake of looking down that does you in. The obscene sight of his wet cock disappearing into you, those strong hips stuttering as you clench around him again, punctuated by that stupid breathy moan that falls off his tongue. 

Your back arches off the floor, burying your face into the crook of his neck as it hits you. Heart hammering against your chest. Ears ringing. Cumming around his cock with nothing but a choked wail. Helplessly clinging to him, squeezing him so tight that your arms ache from it.

The fire might as well jump out and engulf you in flames; everything is burning. Distantly aware of how your legs have begun to tremble again, locked so tight around him that you can feel him try and fail to pull away from you. Babbling something about how you need to let him go, one of his hands pawing at your thigh. Pushing, trying his best to peel you away.

But it's too late. His hips are seizing up, and your eyes are opening to the sound of his strangled whine, collapsing back into you. The muscles in his back twitch beneath your fingertips as his orgasm washes over him, cock spasming so hard that you can almost convince yourself that you feel his cum flooding you.

Oh.

Oh shit, he's cumming in you. 

You should be more worried about it than you actually are, lazily letting your legs unwind from around him, uncaring about the kind of problems that this is going to cause in a few minutes. Worry is beyond you, on a completely different plane of existence. The only thing your mind has the ability to comprehend is the warmth of Rhett's face nuzzling into the crook of your neck, a final shiver racing up his spine before he becomes dead weight on top of you.

"You..." he tries, breathless. "Was that...too much?"

You don't even know where your voice has gone, wordlessly laughing into his shoulder. "It was perfect," is what you try to say, but your poor tongue can hardly shape around the letters, nothing but a senseless warble leaving you instead. And maybe Rhett's got the same condition because whatever he says next makes no sense, either.

It takes a minute for him to roll off of you, and when he does, you wind up rolling with him, your naked back facing the fire. You don't really mean to, just mindlessly following, can't look away from him for more than a second. The fire isn't nearly as bright as it was when all of this first started, but certainly not any cooler. Heat licking up your sensitive back. Pleasant at first, but the longer it goes on...

"This fire is hot on my ass," your sentence makes sense this time. 

His hand drifts down onto your ass cheek. Your eyes roll. Rhett's face lights up with a giggle, lips twisting up into a smile that you need to kiss off of him. Even if you can't really lift your head, noses crashing, kisses reduced to fleeting pecks. 

"If I woulda known this was gonna happen, I promise I would've brought somethin' to clean you up with," he murmurs, reaching to brush something off of your jaw. You don't want to know what it is.

"If I had known this was going to happen," your momentum is interrupted by a yawn, "we wouldn't have made it out of my bedroom." 

He winks at you. "We can still make that happen."

"Oh my god." Eyeroll. You're gonna walk home. 

Or, you would if he didn't curl an arm around your waist and pull you into him like a teddy bear that he's suddenly decided he wants to snuggle. And you just fit into the space below his chin so perfectly that you can't possibly bring yourself to move. 

The wind wails outside, and the fire desperately needs tending to, but neither of you are moving. If anything, you're making it worse, tangling your legs together, wedging an arm around his torso, and for a moment, you can convince yourself that you can stay like this forever. Wrapped up in your favorite person, out here on Calico Creek, never to be seen or heard from again. Lost to the magic of winter. 

Your stomach growls. 

So does his.

Laughter spins through the air. 

Maybe forever out on this creek would only work if you had electricity and a snack. But you don't mind losing out on forever, so long as Rhett's with you. Just like he always has been, snowstorm or not. 

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 14

part 1 | part 13 | ao3

fuckin' finally some FLUFF

Dinner is awkward.

It’s awkward, Steve thinks as he spears a Brussels sprout with more force than strictly necessary, because Dustin promised that it was just going to be the three of them tonight, and now he’s sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with his leather-clad metalhead neighbor.

It went like this: Steve showed up at the Henderson’s front door with a pie plate and a two-liter of Grapico under his arm, looking like a dork on picture day in his best jeans and a nice polo with his hair actually combed for once, and he lifted his hand to knock only to be greeted by Eddie throwing the door open and hollering, “Be right back, Henderson! Gotta grab— oh, shit.” 

And then, more eloquently, “Uh…” 

Uh. Like Steve was the one unexpectedly crashing the party.

Steve stabs another sprout. 

They’ve been bumbling through stilted small talk about work and school and weekend plans for what feels like a painfully long time, and Eddie has his elbows on the table — didn’t even bother to take his jacket off because he was apparently raised in a barn — and it’s basically dinner with Barb’s parents all over again. 

This is finger-lickin’ good.  

God. Get him out of here.

“Okay,” Dustin cuts through the stalled-out silence in the room. He jabs an accusatory fork into the air, pointing between the two of them and narrowing his eyes. “You two are being weird.” 

Eddie startles dumbly, and Steve just says, “Hmm?”

“You.” He aims the fork at Steve. “Are being.” It moves to Eddie; back to Steve. “Weird. What’s going on? I thought you two were getting along now.” 

Steve dabs his mouth with his napkin. Wow. Okay. So they’re doing this now.

Eddie either doesn’t get the memo or just decides to rip it up, because instead of being honest he throws on a theatrical smile and flings an arm around Steve’s shoulders, proclaiming, “Of course we are! C’monnn. Me and this guy?” He reaches up to give Steve a gentle noogie. Steve wonders if you can get a more lenient sentence if the guy you murdered really, really deserved it. “Thick as thieves.” 

Claudia smiles fondly.

Dustin’s not buying it. “You’re so full of shit, you know that?”

“Dusty!” Claudia gasps. She gives him a stern look as she tops off her wine glass, then leans over to do the same for Steve and Eddie’s glasses, too. “Stevie, honey, don’t listen to him,” she soothes. “I think it’s sweet. It’s good to see you with some boyfriends your own age.”

Dustin chokes at her word choice, and Steve blushes to his ears. 

Eddie’s arm tightens around his shoulders. “Yeah, Stevie,” he smirks, leaning in a little closer. “We’re great boyfriends, aren’t we?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Dustin joins in, “best boyfriends I’ve ever seen.” 

