#even if said solid ground is out of bounds

[linogram]

climbed through a small hole in the ceiling under the mausoleum of king deshret and accidentally went out of bounds

[brunchable]

THIS, is your boyfriend, Mom? [4]

Pairings: Beefy Bucky Barnes x Our savage wittle boi Lucas x f!Reader.

Summary: The family went on a camping trip with Lucas' cousins. Warning: Lucas fell into a river but is unharmed.

A/N: I will just keep posting Step-Dad Bucky content, this doesn't really have set plot, just cute and funny moments while Bucky navigates how to be a Dad. ALSO, note I am still trying to fix the tag list for this.

The stars had just begun to shine as you, Bucky, Lucas, and a few of his cousins sat around the campfire, laughter filling the air as the kids toasted marshmallows and dared each other to make the strangest marshmallow combinations.

After a while, Lucas and his cousin wandered over to you, their faces lit with excitement. “Mom, can we go skip rocks by the river?” Lucas asked.

You nodded, giving them a warm but serious smile. “Alright, but don’t go too close to the water. Stay safe.”

They nodded, promising to be careful, and you watched as they bounded off toward the riverbank, their giggles mixing with the sound of the flowing water. Bucky was sitting next to you, his gaze steady on the kids as they skipped stones, trying to beat each other’s number of skips.

Everything seemed peaceful.

But after a few minutes, you overheard Lucas’s cousin daring him. “Bet you can’t skip one from way up close,” his cousin said, pointing to a spot near the edge of the water, where the bank was muddy and slippery.

Lucas hesitated, glancing back at you and Bucky, then shrugged, puffing his chest out a little. “It’s not even that deep. I’ll be fine.”

In that split second, he took a bold step closer, right to the edge, and threw his rock. But as he shifted his weight forward, the muddy bank gave way, and he slipped, his arms flailing as he tried to keep his balance—only to tumble forward into the icy water.

“Mom! Help!” Lucas screamed, panic overtaking his voice as the river’s current tried to pull him in.

His cousin tried to reach him, stretching out his arm, but the water was too strong, and Lucas was quickly losing his footing.

In that moment, Lucas looked up, his breath catching as he saw a figure racing toward him with unwavering speed and determination. Recognizing Bucky’s shape, he reached out instinctively, the word spilling out in sheer desperation.

“Dad!”

Before you could take a step, Bucky had already shot up, sprinting to the river with a look of pure terror etched across his face. Reaching the boys in seconds, he gently but firmly shoved Lucas’s cousin back toward you, his voice low and firm. “Get to your mom. Now.”

“Lucas!” you screamed, your heart pounding.

Without a second thought, Bucky stepped into the river, his boots sinking into the cold, swirling water as it tugged insistently at his legs, urging him to stay back. But he moved forward, steady and sure, his eyes fixed on Lucas as if the world held nothing else. The river pressed against him, but he barely noticed, reaching Lucas in a few strides, wrapping a solid arm under the boy’s shoulders, and lifting him up with a fierce certainty. Holding Lucas close, Bucky turned and waded back to shore, his grip firm, his gaze steady, as if he were carrying something infinitely precious.

As soon as they were safely on dry ground, Bucky knelt down, gripping Lucas’s shoulders tightly, his jaw clenched, his eyes blazing with anger and fear.

“What were you thinking, Lucas?” he snapped, his voice sharp and unwavering. “Didn’t your mother tell you not to go near the edge? Do you understand what could have happened if you’d fallen in deeper?”

Lucas glanced up at Bucky, then looked over at you. The sight of you standing there, tears streaming down your face, struck him like a punch to the chest. His mother, the person he always wanted to keep happy and safe, was crying because of him.

Lucas looked down, his face pale, but tried to stammer out a response. “I-I… I didn’t think it’d be that slippery…”

Bucky’s hands tightened on his shoulders, and his voice grew louder, thick with emotion. “Exactly. You didn’t think! What if the current had pulled you in? What if you’d been swept away before I got there? What if… what if you had gotten hurt or worse?” Bucky’s voice wavered, but his tone stayed stern. “This isn’t a game, boy. You could’ve been lost to that river in an instant.”

Lucas’s cousin, standing nearby, shifted nervously, his face turning pale as he realized the seriousness of the situation. Bucky’s sharp gaze flicked toward him, his tone still unrelenting.

“And you,” he said, his voice just as firm as before. “Why would you dare him to go closer? Do you understand how dangerous that was?”

Lucas’s cousin looked down, guilt spreading across his face as he mumbled, “I’m sorry, Bucky… I didn’t think anything bad would happen. I just… thought it’d be fun.”

Bucky’s expression didn’t soften as he spoke, his tone filled with disappointment. 

“Fun? What if he’d fallen in and the current was too strong? What if I hadn’t been here in time? You don’t push someone to take a risk like that, especially near the water. You’re supposed to look out for each other, not encourage recklessness.”

The weight of Bucky’s words began to settle over both boys like a heavy blanket. The “what ifs” replayed in their minds, each one sinking deeper, and they both suddenly felt small and helpless under Bucky’s fierce gaze.

Lucas’s voice shook as he whispered, “I… I’m sorry, Bucky. I didn’t mean to make you and Mom worry. I just wanted to see if I could do it…”

“Wanting to prove yourself doesn’t matter if you’re putting yourself in danger. Bravery doesn’t mean being reckless, Lucas. Do you understand that?” Bucky’s stern expression didn’t waver as he looked down at Lucas, still gripped by the terror of almost losing him.

Lucas’s shoulders slumped as the weight of his mistake settled over him like an unwelcome shadow. Tears spilled down his cheeks, and his voice broke in a whisper, “I’m really, really sorry, Bucky. I didn’t mean for it to be this bad… I just didn’t think.”

Bucky’s expression shifted, his face softening as he caught the guilt in Lucas’s tear-filled eyes. He let out a quiet, unsteady breath, the last of his anger dissolving like smoke. He pulled the boy into a fierce hug, an instinct older than words, holding him close as if, in that one embrace, he could keep the world and all its dangers at bay.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” Lucas’s voice was muffled against Bucky’s chest, his small hands gripping Bucky’s shirt like it was his only tether to safety.

Bucky’s arms tightened around him, one hand moving up to cradle the back of Lucas’s head. “I know, kid. I know you didn’t mean it.” His voice was soft but steady, filled with something deeper than mere forgiveness.

He stroked Lucas’s back in slow, reassuring circles, feeling each shaky breath. “You scared me, you know? Really scared me.” The words were simple but carried a weight only Lucas could feel, pressing gently on his small shoulders.

Then, Bucky pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, brushing a tear from Lucas’s cheek with his thumb. “Listen. You don’t need to prove anything. You’re already enough, just as you are. And I need you here with me. Promise me you’ll remember that.”

Lucas nodded, a fierce, wide-eyed sincerity in his gaze. “I promise.”

Bucky’s lips curled into a small, warm smile, and he ruffled Lucas’s hair gently, his voice barely above a whisper. “Good. That’s my boy.”

There was a pause, a quiet weight to the moment. Then, Bucky gave Lucas’s shoulder a soft squeeze, his tone light but carrying an unmistakable note of resolve. 

“Now,” he murmured, a hint of mischief flickering in his eyes, “go apologize to your mom and get yourself cleaned up. You’ve given her enough to worry about for one day.”

× × × ×

The campfire crackled softly, casting a warm glow over the clearing as the night deepened. The kids were finally asleep in their own tent, their quiet breaths rising and falling in a rhythm of exhaustion and dreams. You stayed by the fire, arms wrapped around yourself, lost in thought as you watched the flames dance.

Bucky came up behind you, draping a blanket over your shoulders and pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. You smiled up at him, warmth spreading through you beyond the blanket.

“Thank you,” you murmured, reaching for his hand. “For what you did for Lucas today.”

Bucky shook his head, brushing it off. “It’s nothing,” he said softly, settling down beside you. But as he looked into the fire, a quiet chuckle escaped him, his eyes crinkling with a mix of disbelief and something almost… tender.

You turned to him, curiosity in your gaze. “What are you thinking about?”

He glanced at you, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, his eyes still reflecting the firelight. “He called me ‘Dad,’” he said, voice soft with wonder.

You nodded, your own smile widening. “He did.”

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief as he leaned back. “Think that’s going to cost me the dad fee?”

You laughed, a warm sound that felt like it belonged to the night. Bucky grinned, clearly pleased to lighten the mood, and his hand found yours as the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the fire crackling as the stars watched over.

After a moment, Bucky’s gaze softened, and he leaned in, closing the space between you with a look of pure adoration. His hand cradled your face as his lips brushed against yours, warm and lingering.

Just as you melted into the kiss, a small voice pierced the quiet.

“Oh, wow. Seriously? Now?”

You and Bucky broke apart to find Lucas standing outside his tent, hands on his hips and an exaggerated look of exasperation on his face. “Guys, it’s, like, bedtime. Some of us are trying to sleep here without… that in our minds.”

You stifled a laugh, and Bucky sighed, glancing at the sky as if asking for patience. “What do you need, kid?”

Lucas rolled his eyes dramatically. “Well, I was going to the bathroom, but now I’m scarred for life. So thanks for that,” he added with a smirk, gesturing toward the trees. “I’ll be back—try to keep it PG, alright?”

With that, he turned and shuffled off, muttering loud enough for you to hear, “Can’t believe I had to see that.”

When he was out of earshot, Bucky shook his head, chuckling softly. “That kid…”

You bit back a grin, leaning into him with a sigh. “So, where were we?”

Bucky pulled you close, a smirk on his lips. “Somewhere between dad fees and permanent interruptions, I think.”

× × × × 

Back home a few days later.

It was a quiet evening, and Bucky had been waiting for the right moment, nerves humming beneath his calm exterior. Lucas was sprawled out on the living room floor, building a small LEGO fortress, completely focused. Bucky took a deep breath, gathering himself, and then sat down next to Lucas, watching him for a moment before speaking.

“Hey, bud,” Bucky said softly, ruffling Lucas’s hair.

Lucas looked up, his face lighting up. “Hey, Bucky! Want to help me with the fortress? It’s almost done.”

Bucky chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe in a sec, kiddo. I actually wanted to talk to you about something… something important.”

“Okay… what’s up?” Lucas tilted his head, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

Bucky took a deep breath, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement.

“So… I’ve been thinking about your mom,” he began, his voice gentle. “She means everything to me, Lucas. You know that, right?”

Lucas nodded, a small smile forming on his lips. “Yeah, I know. She loves you, too.”

Bucky swallowed, his heart pounding a little harder as he reached out, resting a hand on Lucas’s shoulder. “Well, I was wondering… how would you feel if I asked her to marry me?”

Lucas’s eyes went wide, his mouth falling open in surprise. He looked down, taking it in, before glancing back up at Bucky with a raised eyebrow.

“You mean… you’d be my dad?” he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of sass. “Like, officially? You’re not just trying to get a tax break or something, right?”

Bucky laughed, the tension easing out of him a bit. “No, not for a tax break, kid. I genuinely want to be there for you and your mom. I want us to be a family.”

Lucas stared at him for a long moment, his face scrunched up in thought. Then, with a small, knowing smirk, he said, “So… you’re asking me for permission? Wow, you must really like us.”

Bucky chuckled, ruffling Lucas’s hair again. 

“Yeah, I am. It’s important to me that you’re okay with this. You’re the most important person in her life, and if we’re gonna be a family… I want you to know that you’re part of this decision.”

Bucky’s eyes widened, like he’d just been struck by the weight of Lucas’s words. For a moment, he could only stare, his heart swelling with an unexpected, overwhelming sense of joy. He felt a lump form in his throat, and before he could say anything, he pulled Lucas into a tight hug, holding him close.

Lucas’s face softened, and after a brief pause, he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck in a tight hug. 

"You don't have to ask," Lucas whispered, his sass melting to something sincere, "I already know you're my dad."

As he closed his eyes, a tear slipped down his cheek, but he didn’t care. “Thank you, Lucky,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “That means more than you know.”

When they finally pulled back, Lucas wiped his eyes, his grin returning with a mischievous edge. “But… you still have to do it right. Like, you know, get down on one knee and everything. And maybe a big sign that says, ‘Will you marry me?’ in case you mess up your words.”

Bucky laughed, nodding. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m going all out. Your mom deserves the best.”

Lucas nodded, looking proud. “Good. She does. And you better not make her cry… unless they’re the good kind of tears. Otherwise, I’ll have to come after you.”

Bucky chuckled. “Only happy tears, kiddo. I promise.”

Lucas gave him a firm nod, his eyes sparkling. “Good then it’s settled. Now, are you going to help me finish this fortress, or are you too busy planning your big proposal?”

Bucky grinned, feeling the last of his nerves slip away as he settled beside Lucas, picking up a LEGO piece. 

“Alright, kiddo, let’s finish this fortress. Gotta make sure it’s strong enough to withstand all the big plans I’m about to set in motion.”

Lucas gave a mock-serious nod. “Good idea. Wouldn’t want you bailing on me halfway through.”

Bucky chuckled, nudging him gently. “Hey, I’m in this for the long haul. Fortress-building included.”

They both settled back down to work, side by side, focused on finishing the fortress together, each piece clicking into place as easily as their bond had over time.

[exocaliii]

❦︎ Is That What You Want? (It's You)

| Se-mi / Player 380 x fem!reader |

Summary: In the worst possible place, you reunite with someone you never thought you would see again. Fortunately for you, the looming threat of death unveils many long lost feelings you both tried (and failed) to let go.

Word Count: 6.4k

Warnings: mention of suicide, death, violence, hurt/comfort, occasional use of Y/N even tho I do try to avoid it, lots of YEARNING, kind of a childhood friends to lovers typa scenario, kissing (but it's only in like one paragraph at the very end sorry freaksters....)

A/N: SEMI FIC HERE TO MAKE UP FOR HER FUMBLE IN THE LAST ONE!!!! this one is also extremely plot heavy as u can see from the word count LOL but I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY!! tried to show her softer side in this as well as her playfulness! this is for the people asking for a se-mi fic in my inbox sorry I made the post before I could click "respond to ask" and now im afraid I might actually delete everything so... this is for u whoever u are <3 I didn't read it over this time y'all so praying for no typos... ENJOY

—

When Se-mi first spots you, you’re crouched down in front of a table and surrounded by four other women as you throw the gonggi pieces into the air. For a solid minute, she thinks her eyes are playing tricks on her - that or this person that bears a striking resemblance to her first real friend wasn’t you at all. However, when your team rapidly advances around the bloodied track, she’s allowed a closer look at you; your hair has grown longer and you’re just a bit taller than the last time she saw you, but your eyes are still the same and that’s what confirms it for her. 

She doesn’t cheer when you win - her throat feels strangely tight and her heart is heavy in her chest even with your victory - but she does feel an overwhelming sense of relief as she watches you bound past the finish line. Seeing you smile and laugh once again stirs something inside of her, an emotion she hasn’t felt for years. 

Before you completely disappear behind the doors of the field, she swears she sees you turn around and look directly at her, vague recognition clear on your face. 

—

“Hey, where are you running off to so fast?”

Laughter rings out behind you as you pick up your pace, clutching your bag tight to your chest. Multiple footsteps fall in behind you, and with a short glance over your shoulder at the agitated faces of the girls trailing you, you realize today might not just end with a bit of teasing. It’s New Year’s Eve though and the sun is mostly set, so maybe they won’t knock you out cold so you can make it home on time to welcome the new year with your family.

“C’mon, aren’t you gonna pay us back?” For what, you want to shout, but before you even get the chance to respond, the footsteps behind you suddenly speed up. You’re practically thrown to the ground with a single hard shove on your back, arms flailing as your bag scuttles across the concrete. “My dad said your family owes us some money, you know, and I don’t mind getting it from you.”

Your head is spinning and your nose feels oddly hot, but you hear her words loud and clear and they send a deep feeling of shame through your entire body. A hand tangles itself in your hair as your head is pulled back, causing yet another fit of laughter to ring throughout the alley. “Fuck, her nose is bleeding so much! Did you break it?”

The one holding you by the hair reassures her group that you’d be fine, they could just say you fell because currently, it was your word against five other students. A part of you begins to wonder if anyone would even come help if you screamed right then - the alley was right next to the school, someone was bound to hear you. 

As the other four begin to sift through your bag for any valuables, you find your mouth sealed shut, afraid that even a whimper of pain would turn the attention of this pack of wolves back towards you. You didn’t have much in your wallet these days, and what you did have was pocket change for emergencies. They would go home disappointed either way, but whatever kept you from getting beaten the worst would be preferred. 

“What the hell, she’s only got like 5000 won in here.” The tallest girl turns to you with both confusion and disdain evident on her face. “Are you really that fucking poor? Where’s the rest of it?”

She stands right back up and so does the other three, all slowly advancing on you as you were held down by the fifth. You don’t even struggle against her loose grip on your hair, slowly coming to accept the fact that you might just have to take a beating for today, because there is no ‘the rest of it.’ 

Perhaps, if you’re lucky, they’ll get bored fast at your lack of reaction to anything they do and you’ll only go home with a bloody nose and a couple easily hidden bruises. 

You can accept that fate, you can accept your place in this world. 

“What the hell’s going on here?” 

Everyone’s heads, even yours, turn towards the lone girl standing at the entrance of the alleyway. With the setting sun behind her, her face is mostly casted in shadows. You think you recognize her as one of the troublemakers in your math class, constantly getting sent outside to stand in the hallway and ‘think about what she’s done.’ Even after being in the same class for two years, you still haven’t quite learned anything about her beyond her antics. The reason for why she’s butting in though, is also lost on you.

“Mind your business, Se-mi.” So that’s her name. It fits her. “We’re just teaching this one a nice lesson in karma.” 

How ironic. Five girls beating on a younger classmate would definitely bring them amazing luck for the New Year.

Se-mi’s eyes trail down towards the ground, towards you, and her eyes take in your bloody nose and the deep-blue bruise already forming on your cheek. For a second, you think she might just leave you here like anyone else would, but after some obvious inner contemplation, she speaks up once again.

“She looks like she understands it just fine now,” she says mockingly, beginning to walk closer towards you all. Her eyes are sharp, leaving no room for argument, and you only wish you could be half as strong to stand up to these girls. “Maybe you guys should just head home.” It sounds less like a suggestion than it does a threat, and your attackers respond in kind. 

“What, you got a problem with us?” It’s obviously not a real question, but a chance for Se-mi to back out now before things get serious. She doesn’t.

“Yeah, I do, so what’re we gonna do about it?” 

Inwardly, you curse yourself for inadvertently placing this stranger at risk to get beat up right alongside you for a problem that definitely had nothing to do with her. 

For a second, the girls are silent, but you can practically feel their anger growing as the one on top of you lets go of your hair. Se-mi stands her ground, expression just as cold as always as they try (and fail) to intimidate her with their glares. You’re frozen in awe of this idiot for both her courage and her poor decision-making skills.

It’s no surprise to you when the tall one lunges forward to try and land the first punch in the inevitable fight, but Se-mi is quick to dodge it and redirect her momentum right into the side of a trash can. All hell breaks loose after that, and for a second, you think your savior might just win the fight with pure skill and experience alone, but reality catches up to you both. 

With pure numbers, they bring Se-mi to the ground, and even though you scramble to your feet and try to fight them as well, you’re humbled even faster with your already pre-existing injuries and lack of knowledge on any forms of fighting. The tall one is the angriest, screaming curses at you both as you’re kicked and punched on the ground. Se-mi’s attempt to get back on her feet is thwarted by a solid hit on her face, and your lack of an attempt is rewarded with a fist right to the center of your ribcage, knocking all the air out from your lungs. 

As you’re beginning to think they might really want to kill you both, sirens in the distance interrupt the bombardment of pain on your sore body. 

“Shit, is that the police? Have we been spotted?” Their voices are now twinged with a hint of anxiety at being caught, and fortunately for the two of you, that’s all it takes to end the assault. “Let’s just leave.”

With a final kick to your back, the girls quickly grab their backpacks and run for it, long forgetting your own bag and the 5000 won that started this beatdown in the first place. 

—

As you look around the giant room for a place to eat, you find yourself unconsciously scanning the crowd for a familiar face as well. 

A part of you is sure that it was her that you walked right by in the middle of the last game, but you were so focused on facing forward to make sure you wouldn’t trip that you weren’t able to get a clear look at her face. Even after you won, you were given little to no time to do anything on the field before being ushered back to the main room. Now, you’re beginning to think that the looming threat of death is making you cling even harder to long lost dreams, but you hope that isn’t enough to make you hallucinate people you used to know. 

Sitting down on one of the unoccupied steps, you open your container and begin digging in, forcing yourself to forget the foolish dream that’s been occupying your mind for hours now. Even during the vote, you found your hand drifting towards the bright red X just in case she really was here and at risk of imminent death (just like everyone else). In the end, the blue patch on your chest is unchanging, and no imaginary companion will change that.

“Y/N?”

Your neck almost snaps clean in half with the way your head shoots up to see the person who just called your name, a name you are 100% sure you didn’t give to anyone here. Yet, when you see who it is, you’re somehow even more surprised than you would’ve been if it was some stranger. 

Se-mi casually stands right in front of you after what felt like a lifetime without her. She smiles - no, smirks at the recognition evident on your face and plops herself down right next to you.

“Long time no see, 399,” she says, her voice teetering on the edge of teasing and what might be genuine happiness to see you again. Of course, she has to ruin the moment by reminding you of the situation you had to reunite in, and you glance down at the number on her chest as well.

“Yeah, it’s good to see you again, 380.” You add as much sass to your voice as you can manage in the moment, but it comes out just as soft as you meant it in your heart because it is good to see her again. 

For a moment, the two of you can only stare at each other, picking up the differences in each person’s appearance since the last time you met. It’s the kind of peaceful silence that you haven’t been afforded for far too long, and now that it’s given to you, you can’t bring yourself to be the one that breaks it. Luckily for you, it seems like Se-mi can’t either, because all she does is stare at you with an indecipherable look in her eyes. If you had to describe it, you might say that it’s the unspoken equivalence of the softness in your voice from earlier (by now, you understand full well that the most genuine emotion you’ll get out of her might just have to come from carefully reading every one of her expressions). 

For a long time, the two of you simply eat in silence, basking in each other’s company. Your legs occasionally brush with how close she sat to you, but it doesn’t feel awkward in the slightest; if anything, it’s comforting, reminding you of your youth together before the real world caught up. 