Surely murder’s just murder, right? Like, from a sentencing perspective? Does it matter how many people you off, or do you just get thirty-to-life regardless?

“Steve, tell mom more about your boyfriend.”

Steve chugs his glass of wine.

—

The conversation turns to less embarrassing topics after that, the words flowing more easily now that everyone’s warmed up with wine and making fun of Steve. Claudia asks what everyone’s doing for Halloween, and Dustin tells her that Eddie and Steve are taking the boys trick-or-treating in the neighborhood with the good candy bars (which was news to Steve, goddammit), and that leads to a discussion of costume plans. 

Dustin and Mike are going as a pair again, Marty and Doc from Back to the Future. Lucas is doing his own thing, but he's "totally delusional if he thinks a costume is gonna win Max back." Steve doesn’t really have a costume this year, so he’ll probably just pull some sweats out of the closet, throw a whistle around his neck and go as a basketball coach, and Eddie, surprisingly, has the lowest effort costume of them all. 

“Oh, I’m going as a vampire,” he says when Claudia asks. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out some cheap plastic teeth and pops them into his mouth. “Ta-daaa.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “You just carry those around?” 

“Isn’t it awesome?” Dustin asks.

“Not really, no. It’s not.” 

“But S’theeeve,” Eddie lisps around the fangs. The wine’s made him weirder, playful and too-friendly and berry pink in the cheeks. He holds his sleeve in front of his face like a vampire hiding behind a cape and drawls, “I vant to s’thuck your bloood.”

Steve vants to jump out the window. “I’m gonna go serve the pie.” 

—

part 15

tags below the cut, comment if you want me to tag you tomorrow 🩷

@acedorerryn @ahsokatanoss @annabanannabeth @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awolfstudio @bananahoneycomb @bronwenmarie @burymestanding @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @courtjestermunson @cr0w-culture @cuips-not-cute @dontwasteyourchances @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @eriquin @estrellami-1 @evillittleguy @fandomfix8 @foolofentirelytoomanyfandoms @goodolefashionedloverboi @gregre369 @griefabyss69 @grtwdsmwhr @heartsong18 @hellion-child @hotluncheddie @jackiemonroe5512 @jaytriesstuff @littlebluejane @lololol-1234 @messrs-weasley @nburkhardt @noodle-shenaniganery @ppunkpuppyy @runninriot @sadcanadianwinter @silver-snaffles @singmeyoursimpsong @slowandsteddie @slutforcoffein @solalasoforth @steddieas-shegoes @stevesbipanic @steves-strapcollection @teatimeeverybody @thealwithnoname @thestarslittleking @thesuninyaface @trensu @violetsteve

[drvscarlett]

About You Pt 10

Sebastian Vettel x Webber!Reader

Summary: Everyone knows about the history of Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber. But there's a well kept story within the paddock about Sebastian Vettel and another Webber. This is that story.

About You Series

A/N: the calm before the multi 21 lore. are you ready for it??? i would like to know how you guys feel about this

Taglist: @spideybv28@randomcuboidshape @mehrmonga @casperlikej @cliosunshine @honethatty12 @randomgirlnumber-13 @sugyomama @ririyulife @skywalker1dream @vicurious28 @khaylin27 @0710khj @its-elias-world @vizzzashley @allisonwoods @taytaylala12 @miarabanana @ceciii-b @lindsayjoy444

2012, Winter break (December)

Even if Y/N was set on confessing after the Brazilian GP, she couldn't find Sebastian anywhere. She was a little bit upset by the loss of opportunity but Jenson assured that there may be another chance to do that again.

It was Christmas Eve when Sebastian Vettel appeared in front of her apartment. She was shocked that when she returned home after her morning jog, Sebastian was sitting outside her apartment door with a duffel bag. It gave her a deja vu of when Sebastian first won his WDC and he was out there waiting for her in her childhood home.

"You could have called me, what if I wasn't here"Y/N reprimanded.

"I called Michael and he told me the trip wasn't due till January. You are obviously not with Jenson as he is spending Christmas with his family. You are also not going home because I don't think you made up with your brother yet"Sebastian enumerates with a grin.

"You know everything about me, don't you"Y/N shakes her head.

"Well there are some things I still don't know about you"

Y/N frowned. With the amount of time spent together, it was obviously weird for Sebastian to miss out some details about her life especially with how attentive and updated Sebastian can be.

"Then go and ask away so you can satiate your curiosity" Y/N gave a green signal.

"This is more than the usual question and answer portion Y/N" Sebastian's tone was serious.

It was another rare occurrence. Sebastian was always the guy that laces his words with lightheartedness and some cheeky remarks. Seeing him go into his serious mode made Y/N put down her cup of hot choco.

"You know you could tell me anything"Y/N confirms.

Of course, Sebastian doesn't know it but Y/N is panicking. She wonders if Sebastian had already picked up her feelings and what if he doesn't reciprocate them. Things can go very awkward between them real quick.

"I wanted to ask something, please don't lie and just be real"Sebastian started "How do you feel about me?"

The blunt statement has Y/N taking a step back. She could hear a pin drop between the silence of the two of them. Sebastian seems to be waiting her answers and she was too scared to say the wrong words.

"You're my bestfriend Sebastian" the safest answer she could produce

"I know that but.."Sebastian closed his eyes "isn't there anything else you feel for me?"

What does he want me to say, Y/N mentally asked herself. She wonders if Sebastian was baiting her to tell her feelings. She is overthinking how this is all a very bad idea to do especially when Christmas is just a few hours away. Y/N couldn't simply deal with being heartbroken on Christmas day.

"Listen Y/N-"

"Seb I-"

The two chuckled as the tensions dwindles with the way they both spoke at the same time. It was like a perfectly timed comedy joke between the two of them.

"Let me go first and then I'll hear you out"Sebastian took the lead.

Y/N noticed how Sebastian's proximity has been closer with the way he gently held her hands. Her heart was pumping because she might be onto something special.

"I love you a lot"Sebastian laid it out, plain and simple.

"It has been a while since I harbored feelings for you. I am a coward and I have spent so many months and years trying to deny my feelings or running away from them but in the end I ended up looking for you every single time. Its you and it has always been you"

The words were english but it seems so foreign for Y/N's ears. She felt as if she was in an alternate reality because it seems unreal that Sebastian reciprocates her feelings.

"You like me?"Y/N repeated

"Like seems to be an understatement when I have been pining for you for years"Sebastian shyly admits "I think I love you now"

Her eyes looked at him to see if there was any malice or any false sense of hope that she can detect. She couldn't find any as his eyes were speaking to her genuinely.

Is this what love feels like?

"I understand that this is a lot for you to take in and I won't force things to work out if you are not ready. I am willing to wait and I am willing to make an effort to show you that I am sincere with my wishes"Sebastian started to ramble.

It was a funny sight because the usual overconfident driver was in a mess of words in front of a girl. Y/N gave him a kiss on the cheeks to assure him.

"I have feelings for you Seb"Y/N confessed "I have tried to tell you how I feel but it never seems to be a good timing and now you beat me to it"

Y/N could swear that Sebastian's pupils went wider as she was speaking. The look of disbelief in Sebastian's point of view is visible with his facial reaction.

"So are we like now together?"Sebastian awkwardly asked

There was still the pressing matter that Y/N's family is Mark aka Sebastian's teammate and his rival. It was still a little bit complicated if they will add the relationship into the mix.

"We can take this slow right?"Y/N wondered "I just don't want to rush things with all the tensions and problems"

Sebastian has already resigned with that idea that he has to keep the relationship on the low. But he was contented with that because now he knows how the both of them feel.

"We will take it slow then"

2013, Winter break (January)

"There is something different about the two of you"Michael noticed.

Sebastian felt like a deer caught in a headlights when his idol has suddenly popped out of the blue and had a pensive expression on his face.

"Maybe we are just adjusting to the alps altitudes" Sebastian joked.

Michael's eyes darted between Sebastian and Y/N. As a racing driver, it was like a second nature for him to be attentive of his surroundings as the slightest change could mean a lot to the whole competition. He believes that his years as a driver has given him keen insights to know if some relationships changed or leveled up.

"You confessed"Michael realized.

The evident blush on Sebastian was enough confirmation that Michael needs. He was absolutely thrilled by this information and he couldn't wait to tell his family all about it. They have been rooting for them for years.

"It happened Christmas eve and it sort of happened"Sebastian explains "But we're not currently with the labels as we are taking it slow so Mark doesn't freak out too much when we tell him"

"Tell me you confessed first"

"I did, how did you know that?"Sebastian was confused.

Michael just let out a loud laugh. He may have to call some of the grid drivers to tell them that they better prepare their money as they have lost big time. He was fairly certain that Sebastian would be the one to initiate a conversation and confess first.

"Good to hear, you just made a lot of us happy"

For Sebastian, it just felt surreal how he is conversing about Y/N as a special lady in his life. He felt giddy by the thought of it as he longingly looks at Y/N, who was currently playing with Gina and Mick.

"You are so down bad for Y/N"Michael observed "Young love"

"Was this how it feels when you met Corinna?"

When Sebastian tells you that Michael is his idol, he means that in every aspect. He admires him as a fantastic racing driver, as a family man, and even as a loving partner. He wanted to gain some insights as he didn't want to fuck up his relationship and Michael seems to have a good standing with how Corinna and him are going strong after all these years.

"How do you two manage your relationship?"Sebastian asked.

"I am very lucky as Corinna is very understanding and she would always love me through the good times and bad times. Being in a relationship with a driver is difficult as everything is placed under deep scrutiny but Corinna she loves me too much to be afraid of that"

Michael sits up straight as he felt like he was giving important life advices to his younger self.

"You really like Y/N, don't you?" Michael knew the answer to this.

"I love her at this point Michael"Sebastian's voice has no ounce of hesitation.

"Then let me tell you that you should always cherish her"Michael pointed out "Be loyal to her and fight for her. You never know what's coming but do this and its a guarantee that it will work out"

Their gaze drifted back to Y/N who was engaged in a snow fight with the kids. The thought in Sebastian mind crosses about maybe one day he will have kids of their own and they'll be having family trips like this with the Schumachers.

"If you two build a family, you better name the first born Michael"the older driver joked.

2013, Circuito de Jerez

It felt like a full circle moment when pre-testing season starts in Jerez. Seems like it was just yesterday that Y/N first encountered Sebastian in this same track and now a lot has changed.

"Penny for your thoughts?"Sebastian asked.

He gave her a kiss on the forehead as he gave her a cup of coffee. There was a certain lightheadedness that Y/N experience with the way Sebastian has been acting lovey dovey to her.

"We met each other in this circuit, do you remember?"Y/N informs.

There was a hint of confusement in Sebastian's face.

"As far as I could recall we first spoke in the Australian Grand Prix" Sebastian pointed out "I never knew you were already an admirer even before that point"

The teasing never seems to stop with Sebastian with his shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

"Go ahead and laugh but I'm not the one who confessed"

"That's fair I guess"Sebastian shrugged.

The two of them enjoyed the sound of the cars going around for the testing proper. It felt crazy how there is another upcoming season before them and Y/N could only pray for the the best.

"How are you feeling?"Y/N wondered "It seems like yesterday you're like that driver without a seat and looking to impress some teams with a single drive"

"Yeah I suppose it can feel weird that my future competitor might be somewhere over there" Sebastian thoughtfully stated.

"I'm sure Red Bull is dominating another season"Y/N is a boost of confidence for Sebastian.

The two of them spent the afternoon together as they watch some F2 drivers test their cars. Different teams definitely noticed the mix of the contrasting orange and navy uniform side by side with each other. It didn't take long before it reached Mark's intel.

2013, Melbourne Grand Prix Circuit

It wasn't until the Australian Grand Prix that Mark was able to meet Y/N in person. He have tried his best to reach out to her during the pre-testing season but she was surrounded by Sebastian or dragged into meetings with McLaren.

He really needs to speak to Y/N because he fears that she might be putting herself in a tricky situation.