“So, you know what I’m gonna ask you.” As always, it’s her that breaks the silence between you two, and you can’t blame her for being curious. Afterall, this was a horrible place to meet someone you know.

“My father’s business finally completely collapsed, and now we’re getting chased around the country by loan sharks,” you say, laughing a bit at your own situation. It didn’t take long for you to decide that Se-mi deserved to know the truth, but you knew she would be the last person to judge you for such circumstances. “I didn’t have any other options besides this.”

She doesn’t look at you with pity for your answer. It’s one of the traits you appreciated most from her back then. 

“What about you? How’d you end up in this shithole?” 

Your question earns you a laugh that as always, never fails to make you smile right back at her.

“I mean, I can’t say I’m getting chased around, but I’ve got a bit of debt I need to handle.” She almost decides to cut her story off there, but you’re looking at her with such genuine interest in your eyes that she can’t bring herself to hide the rest from you. How long has it been since someone cared so much about what she had to say? “College was… too expensive. I didn’t have anyone that could help out, so I’ve just been working random jobs here and there.”

Unfortunately, her answer seems completely honest. You wish you could’ve been there by her side, but your own family was dealing with a lot then too. 

“Why didn’t you just… continue to try to make it work out there?” You’re praying that your question doesn’t come off as insensitive, but she seems to find it amusing if anything. “Why would you risk losing everything like this?”

That last phrase earns you a scoff this time, and she turns away with a strained expression, clearly struggling to keep her ever cocky smirk on her face.

“I don’t have anything left to lose. This place is my chance to get a headstart or just…” The rest remains unsaid, and even though she’s speaking so casually, your heart drops at the insinuation. “...I haven’t left a mark on the world at all, Y/N. What happens here really won’t matter much to anyone out there.”

For a second, you’re stumped as to how to answer her. There’s some twisted truth to her reasoning, and you’re sure that if most of the people in this room died tomorrow, their deaths would be passed off as mere victims to loan sharks or suicide. That, or their disappearances wouldn’t be noticed at all. But no. It isn’t the same for Se-mi, and you desperately want her to know that.

“It would matter a lot to me.” You try to make it sound casual so she doesn’t tuck tail and run like she usually does, but you know it left an impact on her with the way her eyes drift to the ground and her brows furrow just slightly. “You left a pretty big impact on my life, you know that?”

As you turn back towards your food, Se-mi glances at you from the corner of her eye. There isn’t a hint of deception or even sarcasm in your face, in your voice, in any part of you. It’s a level of honesty she’s only ever experienced from you, and after being apart for so long, she had forgotten how soothing it was to be on the receiving end of such genuine kindness. 

For years now, she had found herself searching for you in every face she came across, in every friend and partner she had, in every short moment of peace she was allowed in her rocky life. Now that she’s finally found you though, she’s not sure what to do with herself. 

For the rest of night, right up until lights-out, the two of you bask in the silence once again. In your own separate ways, you both sit there and think about each other. You consider what you lost when you were separated from her. She considers the fact that she might’ve just regained something she can now lose if her own life is lost, and the thought of it terrifies her. 

When it’s time to sleep, it’s Se-mi that gets up first, albeit with a great deal of hesitance. The two of you part ways, and before you can get too far, you hear a faint whisper from behind you.

“Good luck tomorrow.”

It makes you crack a smile, turning around to see her still looking at you. Her smile is still strained, but now, there’s a hint of happiness there.

“Yeah, you too, and goodnight, Se-mi.” 

Even now, the sound of your soft voice calling her name makes her heart skip a beat.

—

“What the fuck was that…” 

You finally begin to stir awake at the groans and curses coming from beside, and all your body feels is pain.

God, they really did a number on you didn’t they?

“Fucking cops didn’t even stop for us,” the voice groans again, now paired with a faint shuffling as you watch her attempt to get back on her feet through your incredibly blurry eyes. All you can manage is to roll onto your back, looking up to see the pitch black sky.

Wait, black?! 

How long have you been out?!

“Uff!” A loud clatter of boxes graces your ears as you glance over to see her - Se-mi, was it? - right back on the ground. From the looks of it, her legs were also feeling extremely uncooperative. You already feel like shit, but she took a majority of the beating so she probably feels even worse. Guilt courses through you as she groans in pain, rolling onto her back to mimic your position. 

For a couple minutes, you both lay there in silence, staring up at the empty night sky. In the far distance, cars zoom past on the main road, likely salarymen rushing to get home to their families in time to celebrate New Years.

By now, you've come to the realization that you'll probably would have to celebrate yours alone on the ground this time, considering the fact that your body was not letting you get back up. For now, at least, maybe you can get to know your savior (or rather, attempted savior).

“...I’m sorry about this,” you whisper, sighing heavily into the cold December air.

“Did you get a few hits in on me too?” She’s clearly mocking you, but you can’t even be mad right now. 

“Still… sorry.”

“It’s whatever.” A beat of silence follows. “I never liked those bitches anyways.” 

The second part is almost whispered as if it were a secret between the two of you, and you let out a small chuckle, cutting yourself off before it becomes a laugh as pain shoots up your torso at that small movement. 

In the tranquility that follows, Se-mi begins to fully question why she was laying there on the cold concrete in extreme discomfort for a stranger - well, not really a stranger, but she doesn’t even know your name. Then she thinks back to the ugly feeling she had in her gut watching you get cornered by those stuck-up rich kids, unwilling to even fight back, and she thinks she might’ve done the right thing despite how meaningless this encounter might become. 

She looks over at your bruised face thinking about how similar you looked to a kicked puppy at that instance, and she can’t help but push your buttons even more. 

“Aren’t you glad we were able to save your 5000 won?” 

The absurdity of her statement distracts you from the pain you feel, and after a scoff and a slight shake of your head, you find yourself genuinely laughing for the first time in a long time. It doesn’t take long for her to follow, and after a couple moments, you both find yourselves giggling like children at the shitty situation.

You enjoy this rare moment of companionship for only a couple seconds before you begin hearing loud shouts in the distance.

They’re counting down, but you’re nowhere near home and neither is she.

“5!”

“Hey, what’s your name?” 

“4!”

You turn your head and answer her, and she smiles at you.

“3!”

“I’m Se-mi.” 

“2!”

It’s different hearing her name from her own mouth, spoken without any of the hatred that your attackers infused into the word.

“1!”

You both look up just in time to see fireworks lighting up the once dark sky, red, yellow, and green hues reflecting in your eyes as you force yourself to relax and take in the moment. 

In this moment, with Se-mi by your side, you don’t feel as lonely as you expected yourself to be. It’s a feeling of comfort you’re rarely given, but you openly bask in it as you think about the confidence and bravery it must’ve taken to stand up against five people like that. In another life, perhaps, you could be someone like her, protecting people like you. 

Like a knight in shining armor.

“Happy New Year, Y/N. I’m going to sleep now.” Your head snaps over in her direction as she folds her hands behind her head and closes her eyes, getting way too comfortable on the ground of a shady alleyway.

“What?” No response. “What the hell are you talking about? We’re not sleeping here!”

She bluntly ignores you and her breaths get heavier, but it’s obvious that she’s just pretending to be asleep. The thought of getting up and leaving by yourself crosses your mind, but you can’t bring yourself to part with this girl just yet.

With a resigned sigh, you roll onto your side with a pained groan and close your eyes as well, praying that no mysterious van comes to kidnap you two in this moment.

“Happy New Year, Se-mi.” Silence. “And thank you.”

You’re already facing her so when you peak open your eyes, you see her lips twitch upwards at your choice to stay, and that solidifies the deal.

When morning comes the next day, you don’t even bother going home first before walking alongside her to school. You sit next to her in class for the first time, and you share the lunch you bought with her under the guise of ‘not being able to finish it.’ She’s resistant at first, but eventually, she indulges you. 

This routine continues for the next two years. It’s only interrupted when you break the news to her that your father is forcing the family to flee because of his growing debts. 

That night, you both walk back to the alley and lay there together under the stars.

You think you might’ve seen her eyes water once or twice, but you say nothing, unwilling to break the sacred silence between the two of you. It’s the last one you share for years, until you inevitably see her again in the worst possible place.

—

As everyone begins filing out to head to the next game, Se-mi feels an uncontrollable urge to break away from her current group to go find you once again. She can already see you in the distance, but even though the two of you make eye contact for a brief moment, you look away upon seeing her already large group. 

Shoving her hands in her pockets, she begins to turn away from the rambling of Thanos and Nam-gyu behind her, but a meek voice calls out her name and stops her.

“Where are you going?” 

It’s Min-su, and he’s looking at her like a lost animal terrified of losing its protector. A wave of guilt crashes into her at the thought of leaving this poor boy to the sharks, and even though your face is still the only thing on her mind, she wonders if it’s worth it to betray her new group. 

If she left now, she might not make it through this next game. 

If she dies now, she won’t get a second chance at life (and a second chance to live by your side again, but she pushes that thought to the side for now). 

“Nowhere, let’s go.”

That’s all it takes to appease him, and with one last glance over to where she saw you last, she reintegrates herself back into the group and moves forward. 

—

Even though the first two rounds pass by without a hitch, you think this game might be the most dangerous one yet. You’ve got your own little group from the Six-Legged Race, but as the announcer called for rooms of four, you watch the youngest girl of your team get shoved out of your group by two others (sisters, if you remembered correctly). It’s heartbreaking to hear her cry out as you all ran away, but you can’t save her and save yourself at the same time. 

You’ve made it this far, and you’d be damned if you were sent home an empty handed corpse now. 

As the platform begins to spin again, you pat the shoulder of the woman standing next to you - 047. She was closer to the younger one than you were, and her death obviously shook the poor lady up. Her reaction makes you realize how distant you’ve been to everyone since you arrived (with one notable exception, of course), and you find your own heart beating hard against your chest at the thought of being abandoned as well. 

“3 players.”

Of course.

For a second, the four of you freeze. The sisters are holding onto each other’s hands with a death grip, and you know now that it’s between you and 047. A part of you thinks about shoving her down so you could run away with the other two, but something behind her catches your eye before you can do anything.

It’s Se-mi. 

She’s standing completely alone, hand held out towards nobody, and not a single other person from that group you saw her with earlier by her side. 

Like it’s muscle memory, you shove past 047 and run the fastest you’ve ever ran right at her. You hear a faint yell of gratitude from behind you as you wrap your arms around Se-mi and pull her forward towards one of the empty rooms in the distance. The impact seems to wake her out of her stupor, changing your awkward position so that now, you’re running side by side with her hand in yours. Along the way, you grab a stray girl up from the ground by the back of her sweater and pull her along to complete the three. 

As you all clamber into the room, Se-mi slams the door shut behind you, barely missing the time-out buzzer. The lock clicks shut, and you hear gunfire outside, but she ignores all of it to turn around to look at you. This is the most emotional she’s looked since you’ve reunited, eyes downturned with sadness and a hint of fear at how close she was to death. 

Ignoring the girl repeatedly thanking you to your right, you walk up to Se-mi and pull her into a tight hug, relishing in the warmth of her body. 

“I’m glad I made it in time, 380.”

You feel her arms beginning to wrap around you before the lock clicks open, forcing you to pull apart to exit the room. Your hand doesn’t leave hers, and it’s a clear signal that you’ll be sticking by her side for the rest of this game.

Se-mi doesn’t even find herself searching the arena for Min-su and the others as you walk with her back to the platform, completely distracted by the tingling sensation in her hand as you interlace your fingers together. It’s a feeling that’s new to her, being chosen by someone in a manner like this; of course, she’s been desired before, maybe even loved (despite her inability to return the other person’s feelings), but this is different somehow. In this scenario, it’s you, not some random girl she met at a bar. It’s you choosing to risk your life to make sure she continues living, and in the wake of this realization, the feelings that she’s been shoving down for countless years come rushing back to her. 

As the next rounds pass by, you remain unchanging by her side. Even as the announcer calls for 2 players, you don’t even hesitate to pull her with you, leaving behind everyone you joined up with in the last couple rounds. 

Even after you run over the blood of countless others, you never let go of her hand, and she never lets go of yours.

—

“You really saved my ass back there.”

Here, back in the comfort of this familiar room, Se-mi has regained her usual joking nature, smirking at you as you nod, very clearly proud of yourself.

“Yes, I did. Maybe you should give me your share of the prize money for that,” you say, holding out your hand to her. She laughs and wraps her arm around your shoulder, walking you back over to the steps where you had your first conversation. 

“Maybe I will, or maybe I’ll pay for a couple meals together instead.” The innuendo isn’t lost on you, and your face goes red as she gets even cockier. “It’s time I pay for you for all those lunches, but dinner wouldn’t be so bad either.”

Your face is still turned away from her in embarrassment, but she can still see the blush on your cheeks, revelling in her own ability to make you fold. You mumble something under your breath, but she’s too focused on her victory to hear you. 

“What was that?”

“I said, you’ve already saved me plenty of times before, more times than you can count, so I should treat you first.” 

The warmth in her chest returns full force, and now, it’s her fighting to keep a blush off her face, lest you start embarrassing her about that too. She wonders, what would it be like to take you out on a proper date? She imagines you all dressed up, and in that moment, she decides what she wants to spend her prize money on first when you all leave this place. 

She wants to buy you flowers. She wants to take you to a nice, luxurious restaurant and show you off, then under the stars, she’ll ask you to be hers.

“Whatever you say, pretty lady.”

That earns her a smack on the arm and a scoff as your face starts burning once again (to Se-mi’s absolute delight). 

The moment is unfortunately interrupted by the main doors sliding open, and you watch as the pink guards file in. At the front table, two giant buttons lay waiting for the remaining contestants. Everyone around you begins to speak in hushed tones, obviously discussing their plans for the next vote. 

“Are you going to change your vote?” As you spin around to face her again, Se-mi gestures down at the blue patch on your chest. 

During your entire walk back, you had been contemplating your unchanging choice to stay and risk your life. For the majority of the first two days, you lived life believing there would be no consequences to your death. You wouldn’t lose anything - your life was already in immense danger outside this place, so your family wouldn’t be too surprised if you turned up dead either. There was nothing to lose and everything to gain, and so, O was the easy choice.

Then Se-mi walks back into your life and complicates the hell out of it. 

Now, you realize that if you vote to stay, you’re also voting for her to stay and risk her life. If either of you died here, you would be wasting this chance cast upon you to experience the world by her side.

“Yes, this should be enough money for my family to be able to live normally again.” 

She nods, and even though it looks like she’s still contemplating her decision, Se-mi made her choice as soon as you took her hand in the last game.

“Even if there were less money in the pig right now, I think I’d still pick to leave.” You smile softly at her and look her directly in the eye as you continue. “Being wealthy is a faraway dream, but for now, I just want to live in the company of those I love.” You squeeze her hand and hold your gaze, and this time, Se-mi isn’t able to hold back the blush that rushes onto her face.

If these games don’t take her out, you’ll really be the death of her.

—

As you silently eat what is hopefully your last meal in this place together, two groups of men clamber out of the bathroom. They’re bloodied and there’s a horrifying look of pure bloodlust on many of their faces, and you feel your heart drop. 

Would there be a fight tonight? Is that allowed?

Se-mi sees the fear on your face and gently rubs her thumb on the back of her hand. Despite her best efforts though, your concerns are not assuaged and you realize that getting shot by the pink guards might not be the only way you can die in this place. 

These people are hungry and hopeless, and you fully understand the lengths many would go through for a second chance.

“Se-mi, sleep with me tonight.” 

Her eyebrows raise and she smirks, but even this attempt to lighten the air with her usual humor doesn’t work, but still, she agrees immediately and you try to swallow the lump in your throat. You’re sure that no matter what happens, you won’t find sleep tonight, but that pales in comparison to your desire to protect Se-mi at all costs. 

You won’t leave this place without her. 

—

As the strobe lights turn on and off, your eyes bounce around the room as you search for somewhere, anywhere that might be free of the insane violence. Every way you look, there’s some sort of fight happening - that or you’ve just watched someone get brutally murdered in their own bed. For a second, you consider that you might be safe if you and her just stand still in your little corner, but a man rounds the corner and you feel yourself freeze up.

“Come here, you fucking traitor bitch!” It’s 124, and he looks like a rabid animal with red painted across his face and a bloody fork in his hand. In the back of your mind, you slap yourself for not keeping the utensil for self defense. 

Se-mi attempts to shove you further behind her as he begins charging at you two, but before you can even make a move, a glass bottle shatters at his feet. You all look up to see a young man that you don’t recognize, but from the rage on 124’s face, you figure he might’ve been one of his old teammates. 

In their distracted states, you rush forward, grabbing a shard of glass from the floor and swinging it right at the man’s head. Unfortunately for you, you still have absolutely no skills when it comes to fighting and he easily dodges the hit. It doesn’t feel like some slow motion action movie when you see his fork flying at your neck at full speed, but somehow, you’re fast enough to lift your hand so that it punctures right through your palm instead. You scream, and behind you, Se-mi calls your name as well. 

In an extremely painful rush of adrenaline, you maneuver his and your body to switch places, trusting Se-mi to take care of the rest. In the few flashes of light that you’re granted, you see her rush forward with her own shard of glass in hand, unforgivingly jabbing it right into the side of 124’s neck. 

“Fuck! Fucking bitch!” His scream pierces your ears as he finally lets you go, and you don’t waste the moment you get. Pulling his fork out of your hand, you slam it down into the side of his head with all your strength. 

A beat passes, then he falls to the ground unmoving. 

“Are you okay?! Let me see!” Se-mi rushes forward and takes you in her arms, dragging both of you backwards towards the wall as she inspected your injuries. In the rush that followed watching someone die by your own hands, you can barely feel the pain at all. All you can focus on is the woman in front of you and how afraid you were when 124 charged at her. 

“Se-mi - Se-mi, listen to me,” you choke you, using your bloody hands to gently hold her face. Her eyes are glossy with unshed tears, and you can see how much the encounter shook her to her core. “When we leave this place, promise me you’ll stay by my side.”

Your voice is desperate and you can feel your own tears rising, vision getting blurry as you struggle to wipe them off with the sleeve of your sweater. It looks like Se-mi barely heard your request with the way she was still scanning your body for any serious injuries. 

“What?! What are you-”

“Promise me! Please!” You’re openly sobbing now, holding onto the one thing keeping you moving in this world, and finally, she focuses her gaze back on your face. With a quiet voice, she finally responds to you with a shaky smile.

“How could I ever leave you?”

Her eyes are the most expressive they’ve been, filled with concern and what looks like love, the same love that you’ve held for her ever since you were 16. 

With trembling hands, she holds your face just as you hold hers and leans in, pressing her lips against yours. It’s not gentle - it’s more desperate if anything, but you feel like flying in that moment. As your legs slowly give out, she holds you carefully in her arms and lowers the both of you to the floor. 

Finally, as you begin to drown out the surrounding chaos, the world around you falls silent as well. You close your eyes and imagine that you’re back in that alleyway, finally at peace with the person you love the most.

When you open your eyes again, she’s still right there in front of you, and you’re the happiest you’ve been since the day you met.

—

A/N: PLOT MONSTER STRIKES AGAIN!!! anyways this was inspired by a cherry waves edit I saw of her on TikTok where she told min-su "I thought you wouldn't deceive me" so I had to give her a girl that she KNOWS would never deceive her... okay guys hope y'all enjoy and as always plz PLZ LMK WHAT U THINK!! I love interacting with y'all im serious... and for the no eul lovers I see u and I hear u... but its gonna be a bit till that one comes out cuz im about to start second semester college... hashtag NOT FUNNY ANYMORE

also im still playing around with the layout of my posts so if I keep doing different sht and it throws u off im so sorry LOL

[nightingale-prompts]

Energy Levels-Batboy AU-DCxDP

Previous | First | Next

Dealing with Danny's energy level has gotten 10 times worse. Dick remembered dealing with Beast's bursts of energy but even he got tired after a good wrestle with anyone willing to take on a bear. But Danny's new full transformations are smaller than Beast's transformations with twice the energy. If Dick wanted to get sleep he needed reinforcements.

So a trip to Titans Tower was needed. Before Dick could park Danny had rolled down a window and flew to the landing pad on the roof.

Batboy had certainly changed since his regeneration. The new wings have done a lot. Dick didn't get it when Danny described the process of blending dragon and bat muscle and bone formations. Dick didn't even know Danny had a dragon friend. Dick also didn't mention that sometimes Danny looked like a gargoyle when his wings rested on his back and not around him like normal.

Still, Danny was happy. Well...happier. Sometimes Danny would still blankly stare out at the city at night deep in thought. Like he was searching for something but knew he'd never find it.

Danny also didn't call him dad again. Dick never mentioned it. Danny did have mixed feelings about parents.

When Dick finally made it to the top floor Danny had already pounced on Gar. The two were in the middle of a tug-of-war as wolves. It wasn't a fair battle either as Beast was twice as big.

Wally almost felt bad for encouraging Danny. Almost. He took pictures of Beast being able to drag Danny around by the rope.

But there is a funny thing about wolf instincts. Adult wolves will always give in to pups. If a pup wants something the adult will let them have it. It's called puppy privilege. Like it or not Gar eventually surrendered the rope and let Danny fun off with it.

"Sorry, he's been like for a solid week." Dick immediately apologized.

"We are just glad he is alright. He's certainly more spirited than last time. Although his size-shifting last time left us confused." Starfire said patting Danny on the head.

The wolf dropped the rope before bounding back over to Gar and picking another fight.

Honestly, Garfield was thrilled to finally have another animal shapeshifting buddy. He considered asking Nightwing to let Batboy be his sidekick. Make him the new Beastboy.

After a few more rounds Batboy finally settled down after a race around the training course. The team managed to get some data on him after the other Titans arrived. Tim was the one to type out the data and send it out.

The others were just excited to have a potential new member like Supergirl. There was a debate however on whether Batboy was closer to being their generation's Beastboy or if he's technically a Robin.

All the while Dick took a long nap without Danny there to run or fly around the house to wake him.

*elsewhere in Gotham City*

A tiny dirty kitten trembled in the cold rain. Her sharp green eyes tried to see through the wet smog. A weak mew couldn't break through the sound of rain on the pavement.

"Oh, poor thing." A voice broke through the thundering force that pelted her.