"Y/N" The exhausted Mark finally saw her with a group of McLaren mechanics.

There was no Jenson or Sebastian anywhere near her so he might have a chance to speak with her freely.

"We need to talk, this is urgent"Mark's tone was a mix of begging and a command.

"Mark, you are not supposed to be here"one of the mechanics stepped up "Y/N we can call security if you-"

"That won't be necessary Ed, he is my brother and we'll just take a quick walk"Y/N interrupted.

The mechanics looked at Mark before meeting Y/N's gaze once again. They seem to be unsure about letting their employee go to the Red Bull driver regardless if he is her brother. But Y/N gave an okay signal and they left them all alone.

"You haven't spoken me for so long and now you are forcing me to talk to you"Y/N's voice was dull and without any excitement. Clearly she is still hurt by everything that transpired.

"I have been a bad brother, I know that"Mark admitted.

"Thanks for the obvious"

"But I'm here again because I don't want to be bad brother anymore"Mark added "I don't have the guts to see you feel more pain after everything I put you through"

Y/N stops on her tracks, she seems to understand that Mark knows something. She was scared that he might forbid her from forming any further relationship with Sebastian.

"You have to stop seeing Sebastian"

"What?"Y/N was furious "Who gives you a right to who should I and should I not date, this is so low of you Mark"

"Y/N please listen to me, I have my reasons to why you have to do this. Just listen to me"Mark was exasperated.

He is in the mental dilemma of telling her sister the plain truth of what he saw in Brazil. It will definitely crush her to know that she may be a third party in the relationship. Or he could not tell her and allow her to find out herself in the future which means more pain.

She may hate Mark forever but as an older brother he has to do this.

"I have heard you two have been going on and about but believe me Y/N, Sebastian is up to no good"Mark explained.

"You are just saying this without any grounds"

"Would you believe me if I told you things?" Mark rebutted.

There was a silence between them. Mark knew that he lost Y/N's trust a long time ago because of their unnecessary fighting. He doesn't know what he could do to make her trust him again.

"Did he ever tell you about what happened in Brazil 2012?"Mark wondered.

Y/N wavered as she realized that it was also that time that she was looking for Sebastian but he was nowhere to be seen. She felt curious to what Mark is implying with his statements.

"Stop speaking in riddles and tell me"

"You should ask Seb about it"Mark pushed "I cannot witness you to be in more pain than what he puts you through already"

The younger Webber cries out in frustration. She was so sick of Mark speaking vaguely and planting seeds of doubt in her head. She was finally happy and now Mark is ruining everything again.

"I don't understand any of this"Y/N was frustrated "Just tell me what's going on"

"Y/N I'm so sorry but I-"

"This is all just bullshit isn't it"Y/N lashed "You are just saying these things to further complicate things and prevent us from dating. Stop trying to fucking control my life Mark"

The exchanges of words reopened wounds that haven't healed. It was the first time that Y/N saw Mark tear up because of her words and she immediately regretted what she said.

"I am just doing what I know to protect you Y/N. I never meant to hurt you."Mark was fighting his tears but failing "I hope that when you know the truth then you can understand why I am doing this"

"Mark wait.."

But the Red Bull driver already walked away briskly.

[lizard-on-a-window-pane]

can i request Remus x best friend!reader where they have a fight and it leads to them confessing their feelings? would love angst with either fluff or smut ending

i hope you like it!! thank you for requesting the boy and trope i was just in the mood for! (btw i don't do smut for anon requests, but happily post it as anon if you've messaged me so i know it's not for a minor)

pairing: Remus x reader

tags: best friends to lovers, angst, fluff, keeping up with my bookish! Remus and reader fixation, gn 

word count: 2.7k

“Hi,” you whisper into his neck as his arms squeeze around you.

“Hey.” He smiles as he pulls back from your greeting hug. “How are you?” he asks as you begin walking, leaving his arm around your shoulders. 

“Good. I had the craziest dream last night; I was pretty disappointed to wake up to be honest,” you begin enthusiastically. “Till you remembered you had plans with me, right?”

You playfully nudge Remus from within his embrace, and though rolling your eyes as you do, you say, “Obviously,” with a smirk. 

“Great,” he chuckles. “Now that we’ve cleared that up, you can tell me about the dream.” You laugh together as you delve into it on your walk to the bookshop.

You and Remus are browsing — reading the blurbs, looking at the cool covers and curated shelves and tables, laughing lightheartedly, chatting about the ones you’d each read already or wanted to read next. It’s nice, one of your preferred ways of spending an afternoon: one of your favourite places, with your favourite person. 

“Alright,” you tell him seriously. “Time for the painful bit.” You plop your stack of selections in front of him. He gives them an exaggeratedly serious stare.

“Hm. How many do we have to cut it down to?” 

“Three,” you say solemnly. “Maybe four…” after a pause and another longing look at the stack. He grins at you. “Been saving up,” you shrug.

Remus helps you choose, and with your final cut, you go over to the till. You swallow when you notice who’s working it: the rather attractive boy who’d been working the last few times you’d been at the shop. He had beautiful brown eyes, brown hair, a kind of gloomy look, and was always wearing cosy-looking jumpers. You’re a bit nervous when it’s your turn, and you place the books down in between you with only a quick glance and awkward grin his way. He says something to you, and for some reason, it throws you off a bit but makes you decidedly less nervous. 

“Thanks,” you respond, realizing he was complimenting your selection. He’d done that last time too. 

“You come here a lot, huh?” he asks, and it hits you: he sounds nothing like Remus. 

Why the hell does that matter? you think to yourself. 

“I remember you. From last time,” he goes on at your silence. 

You only like him because he reminds of you Remus, a little voice whispers in your head. Ugh, shut up, you push it down.

“Yeah,” you smile. “My best friend and I come here all the time,” you tell him, looking back toward Remus at “best friend.” You notice Remus glaring in your direction and find it odd but look back at the boy. He’s smiling more widely now, nodding as he rings up the books. 

He’s finished up, and you’re turning to go when he adds, “Wait!” He grabs one from the stack of free bookmarks with the shop name and number, and he writes another phone number on it. “One can never have too many bookmarks, right?” he smiles at you, offering it to you. “I like it seeing you around here,” he shrugs. “Maybe I can see you somewhere else sometime though?” 

You grin, surely blushing, take the bookmark, and say, “Yeah, maybe. Thanks.” You go over to the door to wait for Remus, who’s getting a book at the other till. You walk out together; he’s scowling. 

It feels weird to tell him about this; you’re not sure why… Because you’re in love with him… Again, Shut up! But you tell him everything, and besides, you’re actually quite excited. 

“You’re not going to believe what just happened.”

“Hm?” he offers with disinterest, not even looking at you. “Look.” You show him the bookmark. He looks interested now. 

“He gave you this?” he shoots. You nod, biting your lip in a giddy shyness. “Are you going to call him?” Remus asks with a sharp edge to his tone. 

“I don’t know… Maybe? He seems nice.” “You’ve hardly even spoken to him. You have no idea if he’s ‘nice.’” The last word comes out sardonic, and it makes you wince. You don’t notice him wincing too. You shrug and grab the bookmark back, and the two of you continue your walk in silence. 

You’re meeting your friends at the pub, and you’re grateful James and Sirius are already sitting at a nice outdoor table when you arrive, eager to escape the tense silence with Remus. “Hello, my favourite nerds. How was the bookshop?” Sirius teases, smiling at you both.

“Good,” you grin; Remus just shrugs. “What’s with you?” Sirius notices. “Nothing,” Remus grunts and goes inside to the bar. Immediately just turning to you, Sirius asks, “What’s with him?” “I don’t know.” You sound sad. “You always know. It’s creepy sometimes, the two of you; it’s like you read each other’s minds,” then, in a cheeky tone, “usually.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You’re snappier than you meant to be. 

“Nothing,” he cedes, but he gives you a knowing look that makes you nervous. You keep glaring at him, and he just chuckles and gives you a quick side hug.

Remus is silent and brooding for the duration of the evening, Sirius and James having given up after several failed attempts at conversation with him. Occasionally, you catch him looking at you, but — quite atypically — you can’t read his expression, and he always looks away when you notice. He doesn’t seem to be hiding his looks, just avoiding moments with you when you look back… and it’s really getting under your skin. 

“Anyone got a light?” Sirius asks, patting down his jacket, a cig already dangling from his lips. “I might,” you respond. You’re wearing your go-to jacket, so there’s a good chance you have the lighter you use for the occasional blunt. Feeling around in your pockets, you pull out the contents and absentmindedly put a couple things down in front of you. “What’s this then?” You can hear the smirk in Sirius’s voice before even looking at him. You’re mortified when he picks up the bookmark.  “Maybe your bookshop isn’t as boring as I thought. Aren’t you cheeky?” he chuckles at you, shaking it between you.

You snatch it from him and say, “It’s nothing.” “Oh, c’mon. There’s nothing wrong with that. Is he fit?” Before you can stop yourself, you look over at Remus. You look away quickly — not missing Remus’s glower — but Sirius notices anyway, looks at him too then back at you, his grin not leaving his face. “What d’you think, mate?” he asks Remus, and your eyes go wide in warning, but Sirius either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. Remus gives a “don’t care” frown and shrug. “What? No opinion on Y/N’s new boyfriend?” Sirius continues. Remus scoffs and gives a cynical laugh, and to your surprise, your hurt at his behaviour all afternoon interlaces with anger at this. 

“What?” you snap, and Remus immediately looks to you, some surprise in his eyes, no longer avoiding your gaze. “Is it laughable that someone would like me?” The mood has safely made its way into awkwardness, but you don’t care. “What’s so funny about someone wanting to be my boyfriend, Remus?” He doesn’t say anything. “You’ve been such a prick all afternoon,” you tell him, collecting your things. You turn to Sirius, saying, “Cover me, will you? I’ll pay you back tomorrow.” You’ve already started walking away by the time he nods. 

Your eyes are puffy from crying last night when you wake, the memory of last night’s events hitting you like an ice bath. You grunt and roll over, trying — but failing miserably — not to dwell on it. Until you remember something else.

“Fuck.” You had plans with Remus today. You’d agreed to meet at the park to start the books you’d bought yesterday. You’re not sure what to do. Do you show up like nothing happened? Do you not show up and escalate things? Or, scariest of all, do you show up and address what the hell happened?

After changing your mind several times, you opt to at least show up. What’ll happen after that, you leave to the moment. When the time comes, you get ready and head over. 

You’re surprised at how surprised you are to see Remus already there, sitting on the grass. Had you really expected him not to show? You hadn’t had the thought consciously — you would’ve almost certainly freaked out if you had — but your palpable relief informs you you’d been terrified at the possibility. It would’ve been so unlike him; you normally would never have even entertained the idea. But his behaviour last night confused you, and not being on the same page as him filled you with confusion and dread.

He notices you, gives you a strained smile; you return one in turn. 

“Hey.” “Hi.”

You linger awkwardly above him before sitting down next to him, a bit further than you usually would have. The silence seems to follow your cue, elongating itself in a way that never happened with Remus. 

He’s fiddling with the grass, not looking at you when he finally says, “About last night…” You take a deep breath, and it gets caught in your chest when his gaze meets yours. “I…” He clears his throat, looks down again, then back up at you. “I’m sorry.” You nod slowly, still just staring at him. 

Before you can think about whether it’s a good idea or not, you say, “Why were you being so weird?”

“You really don’t know?” He doesn’t sound as soft as he did during his apology. 

“Obviously not, or I wouldn’t be asking.” You’re harsher too. 

He groans and, no longer looking at you, whisper-yells, “Fuck, you’re difficult sometimes.” You scoff and cringe away from him. 

“‘Difficult?’ I’m difficult? You’re the one being a prick for seemingly no reason, Rem. And now you’re blaming me?” “I’m not blaming you. I’m just saying —”

“What?” you snap. “What are you saying? Because it seems to me that you’re never saying anything, Remus. Whenever anything tense happens, you never say anything.” 

“Neither do you! What do you want me to say?!” “Yes I do!” “No, you don’t.” 