A pair of chilled hands lifted her off the ground and tucked her into a jacket and carried her away.

[sapphicandgraphic]

Ride It Out — Chapter 2

Synopsis: A hurricane rolls through Philly, and Melissa invites you over to ride it out. 

Chapter: 2/?

Series Warnings: Mentions of minor violence, protective Melissa, domestic fluff, hurt/comfort

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of minor violence, protective Mel!

————-

You followed Melissa’s instructions to the letter, arriving at her house that evening with your bag packed. She answered the door before you could knock, wearing jeans, a slouchy crew-neck sweater, and a faded eagles baseball cap. 

“You made it!” 

Her smile was warm, infectious. A few flyaway strands of hair bordered her face, soft and halo-like. She reached out and pulled you into a hug, enjoying the solid feeling of your body beneath her fingertips. Right where you belong, she thought.

“I was expecting you an hour ago.”

“Sorry,” you said, instantly grounded by the familiar smell of her shampoo, the warmth of her hands on your back. “Traffic was a bear.” 

Melissa stepped back but kept one arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into her house and closing the door as you peeled off your drenched rain slicker.

Trying to be surreptitious, she scanned your face. Now that she was really looking, she noticed the dull shadow of fatigue in your eyes, the way your shoulders were slouched, slightly rounded as if you bore a heavy weight.

“Are you sure you don’t mind me crashing here?” You fidgeted as her eyes flickered over you. “It’s really - ” 

Melissa cut you off with a glare, nudging you gently. “I already told youse, it’s no trouble.” 

You met her gaze, searching for a lie and finding none. Somewhere deeper in the house, a timer went off. Melissa hung your coat in the closet, then smoothly relieved you of your duffel bag, setting it by the foot of the stairs. 

“Gotta get back in the kitchen and check on my lasagna.”

Your ears perked up at the mention of Melissa’s cooking. “Lasagna?” 

Melissa paused, like she was trying to remember something important. “You got any allergies?” 

You shook your head.

“That’s my girl,” she said, her voice rumbling pleasantly as she disappeared around the corner.

You stepped carefully out of your boots, setting them against the wall. As you looked around the small entryway, you noticed a wooden baseball bat leaning in the corner and grinned. You had to give her points for consistency. 

There were heavy footsteps on the landing as Jacob came bounding down the stairs. He had a yellow rain poncho on and a small backpack on his shoulders.

“What are you wearing?” You chuckled.

“Only the most reliable waterproof technology known to man,” he said, giving a little twirl. 

You laughed, letting him pull you into a proper hug. 

“Jeez, Mel must really like you,” he said, raising his voice so the redhead could hear. “She never makes lasagna for me.” 

“She don’t ask me to substitute the mozzarella with cashew cheese,” Melissa barked back, muffled slightly from the other side of the house. 

“I’m lactose intolerant,” he called.

Melissa shook her head and padded softly down the hall, intending to rebuke this claim, but paused when you beat her to the punch.

“Since when?” You snorted, shoving his arm like an older sister. Melissa, still concealed in the hallway, waited to hear his reply.

“It’s…recent,” he admitted, massaging his bicep. “And, as yet, unconfirmed.” 

You gave him a withering look.

“Admit it,” you said, voice low and conspiratorial. “You just like terrorizing her.” 

“Maybe,” he said, fiddling with the straps of his backpack. “A little bit!”

“I get it,” you hummed, a bright smile dancing across your features. “She’s…fun to tease.” 

Melissa felt her cheeks heating up at your words, obviously not intended for her to overhear. She turned on her heel, ready to head back toward the kitchen when Jacob’s next question stopped her in her tracks.

“Hey, how are you doing?” He asked, soft brown eyes shining with concern. “We haven’t talked since—“

“I’m okay,” you said, cutting him off. “Really.”

Jacob, either not noticing or not caring about the change in your tone, plowed ahead with another question. “Have you decided what you’re going to do about this guy?”

“Keep your voice down,” you hissed. Melissa frowned, straining to hear. Her hackles went up immediately. What guy?

Jacob’s eyes widened, but lowered his voice. “You mean…she doesn’t know?”

“Definitely not!” You reached out a hand, nervously smoothing the hood of his poncho. “We don’t need Abbott’s best teacher catching a murder charge.”

Jacob didn’t laugh. “Good point.” 

Melissa hardly breathed, the guilt of eavesdropping forgotten as she leaned forward. When Jacob spoke again, she could almost picture the worried look on his face.

“I’m just concerned. What if he—“

But then a peal of thunder broke overhead, so loud that a few picture frames on the wall shuddered. And by the time the noise faded, you had smoothly switched topics.

“You better hit the road before the storm gets any worse,” you said. “Raymond has supplies?” 

Jacob nodded. “He’s got a secret doomsday prepper side, which I find politically disturbing but undeniably useful given the current climate.”

Melissa crept back toward the kitchen, the sound of your voices fading into the background. So something had happened. She bristled at the idea that Jacob knew, then felt a paradoxical wave of gratitude that you’d confided in someone, even if it wasn’t her. 

You waved Jacob off, then wandered into the kitchen a few moments later, leaning against the counter. Melissa had a checkered kitchen towel thrown over her shoulder, an apron tied around her waist. She absently stirred a small saucepan, fiddling with the burner. The sight made you smile.

“Can I help?” 

She glanced up. The bright, hopeful look on your face instantly quelled the fierce storm that had been gathering in her chest.

“Ya know how to set a table?” 

She passed you a stack of plates and silverware, then pulled the lasagna out of the oven. The whole house was blanketed in a warm aroma of tomato sauce, herbs, garlic, salt. Your stomach growled as you sank into one of the chairs at the dining room table, mouth suddenly watering. 

Melissa sat down, heaping a large pile of food onto your plate and watching with intense satisfaction as you proceeded to devour the entire thing. She waited until you had asked for seconds before making her move, not willing to risk ruining your appetite with a difficult conversation.

“So,” Melissa said, pinning you with a playful look. “You really think I’m the best teacher at Abbott?” 

You froze, fork halfway to your mouth. “How’d you—?” 

Melissa arched her eyebrow. “I got eyes in the back of my head, sweetheart.” 

You blushed, both at her tone and the term of endearment. 

“Well, Barbara’s a close second,” you admitted. “But yeah, you take the cake.” 

Melissa chuckled. “Suck-up.”

“It’s true! You’re so good with the kids, and you always know how to handle the parents…” you trailed off, like you had said something you weren’t intending to say. 

Melissa’s eyes narrowed.

“Parents can be worse than the kids,” she said, lobbing the comment into the conversation almost casually, watching your face for any reaction. 

The stiffness of your body language and the uncertain waver in your voice told her she was getting warmer. You nodded, absently playing with the tablecloth, folding and unfolding your napkin. Melissa could see she’d have to be pushier. 

“You’re not leaving this table ‘til you tell me what’s going on,” she said, and your stomach flipped pleasantly at her authoritative timbre. You couldn’t help but push back. 

“What’s next? Gonna make me eat all my vegetables, too?”

Melissa didn’t laugh. The uneasy feeling from earlier returned as she watched you try to weasel out of the conversation again. Finally, you took a deep breath. 

“I had a meeting with a parent on Wednesday,” you said carefully. “Things got…a little out of hand.”

Melissa didn’t like the way you wouldn’t meet her eyes. She didn’t like it at all.

“Define out of hand.” Her voice was quiet, deadly.  

“He’s a single parent, working two jobs -“

“I didn’t ask for his sob story,” Melissa interrupted. “What happened?” 

You swallowed, shifting slightly in your seat as you recounted the incident. Melissa’s expression darkened with every word that left your mouth.

You had been trying to explain to this man that his son needed extra help, that he was at risk of falling behind without a tutor. The father had been difficult, combative, exploding out of his chair more than once during the conversation, pacing restlessly while you spoke. 

At the end of the meeting you stood up, walked toward the door. You hadn’t even heard him close the distance until he was right behind you. Then a heavy hand landed on your wrist. He spun you around, shoved you backward. 

“My son is perfectly normal,” he snarled. But it was the look in the man’s eyes you remembered most—wild, rageful, exhausted—as he boxed you in, slamming a fist into the wall just a few inches to the left of your face.

“For a second I didn’t know…” you trailed off with a barely suppressed shiver. “He just scared me.”

Melissa was gripping her fork and knife so hard that her hands were shaking. She set them down with a clatter, then pressed her palms together and took a deep breath before she spoke. 

“You file a report?” 

You looked away and the older woman’s eyes flashed in outrage. She growled your name.

“I don’t think he’s a bad guy,” you explained, raising your shoulders in a defensive shrug. “I’ve met him before, he’s just having a hard time right now. Getting the police involved will just make it worse for him and for my student.” 

“He put his hands on you.” Her face twisted like she was in physical pain as she pictured the scene—you, cornered in a classroom with some meathead twice your size—and how quickly it might have escalated, turned more dangerous, turned deadly. “He could have…”

“Hey,” you said, drawing her attention back to the present moment. “I’m fine. Nothing happened.” 

Melissa gave you a doubtful look. After the way you downplayed the story, she was worried what else you might be hiding. But pushing now might make you clam up completely.

Silence descended over the table. For a minute, neither of you spoke. Then…

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Melissa asked softly, trying to keep the injured tone out of her voice. Your head snapped toward her, eyebrows furrowing as you searched her face. Wasn’t it obvious? 

“I didn’t want you to worry,” you sighed. “But I guess that didn’t work, huh?”

“Not really,” Melissa smiled, trying to ignore the ache in her chest.

“So if anything like that ever happens again,” the redhead continued. “You come to me, alright?” 

You nodded. Melissa reached over, placing her fingers under your chin, wanting to hear you say the words out loud. “Say you promise?” 

“Promise,” you repeated faintly, breathless at the intense swirl of emotions shining in her eyes. You weren’t sure anyone had ever looked at you like that—a heady mix of pride and possessiveness. 

Suddenly the idea of trying to conceal anything from the other woman seemed completely laughable. With just one word, she could lay you open, make you bare your soul. You’d never deny her anything. She smiled like she knew it, smoothing her thumb across your cheek. 

“That’s my girl.” 

You felt your breath catch at her words, and you leaned into her touch instinctively, shifting closer in your seat. The movement was subtle, but Melissa noticed. Her mouth parted slightly as she watched you, mesmerized by the absolute trust in your expression. 

Another rumble of thunder broke overhead, and she reluctantly withdrew her hand. 

“Dinner was delicious,” you said, standing to clear the table, eager for something to do. After a few seconds, she followed you into the kitchen, passing over dirty plates and utensils. You both worked in comfortable silence for a while. Then Melissa fiddled with the dial of a radio on the windowsill and music spilled into the room. You watched her swaying by the sink, working her hands in the sudsy water. 

“Thanks, hon,” she said. “I’ll finish up here, you go sit down. Maybe turn on the news?” 

You wandered into the living room. The space was small but warm, inviting—just like the rest of the house. You studied a few framed photos, pausing to admire one in particular. A younger Melissa in a wedding dress, smile radiant. You stared at her, a strange tenderness blooming in your chest as you imagined all the heartache that lay ahead of that young girl.

Outside, the rain was coming down in heavy sheets and the wind was picking up. You didn’t hear Melissa until she was right behind you.

“That was a fun day,” she murmured. “The next twenty years, not so much.” 

You turned to find the redhead quite close, regarding you with a soft, sad smile. Her dark eyes seemed to contain a dozen stories, and you suddenly wanted to hear them all. You opened your mouth to ask a question about this man who had somehow fumbled the catch of all catches, Melissa Schemmenti, but just then a loud explosion echoed down the street and the entire block was plunged into darkness. 

[sunny-mercya]

Breakable Mind

Poly! Billy Loomis & Stu Macher x Male Reader

Fandom -> Scream 1996

Requested by -> Anon

Masterlist | Related OS

Oh how it shouldn't went down like this. How it wasn't meant to be, that you, their adorable crybaby—with a heart of gold, emotions so sensitive and a mind so submissive weak—of a boyfriend, finding out about their little secret.

You had though and although not on your own—as it was all thanks to little miss princess Sidney Prescott, who told you—planting subjective doubt in your pure mind—about her suspicions of Billy—and somewhat Stu and you too—being the Ghostface Killer, who terrorise her and the town as if it was some funny game—it did brought a minor bump into their plan.

Though nothing Billy and Stu weren't able to fix. There would be, if ever the case occurred that you might found out, only two options; kill you, which would be truly a tragic shame to do—or holding you hostage and making you in every possible way submit to them, showing who you belong to.

And of course Billy and Stu chose option two, because after all—like said before—it would be truly a tragedy of shame, if they had to kill you.

So when you've confronted them about it—honestly, it was more a question than an accusation from you, but it's the whole point about it which matters—well, Billy and Stu started with the simplest way—of necessarily disciplinary measurements and methods—to keep you at bay and by them, close under pressuring watch, making sure you wouldn't go off running to the police anytime soon.

~~~

In the first night, when you got told about the ugly truth, they started simple—not wanting to scare you right away into a mindset of sheer panic. Although, thinking back to it, perhaps they should have started with scary approache—would have saved them a few nights of not so gentle actions.

You were caged in Stu's hold—his lanky strong arms tightly enclosed around you—trying to break free from him, struggling considerably in your task as Stu's taller and a lot more stronger than you.

It's futile to break free, you soon realise the longer and more you struggled around. Body going limp, having giving up—for now at least, only for the remaining night as you felt tired—and while Stu said sweet meaningless nothing into your ear and then throwing you onto your bed—like he had playfully done all the times before—Billy's gaze that night was cold.

Perhaps breaking your hips and having you thus bedridden for a while now—till Billy and Stu have to either break some of your bones again or threaten you in any other way, to keep you at bay and by their side—might sound a tad bit extreme to do, but in hindsight—it was a necessary measurement to do.

You sobbed and screamed in agony through that night, some of your neighbours had called the police because of the disturbing noises and Stu—even though your bedroom was on the second floor and down below your window was nothing but solid hard concrete ground—had the brilliant idea to literally throw you out of your window to make sense as of why your hips are broken now.

Waking up in the hospital, high on morphine and other pain killers—bound to the bedside by one hand, because Billy told your dad and the doctor of your possible “suicidal” tendencies—you were neither depressed nor suicidal, but someone had to deliver an plausible explanation of why you did throw yourself out the window and breaking your hips in the process—and with Stu cooing lovingly endearments next to your side, wasn't another pleasant memory to remember.

All the while you were in the hospital, Billy inflicted you with more pain and injuries—going even as far and slitting your wrist open, breaking one of them as well, strangling you and giving you so much pills to swallow that a nurse had to force you to vomit.

It caused so much high strung anxiety and stress in you, that you started to hyperventilate into panic attacks—everything and everyone seemed to trigger them and sometimes it were yourself which did—that you occasionally, if not always, passed out from them—getting nosebleeds and migraines in the aftermath.

»You know, [Name]« Billy begun one morning, when he came for another daily visit—it was during your recovering period, which went really well so far—moving closer to you, till he had warped one of his arms around your waist and pulling you close.

»Wouldn't it be a shame, disappointing even, if you're getting injured once again? I mean, your dad, god bless him—Stu and me really likes him, he's a good man with a big heart after all—wouldn't want his precious only son to be any longer in the scary hospital and neither do we.«

Billy, after leading you back to your room—it was a slow and agonising walk back with your crippled hips and crutches—had caged you between the wall and his arms, slowly leaning in towards your neck—licking over your skin with his tongue, before biting into it—leaving behind a nice hickey.

»Really [Nickname],« Billy continues, picked you up with ease and carry you towards your bed and laying you down.

»Stu whines constantly about wanting to cuddle with you again, he misses you and so do I. Does that what we do, our small hobby, really deterred you from your love for us?«

Billy hooked you up on the morphine, setting it as high as possible, when you whined—moaning—out when the pain started to flare up again.

»I really don't like to see you in any pain and neither do I want to cause you any, but if you don't behave, love, I'm afraid it will end even more ugly than it was intended to be.«

»How....how could I still love you or Stu, when you two......you two...kill people as a hobby?« your voice was hoarse, dry like a sandpaper—as you had stopped to speak, after you were coherent enough from the morphine a few days later.

Billy drove his hand through your hair, his eyes—and maybe it's just the hospital light which makes it seem to look like it—emitting a soft gaze—an stark contrast to that night, where he glanced at you with such coldness that it stills cause a shudder through your spine.

»Maybe hobby was the wrong word to use. We're not killing people for fun or anyone we randomly see, love. Stu and I only kill those who deserved it, these people who ruin lives of others.«

With each passing second you're getting more and more drowsy and you wonder if that had always been the case when you're hooked on the morphine and pain killers.

And you didn't even knew yourself of the whys, but you nodded along to what Billy said—it sounds so logical now, making somewhat sense.

Maybe, you thought, you were wrong about your Boyfriends—still consider them as such, as you never broken the relationship off, not that you could anyways—and their possible evilness and murderous actions.

Billy seemed to see your hesitations and while you slowly begun to descend into dreamland, Billy continued to tell you all about their reasoning—feeding you sweet little believable lies.

~~~

It took almost three months of recovery, till the doctors (and psychiatrist) deemed you well enough—you still have to attend weekly therapy sessions, Physiotherapy and some other medical appointments of check ups—to be discharged.

Now you're here, back at home—in the comfort and safety zone of walls, you could call your own—and the first thing, besides your dads bear like hug as a welcome—because he's the most happiest to got you back, ready to pampering you in all his parentally love—was Billy and Stu's constantly touching and butterfly kisses at you.

»Stu, love, I can walk on my own again,« you reminded Stu once again, patting his grinning cheek softly—wanting to be let down.

»Oh I know, I know, but I love to carry you.« he swings you, in gentle ways, from side to side before walking towards the couch and laying himself with you down.

»[Nickname], I could just eat you up right away, you look so candy good, baby.« Stu preps your face with lots of tinies kisses, brought a giggling smile from your lips.

While Stu entertains you, showering you with much excessive up building love, Billy was in the kitchen—pouring for all of them some cool cola into cups.

Billy adds a few drops of highly dosed medications, the one which makes someone drowsy and loopy in the brain, in your cup—after all it's just a small precautions for them to guarantee you're forever theirs.

[nglgfics]

Rules

(Based on an anonymous request for Noel being a friend with benefits)

(18+)

Masterlist

Noel had been on your couch for twelve days.

Not that either of you were counting. But his socks had started turning up in your laundry basket, and the flat had that subtle lived-in shift—extra mugs left out, two sets of footsteps instead of one, and a low buzz of guitar most evenings when he didn’t bother plugging into the amp.

He’d shown up unannounced. No call. Just a knock at your door at half past ten on a Tuesday night, holding a duffel bag, a guitar case, and a slightly overstuffed Tesco carrier full of neatly rolled socks and three carefully folded shirts.

“Thanks for letting me stay over.” he said. Flat.

You stepped aside. “Kettle’s on.”

That was it. He took the couch. You didn’t ask what happened. He didn’t explain. That’s how it worked between you—low-effort, no fuss, no theatre.

He was technically your brother’s mate. That’s how it started. But by now he was yours too. You’d known him since you were sixteen—always hovering in the background, rolling cigarettes at the kitchen table, half-listening to music on headphones while everyone else shouted over each other. He worked as a roadie for the Inspirals. He was never around for long, but when he was, he was constant. Fixed. Not loud, but solid.

Over time, the friendship became yours—not through any big moment, but through years of shared fags, late-night takeaways, and those weirdly sharp conversations that happened once in a blue moon and never got mentioned again. He didn’t pry. You didn’t hover. You knew how to be quiet together. That counted for more than you liked to admit.

You called him a moody bastard. He called you a nightmare. There was real affection in both.

No flirting. Not really. You weren’t each other’s type, or so you said. But you got on. You trusted each other. You knew when to speak and when to leave it.

And now, freshly dumped and back from an Inspirals tour, he was on your sofa.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Living together, even short-term, hadn’t changed the rhythm.

He washed up without being asked. You didn’t hog the shower. He left his guitar leads in neat coils on the floor. You let him have first pick of the telly if he was already on the couch. There was no tension. No pretending. Just shared space and tired companionship.

You’d both had recent break-ups—his messier, yours quieter. Neither of you felt like getting into it. You didn’t have to. He saw the empty wine bottles in the bin. You clocked the deep crease between his eyebrows that hadn’t left since the night he arrived.

It was fine.

Functional.

Normal.

—-

It had been a shit day. Not a disaster. Just long and crowded and stupid. The kind where your whole body buzzes with low-level rage and your brain starts fantasising about quitting everything to go work in landscaping.

When you got home, Noel was already on the couch, half-sunk into the cushions like furniture. One sock on, one off. Beer bottle resting on his stomach. The telly was on but too low to follow.

You shut the door with more force than necessary and dropped your bag with a thud.

He didn’t even glance up. “Good day?”

You gave him a long look and sat heavily on the other end of the sofa.

Silence stretched between you. Comfortable, but brittle around the edges. Your shoulders ached. He exhaled.

Then, without fanfare, he said, “We could just fuck.”

You turned your head, stared. “Sorry?”

He finally looked over, casual as anything. “I mean. We’re both tense. Worked up. Could take the edge off.”

You squinted at him. “That’s your pitch?”

“It’s not a pitch. Just an option.”

“You want to blow off steam,” you said, slowly, “by shagging your flatmate.”

“My mate,” he corrected. “Temporarily flat-bound. And yeah.”

You watched him. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t fidget. Just waited.

You leaned back. “Alright. Ground rules.”

His mouth twitched. “Go on.”

You counted them off on your fingers.

“One: no kissing.���

He nodded. “Fine. Keep your mouth to yourself.”

“Two: no acting weird. No sulking. No tension. We’re not changing how we are.”

“Brutal,” he said. “Alright.”

“Three: no staying in bed. You sleep on the couch. Always.”

“Done. Your bed’s too small anyway.”

“Four: no talking about it. We don’t make it a thing.”

He shrugged. “Not a talker.”

You paused. Held his eyes. “Five: no feelings.”

He didn’t blink. Just said, “Obviously.”

A beat.

Then he added, “And if it’s shit, we never speak of it again.”

You stood. “Bedroom’s warmer.”

He followed without comment.

Neither of you rushed. You peeled off your shirt and joggers and knickers He pulled his tee over his head, undid his joggers, but didn’t take them off yet.