You glare at each other in electric silence.

You grab your bag and stand up. 

“I don’t really feel like reading anymore,” you offer lamely, seething. He stands up too, following you. 

“You see?! I don’t say anything, but at least I don’t fucking run away every time.” You spin to face him, and it’s so quick, you end up really close to each other before he stops fast-walking toward you. You can hear his heavy breathing, see his nostrils flaring as he scowls. 

“Run away?”

“Yeah.” It’s mean but certain. “Run away,” he repeats.

“What’s that supposed to fucking mean? It’s not like you can’t stop me… Or at least give me a fucking call afterward.” You sound hurt at the end, and Remus winces knowingly. 

“I was going to. I was. I just didn’t know what to say.” 

“Typical. Fucking typical.” You turn to keep walking away. 

He groans loudly in exasperation and walks faster to stand in front of you, cutting you off. “Can you just fucking wait one second?” He runs his hand roughly over his face, harshly through his messy hair. You quirk an eyebrow at him expectantly. 

When he doesn’t say anything for a few moments, you say, “That was more than one second,” and start walking again. 

“Stop. For fuck’s sake, just stop.” He stands in front of you again. “Why? It’s not like you’re saying anything.” Then, more softly, “And I don’t like fighting with you, okay? Maybe that’s why I ‘run away.’” The last two words still manage to sound sarcastic, but you’re whispering by the end, and you look down sadly. “Why don’t you say anything? Why does it have to be me?” He takes a tentative step forward and puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. You look into his eyes, and tears well in yours. One falls, and his thumb comes up to wipe it off. You push his hand away but don’t let go of it. He lets you hold his hand, and you stare down at where you’re connected rather than look at him. 

“I don’t like fighting with you,” you repeat, whispering. He steps a bit closer to you. “I hate fighting with you,” he says firmly. “But you know what’s worse?” You look up at him and shake your head subtly. “The moment after you leave. Being without you. Especially if I know you’re upset or… angry with me.” He looks up at the sky, takes a deep breath, looks at you again. “All I want to do is comfort you. Apologize. Tell you the truth…,” he says desperately. “But I don’t.” This comes out harsh; the anger back in his voice but no longer directed at you. “Because I’m an idiot… But I’d choose fighting with you over being without you every time.” 

“Those can’t be the only two options.” Your voice is soft. He gives a quiet but honest chuckle. Then his face sets seriously, determination creeping into his features.

“Ask me again.” “Ask you what?”

“Why I was being such a prick last night.” “So you admit you were a prick?” “Y/N,” he whines. “For fuck’s sake.” “Okay, okay, sorry,” you say quickly. “Why were you being such a prick last night?”

“Because… I…,” he starts but gets stuck. “When you…” He shakes his head. “I…” He closes his eyes and whispers, “Fuck.” He opens them, looks back and forth between yours, takes a step closer to you. He brings his hand that’s not in yours up to your face, brings his forehead to rest on yours. He nudges your nose with his, caresses your cheek. “Y/N,” he whispers, all the frustration replaced by something much warmer. You shift the tiny bit necessary to connect your lips with his. His hands tighten, and his lips push softly but firmly back.

You take a deep breath in, like breathing him will fill you with life… and it does. You open your mouth, and you feel a groan in his chest where it’s flush with yours as he licks his tongue against yours. You let go of his hand to hold his face firmly in both of yours, pulling him into you. His arms wrap around your hips, pulling you into his lower half as his upper half chases your mouth. You kiss and kiss and kiss, soft but hungry, until you finally part, only your lips detaching from each other, the rest of your bodies still connected. Your thumbs rub his cheeks; his hands squeeze your hips; your noses bump into each other. 

“You still haven’t said anything…” you whisper. You expect him to retort that neither have you, to joke or complain or jokingly complain. 

Instead, after a gruff chuckle, he says, “I love you.” He turns his embrace into a full hug, his arms firmly around you, his head in the crook of your neck. You cling to him. 

“You’re my best friend, Y/N,” he goes on. “My best friend in the fucking world.” He leans back a bit to be able to look into your eyes as he goes on. “But you’re so much more than that too. You’re the fucking love of my life,” he says with a heartfelt chuckle. “And I am done not telling you that.” You bring his mouth to yours again, kissing him deeply.

“You’re mine too. I promise I won’t run away anymore. I’m sorry I —” 

“Don’t,” he cuts you off with a kiss, shaking his head. “I wish I’d told you sooner, but I’ve loved every minute with you. And now we have the rest of our lives to do this too.” With a cheeky smile, he kisses you again.

“I love you,” you tell him. He squeezes you tight and keeps kissing you. 

[fanfic-obsessed]

How Old?!?!?!

Remember Folks, disregard any canon that contradicts this.

Timothy Wayne Drake disappeared when he was 16. He was taken captive in Eastern Europe at a WE event. A magical shield cut off all electronic communication, sight, and sound of the building for 6 minutes. According to every Super consulted, Tim’s heartbeat vanished at that time, and never reappeared. No facial recognition ever showed him again. No magical spell could find him, or his remains. Eight years later he is presumed dead by most of those who knew him, though his family still searches frantically for their Baby Bird. It is only the fact that they knew how much he loved Gotham, that he would want the city protected, that they did not let their obsession with finding him take them over. 

According to his file, Neal Caffery has been operating since he was 18. There are no records prior to that. By the numbers he is now 34, and had been working as a CI for the feds for 2 years.  He has never admitted to anyone that his earliest memories are six years ago, though Peter, El, and Moz have all figured it out.  But his abilities, muscle memory, and knowledge seem to support what's in his file.  That must mean something, right?

It was not a White Collar case, not really. Though there were just enough white collar elements to justify assigning it to Agent Burke and his team, this really was an Organized Crime case. However it was leading to Gotham, and no one wanted to go to Gotham. 

So Agent Burke, his two junior agents, and his CI were bundled into a SUV and told to report to Gotham PD to coordinate the case.  Upon arriving at the main precinct and getting out of the car; Peter, Diana and Jones all get strange looks from the locals on the street, though they do not know it, it is clear they are outsiders. 