He stepped close, hands settling briefly at your hips. Then one slid down, between your thighs. His fingers pressed into the heat of you through the fabric, slow and certain.

“Already?” he murmured, more to himself than to you. Amused.

You gave him a look. “You’re very confident.”

He smirked. “You’re still standing here.”

You didn’t bother responding—just slipped your hand into the waistband of his joggers and wrapped around him.

He groaned, low and honest, his hips twitching forward. “Yeah. Thought so.”

You dropped onto the bed. “Come on, then.”

You straddled him first. Legs braced, hands flat on his chest as you lined him up and sank down in one slow, tight slide. You were soaked. He filled you easily.

His breath punched out of him. “Fuck…”

You found your rhythm quickly—hips rolling, bouncing, grinding when you wanted it deeper. He didn’t say much. Just watched, breath ragged, hands gripping your thighs tight enough to leave thumbprints.

It was good. Better than good.

No tension, no pretending, no pressure to be anything but in it.

You rode him hard, back arching as you chased your release, breath catching as it hit—sharp, fast, full-body. You moaned, didn’t care how loud.

He didn’t stop you. Just grabbed your waist and breathed, “Turn around.”

You slid off, hands already bracing you on all fours as he knelt behind you and slid back in with one hard thrust.

You gasped—deep, perfect angle. He started moving fast, relentless, fingers digging into your hips as his thighs slapped yours.

The sound of it was obscene. So was the feeling.

“Christ..”

You couldn’t answer. Could barely breathe. You were sore already, but you wanted it. All of it. The pace. The pressure. The way it felt like he was pulling something out of you with every thrust.

He came hard, hips stuttering, groan ripped from his throat as he pulsed inside you.

Then stillness. Just heat and breath and the weight of what you’d both just done.

He pulled out slowly, let his hand trail down your back as he stood and reached for his joggers.

You rolled onto your back. “Couch,” you reminded him.

“I remember.”

He smirked, tugging his shirt over his head.

The door clicked shut behind him.

You lay there for a while, catching your breath, legs still warm, the ache already settling in. Shouldn’t have felt this easy.

But it did.

—

It didn’t happen the next night. Or the one after that.

But by the end of the week, it happened again.

You were both stretched thin—he’d come in late from some rehearsal with a new band, you’d barely spoken all day, and the flat had that quiet, insulated feel like the walls were absorbing everything.

You sat through an entire film neither of you cared about. He passed you the last crisp. You handed him the remote. Then, after a stretch of silence, he said—just loud enough to be heard over the credits—

“Same again?”

You didn’t look over.

You just stood up and said, “Yeah. Alright.”

And that was how it started.

It wasn’t every night. But it didn’t need to be.

Sometimes you initiated it. A glance, a shrug, a half-tilted doorway.

Sometimes he did. A nod. A muttered, “Could use the release.”

No fireworks. No anticipation. Just a steady rhythm.

He’d show up late, barefoot, T-shirt creased like he’d pulled it from the floor. You’d already be under the covers, half-asleep or not trying very hard to be.

You’d fuck.

Quick sometimes. Lazy others. Always good.

Then he’d leave, shutting the door gently, and the flat would settle again.

No words. No checking in. No pretending it hadn’t happened.

After a few weeks the sex was getting better.

It wasn’t just instinct. It was knowledge.

He knew how you liked to be touched—when to grip your thighs, when to slow down, when to let you do all the work.

You knew how to grind on him in a way that made him swear under his breath, one hand fisting the sheet. You learned quickly what got him off fast and what made him hang on a bit longer.

You found positions that worked best when you were too tired to move much.

Cowgirl for control.

Doggy for silence.

Spooned from behind, once, after a bottle of wine, when neither of you wanted to open your eyes.

You’d always get off. Then dress, or not. Say something dry. Make tea. Or just go to sleep in separate rooms.

The rest of it, the in-between, also fell into a rhythm.

Mugs left to soak in the sink. Groceries bought in halves—his cereal, your milk. He’d sit on the kitchen counter while you made toast, legs swinging like he lived there. You shared towels without thinking. Learned each other’s shower schedules. He stopped knocking when the bathroom door was open, and you stopped closing it when you brushed your teeth.

You didn’t talk about any of it.

Didn’t define it.

It just became normal.

Sometimes he got back before you. Other nights, you’d come in and find him fast asleep on the couch—remote slipped to one side, mouth open, hair a mess.

You never woke him.

He snored when he was on his back. Soft. Barely there.

You never mentioned it.

But it made you smile

—-

The day everything changed had been a long one.

Not loud or dramatic, just relentless. The kind that settled under your skin, made your limbs ache and your patience run out two hours before you could leave. You hadn’t said much since getting home—just dropped your bag, peeled out of your jeans, and crashed onto the couch in your oversized shirt and knickers.

Noel was already there. Same spot, same joggers, same stretched T-shirt. Legs wide. Bottle half-finished on the floor.

The telly was on but forgotten.

You lay still. Let the silence build. Let the heat from the flat settle into your skin and make you restless.

Then, flatly:

“I need to get off”

Noel turned his head, one brow raised. “Yeah?”

“Can’t be arsed with the whole thing,” you said. “We could just… do it here.”

A beat passed. He didn’t smile. Just looked at you.

Then, simply: “Alright.”

You didn’t give yourself time to second guess it.

Your hand slid under your shirt, knuckles catching on the hem. You hooked your fingers into the waistband of your knickers and shimmied them off in one smooth motion. You kicked them to the floor, leaned back into the cushions, and spread your legs with a little more ease than you expected.

One knee angled up. The other draped off the side of the couch. You didn’t adjust your shirt. It had ridden up already, and you didn’t care.

You let your fingers slide between your thighs. The heat was immediate, sharp and welcome. You gasped softly under your breath as you found yourself already slick, already warm, your body ready to get rid of everything the day had left behind.

Across from you, Noel hadn’t moved. But his gaze had shifted.

He was watching you now. Really watching. Not just a glance from the side. His shoulders were still slouched, but his whole body was angled toward you. His eyes moved with your hand. Followed your breath. The way your mouth parted when you moaned.

Your fingers moved slow. Small circles at first. Testing. Then deeper. Hungrier.

You let out a quiet sound. Meant it.

That did it.

His hand dropped lower. He pressed his palm against the front of his joggers again—firmer now. Not just checking, but holding. A slow grind of his heel into himself as his hips shifted slightly under it.

He stayed like that for a beat. Then pressed harder. His eyes were glued to your fingers. The shape of your thighs. The flush blooming across your chest.

He rubbed over the fabric, back and forth, the friction obvious even through the cotton. You could see the outline now—thick, straining against the waistband. His knuckles flexed with restraint.

Still, he didn’t push them down.

Just kept palming.

Slow. Focused. Building.

And that’s when you saw it—a faint, wet patch at the tip, darkening the fabric just below the waistband. Just a small blur of proof. His arousal was leaking through his joggers. He hadn’t even touched his skin yet.

Your pulse jumped.

He stayed right there, hand over it, pressing in again, like he didn’t want to lose the moment. Like he wanted to feel the ache. You could see how tight his jaw was. How his hips shifted, barely-there movements, trying to draw out every second of this.

He was holding off. But only just.

He rubbed himself again, this time with his whole hand, back and forth across the damp spot, slower, as if he needed to memorize the friction before giving in.

You moaned again—louder, wrecked—and that finally broke him.

He pushed his joggers down, slow but sure, and freed himself. His cock sprang up—flushed red at the tip, painfully hard. He leaned back, and it lay heavy against his stomach for a beat before his hand wrapped around the base.

You watched him. Didn’t look away.

He started stroking—long, tight pulls, slow and controlled. Matching your rhythm without meaning to.

You moaned again, louder this time. Your other hand gripped the edge of the cushion. Your thighs twitched. Your breath was growing uneven, stuttering in your chest.

Noel’s eyes were locked to your hand, your stomach, your parted legs. But then they moved—traced back up to your face. He looked at you fully now. Held your gaze as he jerked himself slowly.

The room felt hot. Heavy.

The only sounds were your breath, the slick pulse of your fingers, and the wet rhythm of his strokes.

You couldn’t stop looking at him.

At the way his hand moved over his cock—slow, practiced, hungry. At the way his head tipped back, then forward again so he could keep watching you. His mouth was slack. His eyes were half-lidded and completely wrecked, drinking you in like he couldn’t get enough. And he looked—fuck, he looked beautiful like that. Flushed. Exposed. Gone. You hadn’t thought about him like that before—not this clearly. But now, with his cock in his hand and his gaze locked to your body, you felt it. Heat rising so fast it almost choked you. You were soaked. Dripping. Every part of you lit up from just watching him. Just knowing he was watching you.

“You’re unreal,” he muttered, voice hoarse, rough at the edges. “Don’t stop. Let me watch you.”

You didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You weren’t putting on a show, but you wanted him to see all of it. It wasn’t just being watched—it was his gaze. Heavy. Unblinking. Hungry. Like he couldn’t look away, like he didn’t want to. It stripped you bare in a way that wasn’t humiliating—it was electrifying. Like he was seeing every part of you and still wanting more. It made your skin buzz. It turned you on more than the touch itself. Made you ache for it. For him.

Your legs spread wider. You moved your fingers faster. He moved his hand to match.

His jaw clenched. His hips started to lift slightly off the cushion, pushing into his fist. His breathing turned ragged. Eyes never left you.

“I can’t take this—fuck—look at you.” he said breathlessly.

Your head fell back for a second, then snapped forward again. You were right on the edge.

The muscles in your stomach tightened. Your thighs began to shake. You could hear your own moans now, sharp and uneven, one after the other, louder with each second.

He was close too. His strokes were desperate now. His hips rocked harder, hand working fast. Every sound you made pushed him closer. Every movement. Every look.

It was too much.

The heat. The noise. The way he was watching you.

And then, suddenly, his voice broke again.

Rough. Barely more than a gasp.

“Come here.”

His voice was low. Strained. Like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud but couldn’t hold it in any longer.

Your breath caught. You looked at him properly then.

His joggers were bunched low on his thighs, cock in his hand, flushed dark, tip shining in the low light. His chest rose and fell beneath a shirt that was clinging with sweat. His eyes were glassy—half-lidded and wrecked. And all of it was for you.

You moved without answering.

Slid off the couch and stepped between his legs. Your shirt hung loose around your thighs, your knickers still somewhere behind you. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Just looked up at you like he was already lost.

You straddled him slowly. One knee on the couch. Then the other. Your thighs pressed against his as you lowered yourself into his lap, your body skimming against his, the heat between you immediate. His hands came up fast—first to your waist, then your hips, gripping like he needed the contact to ground himself.

You reached between your bodies, took him in your hand and lined him up. You hovered for a beat. Just enough to feel the heat of him against you. Then you sank down. Inch by inch.

He groaned.

Loud. Guttural. Head tipping back, eyes squeezing shut.

“Fucking hell—”

The stretch made you gasp and your hands braced on his chest for balance. You rocked your hips once, small and slow, just to adjust—and his breath caught in his throat like you’d punched it out of him.

You sat fully down on him and paused. Just to feel it. The pressure. The closeness. The depth.

His hands were everywhere now—gripping your thighs, dragging up your sides, sliding under your shirt. His fingertips skimmed your skin like he didn’t know where to land.

“You feel —Jesus —” He couldn’t even finish the sentence.

You didn’t give him a chance to.

You started moving.

Slow at first. Just rolling your hips, letting your body take its time finding a rhythm. But the moment you did, he responded—his hips bucking up into you, hands holding you tighter.

His cock dragged deep with every motion.

The wet sound of you riding him filled the room.

He swore under his breath. His fingers dug into your arse as you rocked faster, chasing friction. Your shirt was riding up again. He pushed it further—over your hips, over your ribs—until it bunched under your arms.

You didn’t bother fixing it.

His eyes were on your chest now, on your mouth, on the way your body flexed every time you came down on him. And you were watching him too—his jaw tight, throat flushed, hair damp with sweat. His eyes were wide now, no longer lazy or controlled. Just full of desire.

Hunger. Awe. Need.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he breathed. “Look at you. Look at what you’re doing to me.”

You reached between your legs without thinking, rubbing fast, the pressure immediate and sharp.

Noel’s breath broke. He watched you touch yourself while riding him, and it wrecked him.

His voice cracked again. “That’s it. Fuck—keep going—”

You moaned, loud and raw. Your body shook. You were nearly there. Your whole body pulling tight, hips jerking.

Then—he kissed you.

Hard. Open. Desperate.

Like he couldn’t hold back another second. Like you’d pushed him past some invisible edge.

You kissed him back—hungry, messy, your teeth catching his lower lip. One hand fisted the front of his shirt. The other stayed between your thighs, working yourself through it.

Your orgasm hit fast and brutal. You came hard around him, moaning into his mouth, thighs trembling, chest flushed. Your whole body folded into his as you rode it out.

“Noel—”

It slipped out in a gasp, half-moan, half-shudder, like his name was the only thing your mouth could remember.

And he followed.

The moment he felt you tighten around him, he groaned—deep, low, broken—and came inside you with a sharp jerk of his hips.

He moaned our name—rough, hoarse, barely more than a gasp— and it hit the space between you like a jolt.

You didn’t move. Not right away.

You stayed in his lap, catching your breath, the room thick with heat and sweat and the echo of what you’d just done.

His hands slid up your back, loose now. Yours dropped to your thighs. Both of you were still.

He exhaled slowly.

“That was…” He didn’t finish the sentence. Just let the rest sit there, heavy and unspoken.

You climbed off him carefully, legs a little shaky. Pulled your shirt down. Reached for your knickers. He adjusted himself, tucked himself back into his joggers, wiped a hand over his mouth like he was trying to gather the pieces of whatever just happened.

Still, neither of you said anything else.

You didn’t look at each other as you walked off toward your room.

But the feel of him stayed with you.

Pressed inside you.

His breath on your mouth.

The sound of your name breaking on his tongue.

You weren’t supposed to kiss.

—-

The next morning was normal.

Too normal.

You made tea. He grabbed a towel and muttered something about needing a shower. You didn’t look at him. He didn’t look at you.

There was no mention of the night before.

Not the way your thighs still ached.

Not the damp knickers at the bottom of the laundry pile.

Not the kiss. Or the way he’d moaned your name.

You’d thought you’d feel fine. That it would sit in your body like any other great fuck—satisfying, forgettable, maybe something to laugh about later. But your skin still felt warm where he’d touched you. And the kiss—God, the kiss—kept flashing behind your eyes like it hadn’t finished. Like it was still happening. You didn’t want to ask yourself why it stuck like that. So you didn’t.

The telly was back on by midday. Some repeat. Volume low. You sat where you always sat. So did he.

But the space between you felt wider.

Like it was holding something neither of you wanted to name.

Later, he said he might go out for a pint.

You said, “Cool,” without looking up.

He didn’t ask if you wanted to come.

And you didn’t ask where.

⸻

A few days passed like nothing had happened.

Noel didn’t bring it up. Neither did you.

Things were back to normal—

or pretending to be.

Then your brother’s birthday rolled around.

Just a pub night—nothing major. A few pints, a dozen people jammed into the corner by the fruit machine, cheap music off a Bluetooth speaker. You showed up a little late, got swept into the noise, kissed cheeks, accepted drinks. You didn’t think twice about it.

Noel was there too.

Of course he was. He’d known your brother longer than you had.

You hadn’t come together. You didn’t sit together. But you were in the same space, orbiting. Laughing at the same stories, nodding along to the same bad jokes, occasionally brushing shoulders in passing.

You hadn’t spoken yet, but you could feel him—close, then not. Then closer again.

You caught his eye once, across the room. A quick flicker. Nothing said.

Then one of your brother’s mates came over. Friendly enough. Smiling. Bought you a drink without asking, leaned in to say something over the music, let his hand rest on your arm a little longer than it needed to.

You didn’t lean away.

You weren’t flirting, exactly. But you didn’t stop him, either.

Across the pub, you felt it.

A shift.

Not in the room—in you. Subtle. Low-grade. Like pressure dropping before a storm.

You hadn’t meant to look.

But when you did, Noel was already watching.

One shoulder against the wall, pint half-finished, eyes steady. Not smiling. Not surprised to be caught. Just… there.

Holding your gaze.

It wasn’t anger. Not exactly.

Not jealousy, either.

But it was something.

Sharp. Measured. Close.

You felt it land in your chest. Not hard—but deep. A thud you didn’t know what to do with.

You looked away first. Back to your drink. Took a slow sip.

Didn’t react.

Didn’t rise to it.

But your pulse kicked up anyway.

Your thoughts wandered—without permission, without warning. Back to his mouth, his hands, the kiss you weren’t supposed to remember but couldn’t stop replaying.

You filed it away like it didn’t matter.

But it did.

You weren’t supposed to act weird.

You definitely weren’t supposed to catch feelings.

—-

He got back before you did.

The pub had emptied out in waves, and you’d stayed behind a little longer—laughing, chatting, maybe on purpose. It was easier, staying in that noise. Easier than walking back into whatever this had become.

By the time you walked in, Noel was already on the couch. Joggers, no shirt. One leg stretched out, beer in hand. Telly on mute. He didn’t look up.

You kicked off your boots harder than necessary. Dropped your bag by the door.

“Alright?” you said.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes still fixed on the screen. “You?”

“Fine.”

You walked into the kitchen. Opened the fridge. Shut it again. The silence in the flat had weight. The kind that gathered between walls, between people who used to move around each other easily. Now it clung. Unspoken, close.

You came back out and leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed.

“You didn’t say goodbye.”

He glanced over, like you’d nudged him awake. “Didn’t think I needed to.”

“It was my brother’s birthday.”

He shrugged. “Didn’t want to interrupt.”

You watched him. “Looked like I was having a good time?”

He didn’t answer. Just took another drink. And that was answer enough.

Your chest tightened. “Right,” you said. “So you were watching.”

“Didn’t have to try hard,” he said. “You weren’t exactly subtle.”

That snapped something.

“Excuse me?”

He looked at you then. Really looked. “I’m just saying. You let him.”

It landed hard. Hot. Sharp.

“You don’t get to say that.”

“Why not?”

You stared at him. “Because I didn’t do anything wrong.”

He shrugged again. “Didn’t say you did.”

“No, you didn’t,” you said, stepping into the room now. “But you’re making it clear you think I did.”

He didn’t flinch. “I saw his hand on your arm.”

“So?” you snapped. “It was a drink, Noel.”

“And you leaned in.”

“To hear him. Over the music. Christ.”

He set the bottle down with a quiet clink. “You looked like you liked it.”

“And now what?” you said. “That makes me what—easy? Available?”

The air went still.

His eyes narrowed, but not in anger. More like he was waiting. For you to back off. For you to soften.

You didn’t.

“You don’t get to be pissed off about someone else touching me,” you said, your voice lower now. “Not when you kissed me.”

That finally made him shift. Just a bit. His posture changed. Like something hit.

You didn’t stop.

“You kissed me, Noel. You’re the one who broke the first rule. And now you’re watching me across a pub like I’ve cheated on you.”

He didn’t speak.

And suddenly, your own words were ringing in your ears. Louder than the pub. Louder than the silence.

Because the truth was: the kiss had stayed with you. In your skin. In your mouth. In the way your breath caught when he walked into a room and didn’t say your name.

And maybe you’d wanted him to bring it up. Even now.

Maybe part of you wanted a reason to push this.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” you said again. Quieter. “But you’re acting like I did.”

He ran a hand over his face. Still didn’t answer.

You stepped back. “Forget it.”

“I’m not—” he started, but the words didn’t land.

“Then what are you?” you asked. “Because this whole thing—tonight, the silence, this—” You gestured between you. “It’s not what we said it would be.”

He looked up at you. Something unreadable in his face. Not anger. Not guilt. But something.

“I didn’t plan the kiss,” he said finally. “It just—happened.”

You blinked. That was the first time he’d acknowledged it.

And it wasn’t enough.

You turned. Walked past the couch, past the soft blue light of the telly that no one was watching. You were done. Or at least trying to be.

Then—his hand closed around your wrist.

Not hard. Not urgent.

Just… definite.

You stopped.

He didn’t pull you back.

Your pulse thudded at the base of your throat.

Because whatever this was now, it wasn’t just a bit of fun.

And you weren’t sure you could keep pretending it was.

You didn’t move at first.

Just stood there, wrist caught in his hand, your breath stuck somewhere between your ribs. He didn’t pull. He didn’t say anything. Just held on. Like letting you walk away would mean losing something he wasn’t ready to name.

You looked down at him. His face was unreadable—but his grip was steady. Warm.

And you couldn’t keep pretending you didn’t want him.

Still.

Even after everything.

So you stepped in. Just a pace. Close enough to feel the heat off his skin.

He watched you, barely breathing.

You leaned down.

Not slow. Not hesitant. Just enough to close the gap. Your fingers curled into the back of the couch for balance, and then your mouth was on his—rough, breathless, without any of the rules you’d built before. His hand slid from your wrist to your hip, and he kissed you back like he’d been waiting to.

When you pulled back, just a breath between you, he didn’t speak. Just stared like he wasn’t sure it was real.

You didn’t give him time to second-guess it.

You climbed into his lap, one knee on either side of his thighs, straddling him fully. Your shirt slipped up as you settled, and his hands slid to your waist, holding you there—like he didn’t want to let you go again.

Your mouths crashed back together.

This time, slower. Deeper. His hands dragged up your spine, holding you close, anchoring you against him like it was the only thing he knew how to do.

You moved against him deliberately, rocking your hips once—slow friction through layers of clothing—and felt him throb hard beneath you.

He groaned into your mouth, and it hit you all over again: how much you still wanted him.

How much you’d been wanting this. Not just sex. Him.

You moved against him again, slow and deliberate, pressing down hard against his lap. Even through the layers, you felt everything—the twitch of him beneath you, the tension in his thighs, the restraint in his hands where they held your hips like he didn’t trust himself to pull you closer. The friction made you gasp, hips rocking instinctively, and his breath hitched hard against your neck.

Then he stilled.

“We can’t do this here,” he muttered, voice hoarse. Tight.

You didn’t argue. Just stepped off his lap with your pulse thudding everywhere.

“Bedroom.”

You didn’t look back.

He followed.