However Neal gets out with a strange look on his face, “Why does the air taste..”

“Pink?” One the pedestrian answers, suspicion washing away.

“Yes” Neal exclaimed, then paused, “That’s weird, right? I feel like that’s weird”

The pedestrian gave a half shrug, “Ivy and Scarecrow double booked downtown a few weeks ago. Made things super awkward for anyone not vaccinated against both, but the vaccines made the air taste pink for some reason. The news said that the unvaccinated shouldn’t see effects any longer and for the vaccinated the effect would be gone in two more weeks”

Then the pedestrian left and Neal, entirely unconsciously, murmured about wondering if Ivy and Harley were fighting. When Peter tried to get more information about Neal having been in Gotham as they walked into the Precinct, Neal made a joke to cover the fact that he has no idea when or where he got the vaccines/immunities to Poison Ivy’s pollen or Scarecrow's Fear Gas.  

They manage to make it to the main bullpen without incident, by virtue of the fact anyone who actually looks up from what they were doing focuses on Peter, as lead agent.  When they get to the Bullpen, someone notices Neal and the entire room goes dead silent. Commissioner Gordon comes charging out, eyes wild and clearly on the phone with someone (Oracle, who happened to see Neal/Tim on camera-it is important to note that the group who took Tim made it so that any facial recognition program that would run either face would skip the match between Tim and Neal, but a person looking through a camera is different) saying things like “Holy Shit” and “Yes I see him, too”. 

The White Collar team, including Neal, is so confused as Commissioner Gordon ushers them to his office and closes the door (Oracle has her fathers office bugged with better cameras and wired for sound, also they do not know how much cover they have already broken for Tim-they do not want to make things worse instead of better). 

Commissioner Gordon calls Neal Tim, and Neal/Tim seizes for a moment like he was hit with electricity and says, in a deadened tone, “That name cannot be used as an Alias” then slumps like he is going to fall over. Peter and Jones manage to catch him and get him into a chair that Commissioner Gordon hurriedly pulls over.  The confusion that the White Collar team is exhibiting, plus questions like “What was that?” and “What did you do to Neal?” and “What did you call him?” do convince commissioner Gordon that these, at least, were not the people that took Tim.  It takes a few minutes for Tim/Neal to come to.  A few careful call and response questions tells Commissioner Gordon that the man with Tim’s face (and scars, from what he can see) does not remember anything.  These same questions were also clearly making the White Collar team, particularly Peter, as protective as they were making Neal/Tim confused and more than a little anxious.

Then Dick Grayson burst into the room, looking like he might have run all the way from Bludhaven.  He stopped dead at seeing Neal, whispered ‘Baby Bird?’ then lunged to pull Neal into a tight hug. Neal may have had no memories of being Tim, but his muscle memory remembered Dick’s hugs. That he was safe while Dick was hugging him, Neal could not help but relax into the hold. 

Dick start talking about getting Neal to Leslie both to make sure he's not hurting and to verify his identity (sounding apologetic but, no matter if Dick is sure this is Tim, they have to verify it), that ‘B’ is out of contact right now (on a JL mission off planet, the watchtower is preparing to extract him, but it will take a few hours-the JLD is also preparing in case they are needed) but should be back soon. He talks about how Alfred will be waiting outside for them, but ‘everyone else’ is waiting so they don’t overwhelm him (read clustered, and pacing, on buildings around Leslie’s clinic).  

Neal brings up, still wrapped in Dicks arms, that he might not be who they think he is. Dick agrees but also says that he isn’t, it is a case of mistaken identity and it is clear that Neal is not trying to trick them. Dick then says if it is Mistaken identity, Dick will apologize for the forcible cuddling and be grateful that, even if they don’t actually find him, he got a chance to hug his little brother one last time (Every single member of the White Collar Team, Neal very much included, is a little uncomfortable with this sentiment). 

At Peter’s awkward insistence (these people clearly miss whoever they think Neal is, and he doesn’t know if they would think about Neal’s criminal activities) the White collar team accompanies Neal, still clutched to Dick’s side, to a car waiting with Alfed right next to it, who is clearly having an emotional reaction to seeing Neal/Tim again.  Over the course of the car ride to Leslie’s clinic, Dick asks questions about who Neal is now (and reacts weirdly well to the whole Conman/FBI CI thing). Towards the end, Jones hesitantly asks why Dick is trying to get to know Neal now, wouldn’t it make more sense to wait until they were sure who Neal was. 

Dick laughs and goes 1.) Even if Neal is not his long lost brother, several of his siblings are going to want to befriend him (if nothing else than being a world class master art forger would get Damian’s attention, and everyone else would 100% be encouraging the friendship to give Damian more non violent friends) and 2.) Baby Bird is notorious for trying to mold himself into who he thinks other people want him to be. Right now he does not know enough about Dick to try and tailor his answers, plus is likely convincing himself that this is a case of mistaken identity. Thus Dick is collecting information for when Baby Bird inevitably tries to fit himself into whatever weird mold he thinks their family will want him to fit.  

Neal, still clutched to Dick’s side, splutters as the White Collar team cannot help but laugh at him. Also this somewhat convinces Peter that this might not be a case of mistaken identity after all.  

They get to Leslie’s Clinic. She runs through all the tests (Genetic and comparing previous x-rays, signs of artificial aging-for cloning, signs of the specific type of molecules that means time or dimension travel, brain scans, the few hormone tests that can detect magic-you can’t tell me that Bruce Wayne and/or Tim Drake, before he vanished, were not told at some point that there is no way to detect magic by scientific means and took it as a personal challenge). By every measure that she is able to test, Neal Caffrey is the missing Tim Drake.  She is also able to tell that his memory loss was likely caused by significant and repeated electrocution reinforced by some kind of magic, but cannot tell what or if it is still active, though given Tim’s reaction to his birth name (which happened twice more during the tests) and the fact that the Supers were never able to find his heartbeat,it is likely. 

By this time, Batman has now been returned to the watchtower and is being told of Tims return.