By the time you reached the edge of the bed, his hands were already back on you. Hot. Needing. They slid under your shirt, palms open like he was trying to feel every inch of your skin. You pulled the fabric off over your head and tossed it blindly across the room. His mouth followed your collarbone, your shoulder, your breast—every kiss open-mouthed, claiming, more breath than lips.

You turned, reached for the waistband of his joggers. He stepped out of them without ceremony. His cock was already hard, flushed, heavy against his stomach. You stared for a moment, not because you hadn’t seen it before—but because this was different. You were naked, and so was he. Not just skin. The weight between you. The heat.

Your knickers fell next.

You climbed onto the bed and lay back—not spread for him, not performing, just open. Honest. Wanting. Waiting. His eyes dragged down your body and stayed there. There was no teasing this time. No smugness. Just hunger, and something quieter under it. Something like reverence.

He crawled over you slowly, one hand sliding up your thigh as he settled between your legs, his cock dragging along your entrance. You were soaked. Warm. Ready. He knew it too. His breath hitched as the tip caught, and then he pushed in—one long, devastating slide.

Your head dropped back.

The stretch knocked the breath out of you. Full. Deep. Everything. Your thighs trembled around his waist as he bottomed out, and the sound you made wasn’t just pleasure—it was surrender.

His body pressed fully to yours. Skin on skin. No space left. He kissed you again—messy, open, all mouth and need—and then began to move.

Slow at first. Controlled. But every thrust hit something in you that undid you from the inside. His hips rolled deeper, grinding on the outstroke. The rhythm had weight. Not just friction. Meaning.

You held onto his shoulders like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. He braced a hand beside your head and looked down at you while he fucked you. Really looked. No distance. No disguise. Just his eyes on yours, burning.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he whispered.

You didn’t breathe for a second.

You didn’t look away.

Your fingers slid to his jaw, grounding there. “Me neither.”

The shift happened then—subtle, seismic. His next thrust wasn’t harder, but deeper. More deliberate. He kissed you again, this time slow, like he needed to feel everything your mouth gave him.

His hand slid under your back. Pulled you closer. Your breasts pressed to his chest. Your bodies locked together like you were trying to erase the space you’d once insisted on keeping.

He moved faster now, your name breaking from his lips like he couldn’t stop it.

The sound of it wrecked you. Not because it was new—but because of the way he said it. Like it meant everything.

Your legs tightened around him. Your hands pressed into his back. You whispered his name too—into his ear, against his cheek, into his mouth. He moaned when you did, hips stuttering, breath falling apart.

You reached down, found your clit, rubbed quick, messy circles. He didn’t stop you. He watched you, wide-eyed and undone, fucking into you through it.

You came fast—sharp, hot, full-body. Your cry cracked in your throat. Your back arched and your thighs clenched around him as you pulsed hard around his cock.

He didn’t last a second longer.

He came with a guttural sound, a low, desperate moan into your shoulder, his whole body tensing as he spilled into you, hips jerking through it, gasping your name again like he’d forgotten how to say anything else.

He stayed inside you.

Collapsed, breathless, body heavy, heart racing against yours.

You didn’t speak.

Not for a long moment.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you against him—not tight, but firm. You held on too, cheek against his damp shoulder, your body still buzzing.

Eventually, he shifted with a low breath, pulling out carefully. You both winced, just a little, but didn’t comment on it. He settled back beside you, one arm still resting along your side like he hadn’t decided whether to let go.

He stared at the ceiling for a long beat. Then, flatly:

“Well. That’s the casual thing fucked.”

You snorted, still half on top of him. “Yeah. Proper job.”

Another pause.

Then, under his breath, like he was just thinking out loud:

“Should probably update the terms.”

You turned your head toward him. “What, like a contract?”

“Dunno. Just saying. Might need a clause for whatever the fuck that was.”

You laughed into his shoulder.

The rules were shot. Torn up, trampled, and probably still smouldering.

And you weren’t in any hurry to put them back together.

[faewrenbird]

Homicipher Theory

Mr. Hood: The Dishonored Samurai

Don’t turn your nose up yet, hear me out. Maybe it’s a stretch, maybe it makes sense, maybe it’s just a damn good (or delusional) headcanon, you decide.

Homicipher/Mr. Hood Route Spoilers Below!!!!

I established in an earlier theory that the “Ghost Apartments” is a pocket of the spirit realm on haunted grounds where a hospital and subway line were once located but destroyed in an earthquake, after which, an apartment building was built and then abandoned.

But I have a theory that the history of the haunted grounds goes even further back. Perhaps as far as Edo-era feudal Japan. Why? I’m inclined to believe that Mr. Crawling is from that era, but that’s a whole different theory I still need to mull over.

Suppose it’s true—that the cursed land that has accumulated hundreds of vengeful and lost spirits became haunted hundreds of years ago. Perhaps, it became cursed and haunted due to war in this time period. Whatever the case, operating under the premise that its history is this old, I want to take a look at helpful Mr. Hood.

Mr. Hood

He’s the first face we see after waking up in the spirit realm (not counting our startling run-in with Mr. Crawling). You could consider him our Toriel. He gives us the basics, enough info, or lack thereof, to begin our exploration. He tries to teach us some words: light, dark, sound, door, not, maybe “container” if we’re smart. We take this knowledge, leave him in the room behind us, and proceed to immediately get our hearts eaten by Mr. Gap.

But who, or what, is Mr. Hood?

The only thing we learn about him from our brief introduction is that he’s a man of few words, mysterious, monotone, and he’s…literally just a guy in a hood. Oh, and he’s got a big fuck-off axe for seemingly no reason at all.

From what I’ve played of the game so far, it seems we’re unlikely to ever see him again unless some really bizarre and specific conditions are met.

If those conditions are met, we wind up being Alice-in-Wonderlanded into a miniature version of ourselves, and Mr Hood makes an unexpected appearance to help us try to find the magical potion to make us normal again.

During our adventure with him, we…don’t learn much. Kind of the ongoing theme of this game, actually. Get used to perpetually knowing nothing and being confused by what you do know.

We do learn a few key things, though.

First, man has a deft hand with an axe. In fact, he can flawlessly execute any ghost he deems to be a threat, without a moment’s hesitation, and with the badassery to act totally calm and say only “they’re dead” when you interrogate him about it.

Second, there’s nothing under the hood. After escaping a brutal entity, he sits with his hood pulled back, revealing nothingness. Unlike the Bride, though, he prefers to mask this feature. When we comment on his lack of a head, he quickly pulls the hood back up.

Third, he has a body. Although lacking a head, we know that there’s something solid under the cloak, because he hides us in it and we comment on the err…texture of his insides(?).

Fourth, he is some kind of executioner. This is perfectly apparent design-wise. Hooded and carrying a massive axe that he employs with perfect ease. Some speculation, but he seems to specifically serve the purpose of executioner in this land of ghosts. He’s very adept at detecting a threat and differentiating between good and evil (wish the same could be said for our himbo-brained Mr. Crawling, but I digress). In fact, while we're taking a nap, he evidently leaves to a different room to hunt and kill another ghost.

Fifth, he goes where he’s needed. He comes off as someone strictly bound by his duty. At least, this is what I infer rather than him being a wandering spirit in these halls. It’s why, when we’re reunited with Mr. Crawling and the others, Mr. Hood leaves us. We don’t need him anymore, and he can’t accept that we want him with us just because we like him. In fact, he tells us not to say things like that, or depending on your interpretation, that he has nothing to say to that before he abandons us.

So, what does this all mean (apart from making him the sexiest and most mysterious hooded figure I’ve ever known cough)?

My theory is that, in life, Mr. Hood was a samurai who committed some great treason and thus endured the ritual of hara-kiri (seppuku) for his execution.

Hara-kiri was a form of ritualistic suicide where a samurai would take a blade and slice open his stomach, after which, an executioner would decapitate him. An honorable death was when the executioner left just a bit of the criminal’s neck during the slice, not quite severing it completely. A dishonorable death meant the whole head came off, which was embarrassing for the deceased samurai and his family.

If Mr. Hood was a samurai, his prowess with a weapon and calculating attitude towards fulfilling his duty and cutting down enemies makes a lot of sense.

If he was a dishonored samurai, then his reclusive manner and the shame of having no head also makes sense. Not that I think the ghosts retain memories of their life (Mr Gap excluded), but he could be carrying residual shame and dishonor from his death. He could be forever trapped trying to repent for his sins by executing evil, to make up for whatever treason he committed.

I think it’s further evidenced by our description of his insides. Slimy. It’s a grotesque thought, but if we’re being held against a gutted and sliced open stomach, this description makes sense, too.

Additionally, the shame and self-loathing would help explain why he rejects our confession of affection towards him. He’s not worthy of that affection, nor of companionship. He can’t even fathom our interest in him.

(Edit: some below translations aren’t great, I’m still ironing them out. As I’ve seen now, the best translations show us saying “Love you,” and Mr. Hood replying with “not understand,” indicating her can’t grasp our love for him, which still lines up with everything I said!)

I personally am really obsessed with this concept and have adopted it as my headcanon because I think it makes it all the sweeter when he comes back to save us and decides to carry us for all eternity (which, btw, I squealed when I realized that we were no longer small when he picked us up with this objective in mind, so we’re spending our afterlife being bridal-style carried by this man). We are, after all, the first person to care for him since his humiliating death. The first person to like him. The first person to give him purpose beyond routine and mindless execution of dark spirits. We give him a new duty, something to protect and cherish.

And idc what you say, that’s goddamn romantic for this vaguely romantic horror game.

[violetflowers55]

Wally Doesn’t Know - Part 1

(Dick Grayson x fem!reader)

Summary: You tell Wally you’re at church, but you don’t go. Wally doesn’t know his girlfriend and his best friend do it every Sunday.

Notes: Based on the song Scotty Doesn’t Know. established relationships + cheating, but not really angsty this chapter

No content warnings needed!

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

The alarm clock on the nightstand next to you rang just seconds after you woke up. You jolted upright and turned it off, already buzzing with excitement. Today was your favorite day of the week; the day that you got you through the rest of the week.

You quickly climbed out of bed and saw the other side of the bed was empty. A giddy smile spread across your face. Wally was already up - no need to hide it. You practically bounced over to your dresser and pulled out a lacey blue thong - his color blue - before covering it with your “Sunday best.” Standing in front of a mirror, you smoothed out the soft dress. It was nice enough to pass for church attire, but short enough to provide easy access. Buttons ran down the front of the dress, and you shuddered at the thrilling thought of him slowly unbuttoning them.

As you bounded down the stairs, you could hear the soft clanking of a spoon against a bowl and Wally’s daily news show. “Hey babe,” Wally called over his shoulder. He turned his head slightly, and when he caught sight of you out of the corner of his eyes, he did a literal double-take. “Where are you going all dressed up?”

“Babe, it’s Sunday,” you giggled - it was kind of cute he still did double takes when he saw you.

“Oh, right! Well, have fun at church. Tell God I said hi.”

“I will!” you said brightly. You headed out the back door, leaving Wally to his news show.

Once outside, you did a quick scan of your surroundings. Not a soul in sight. With a deep inhale, you focused on where you wanted to be, and when you exhaled, you were there. A solid wooden door stood in front of you. You steeled yourself and tried to take some calming breaths before knocking. Even after all these years, he still made you feel like a nervous school-girl.

The door swung open. Dick Grayson stood on the other side, shirtless, with a towel hung over his shoulders. His defined abs glistened with water, making your breath catch in your throat. His usually neat black hair was damp and tousled. A pearly-white grin grew across his face as he eyed you up and down.

“You’re early,” he teased. You smiled and entered his studio apartment. “Well, I wanted to get a good seat at church,” you teased back.

He laughed, then shut the door, making sure to lock it. You let your purse drop to the ground and hopped up to sit on his table. “Is that a good seat?” he asked. You crossed your legs and smoothed your skirt, discreetly pulling it up so he could almost see your whole leg. Excited butterflies swirled in your core. The little game you two played was your favorite part.

“Hmm, I think so. Though, I’m a little far away from the main event…”

The grin on Dick’s face turned mischievous. He slowly walked over to you and placed his hand down on either side of your hips. The air between you two sparked with electricity as his face neared yours. It took everything in you not to immediately close the small gap and kiss him.

“Is this close enough?” he asked.

You slightly shook your head left and right, never letting your eyes leave his deep blue ones. He leaned in closer, and you uncrossed your legs so he could slot himself between them. His face lowered to your neck, his warm breathe sending tingles across your skin. “How ‘bout now?” he murmured into your skin, peppering kisses up and down your neck.

You had no response but an airy gasp of pleasure. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, one hand tangling itself in his damp hair. His hands slid to your waist, holding you as he leaned into you more. His soft kisses grew deeper as they traveled lower and lower. Each point of contact sent sparks across your skin. When he reached the edge of your dress, he pulled away and lowered you down flat against the table.

“You sure you still want this?” He leaned over you, slightly out of breath.

The thought of Wally sitting alone at home danced through your mind, with his soft red hair and freckles that you loved to count. He was so sweet, so goofy. So trusting. He truly believed you were at church.

But then you looked into the pools of ocean in Dick’s eyes, and melted beneath him all over again. Even after you’d said yes a million times, he still asked. His hands on you still felt so special. He made you feel like no one else ever could. He was everything.

You grabbed onto either end of the towel around his neck and pulled him down into a kiss. Your lips moved in tandem, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Muffled moans mixed together. When the both of you needed air, he only pulled back slightly, lips practically brushing against each other. “I’m sure,” you whispered.

With that, he descended on your lips again. You melded together in a fiery, passionate kiss. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, while his hands explored your body. He squeezed at your hips before traveling upwards and groping at your breasts. You gasped into his mouth, and he took the opportunity to nip at your bottom lip. Pulling back from you, he grinned at the lustful expression on his face.

“Let’s get this off of you,” he said, more to himself than to you, as he began unbuttoning your dress. Each button revealed a new section of bare skin, save your undergarments. He took his time, enjoying your growing desperation. When he finally reached the bottom, the dress fell away to reveal your lacey blue underwear. He groaned at the sight of your scantily clad body and dropped his head - the exact reaction you were hoping to elicit.

“You like?” you teased, biting your lip seductively.

He lifted his head back towards you, eyes twinkling with lust. “You… are going to be the death of me.”

A giggle escaped you, and he leaned down to capture it with a kiss. Your laugh turned into a moan as his tongue slid into your mouth and swirled around yours. You wrapped around him tighter to pull him closer, clinging to his back. His wet chest pressed against your bare skin, and you shuddered at the coolness.

Suddenly, in one swift movement, Dick slid his arms underneath you and picked you up off the table. Never parting his lips from you, he carried you to his bed. Only when he deposited you onto it did he stop touching you. He quickly discarded his towel and practically tore off his pants. You drank in his toned body as he did so, eyes fixating on the growing tent in his boxers. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered even faster, and your heartbeat pounded in your chest. He crawled on top of you, nudging your legs apart with his knees.

“I think it’s time for this to go too,” he said while unclasping your bra. Your nipples perked up at the sudden cool air. “God, you’re so beautiful,” Dick purred, sinking his head down to your chest. His lips wrapped around your nipple and gently sucked, eliciting a gasping moan from you. He pleasured your other nipple between his fingers, and your back arched towards him.

“Ohhh, Dick.” You wrapped your legs around his waist again to bring his arousal closer to you, clumsily grinding against him. He groaned into your breast, and his teeth threatened to nip you. His other hand found your hips and lifted you up slightly so you could grind on him better. The growing, unsatisfied pleasure in your core was starting to become unbearable. Whines and mewls spilled from your lips. He lifted his head from your chest, releasing your nipple with a pop, before trailing kisses up your neck.

“You want me to touch you?” His voice was hot against your neck, heating up your skin even more. “Yes, please,” you unashamedly begged.

Dick happily obliged. The hand that was on your breast slid down until it reached where you wanted him the most. He slipped his fingers into your panties, lightly skimming over your already-slick folds. His thumb settled on your clit, and he started rapidly circling it. Your legs tried to clench together, the sensation almost pleasantly unbearable, but his knees kept them open. Each swirl of his thumb made your body tremble beneath him, threatening to overwhelm you.

“Oh, God, Dick - fuck-“ you sputtered. Colored dots crossed your vision. You clutched at his back and hair as you felt your climax rising.

Just as you were about to come, his hand moved away. A pitiful whine escaped you at the interruption. He chuckled against you, then slid a single finger into you. Your hips bucked up towards him, chasing your pleasure.

“More?” he asked, clearly teasing.

“Mmph, Dick, please!” you whimpered. You could feel his smile against his skin - he loved it when you begged for him.

Mercifully, he added a second finger, and pushed them both inside of you. Your head fell back with a deep moan as he began pumping them in and out. His movements were deep but languid, drawing out your pleasure. You mindlessly rocked against him in an attempt to please yourself quicker. Noticing your neediness, he curled his fingers inside you. Shameful whines fell from your lips as he rapidly twitched against your walls. His lips refound your breast, and his tongue swirled around your nipple as he sucked on it.

“I-oh, f-fuck, fuck, Dick!” you cried out, right at your precipice. He picked up his pace, abusing the most sensitive spot inside you. The shockwaves running through your body grew stronger and stronger until you had no choice but to succumb to them. You clenched down on him, walls spasmed around his fingers, your own cum dripping down beneath you.

Feeling your release, Dick pulled his fingers out and lifted them to his lips. The two of you locked eyes while he sucked your juices off of himself. He drew it out, making you wait. Your head felt light, like you were intoxicated by his touch. Your pussy fluttered around nothingness. After what felt like an eternity, he finally stopped.

“Just as delicious as you are stunning.”

A stupid smile spread across your cheeks. You pulled him down into a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. His hard length pressed against your heat, and he moaned into your mouth. In one swift movement, he broke away, leaning back on his heels, and tore his boxers off. The fire inside you reignited at the sight of his thick, throbbing cock. He lowered his hips, lining himself up with your entrance.

“You want this?”

You nodded fervently. “Please.”

Dick didn’t take any time to hesitate. The thick tip of his cock pushed into you, stretching out your cunt. He pumped in and out of you slowly, forcing more of himself into you with each thrust to let you adjust to his size. His head fell to your shoulder, and strangled groans hit your skin. You tightened your legs around his waist and pulled him into you. He took to sign to bury himself in your heat, filling you up.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he gasped. All you could respond with were mewls and moans of your own. His pace picked up, and the sound of him fucking your slick cunt filled the room, mixed with both of you crying out each others names. Overcome with desire, he drove into you like an animal. The bed beneath you shook from his powerful thrusts. The tip of his cock slammed into a particularly sensitive spot, and you cried out as your walls tightened around him. Your back arched and your head fell back with overwhelming pleasure. Dick sucked at your skin, threatening to leave a hickey.

“Shit, I can’t…” Dick said to himself, his voice strangled. His movements grew sloppy and shallower. “Wait, here.” He fully removed himself from you, leaving you feeling horribly empty, then guided you into a better position.

You rolled over onto your knees and lifted your hips towards him. Standing at the edge of the bed, he gripped your hips and thrust himself back inside you. From this new angle, he could push into you even deeper, filling you up completely. A gasping moan from the new feeling of being completely full spilled from your lips. His hands pulled and massaged your cheeks, slight pain mixing with pleasure. As he resumed his precious pace, you pressed your face against the bed to muffle your moans. Each snap of his hips threatened to shatter you again, and each moan from you threatened to shatter him.

You could feel his dick pulsing inside you. Your hips bounced back, meeting his thrusts halfway. As his climax approached, his movements grew sloppy, and he let you fuck yourself on him. Right as he was about to finish, a cellphone ringing interrupted him. Worse, it played the cheesy song Wally had set as your ringtone for him. Dick grabbed your hips to still them and groaned behind you. “Don’t tell me that’s Wally.” All you could do was slightly nod, frozen in panic. He pulled out of you, and your hips fell to your ankles in shame. Panicked thoughts ran rampant in your mind.

Why would Wally be calling? He thought you were in church - you don’t call someone during church! Did he know? How could he possibly know??

You could hear the soft padding of footsteps behind you, and then the sound of your purse opening. The cheesy song grew louder as Dick walked back to you with your phone in hand. With his free hand, he lifted your hips back up. To your surprise, he slid his length back into you, meeting no resistance, eliciting a gasp from you. Right as you relaxed around him again, he held your phone against your cheek.

“Dick, wha-“

His thumb pressed the screen to accept the call. The speaker crackled to life. “W-Wally?” you said, silently praying he would think your hushed tone was from being in church. Behind you, Dick thrusted into you, graciously slower than before. You bit your lip to stifle your moans as Wally talked.

“Hey, babe! I was just wondering, can you stop by the grocery store on your way home? I know we just went shopping, but you know how I am, I’m already -“

“Wally,” you hissed, somehow managing to say the right name, “I’m in church.”

“Oh, crap! Sorry babe, totally spaced out. Tell God I said sorry!”

“Yep,” you managed to get out. Dick put you out of your misery and ended the secret three-way call. All the moans you had been holding in poured out of you. “You… are… evil,” you gasped.

For once, Dick had no response except grunts and pants. He picked up his pace, jackhammering into you frantically. You quaked beneath him, both from his powerful thrusts and from the waves of electricity coursing through you. His hips smacked against your ass, the slight sting only heightening your pleasure. Your knuckles turned white from how tightly you were gripping the blankets, desperate for something to hold on too. The faster he rutted into you, the tighter your wrapped around him. His tip found your sweet spot again, and at the sound of your cries, he abusingly slammed into it repeatedly. It all became too much, and your whole body stilled, save the momentum from his thrusts.

“Fuckkk, Dick!” you screamed out. Your guts tightened before convulsing around him, the world around you shattering. Your eyes rolled to the back off your head, your vision blurring as he fucked you through your orgasm.

“F-fuck, that feels, Christ, you feel so good,” Dick gasped. You could feel with cock throbbing inside you. His movements grew frenzied as he chased his own high, roughly slamming into you over and over again. Right at the last second, he pulled out, and hot cum spilled across your ass and back. When you were sure he had finished, you collapsed onto the mattress, out of breath.

After catching his own breath, Dick walked around the side of the bed to your head. “Don’t move, I’ll go get a washcloth,” he said, pressing a kiss to your flushed cheek. You complied. A moment later, he returned with a wet washcloth in hand and gently wiped his cum off your skin. Once clean, you stretched out and rolled over onto your back. Dick tossed the washcloth into a hamper before tugging his boxers back on.