Dick tells Neal outright that their entire family’s love languages are stalking and poor boundaries (both maintaining and respecting). Dick also makes it clear that, while the Batfam is ecstatic that Neal/Tim is alive and want him in their lives, Neal is not required to attempt to get his memories back or have anything to do with them if he does not want (All of their therapists, the family could not go to just one, had worked specifically with them on how to deal with a Tim that has made a new life, how to accept that he is safe and happy but not with them-which is a realistic assumption after 8 years), but that likely Neal would be putting up with some limited stalking for the rest of his life (Look, the best we are going to get from the Batfamily is stalking from the shadows if Neal doesn’t want to interact with them-Also Oracle has already hacked the FBI for all of Neals records and files, and is the middle of arranging for the White Collar office to be bugged with her personal cameras/microphones). Dick also asks that the White Collar team come back to the Manor and to at least let the Justice League Dark look Neal over to make sure that there is nothing that is going on that will hurt him. 

Now, to be clear, Neal is more than happy to at least meet the rest of the Batfam.  Yes, he has a good life now, people he loves and who love him. But that is a relatively new development and there are a lot of blanks in his past. I mean at this point Neal still thinks he is 34 (as opposed to 24), and only remembers the last six years. They have not even gone far enough into the explanations to realize that there is a 2 year gap between when Tim was taken and Neal's earliest memories.  Also, while Neal does not quite have the same level of abandonment issues as Tim did, there is something about how visibly happy Dick is to see him that soothing something deep inside (Because he has six years worth of memories, and for most of them he did not have anyone who would have noticed if he had vanished).

They get back to manor just in time for Bruce to come charging into the foyer, still in the batman suit but with his cowl down. Bruce also looks like he might have ran from wherever he was. He had at least absorbed enough of what he was told about Neal to not call him Tim, and pulled Neal into a hug.  This also means there is a brief interlude while the White Collar team gets the ‘Bruce Wayne is Batman, we’re trusting you with this’ revelation (And absolutely everyone is going to be making fun of Bruce ‘Paranoia’ Wayne being the person who accidentally let the secret slip).

By the time they reach the main sitting room, the rest of the family has made it back to the manor (Barbara, Jason, Cass, Steph, Damian, Duke) each waiting on their own chance to hug their lost member.   Neal blue screens a bit at Jason (who is both very pretty and very sarcastic, which is Neal's type).  Through the discussions that follow there are at least two arguments between batfam members about who gets to have Neal to sit with them.

Neal decides that he will meet with someone from JLD to see about what magic might still be affecting him and regaining his lost memories. He and the White Collar team do decline staying at the manor and go back to the hotel rooms that the FBI rented for them (never realizing that Oracle upgraded them as soon as she realized who Neal was) as they still have a job to do. It is at this point that  Neal starts whining to the others, much to their amusement (also to the amusement of Steph and Cass, who were hiding on the balcony-there is no way there will not be at least one bat/bird hiding in the shadows around Neal for a bit), about his new, hot brother Jason.  Peter calls El, just so Neal can have his crisis with her instead of him (Never mind that being siblings is not as big a deal as Neal thinks it is).

Now Gotham, and its people, have a reputation at the FBI for being actually impossible to work with.  Even regular citizens stonewall so effectively that most teams simply give up. They simply do not like outsiders, and Gothamites can tell if someone grew up in Gotham or not, even if the person in question does not realize it (there are unconscious ways of moving if you have lived in Gotham for a certain amount of time). This is what the White Collar team expects to go against, what they are bracing for, no matter who Neal might or might not have been.  To their surprise this is not what they get. Yes, most people still peer suspiciously at Peter, Jones, and Diana at first, but even that settles down quickly (Some of it is Neal/Tim, being from Gotham, clearly trusting Peter and co gets them some good will; some is them not being sanctimonious about gotham; the rest is the batfam being vocal about liking these FBI agents-for Neal/Tim related reasons).  They solve the case, which branched from White collar into one of the Mob Families (at least two of the traffickers got the choice to talk to the FBI team, or deal with The Red Hood-Red Hood plays it off as using the FBI to take a shot at that family’s territory and being personally interested in Neal Caffrey).

Before they leave Gotham, Neal does meet up with a few members of the JLD who are able to find and remove the spells that prevent Neal/Tim from being found by the Supers and the Spell keeping him from being addressed as Tim. His missing memories were not fully caused by magic (There was a lot of damage caused by electricity-no one took that news well), but the magic was preventing some of his recall. With the spells off, it is inferred that some or all of Tim’s memories may come back in time. 

The White Collar team leaves Gotham with new contacts in their phones and also the bomb that Neal Caffery was a full decade younger than he thought he was (They do eventually figure out that Neal/Tim never actually committed the crimes in his file-not that the crimes were never committed but that Neal/Tim was basically went straight from where ever he was being held to being captured for ‘Neal Caffery’s’ crimes).  Peter later finds a much more complete medical record for Tim Wayne Drake in his home, with an ominous note to keep this file out of the FBI records, it is for personal reference only. They also leave with the decision to keep Neal’s identity a secret (As no one knows who the ones who took them are, or what the end goal is), telling only Hughes, El and Moz. By the time the WC crew reaches New York, the Bats already have bugs/cameras in the FBI building, Neal’s apartment, and Peter’s house.  They have also put trackers in every single pair of Neal’s shoes. There is also a schedule for who gets to stalk/hang out with Neal when.  

As far as the rest of the FBI was concerned, White Collar gets a lot of strange new contacts for cases.  Also they seem to have made an impression on the Justice League, as they become the point of contact between the Justice League and the FBI, by request of the League.  Occasionally hardened criminals walk into the FBI and ask to confess their crimes specifically to Agent Burke and his team. And Apparently their CI knows the Red Hood, somehow (in that the Red Hood sometimes showed up at their crime scene to flirt outrageously with the CI, the first few times the CI got really flustered but after that he started to flirt back). 

Eventually Neal/Tim does begin to remember his past, oddly enough the trigger was a spleen in a jar that was left on his desk in the White Collar Office (Ra’s Al Ghul was…pleased that Tim was not dead and displeased with the Organization the abducted him and  tried to fry Tim’s brain).