A lazy smile formed on your face. Your body hummed, content and blissed out. Dick handed you back your discarded underwear and climbed into bed next to you. Once you were slightly redressed, you shuffled into his arms. His warm arm wrapped around you, and you nuzzled closer into his shoulder. Your head fit against him perfectly, like you were made to be there. He smelled like fresh peppermint, slightly tainted by sweat. The two of you laid there together in silence, simply enjoying each other's presence.

Dick broke the silence first. “You should go soon. Wally will wonder where you are.” Despite his words, he made no effort to move. His thumb gently rubbed back and forth over your shoulder.

You let out a deep sigh, the reality of the situation sinking back in. You looked towards the clock on the wall- you had fifteen minutes left of “church.” There was no way Dick didn’t know that. He knew exactly when you usually arrived and exactly when you needed to leave. You tilted your head up to look at him. His jaw was tensed, and he was staring up at the ceiling. The smile on your face faded as your heart dropped.

“Yeah, ok,” you acquiesced, rising from the bed. As you stood up on trembling legs, he reached out and grabbed your wrist.

“Hey,” he said softly, “See you next week?”

His eyes were full of guilt and hope. Guilt over betraying his best friend, hope for something more with you. You smiled down at him and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Of course.”

His usual smiled returned, and you left to him get redressed. You could feel his eyes on you as you regathered your things. With one last parting glance, you opened the door and left his apartment. On your way home, you made sure to stop by the grocery store.

[khr-guilded-cage]

Fon hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He’d only caught a glimpse of the man speaking with Skull—just a glance—but that was enough. Enough to draw him closer. Enough to trap him.

His figure was too solid, too real for Mist Flames. His presence rippled through the space, ancient and unrelenting, like the weight of a thousand battles pressing down on Fon’s chest. And his eyes—

The moment Fon met them, the world shattered.

They were fire and blood, endless chaos forged in the crucible of war. In their depths, the martial artist saw not just bloodlust but something far worse—judgment. The weight of every life he’d taken suddenly burned on his hands, the phantom warmth of blood slicking his fingers. His ears filled with screams, whispers of the lives he’d ended, echoes of the crimes he had tried to forget.

The memories of his sins swirled around him, drowning him. The child who had clung to her father’s hand as the Fon cut him down. The rival mafiosi he burned alive with his Flames. All of the men and women who had begged for their lives, the sharp cry of his death still etched in Fon’s soul.

It was all there, dragged to the surface by those burning eyes, an unspoken accusation.

And yet, it wasn’t hatred he felt. It wasn’t fear. It was something far worse.

Reverence

Those eyes weren’t just alive with war—they were war.

The carnage feeds its soul.

They were the force that made men kill and die, the unending hunger that drove nations to destroy one another.

The Storm Arcobaleno couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. His own body betrayed him, frozen under the weight of his own sins.

“Fon.”

The voice barely registered.

The red-claded baby couldn’t look away. His instincts screamed at him to move, to run, to fight, but he was frozen. The room was suffocating, and yet he was trapped, staring into the abyss of that man’s gaze as if he were bound to it by the blood on his hands.

"Fon."

In those eyes, he saw every life he had taken, every sin he carried, every drop of blood spilled. The phantom weight of his deeds pressed down on him like chains, pulling him deeper into the storm.

“Fon!”

Suddenly, a small hand gripped his shoulder, shaking him hard. Fon blinked, gasping as the world snapped back into focus. Skull was in front of him, his usually carefree expression set into something serious.

“Hey! Stay with me,” Skull said firmly, his voice sharp, cutting through the lingering haze of dread. “Don’t look at him too long. Trust me.”

Fon’s breath came shallow and uneven, his body still trembling from whatever thing had been cast over him. He glanced past his fellow Arcobaleno, but the man wasn’t even looking at him anymore. And yet his presence still lingered, a suffocating reminder.

“Who...” Fon’s voice cracked slightly. He swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure. “Who is this?”

Skull didn’t answer immediately, his hand still firm on Fon’s shoulder as if grounding him. “Someone you don’t want to mess with,” the Cloud said finally, his tone low but steady.

The man chuckled softly, a sound like distant thunder, and turned his burning gaze back to Skull. “You have interesting friends, little cousin. Not everyone is strong enough to survive looking into the eyes of war.”

“Enough,” Skull snapped, his voice sharper than Fon had ever heard it.

The man smirked, stepping away, his form dissipating into the shadows as if he were never truly there. The air felt lighter, but not by much.

But still doesn’t feel like Mist Flames.

Fon exhaled shakily as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. “Cousin?” he asked, his sharp eyes narrowing at Skull.

Skull shrugged, his carefree mask sliding back into place. “Long story. Forget it.”

Fon didn’t press, but he knew there was more to Skull than he let on. And whoever that man was—whatever he was—Fon wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to find out.

[ssaeri]

the moon as our witness

☆ tags: elliott x gn!reader, established relationship, reader is farmer, moonlit beach picnic, alcohol mention, drunk shenanigans, silly people in a silly relationship, I quite like the location of elliott’s beach house, I wish we could keep it when we marry him ☆

When Elliott invited you to his home for a picnic under the full moon, you said yes immediately. He’s the writer, not you, but there was something to be said about the feeling of wind in your hair, salt on your tongue, and sand beneath your feet.

And when it came to beach picnics, Elliott could not be beat. At ten o’clock exactly, you walked around his house and arrived at a scene taken straight out of his romance novels. He offered you a glass of wine as you slipped off your sandals and settled onto the checkered blanket next to him. The only thing he let you do was provide the ingredients; he insisted on doing the rest himself. Lemon butter lobster, glazed potatoes, garlic stir-fried string beans, chopped kale and parsnip salad, steamed cauliflower, wild rice, and—he promised with a wink—a strawberry and rhubarb pie waiting in the oven.

The epitome of spring in a meal. You thought that the night was going to be perfect.

However, a bottle and a half of pomegranate wine, split between both your glasses, was all it took for your sweet picnic to devolve into something else entirely.

You wrestle the wooden oar from his hands, and Elliott honest-to-Yoba pouts at you.

”It still counts as operating a vehicle under the influence,” you say, pointing the handle of the oar at his flushed face. “As much as I love you, I am not continuing a relationship behind bars.”

Elliott, ever the drama queen, falls back onto the blanket and throws an arm over his eyes. “O, cruel and cursed fates! You have bound my heart to someone whose love is conditional!” he bemoans to the stars. After a beat of silence, he peeks under his arm. “Wait a minute, the Valley doesn’t even have a jail. Lewis is our only form of law enforcement, and he would simply slap a fine on my door.”

“Taking advantage of an underdeveloped justice system, I see.”

He sits up. “At this hour, you’re the only one around,” he says, slowly turning to you. You do not like that glint in his eyes.  “I’d never be caught if I just…get rid of the only witness.”

You shriek when he pounces and pushes you onto the sand. The oar doesn’t help, either; it keeps you pinned as he giggles breathlessly into your neck, his hands coming to rest on your waist. It takes some wiggling to move the oar out from between you, but once it’s free, you toss it to the side. It lands somewhere with a soft thud.

Elliott settles his head against your shoulder and sighs. After a moment, he says, “You smell lovely.”

“And you’re tickling me,” you retort, but you make no move to change positions. He smells nice, too—a curious mix of pomegranate, sea salt, and ink that’s uniquely his. You feel him smile into your skin as you thread fingers through his hair.

Distantly, waves crash onto the shore, and somewhere at the end of the pier, a leashed wooden rowboat bobs on the water, awaiting its passengers who are—much to Elliott’s disappointment—too inebriated to enjoy a romantic view on the ocean.

You’ll pass, thanks. You’ve seen the movies, you know what would happen next, and waking up stranded on a random island in the middle of the Gem Sea is not on your bucket list.

You’re enjoying the view just fine—here, on solid ground. The full moon bathes everything in a gentle hue, peeking around tree tops like a halo. And the stars. You never saw stars like this from your cramped apartment in the city. Going from the honking bustle of downtown Zuzu City to the buzzing cicadas of Stardew Valley was a hard transition for a cityslicker like you. When you first arrived here, the quiet of evening was unnerving; the silence made space for your thoughts, and the dark for your fears. Time slowed, and for seasons, it felt like you were drowning. Until you let yourself be held by the Valley’s embrace—its land, its resources, its people—and realized that maybe you were actually just learning how to breathe.

You breathe in deep, just because you can.

“It’s beautiful tonight,” you murmur, arms spread wide.

Elliott rolls to the side and props his head up with one hand. “Very beautiful,” he agrees, unabashedly staring at your face.

You push him over. “Okay, cheeseball.”

He only falls onto his back with a chuckle. “...it was also a full moon when you gave me the Bouquet.”

“How do you remember that?”

“How do you not?”

“I’m pretty sure I blacked out. I just remember chasing you after you left the saloon earlier than expected, and when I woke up, you were hugging me.”

“Well,” he hesitates, then sighs. “Yes, I must admit you made little sense at the time. Perhaps a stammer of my name as a warning before shoving the flowers into my face. But on the footbridge under a full moon? Incredibly romantic, dear. Great job; I couldn’t have done better if I tried.”

“Are you kidding me?” You sit up and gesture at the food. By some miracle of Yoba, you’ve managed to make a sizeable dent in the spread, but you hope that he has a cabinet full of takeout containers and space in the fridge.

“You deserve at least this,” he says absently, fiddling with the hem of your shirt, “if not more for making me the happiest man alive.”

You have to turn to hide the smile on your face, but you’re not fast enough—he sits up and catches your chin, earnest green eyes boring into yours. He scans your features like he’s committing them to memory, and then his gaze flits to your lips. You don’t know if you lean in first or if he does, but the kiss is inevitable either way.

His lips are soft, the movements steeped in wine and adoration, and you distantly register the hand on your chin smoothing out to cup your face. Elliott is always gentle with you. Cradling. Cherishing.

When he pulls back to pepper more kisses across your forehead, you pretend to wrinkle your nose in annoyance.

“Hey, why does it feel like I’m forgetting something?”

“I don’t know.”

.

.

.

Three or so kisses later, you both snap to attention at the same time. “The pie!”

[junkdrawerfics]

Gonna ask me to dance, Cowboy?

Jasper Hale X Reader

Summary: Reader was in an accident that damaged her spinal cord and left her temporarily wheelchair bound. It's during this time that the Cullens move to Forks, and she meets and falls in love with Jasper. A little bit of your story, wrapped up with a big surprise at the end. Requested by @twilightlover2007

Words: 2457

Note: Obviously went with Jasper and boy did this take on a life of its own! I hope you like it!!! It's a little cheesy, but that's what I like.

Disclaimer: I have limited knowledge of temporary paralysis and life with a wheelchair. If I'm wrong about anything, please let me know!

---

The accident happened before the Cullens moved to Forks. You don’t remember much of it, which the doctor says can be common given the head trauma you experienced. All you know is that you were driving home from a game and a drunk driver decided not to stop at the red light.

The accident left you with some severe damage to your spinal cord. Not irreversible, but enough to strand you in a wheelchair. It took almost two months alone for the fractures in your leg to heal, and then another to find a good physical therapist in Seattle who could work with you.

In the midst of this, the Cullens showed up. And you fell for Jasper like a newborn fawn trying to walk for the first time. A fitting comparison considering your legs worked just as well. 

Your friends thought you were crazy. Afterall, he was the least…approachable of the group. Always frowning. Not at all talkative. Everyone thought he was a bit of a grouch. But you knew better.

You met the real Jasper the first Friday after they arrived. It was another game day, meaning your little high school was going all out cheering for the team throughout the day (even though everyone knew you didn’t stand a fighting chance). 

You were making your way to the pep rally at the end of the day when someone jostled you from behind, sending your wheelchair right over the sidewalk’s ledge and into the grass. You cursed the school’s outdoor hallways so hard that day. It was raining, as it always was, and the moment your wheels hit the ground, you could feel them sink into the mud.

You were effectively trapped.

Or at least, you thought you were. Until a certain blond appeared out of nowhere.

---

“Are you alright, miss?”

You huff out a laugh, trying to keep a smile despite it all, “Yah, yes, I’m okay. Just a little stu-”

When you look up, the words get stuck in your throat. Jasper Hale. Jasper Hale is standing right in front of you, in the rain, hair already sticking to his face, and despite the concern dripping from his features, you can’t help but notice how absolutely gorgeous he is. How did you not notice before?

Before you can stop yourself, the thoughts spill out of your mouth, “Wow, you’re really pretty.”

Shock flickers across the blond’s face, though it’s quickly replaced by a soft smirk that makes his eyes crinkle just a little, somehow making him look more attractive. You blink. And blink. And blink. Until what you said finally sinks in.

Your face goes impossibly red. 

“I am so sorry,” you squeak, eyes wide. His smile only widens when you continue to sputter, “I’m fine! Really. And um, I, you can, you don’t have to worry! I’ll just-”

You try to push yourself forward, anything to escape this moment, but your wheels just spin futilely in the mud. You’re not going anywhere, not without help, and Jasper seems to know that, his gold eyes glinting with amusement. You purse your lips, face only going darker.

“Would you like help, darlin’?” Jasper asks, voice low and honey-like, and wow - it seems so unfair for someone to look so handsome and sound like that too.

You cast him an embarrassed smile, “Yes please. If you really don’t mind, that is.”

The blond chuckles, the sound making your heart flutter. He makes it look effortless, the way he maneuvers you out of the grass and back onto the hallway sidewalk. You hum happily when you’re back on solid ground, wheeling back and forth a bit to dislodge the mud from your rims.

“That’s better,” you sigh, spinning back to face him, “Thank you so much.”

Jasper nods, “It was my pleasure, miss.”

You roll your eyes playfully, “Please, call me (Y/n). (Y/n) (L/n). Miss makes me feel so old, and I’m like, a hundred percent sure you’re older than me.”

Something flickers behind his eyes, but it disappears as quickly as it came. 

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss (Y/n).” You narrow your eyes, but he only grins a little teasingly, which you refuse to admit makes your pulse race even more. “The name’s Jasper Hale.”

“Nice to meet you too, Jasper.” Officially at least.

“I suppose you were headin’ to the rally?”

Your nose scrunches,“Yep. Before the impromptu shower, at least.”

“Would y’mind if I accompany you?” 

Blinking, you glance up at him in surprise. Jasper just looks down at you, face still set in a charming, calm smile, so different from the scowl you’d grown accustomed to in passing. He’s being genuine. Actually genuine. It makes your face go warm all over again.

“I think I’d like that.”

---

You don’t know what possessed Jasper Hale to help you that day, but he did.

From then on, you and Jasper became friends. He was still a bit odd, but his whole family was. And you liked them. Even Rosalie, whose bluntness was refreshing compared to most of the girls at your school. You befriended all of them, but you and Jasper were particularly close.

Falling for him was easy. Between the soft smile he seemed to reserve only for you and the way he always supported you, how could you not? You realized it after a particular hard day of physical therapy, when your legs were aching and it felt like you were making absolutely no progress. It was a day that Jasper offered to pick you up because your dad had to work late.

---

Jasper can tell you’re upset before he even reaches you.

You sit at the entrance to the rehab center, head ducked, fingers fidgeting in your lap. You see Jasper’s shoes first before he’s kneeling in front of you, honey eyes dark with concern as they flicker over your features. You look back at him, eyes blurry with unshed tears.

The blond’s gaze softens, “Oh, darlin’.”

And you break.

All the pent up frustration and guilt you’ve been holding onto comes pouring out. You manage to stay quiet, barely, but your whole body trembles with your tears as you collapse forward into Jasper’s arms. He holds you close, not saying a word, just humming softly into your hair.

The longer you stay like that, the calmer you feel. It’s like magic, the storm of your emotions calming to a dull roar, until you can take in a few deep breaths

It’s only when your hiccuping goes quiet that he draws you back, eyes scanning you again. You glance down, feeling too raw, too vulnerable like this, with his thoughtful gaze burning over you. But you also feel undeniably safe somehow.

“You’re doin’ so well, darlin,” he eventually murmurs, voice low, soothing your frayed edges. “I know you’ve been hurtin’ and you’re feelin’ like giving up, but we’re all so proud of you. Someday you’ll be back on your feet and I’ll be here ‘til that day comes. And long after it.”

It’s the most you think you’ve ever heard him say at once. His words ring with something so genuine, you can’t help but melt.

“Thanks, Jasper.”

“Always, darlin.”

---

It felt like more than a promise about that day. More than just a friend being there for another friend. And it was the moment you realized you really liked Jasper Hale. 

It was only a matter of time before you learned about his world.

None of them told you, of course. They couldn’t. But the truth was hard to deny when a lone vampire came through Forks and almost killed you. 

You knew it was a bad idea to go out by yourself. Even though your legs were getting stronger from your perseverance in physical therapy, you still couldn’t walk by yourself. Which made you quite the easy target.

Luckily, Jasper was just in time to save you.

After the shock, though, came all your questions. Why did that man try to bite you? How did Jasper throw him all the way down the alley? How did he know where to find you and that you were in trouble?

A silently distraught Jasper ended up taking you back to the Cullen house. The air was tense, except for Alice, who was more than excited. She foresaw it all, of course.

Carlisle explained it all to you as Jasper paced off to the side. A scowl lingered on his lips, his eyes set on something distant. The moment you felt a flicker of panic though, he was there, kneeling at your side, smoothing a hand over your shoulder. You covered his with your own, holding on so tightly that if he were human, he'd probably be hissing in pain. You had a good grip strength from wheeling around for a few months.

It took time to settle into this new reality. Jasper gave you space to process, scared to push you too hard, but you wouldn’t have it. Vampire or not, you couldn’t stand the distance. You hadn’t realized just how ingrained he was in your life until then. Whenever something happened, no matter how small it was, you wanted to rush to him and tell him everything. You hated life without him.

So you ended up asking him out.

Dating came as naturally as breathing. Nothing changed. He still drove you to physical therapy and walked you to all of your classes. Only now, he would press a kiss to your forehead when you parted ways and take you on dates after every p.t. appointment. 

You had never been happier.

That’s when you came up with an idea for the upcoming school formal.

---

“You ready, darlin?” Jasper pauses at your side of the car, wheelchair pulled out and set up behind him.

You grin, squashing the nerves buzzing in your chest before he can sense them, “Yes! Now help me out of here, mister.”

The blond chuckles. He helps you down from the car, touch overwhelmingly tender, as if he’s scared of breaking you. Which, you suppose, he could. You settle into your wheelchair with practiced ease, your dress only causing a little trouble.

The night starts off perfectly. You take your pictures and meet up with his siblings inside the venue. Everything is beautiful. As usual, Forks high went all out with the theme. It’s something cheesy, like ‘a night under the stars’, everything draped in a deep navy blue, the ceiling decorated with shimmering stars.

When the dancing starts, you give Alice the cue. She sends you a little wink before dashing off to the dj booth. You catch Edward grinning out of the corner of your eye. It was impossible to keep him out of it, what with the whole mind reading thing, so you just shoot the man a playful glare. He stifles a chuckle, making an excuse to go get some punch, despite the fact he can’t drink it.

Sighing softly, you steel your nerves, spinning back to your boyfriend.

“Hey,” you call, catching the cuff of his suit.

Jasper’s eyes turn to you, and oh, wow, you’ll never get used to that. The way he looks at you, it’s like you’re one of the stars decorating the night. His eyes glow with an overwhelming warmth and something so so fond. All of a sudden it feels like you’re the only two in the room, everything else fading away.

“Yes, darlin?”He hums, slipping your hand into his to brush his thumb over your knuckles.

The touch sends sparks cascading over your skin, settling in your chest among the wild butterflies. You bite your lip to try and hold back a massive smile.

“You gonna ask me to dance, cowboy?” You tease.

A smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth.

Jasper makes a show of pretending to tip a hat, voice bright with amusement, “My apologies ma’am. I shouldn’t have kept you waitin’.”

“Mmm, I’ll forgive you,” you hum, biting back a laugh, “just this once, Mister Hale.”

“That’s very kind of you, darlin. Now, would you give me the pleasure of escortin’ you to the dance floor?”

“Why, of course.”

Jasper figures he’ll hold you up as you dance, or maybe spin you while you sit. Anything you want.

Except you do neither of those things. Instead, you gather every ounce of your strength, and shakily push yourself to your feet. Your wheelchair disappears (thank you Alice) and you stand there, all on your own.

After a few seconds, you’re certain that your legs won’t give out, and glance up at the blond expectantly.

Jasper stares back at you, eyes wide, brows arched. It almost looks like he’s forgotten to breathe, his whole body rigid. Shocked. Your grin finally breaks loose, so wide it makes your cheeks ache. Squeezing his hand, you take a tentative step closer. A little wobbly, but you stay standing. It’s only one step, but -

You’re walking.

In an instant, Jasper’s hands are cupping your face, and it’s only then you realize you’re crying. Tears race down around your smile and he’s quick to wipe them away, drawing you close so he can rest your foreheads together.

“My Lord, darlin-” He lets out a breathless laugh. “-you’re goin’ t’make this old man’s heart start again.”

You giggle, curling your arms around his neck, “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Been a long time since I’ve been surprised.”

“But I did?”

“Yes, you certainly did.”

Jasper leans down, pressing his lips to yours. It’s soft, featherlight, and you feel like you’re floating. It’s perfect. Everything about it is perfect and so much better than you expected.

The vampire pulls back, just enough to whisper against your lips, “You’re amazin’ darlin. Absolutely amazin’.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” you hum back, “Now, dance with me, cowboy.”

Your song comes on. The one you first danced with Jasper to in your kitchen, when he set you on his feet and held you close to support your weight. A knowing grin falls across his lips, his eyes creasing as he looks down at you.

“It would be my pleasure.”

Unlike that first time, you don’t have to stand on his feet. You don’t even have to clutch onto him to stay upright. Instead, you rest your hands on his shoulders, and Jasper traces his along your waist. The two of you move together slowly, perfectly.

By the end of it, you’re leaning against him, head tucked under his chin, just soaking in the feeling of his arms around you, his lips pressed to the crown of your head. Your legs are shaking, but you don’t care.

This is everything you could ever ask for.

---

I had fun writing this!! It came really clearly for me, though it ended up being a lot longer than I thought because I wanted to add so much exposition.

[todorokis-girl]

Welcome to the Stone Age - Senku Ishigami x f!Reader

I’m trying something new. My boyfriend recently got me into Dr. Stone and while I’m not a HUGE fan, this premise just seemed so sweet! I HAD to write it.

Masterlist

The world was dark and silent, a deep, timeless void. She floated in it, suspended, unaware of the passing moments, months, or perhaps even years. There was no concept of time here, only an endless sleep.

But then, as if pulled from the depths of an abyss, a flicker of consciousness stirred within her. She felt a strange warmth, a sensation she hadn’t known for so long. Her body began to tingle, an unfamiliar but comforting sensation spreading through her limbs.

Slowly, her eyelids fluttered open. Blinding light flooded her vision, and she squinted against it, her heart pounding in confusion and fear. The world around her was hazy and indistinct, shapes and colors blending into a chaotic swirl.

She sat up abruptly, gasping for breath, her chest heaving as if she had been underwater for too long. The disorientation was overwhelming. Where was she? How long had she been asleep? Panic clawed at her throat as she struggled to make sense of her surroundings.

And then, through the fog of her bewilderment, she saw it—a familiar grin, wide and mischievous, hovering above her.

“Nice to see you again, Y/N,” a voice said, its tone light and teasing.

Her eyes widened in shock, the voice pulling her back from the brink of hysteria. She knew that voice, that grin. It was impossible, but there he was, as real as the ground beneath her.

“Senku?” she whispered, her voice trembling with disbelief.

His grin widened, and he gave a small nod. “In the flesh.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision once more. She blinked them away, unable to believe what she was seeing. The last thing she remembered was a world turned to stone, an unending nightmare. And now, here he was, standing before her, unchanged, as if no time had passed at all.

“How...?” she began, but the words caught in her throat.

Senku stepped closer, his expression softening. “It’s a long story,” he said gently, “but we’ve got all the time in the world now.”

He reached out a hand, and she took it, feeling the solid, reassuring warmth of his touch. For the first time since waking, she felt a sense of calm wash over her. She wasn’t alone anymore.

Her mind drifted back, memories flooding in as she recalled their past. They had met in a high school science competition, she remembered, the smell of chemicals and the hum of electricity vivid in her mind.

The auditorium was packed with eager students and stern-faced judges, all gathered to witness the brightest young minds showcase their scientific prowess. Y/N stood by her project, heart pounding with anticipation. She had worked tirelessly, hoping this time she would finally beat him.

But then, there he was. Senku, with his wild hair and confident smirk, presenting his project with an ease that belied the complexity of his work. The judges were captivated, and she could feel her chances slipping away.

When the results were announced, she wasn’t surprised. Senku had taken first place again, and she, as always, was second. The scholarship she so desperately needed to stay at her school slipped through her fingers.

Defeated, she ended up transferring to Senku’s school, her dreams of a full-ride scholarship shattered. But over the years, as they faced off in competition after competition, a strange camaraderie developed between them. Outside of the fierce rivalry, they found common ground, spending countless hours discussing theories and experiments.

They were frenemies in the truest sense. During competition season, they were fierce adversaries, each determined to outdo the other. But outside of that, they were almost inseparable, bound by a mutual respect and understanding that few others could grasp.

As she looked at Senku now, she couldn’t help but smile through her tears. Despite everything, he was still here, and so was she. They had faced the end of the world and come out the other side.

“Tell me everything,” she said, her voice steadier now, filled with the same determination that had driven her all those years.

Senku’s grin softened into a genuine smile. “I will. But first, welcome back, Y/N.”

He helped her to her feet, and she looked around, taking in her surroundings. They were in a village, rustic but bustling with activity. People were working together, some tending to crops, others crafting tools. It was a scene from another era, yet there was an undercurrent of something more—something scientific.

As Senku guided her through the village, curious eyes followed them. Whispers spread quickly, and soon a small crowd had gathered.

“This is Y/N,” Senku announced to the villagers. “She’s a brilliant scientist and was my equal back in our time. She’ll be helping us with the science of everything.”

A murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd. Y/N felt a mix of emotions—pride, determination, and a renewed sense of purpose. She met the villagers' gazes, seeing curiosity and hope reflected in their eyes.

A young girl with bright eyes stepped forward. “Is it true you’re as smart as Senku?” she asked, wide-eyed.

Y/N smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her. “I’d like to think so,” she replied, glancing at Senku with a playful challenge in her eyes. “We’ve always pushed each other to be better.”

Senku chuckled. “That’s right. And now, with Y/N here, we can achieve even more.”

One by one, the villagers introduced themselves. There was Kohaku, the fierce warrior with a heart of gold; Chrome, the self-taught sorcerer-scientist who looked at her with awe and curiosity; and Gen, the mentalist with a sharp mind and a knack for persuasion.

Each introduction filled Y/N with a sense of belonging she hadn’t realized she missed. These people had built something incredible out of nothing, and she was eager to be a part of it.

After the introductions, Senku led her to a small hut filled with makeshift lab equipment. “This is our science lab,” he said, pride evident in his voice. “We’ve made a lot of progress, but there’s so much more to do.”

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with excitement as she took in the sight. It was a far cry from the state-of-the-art labs they had once known, but it held promise and potential. She could already see the possibilities, the advancements they could make together.

“Where do we start?” she asked, rolling up her sleeves.

Senku’s grin widened. “I knew you’d say that. First, let me catch you up on everything we’ve done so far. Then, we can start brainstorming how to take things to the next level.”

As they delved into their work, exchanging ideas and theories, Y/N felt a sense of exhilaration she hadn’t felt in a long time. The world had changed, but her passion for science had only grown stronger. And with Senku by her side, she knew they could achieve anything.

Their journey was far from over. In fact, it was just beginning.

As the sun set, casting a warm glow over the village, Y/N looked around at her new home. She felt a deep sense of gratitude and determination. The future was uncertain, but with these people, with Senku, she was ready to face it.

After the villagers dispersed, Senku led her to the edge of the village, where a small, secluded clearing offered a perfect view of the sunset. They sat side by side, the silence between them comfortable yet charged with unspoken words. The sky shifted through hues of orange and pink, casting a serene atmosphere over the scene.

Y/N's mind wandered back to the time before the petrification event. She remembered the countless nights they spent working late in the lab, the friendly banter and heated debates. Beneath their rivalry, she had felt something more—a growing affection that she had never dared to acknowledge. Senku was brilliant, driven, and endlessly fascinating. She had admired him, respected him, and, in quieter moments, wondered if he saw her the same way.

She glanced at Senku, who was gazing thoughtfully at the horizon. His profile was softened by the fading light, and she felt a pang of longing. The world had changed, but her heart had not. Her thoughts drifted back to specific moments that had cemented her feelings for him.

It was late one night, the lab quiet except for the hum of machinery. They were the only ones left, working on their respective projects. Y/N had been struggling with a particularly stubborn equation when Senku appeared at her side, peering over her shoulder.

"You're making it more complicated than it needs to be," he said, his tone matter-of-fact.

She frowned, frustration bubbling up. "Oh, really? Then why don't you enlighten me, Mr. Genius?"

He smirked, taking the pen from her hand and quickly scribbling out a simplified version of the equation. She watched in awe as the solution unfolded effortlessly under his skilled hand.

"See?" he said, handing the pen back to her. "Sometimes the simplest answer is the right one."

She had been too proud to admit it then, but she had been grateful. It was moments like these—where his brilliance shone through effortlessly—that her admiration for him deepened into something more.

Another memory surfaced, this one filled with a softer, more intimate light. They were at a school science fair, the air buzzing with excitement and competition. Y/N had just finished presenting her project when Senku approached her, holding two cups of coffee.

"Truce?" he said, offering her one.

She accepted with a wary smile. "For now."

They had found a quiet corner and talked for hours, sharing their dreams and ambitions. It was the first time she saw past his competitive exterior to the passionate, dedicated person underneath. She realized then how much they had in common, how their dreams were interwoven with the same threads of curiosity and discovery.

As she looked at Senku now, illuminated by the fading light, those old feelings stirred within her. She had missed him more than she realized. The world had changed, but her heart had not.

“Senku,” she began softly, breaking the silence, “before everything happened, there was something I never got to tell you.”

He turned to her, curiosity in his eyes. “What’s that?”

She took a deep breath, gathering her courage. “Do you remember all those nights in the lab? The science fairs? The competitions?”

He nodded, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “Of course. Those were some of the best times.”

“I always admired you,” she continued, her voice steady but filled with emotion. “More than that, actually. I—” She hesitated, the words catching in her throat. “I think I had feelings for you. I don’t know if it was obvious, but I wanted you to know.”

For a moment, Senku was silent, his expression unreadable. She felt her heart pounding in her chest, uncertainty gnawing at her. Then, he gave a small, almost shy smile.

“You always kept me on my toes, Y/N. You were the one person who could challenge me, push me to be better. I respected you for that, admired you.”

Her heart swelled with hope, and she leaned a bit closer. “And now?”

He looked at her, his gaze intense and sincere. “Now, I still feel the same. Maybe even more so, knowing everything we’ve been through. We’re a team, Y/N. We always have been, even when we were rivals.”

She smiled, tears of relief and joy welling up in her eyes. “I’m glad to hear that, Senku. I’ve missed you.”

He reached out and took her hand, his touch warm and reassuring. “I’ve missed you too. And now, we’re going to build a new world together.”

As they sat there, hand in hand, watching the sun dip below the horizon, Y/N felt a profound sense of peace. The world was different, but some things hadn’t changed. Her feelings for Senku were as strong as ever, and now, there was nothing holding them back.

They had a long road ahead of them, full of challenges and discoveries. But for the first time, they would face it together, not as rivals, but as partners in every sense of the word.

The night deepened, and the stars began to appear, twinkling above them like countless possibilities. Y/N leaned her head on Senku’s shoulder, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath her cheek.

They sat in comfortable silence, the future stretching out before them. Whatever came next, they would face it side by side, with the strength of their minds and the bond of their hearts.

And for Y/N, that was more than enough.

[oneforthemunny]

Older!eddie, reacting to hearing both his girls swear for the first time for the blurb request 🤭

i'm assuming you're talking about brielle and delilah, so that's what i did haha! a little parallel type blurb since i know the older!eddie crowd loves it lmao. tw: gina

Seventeen Years Before

"Brie, where ya at, Munchkin?" Eddie's sing-songy tone floated through the small home, over the hum of his boombox in the window.

"In here!" Brielle's little chirp of a tone came from the other room, where she was 'cleaning up', which really meant moving her toys from in front of the TV to the hall.

Gina was gone for the day, and Eddie felt sick at the fact that he was so relieved. They'd been going through a rough patch, endless fighting and bitter remarks behind the toddler's back. So when Eddie had the rare Sunday off, he encouraged Gina to go out with her friends, promising he'd take care of everything.

"Can you come in here, please?" Eddie craned his neck to try and look into the living room, hands still elbow deep in dish water. "I need some help in here. You wanna dry for me?" Really, he wanted to make sure she hadn't somehow found the magic markers, scribbling on the walls again.

"Yes!" Brielle shrieked in laughter, tiny footsteps bounding on the carpeted floor towards the kitchen.

Eddie's head whipped around at the crashing sound, a solid thud that shook the doorframe. Brielle looked up at Eddie from the doorway, hands on the ground, braced from her fall.

"Oh, shit." Eddie muttered, shaking his sudsy hands off, wiping them on his shirt. "Uh-oh. Did you fall?" He tried to keep his voice level. He had learned if he freaked, then she would too.

Brielle looked up, face contorting with a grimace that looked freakishly similar to Gina's. Eddie cringed, crouching in front of her. "Let me see." He picked her up gently, turning her hands over. "No scratches. You're good. All good." His tone lifted, standing with a groan, the toddler on his hip.

"Sit up here and help me dry. Can you do that for me?" Eddie asked, grabbing the rag from the drawer, handing it to Brielle. "Hold it with two hands, alright?"

Brielle's little legs swung on the counter, carefully wiping down each dish Eddie would hand her, his hand hovering over the bottom in case she dropped it.

Eddie turned for a moment, going to finish the stack of sippy cups he hadn't washed out yet. "Are you excited to go to Grandpa's in a few days?" He hummed, looking over at Brielle.

Her face lit up, squealing with excitement, legs kicking faster. "Yes!" She squeaked, arms flinging the towel, knocking over a cup. It toppled before tipping over the side, Eddie's soapy hand splashing out of the water, barely catching it before it crashed.

Brielle's wide eyes met his, matching rounded expressions. "Oh, shit?" Brielle repeated, her tone so adorably soft that Eddie almost thought he heard her wrong.

"What?" Eddie gaped.

"Oh, shit?" Brielle repeated, a slight lisp, the word unfamiliar to her. "It falled?"

"No, no, no," Eddie shook his head, setting the mug down. "Jesus, no, Brielle, look at me." He tried to even out his tone. It would've been funny- really fuckin' funny, actually- if he didn't think Gina might kill him over this. Throw it back in his face and prove her point that he was already not a good father, like she already loved to do.

"You can't say that word." Eddie shook his head. "That's a bad word. A really bad word."

Brielle frowned in confusion. "You says it." She tilted her head to the side.

"I know, and I shouldn't say it." Eddie shook his head. He didn't even realize he'd said it, that she'd heard it. "Look, that's not a good word, ok? And if you say it..." He hesitated.

"If you say that word, Santa doesn't come to visit you." Eddie said seriously. Brielle's face dropped, eyes widening in horror. She was finally old enough to realize the magic of Santa, that he'd bring her toys, all kinds of toys - too many toys, thanks to Santa Wayne who insisted on spoiling her.

"That's why Daddy doesn't get gifts from Santa, because I say bad words." Eddie wasn't entirely sure he should say that, sure parenting books would go against that, but still, he was desperate for her not to say it in front of Gina.

Brielle's face fell, crumbling with fear. "I-I didn't means too!" She wailed, more dramatics than real tears.

"I know, hey, it's ok. You didn't know. That was Daddy's fault." Eddie cringed; definitely not the best thing to do. "It's ok. Now you know, so just don't say it anymore ok?" By some miracle, Brielle managed to forget the word, or at least not say it in front of Gina, which Eddie was beyond thankful for. At least that was one thing she didn't have on him, couldn't throw back in his face and guilt him with.

Seventeen Years Later

"Ed!" You called, flinging through the racks of clothes in the closet. "Eddie! Did you make sure to pack her floaties?"

"Yes, honey." Eddie called back, dragging the next suitcase down the hall towards the front door. "I put two pairs in the beach bag."

"And sunscreen?" You leaned back, eyeing him from your place in the closet.

"Also in the beach bag." Eddie nodded.

"Uh, your sunscreen." You glared at him lightly. "You better make sure that SPF 70 is in there, Munson."

Eddie rolled his eyes. "It is." He grumbled, leaning on the doorframe of the closet, arms crossed over his chest. "Even if it's not, I'll be alright. Never used it before-"

"-And that's why you had to have that place cut off." You glared at him with finality. "Your derm told you to use that, so you better use it, Edward. I'll hold you down and spray it on you if I have to."

Eddie grinned, lines by his eyes crinkling gently. "Don't tempt me with a good time, bunny." He growled lowly, playfully pinching your ass.

You jumped, rolling your eyes at him lightly. "Lilah!" You yelled down the hall. "Do you have your tablet charged? It's a loooong ride, baby. Make sure you've got your charger."

"Okay!" The five year old called back. "I have it in my backpack!"

"Good. Can you bring your backpack here so Daddy can take it out to the car?" You nodded, looking over at Eddie. "Check her bag and make sure."

"I got it." Eddie nodded. "Relax, sweetheart. If we forget something, we'll just stop and get it when we get there."

"I know, I just hate that feeling. I feel like I'm forgetting something, and it's driving me fuc- crazy." You cut yourself off with a small smile, Delilah's bright backpack entering the room before she did. "Thank you, Lilah. Do you want to go potty before we leave one last time?"

Eddie unzipped the backpack, looking in it. "Hm, I don't see your ear phones. Did you pack them?"

"Oh, shit. I forgot." Delilah said flippantly, jumping off the bed. "I'll go get them!"

You and Eddie paused, stunned at the ease and the accuracy that she said. "Did she- you heard that too?" You whispered, eyes wide in shock.

Eddie's lips twitched, swallowing back a smirk. "Yeah." He snickered.

"Eddie!" You gasped. "Don't encourage that." Your own lips were curling, trying to keep your stern composure.

"I'm sorry! But you gotta admit, that's a little funny." Eddie laughed, rubbing a hand over his face.

"She used it correctly too." You rubbed your temples, swallowing back your own smile. "That's somehow worse."

Eddie giggled into his hands, ducking into the closet to compose himself. "Holy shit, never been prouder in my life." He laughed teasingly.

You smacked his shoulder lightly, lips pressed in a tight line. "You're so immature." You shook your head. "Wonder where she got it from." You glared at him lightly, sending him into another fit of giggles.

[fattorimunin]

The phone had already rung several times.

With great effort, Time finally managed to reach out from under the covers and tap the answer button. He slowly pushed himself up, the blanket slipping down his body, golden hair falling messily around his shoulders.

“Hello? Who’s calling?”

His voice was still thick with sleep. Outside, daylight had long since arrived—the noonday sun was already high in the sky—but Time had only just fallen asleep after a sleepless night. His eyelids felt too heavy to keep open.

“Hello, is this Twilight’s father?”

The sweet, gentle voice on the other end carried no edge, but it jolted the one-eyed man awake in an instant.

“Yes, this is he. Is something wrong with Twilight?”

In a blink, Time was already sitting upright, tugging on the underwear hanging nearby, and messily gathering his long, unruly hair into a crooked ponytail.

“Well, Twilight and a classmate were climbing a tree, and now… they can’t get down. If it’s not too much trouble, we might need a parent to come over.”

Great. Climbing trees.

For someone like Time, who had grown up in the forest, tree-climbing was nothing new. It almost made him proud—Twilight, even at his young age, already showed traces of the wildness Time once had. He wasn’t sure whether to be mad or amused.

The kindergarten wasn’t far—barely a ten-minute walk. From a distance, he could already see two small figures clinging to the tallest tree on campus, their little butts sticking out.

“How did you even climb that high?!”

It was a massive tree, wide enough for several people to hug around. Its branches were dense, and the children were hanging about three stories off the ground. A crowd had already gathered below. Firefighters had set up an air cushion, and a ladder truck nearby had extended its crane arm skyward.

“You’re here! Twilight’s dad—he’s up there!”

Several teachers pointed up into the tree. The two little boys didn’t seem the least bit scared—they were still trying to climb higher.

“Twilight! Wild! Don’t move! Someone’s coming to get you!”

A firefighter shouted through a megaphone, the mechanical rasp echoing around the courtyard.

The kids turned to glance downward. Time was sure Twilight had spotted him—his little wolf cub was grinning, baring two tiny fangs as he waved excitedly from above.

“Pup! You—don’t move!!”

He shouted, nearly using up all the air in his lungs. The two troublemakers finally seemed to realize something was wrong. They exchanged a look, then slowly began climbing back down, clinging tightly to the branches.

“Don’t move! Stay where you are!”

Every time the kids moved their tiny arms or legs, the adults below collectively held their breath. Time was fairly sure he didn’t have a heart condition, but at this rate, he might just develop one.

The ladder slowly rose, and at last, the two boys were brought down safely by the firefighters. Back on solid ground, completely unharmed—thankfully, it had only been a scare.

“Daddy, Daddy, look! I brought this for you!”

Twilight clearly had no idea how serious the situation had been. As soon as his feet touched the ground, he bounded toward Time, eyes sparkling with excitement. Digging into his pockets with his dirty little wolf paws, he pulled out a sticky mess of broken eggshells.

The goop smeared across his shirt and spread as he rummaged. The smell of raw egg hit Time’s sensitive nose, making him wrinkle it involuntarily.

“Ah… it’s a bird egg. It broke…”

Time, who hadn’t slept all night, was already beyond exhausted. The moment Twilight had been lowered from that three-story tree, a tension deep in his body finally eased. Seeing the mess before him, he let out a long, defeated sigh.

“But I wanted to give it to you, Daddy… Wild said it tastes really good…”

Twilight hung his head, sticky egg white still dripping from the hem of his shirt. Time opened his mouth to say something—but then he caught sight of Wild, the little boy who had climbed the tree with Twilight. Not far away, Wild was holding several spotted bird eggs. Without even peeling them, he was shoving them into his mouth. Egg liquid dribbled down his chin as he chewed. The eggs were clearly raw.

“…Come on. We’re going home for a bath.”

It took a long moment for Time to get those words out. He no longer knew whether he should be scolding Twilight for climbing so high, or feeling grateful the eggs had broken—at least Twilight hadn’t followed his classmate’s lead and eaten them.

[delopsia]

Springsteen | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 5,100 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, (Note the Reader does wear a dress!) unprotected sex, dancing, sex against the hood of Rhett's truck, mentions of Rich!Reader, wearing Rhett's jacket <3. This is best enjoyed with a listen of Springsteen by Eric Church, but you're welcome to imagine any song you'd want. Brief Summary: Dancing to the radio with Rhett gets heated a little bit too easily.

"Go, go, go!" 

"I'm going, I'm going!" You squeal, damn near jumping off that last stair. Water splattering beneath your feet as you tear through the gravel driveway. Led along by the hand that's caught your wrist in an iron grip. 

Wind catches beneath the ends of your dress, blowing it up past your knees as you run. The kind of brazing breeze that sends you knocking into Rhett's much warmer side, clumsily clinging to his side. Limbs painfully knock together, shoulders and elbows not coordinated enough for such a thing, but he's getting his arm around you and cinching your body into his, and it's almost enough to ward off the bite of late autumn. 

"Told ya t' get a jacket!" Rhett sputters, but he hasn't a problem with having you this close. Even if that does mean your ankles are hopelessly tangling. Can't slow down out of fear of that front door opening and the sound of your name serenading through the air as you're summoned back inside, but can't speed up because someone is bound to trip. 

"You said the wind wasn't that bad!" Your retort is rewarded with a patch of loose gravel sliding out from beneath you, nearly sends you careening into the ground as you turn. 

"Yeah, if you got somethin' more than a dress on!" It's the singular, distant barn light that lets you catch a glimpse of his grin, couples so wonderfully with his wild blue eyes, untamed and free, like that of the herd of mustangs who roam the outskirts of town. 

For a moment, time stops. 

It's just you and Rhett in this big, cold world. Seconds away from disappearing from the sights of anyone who may be peeking out the house windows. Hidden in a dimly lit room, just the two of you, for as long as you want. 

Until his shoulder clips his truck mirror. 

"Shit—!" He's already biting into the side of his meaty palm, gaze darting toward the house, where a hundred ears could have heard him. 

But you doubt anyone would come out here, even if they did hear him. 

Slipping out from his side is the worst thing you could ever do because the chilly air nips at your skin, even in the safety of the barn, but being cold will have to wait. Too busy looking over to see if he's broken his mirror or, worse, cut himself open.

"'m alright," somehow, you already knew he was going to say that.

And now here you are, shivering in front of his broad frame, struggling for words. Of course, he's alright; a man who works on a cattle ranch has worse injuries than a shoulder bumped into a truck mirror. Falling off his horse, cattle trying to run him over, bull horns getting jabbed into soft flesh.

His deep chuckle dances through the air. Effectively snatching and running away with every single one of your thoughts. "You're cute when you're worried 'bout me,"  his hand rises to push his hat further up on his head. Makes it a little easier for him to lean in, bumping your noses together, "Y' know that?" 

It's a little bit too easy to reach up, smoothing your hand up his body, feeling the gentle swell of his broad chest and the solid ridges of his collarbones, all on your way to curl your fingers around the back of his neck. You hardly have to pull him in. The slightest pressure, and he's stepping forward to close the gap. 

Rough stubble scratches your chin as his lips meet with yours. Chapped and bitten to the brink of bleeding, but just as familiar as three nights ago. Slower than the last time, no longer fueled by the crippling frenzy of desperation to feel each other and excitement over finding a stolen moment. No rush as Rhett's arms curl around your waist, drawing you in until your chests bump together. 

"Y' weren't kiddin' 'bout bein' cold, were you," he observes aloud, voice rumbling against your lips. Big hands smooth up and down the back of your dress, like he's trying to create a semblance of heat there.

Delicate, he pulls you in. Closer this time. Where your arms can coil around his shoulders, and your frigid nose fits into the scruffy underside of his jaw. For a man who's always complaining about being cold, he sure is warm. The chest against yours feels warmer than the fireplace you were idling in front of earlier, entertaining small talk with some boy in a gaudy blazer that he spent far too much on. 

His head tilts, nose bumping into your temple as he nuzzles into you, "'s this better?"

"I hope you plan on gluing yourself to me, cowboy," because you're not letting him go until spring comes back around. 

Or at least, not until the frost melts from the joints of your fingers and the tip of your nose doesn't feel so numb. 

"Wouldn't mind that," he's pausing to press a kiss to your forehead, then another, can never seem to get enough, "not sure if you'd like bein' out at dawn, chasin' cows through rain n' snow though."

"Who said I'd give you back to your folks?" You can't see it, but you can feel his eyes roll. Both of you know that Royal will come kicking the door in if his youngest isn't at work bright and early, busting his ass for a job that pays less than minimum wage because he's family, but it's fun to imagine. 

Just one week alone, in a cozy home, cuddling through movies and bickering as you try to put a dinner together, uninterrupted by the responsibilities of life. It's all you ask for. 

Rhett's shoulders shift as he shrugs out of his coat. Unveiling that slightly-too-tight flannel that shrunk in the washer a few Sundays ago, sleeves clinging to the curve of his biceps like they're being paid to do it. Such a fascinating sight that you hardly notice the sudden warmth wrapping around you. 

"But now you're gonna be cold," your protest is weak, thwarted by the flutter of butterflies in your belly. His coat is so warm, fitting around your shoulders just right, and freshly scented with his favorite cologne—the woodsy one with the scent of autumn crammed into a bottle. 

"'s alright," it may be dim in this barn, but it's so easy to catch the way his cheeks have flushed pink, a little too eager to see you in his jacket. "I got somethin' that'll warm us up."

Before you can even begin to ask what that could be, he's stepping off toward his truck. Hinges squeal as he opens the driver-side door, one of its many, many signs of age. It's a miracle the old thing even runs, considering its rough life as a ranch truck. Still clinging to its last bits of life, too stubborn to go just yet.

"I found this at a yard sale the other day," Rhett grunts, lifting something gray out of the passenger seat. Square, with a big antenna that reminds you of...

"How is a radio gonna keep us warm?" Your head tilts to the side, since when did he own a radio, anyway? 

"You'll see." There's a long, dangling cord that Rhett's coiling in his free hand as he hauls it over to the outlet. The one on the workbench you've been using as home to your laptop as of late, where the Wi-Fi connection is the weakest. A small price to pay to watch movies together without needing to worry about sneaking into each other's homes. 

"Only downside is, the damn thing ate my Eric Church CD," the end of his sentence disrupted by his own laughter, "'s what I get for buyin' yard sale radios." 

As he says that, the radio flickers to life, the coarse sound of static rumbling through the air as he fumbles with the buttons. A little unfamiliar with the layout of this old machine, dented and splattered in hot pink paint. 

Music erupts from the speakers. Looping through the same three seconds of a lyric that you can't quite hear. Then dies into silence just as quickly. A familiar song wavers through the air, growing louder as Rhett messes with the dial. 

You still don't get what he's on about. "Springsteen?" How is an Eric Church song going to warm you two up? Catch fire? 

The track loops, the intro catching on a new scratch in the CD. You've heard him play this CD enough times to know it's never skipped in this song until now. 

But then Rhett's holding his hand out, grin so wide that his eyes curl with it, "c'mon," he breathes, his voice light as an autumn leaf, "dance with me."

You know better than anyone that Rhett Abbott cannot dance. Yet, you're slipping your palm into his, letting him sweep you into a lazy spin that flares out the ends of your dress. Your silhouette picture perfect on the barn floor as the song finally starts to play.

"This is your idea of warming up, huh?" You giggle, accidentally stepping nose to nose with each other, then stepping a bit too far apart. Eager to be close but afraid to step on each other's toes. Carefully turning and moving with no real rhythm, just doing whatever feels right in that given second. 

"Remembered that video y' sent me, 'bout that couple dancin' n' all," funny, how he remembers that because you can hardly recall when you sent it to him. What other ideas has he been storing up in that pretty head of his? "Couldn't figure out how t' get a beach in a barn."

Now you're finding your pacing, something slow that lets him nudge your foreheads together. Your arms wrap around his broad shoulders like they belong there. The ruggedness of his jacket an uncanny contrast against the soft, delicate material of your dress. A mashing of two styles that would send many of your visitors into a tizzy. But God, it's so warm. Like a  second Rhett, curled around your body to keep you safe from the nip of the wind. 

It's no romantic sunset dance on a white sand beach, but it's better than it has any right to be. Because your bodies bump together with all the clumsiness of two people who don't know what they're doing, and you're starting to drift across the barn, but it's you, and it's him, and it's so...

Enchanting. Perfect. A daydream that has slipped from your head and into the thin blanket of reality. The kind of scene that can be shoved into a snow globe and sold to every tourist who wanders into Wabang.

"Thinkin 'bout somethin'?" He asks, but those eyes suggest he can hear the gears turning in your head, just might be able to read all the wandering thoughts floating past.

"Wondering what they'd say if someone walked in on us, right now," the wayward wondering slips right past your lips, unable to be held back. 

Humming, Rhett's head tilts, "s'pose someone would faint," he says, with all the confidence of a man who has seen it happen before, "can't have the big, bad cowboy muddyin' up the prettiest thing in town, now can they?"

"Something tells me you'd enjoy that," you can already see it, the devilish grin as everyone at the party realizes that you're taken after all. Heart stolen by the bull rider they see every Sunday at the rodeo. 

"If it means showin' everyone who ya belong to, then—" spurs clank together. One moment, he's there. The next he's gone. Hat bouncing off his head as his ass meets the concrete barn floor. Mere inches away from the start of the gravel driveway.

Big blue eyes blink up at you. Cheeks flushing with crimson as he braces his palms on the ground behind him, leaning back like he meant to do that all along. 

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Struggling to speak around your grin, you bend to pick up his hat by the crown. 

Rhett's silent. Mouth agape as he continues to blink at you, gaze akin to that of a baby deer. And maybe he would be able to talk if you weren't setting his hat atop your head. Have to be careful, it's so big that it'll fall over your eyes if you move too quickly. 

But it stays in place, even as you kneel, settling into his open lap. Knees straddling his hips, nose to nose once more. "Showing everyone who I belong to, hm?" 

This. This is what you've been missing. The awkward wobble of Rhett's bottom lip as he struggles for words. Overtaken by the sight of you in his clothes, the soft fingers caressing his jaw, and the hand delving into his messy hair. So confident until he's not.

"Uhuh," he breathes, dumbly. 

You don't know who moves first. If it's you who dives down or if it's him surging up, but your lips are meeting, and that stupid Eric Church CD is beginning to skip around again. The glitchy repetition of the song an illustration of the way your brain shorts out, set off by the arms circling around you. 

Kissing him before was soft, delicate. This one...this kiss is something warmer. A lick of a flame that you recognize all too well, the kind that promises more to come. His hands roaming beneath his jacket and up your back, the scruff of his jaw tickling your chin. Maybe it's the cold that makes you cling to him, maybe it's the way your head is starting to spin, you cant say for sure, but you can't get close enough. 

His soft mouth glides against your own, groans at the way you nip at his lower lip. He knows what you want. You know what you want. And yet, you're surprised by the way his tongue darts out to lap at yours, a bolt of electricity firing down your spine. Sloppily tangling, spit slicking your lips, parting just for the sake of meeting each other again. 

Strong hips roll upward, growing bulge nudging between your legs. The rough material of his jeans a wicked sensation against your core. 

Blindly, you reach for one of his hands, drawing it between your bodies. And for a moment, you part, panting for a breath you can't catch, eager to focus on his handsome face as you guide him beneath your dress.

His eyelashes flutter. Rough fingertips dip between your dripping folds. "How long you ain't had those on?" 

"Since you texted and said you were coming to get me," and there's more to that statement of yours. Ramblings about how you'd intended to part your legs and give him a view when he was flagging you down through the window. But he's bringing his glistening fingers to his lips, and your brain has effectively gone silent.

All of a sudden, it's too hot in this jacket of his. The wind isn't chilly enough to bite back the wildfire blazing across your skin. 

Everything moves so fast. One moment, you're in his lap, and the next, your chest is against the hood of his truck, knees knocking together as his calloused palms slide up your inner thighs. Feeling their way up to the curve of your ass, squeezing greedy handfuls. 

"Fuckin look at you," he hisses under his breath, and you just know he's leaning back to capture the full picture. 

Impatient, you wiggle back into him, whining, "hurry up."  

Rhett doesn't need to be told twice. Gaudy, oversized belt buckle jingling as he pops it open and yanks down his zipper. Music to your ears, even with the jumpy radio still droning in the background. That poor CD is so close to reaching its final resting place, but it's not quite there yet.

A familiar hardness nudges between your thighs. So hot against your chilly thighs that it almost burns. His leaking tip slips through your folds, rubbing past your entrance in favor of grazing your clit. A perfect glide that has you biting into the side of your palm to keep quiet. Only sickened by the packet of lube he's pouring onto himself, using your cunt to spread it across himself. Lazily fucking himself against your sex without much effort. 

"Can't believe you're out here lettin' me do this," he grunts, blunt head catching, beginning to nudge into you, "what're ya fixin' to do if one of them folks comes lookin' for ya, hm?"

Blunt nails trail up your exposed thighs, a light tickling that has you unintentionally jerking back against him, that thick tip slipping into you without warning. So suddenly full of him that you gasp, head dropping down to rest against your forearms. 

Rhett's still talking, eating away the silence as he takes hold of your hips, holding you still while he pushes into you. "What're ya gonna do if you get caught with a ranch hand balls deep in your sweet lil pussy?" 

"And how do you plan on dealing with the whole town knowing about your sex life?" Your voice strained, wound too tight by the thick length that's splitting you oh so wide. Don't think you'll ever grow used to how he drags against your walls, such a simple sensation that sends a tremor into your legs. 

"Don't mind it," inhaling sharply through his nose, Rhett bends down, his warm chest pressing against your shoulders, "long as they know you're mine."

Kisses pepper against the side of your neck, where a thin sheen of sweat has already begun to collect. A vague distraction from the way his hips press against your ass, skin flush together. You've taken him to the hilt, can barely understand how you've done so, and yet he's still pushing impossibly deeper. Urging every last millimeter of his cock into you, just to hear you grunt, your hand pawing at the slick hood of his truck.

"Rhett..." you whisper, aren't quite sure if it's meant to be a warning or a whimper. Maybe both.

"Y' can take it," his breath tickles your skin as his nose bumps its way up your neck, not stopping until he can graze his teeth against the shell of your ear, "know ya can, sweetheart."

In the back of your head, you know he's right; you've done this more times than you can count, but every time, you can't help but wonder if it'll be your last. Split wide open on his cock, until you're aching from the stretch of him, so full that you can focus on nothing else. 

You've never been so thankful to be pressed up against the hood of a GMC Sierra, the cool metal a welcome relief to your overheated cheek. Makes it a little easier to look over your shoulder to steal a glance at your cowboy with his half-unbuttoned shirt and half-lidded eyes. 

With a deep breath, you open your mouth again, "move." 

A breathy laugh fans out against your ear, so amused by your request and so eager to fulfill it. A gust of wind breezes past as he gingerly draws his hips away. Cock sliding out of you a little under halfway, only to ease back in with the same carefulness as the first time. 

His balls bump against your clit on his next push inward. A soft tap of attention that has you squirming back into him, fluttering around his cock like a butterfly. And you know he can feel it because he sucks in an audible breath, the only thing he can do to keep himself from swearing out loud. Twitches into you a little too hard, rocking your body up against the truck, balls slapping against that throbbing little button again and—

A whimper tears its way out of your throat. 

"Like that?" Rhett's leaning back, big hands settling on either side of your hips like a warning, "y' wantin' me to be rough with you, darlin'?"

You don't know what you want. So long as he keeps doing this. Working up a pace that rocks your bodies into the truck, the only noises in the air are the soft patter of skin on skin, the gravel shifting beneath your feet, and the soft grunts falling off Rhett's tongue. Barely there noises meant for your ears only.

"Wish you could see yourself," Rhett's muttering, his free hand smoothing across your exposed backside and beneath your dress, feeling its way up your spine, "pr'ty lil ass in the moonlight like this."

Those wicked hips slam into your ass, pushing you forward and up onto your tip-toes; metal squeals as your clammy palms scramble across the truck's hood, searching for purchase. 

"Rhett!" You all but yelp. Can't do a goddamn thing but take every bit of him, spasming around him as he drives right into that little bundle of nerves, plush tip kissing it on every pass over. 

There's no way someone won't hear you if they open the front door. Will recognize the rocking of the truck and know exactly what it is that you're up to. Bending over for your beloved ranch hand instead of getting close with one of the Tillersons or their equally well-off associates. Desperate for the devilish smack of Rhett's balls against your clit, can no longer think of the elusive opportunities that come with pretending to like someone with more money than the entirety of Wabang combined. 

All you can think of is this. The sensation of Rhett's unshaven jaw grazing against your collar as he bends down to press warm kisses to the underside of your jaw. How your dripping sex squelches with his every thrust. 

"Lookin' so innocent in your little party dress," Rhett's murmuring into your ear, him and his dizzyingly deep voice. So up close and all over that he floods your senses, mind cluttered with Rhett, Rhett, Rhett. "Gettin' roughed up by a cowboy while all them snobs in there wonder where you're at." 

You fear you've forgotten how to speak because your lips are moving, but nothing is coming out. Mind growing foggier with every collision of his body up against yours, whimpering high in your throat. Oh, you've missed this. 

"Ought to cum in this tiny lil pussy of yours," his voice vibrates down your spine, sends your skin prickling, "pump y' nice 'n full of me 'n make ya walk right back in that party with my cum runnin' down your thighs."

It wouldn't be the first time he's paraded you through a crowd; your thighs squeezed together as you try to keep yourself from falling apart at the seams. Forced to grin and pretend that you can't feel the way he's spilling out of you. 

And you're already so full of him, a plume of heat just beginning to spark where his thick cock disappears inside you. Bodies tangled together so hopelessly that neither of you can figure out who starts and ends where. Only worsened by the hand that tilts your head to the side, your mouth weakly meeting his swollen lips. You can hardly hold the kiss for more than a second, broken apart by how he jerks into you.

"Do y' want that, hm?" He's still talking; fuck, fuck, fuck, why is he still talking? Cooing those sweet words into your ear, a spell that you have no hope of resisting. "Waddlin' 'round your own house, actin' like you didn't just get fucked nice 'n good."

You don't know where you're finding the strength to push back against him. Feet scrambling for purchase in the loose gravel, trying to meet the unrelenting slam of his hips. A futile attempt at getting more that gives him the space to reach down between your legs, coarse fingertips dancing around your swollen clit. 

"Fuck, Rhett—!" Your choked cry is anything but quiet, echoing through the dark blanket of the night and carrying its way up to the stars. The same ones that twinkle behind your eyelids, growing brighter with every plunge of his cock, and the massage of his fingers against your clit. Working over and over and over. 

Rhett's cheek bumps into your shoulder, his body curving to fit against yours until there's not an inch of space left between your bodies. "Or would y' rather me carry you in and let 'em all see who y' belong to?" 

Oh, oh, oh. You can already hear the dramatic gasp of your visitors, the shattering of the steep expectations they've held for you. 

But that's only if they don't catch you first, and the noises whittling out of your throat do nothing to help your case. Unable to shut your mouth, dissolving into a limp mess against Rhett's ranch truck. No better than a warm doll, clinging to the remnants of your control while he fucks you. Rhythm falling apart, chasing the same high that's making your head spin, heat washing across your body. 

"C'mon, sweet thing," Rhett's voice wavers, sweat dripping from his trembling jaw and landing on your shoulder. "Where do y' want it?"

He'll pull out if you want him to, has so many times before, but you're already babbling, mouth struggling to wrap around the words, "inside, inside, Rhett—hah."

And he doesn't need to be told twice. The weight of his body growing heavier as he settles against you in earnest now, unafraid of not being able to pull himself away in time. Working into your spasming pussy like it's the only thing he's ever wanted to do. The underside of his cock rubbing into that sweet collection of nerves, never once losing contact. 

There's a shake in his arms, and it's starting to match the trembling in your thighs, his breath quickening in tune with yours, those deep groans like music to your ears. No longer able to keep himself quiet, weak fingers still working your clit with what strength he's got left. You're right there, you're right there, you're right—

Rhett's forearm muffles the cry that leaves you. 

For a moment, your mind is blank. Only dimly aware of the rhythmic spasm of your pussy as Rhett's hips stall, cock twitching as a familiar head spreads inside you. A whine tumbles off someone's lips, might be yours, might be his; you can't fucking tell anymore. Ears washed over with a dull ringing as that heat eats you up from the inside out. 

What strength remains in your body begins to dissolve. Your head is still spinning up with the stars when your knees give out from beneath you. But your knees don't hit the ground, instead held up by a nondescript body—Rhett's, you think, pinning you to the truck. 

It's the ache in your jaw that brings you back to the real world. Eyes fluttering open as you pull your mouth away from Rhett's forearm, an outline of teeth imprinted over the thick vein that runs through it.

"Y' bit me," he chuckles into your ear, "ain't never done that one before."

You don't know when your dominant arm got trapped between your stomach and the truck, but a portion of the GMC logo has been imprinted on your skin. A temporary brand, only takes one look for it to reveal your recent rendezvous, shows itself off as you paw at the metal hood, struggling to regain your bearings. 

On its own, Rhett's spent cock slips out of you, and already you can feel the cum spilling down your thighs. 

"I'm gonna be so sore in the morning," you'd sound more dramatic if you weren't caught in the midst of a yawn, "how am I supposed to get up to my room without anyone noticing me waddling like a damn penguin?"

Rhett's warm nose nuzzles against your cheek, and you can't see it, but you can feel his smile. "I'll kiss it better if that's what you're wantin'." 

Certainly wasn't an idea that was on your list, but you don't mind the idea of that. 

Your legs sway as you push yourself off the side of the truck, leaves you stumbling into Rhett's big, sweaty chest. And you're so, so fortunate that he's quick to react, big arms coiling around you and securing you to him because you know your ass would be hitting the gravel otherwise.

"At first, I was kiddin' 'bout carryin' you inside," he chuckles, nothing but smiles as he presses a kiss to your temple, "but now I think 'm gonna have to." 

"Or," holding up your finger, "you could not take me inside."

He's leaning back, just enough to get a glimpse of your face, crushed up against his shoulder, "'n here I thought you wanted to go back in." 

"I do," on their own accord, your arms rise to circle his waist, grabbing greedy handfuls of his flannel. "But I don't wanna leave you." 

Because going inside means that you have to leave your boyfriend out in the cold, forced to remain out of sight and far away from the families who aren't so fond of the Abbotts. Old rivalries in a cattle industry that only Rhett's family remains in, forever unable to acquire the same wealth as the others did. As yours did.

But sleeping beneath the moonlight or in the barn isn't feasible. The temperature has only begun to plummet; body heat alone isn't enough to protect against autumn Wyoming nights. 

If only the numbers in Rhett's bank account were big enough to buy the respect of the assholes spilling wine on the freshly cleaned carpet of your living room. Carelessly wasting a drink that costs more than this old GMC Sierra, modifications included. 

"What if..." he's thinking aloud, gears visibly twisting and turning in his pretty head, "I take ya to that hotel outta town? The one with the theater next door."

"Well, if you let me get my wallet—"

"Naw," Rhett's cutting you off before your sentence can be finished, already knows where the conversation is headed, "you let me worry 'bout that."

All these people at your home, with their needlessly expensive items and mile-deep pockets, and yet it's your blue-collar, run-of-the-mill cowboy who is the least concerned about money. Even when he's got every reason in the book to worry about the numbers in his bank account and the unnecessary expense of a nice hotel.

"Sound alright?" His nose bumps against your cheek, tickling.

"That's more than alright," on their own, the corners of your lips rise into a smile. Your eyes dart toward the barn doors, can already hear that same Eric Church track starting up again. Funny how you now have a memory to go with a song about a memory. "But maybe you should shut off that radio first."