#gahhh it smells so good

[bobbyfloyd]

victoria’s secret bombshell perfume is everything to me

[reeniecon]

Could I request Idia, Malleus, Rook, Azul, Jade, and Floyd reaction when mc/Yuu turns into a goose? I was thinking something like mc/Yuu turned into a goose from a potion class accident, and they act like the goose from Untitled Goose Game, but cuddlier. Like they are still a little menace, but also want to be pet and cuddled.

If you don’t want to do this request I completely understand as it is a bit odd. I hope you have a great day/night!

When MC get turned into a GOOSE?!!

With : idia, malleus, rook, Azul, jade and floyd

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PT.1: idia, malleus, and rook

PT.2: azul, Jade, and Floyd

‼️⚠️ : gender-neutral MC/reader, swearing on the idia part, not proofread yet, maybe bad grammar( English r, not my 1st language guys)

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IDIA SHROUD !!

" HOUSEWARDEN THERE IS A GOOSE IN OUR DORMS, PLEASE HELP " one of the ignihyde students shouted and banging on idia door

Idia sighed at the absurd information that he was given why in the world there is a goose inside this highly protected dorm campus...

" hey, tell ortho about the problem, he will fix it faster than I do." he told the student.

" AGRH!! IDIA HOUSEWARDEN HELP ME THE GEESE ARE STOMPING ON ME!!" the ignihyde student desperately shouted.

What the fuck.

He was to open the door but suddenly without wearing the goose were charging into the door and accidentally hitting his feet instead....

" GAHHH!!" idia screamed "Ugh... Ortho there is a goose in here..." The goose stood In front of him with a somehow worried face looking at Idia who was holding at his feet because of the pain...

" huh, eh why did you have that...?"

" HONK " the goose quacks in a somehow desperate tone..

" could it be... (name)-SHI???"

" EH AIN'T NO WAY RIGHT HUH??" he hold the geese holding it while maintaining eye contact with it.

'You have a new massage from Ace!!' his computer notify

" read it " he commands the computer

'Ace chats you "Idia-senpai, did you see (name) i- uh I mean DEUCE accidentally turned them into a goose on the potion class... Please return them so Professor Crewel could turn them back!!" end of the massage'

He look at you with with wide eyes....

" uh... So you're (name)-shi?" he asked

" Honk....."

" ah- I see... Uh " he puts you down

"Sorry... So why are you here? Oh wait you cannot speak... " he got up from the floor and started to search for something in his drawers.

The "Ah here it is, here (name)-shi use this" he equipped the device into you

" Now you can speak " he smiled and sat in front of you

" a a a.. Test test, IDIA!! " you scream at him

" HUH YES- did I do something wrong???!!" he mildly panicked

" LOOK THAT STUDENT YOU NEED TO GET ORTHO AND TAKE HIM TO THE INFRAMARY!! "

Idia gasped...oh I forgot about HIM

"ORTHO ORTHO FAST COME INTO MY ROOM INJURED PEOPLE INJURED STUDENT"

After that ortho takes the injured student to the infirmary and you guys are having a good time together before turning you back into a human with Professor Crewel's assistance...

"Idia, don't tell anyone that I'm the one who stomps on that person..."

" yes.... Of course" he sought

MALLEUS DRACONIA !!

It was a normal night, he was about to visit the ramshackle dorms and have a small talk with you... And there he saw it

In front of a ramshackle dorm...

A goose? He asked to himself

No, not a goose it's child of man... Oh poor you how could this happen to you? He approaches you

"( name ) how could this happen?" he asked

You try to explain but only quack quack comes out from your goose mouth

" oh I see...so that happens, that we're a quite big mistake to happen in a potions class...how embarrassing of them..." he voiced his opinion with quite an angry tone

'Honk honk' you react

" of course, I do understand you child of man, what kind of magician do you think I'm?" he says with his iconic smirk

' honk...'

He picked you up carefully holding you close to him gah!! You can smell his perfume!!

' HONK ' you protest

" calm down I'm trying to find out what kind of potion they accidentally used to turn you like this.." he explains to you calmly

" HONK HOnk" you continued to protest while he were smirking turning the geese upside down spinning left and right

'oh, this is a simple potion spell, I can easily break it...but it would be a waste... If I turn them right away right?' he thought to himself

'Ho..nk HONK'

"Why am I smiling? Did I find something funny? No no child of man that was not the case" he chuckled and held you closer

' Honk....'

" I'm not lying, this potion that you are in right now is kinda hard to break I need some time to get to know it better...." he explains

' honk.....'

" oh don't be sad, I'll break it as soon as possible. Why don't we get inside I didn't want you to catch a cold" he smirked and hugged you inside

" I love you so much child of man"

It seems that Malleus had such a wonderful and memorable evening tonight with you <3

ROOK HUNT !!

Oh dear, what is this mess... He was trying to get into his science club room and he saw a bubble coming up the door.....

He sighed, he just wanted to have a small experiment with you in the room but he might have to wait for another day according to how the looks of the room you guys going to have....

" aa~ what a waste me and my dear going to have a small experiment on here, what happen here Rose Chevalier? " he asked Trey with a disappointed manner

"HOMK" you try to hug him out of fright

" gah! a goose? " he embraces you

"HONK HONK HONK!!" you try to explain to him

" ah... Our junior got into a potion problem and (name) accidentally got into the mess. And uh- how can I say it... And get turn into a goose "Trey let out while rubbing his neck

"oh! (name) my dear how miserable...." he hugged you closer and buried his face into your feather dropping 1 streak of tears...

' ho.....'

" I'll turn you back okay! I promised my dear..." he raised his head and looked you in the eyes with a determined tone!

'honk honk!'

"we're not going to miss our date together I promise, now let's get started. I'll make the cure my dear don't worry!!"

After that, he makes you the cure and you guys are having a great date exploring the island together with him. Huh? What happens to the club junior who accidentally potions you? Uh... You might didn't want to know about that

Haha...ha

I mean because of them you and Rook failed to get a cute lab date, ain't no way rook going to let them go so easily.....

lets just

pray for them...

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More of my fics

A/N: sorry for not posting for a while the exams are coming up lol, and I'm going to make separate parts for the Octatrio (which will be uploaded in 2-3 days) this fic is really fun to make tbh

A/n PT.2 : www I sorry I thought goose quack but apparently they honk... Please tell me if I wrote it wrong once again 😭😭😭

[ghoulphile]

Strawberry ghoul anon here again with more drabble (I'm gathering the courage to post the whole thing and you m a tad rusty when it comes to writing 🫣)

It had fallen quiet save for Dogmeat's furious digging in the soft dirt for worms the size of your arm, her new favorite treat. A whistle tore you from the book you had found, containing illustration after illustration of every plant in the glass house. You clutched the satchel of goodies you had found along with the book tight to your chest, learning from the past two times that the ghoul would most likely confiscate it for himself.

A whistle came out again, this time ripping Dogmeat from her worm hunt. You could hear the crunch and tinkling of the ghoul's footsteps. Another whistle, "C'mon now girlie. Don't you make me hunt you down again." The last words came out as a growl and the footsteps grew closer.

On instinct you tucked yourself further under the brush of you now hiding spot. You stuck your nose back into the book, stubborn. Not wanting to leave this paradise let alone the cool dirt that sat beneath you.

Dogmeat was the one to give away your hiding spot. Dumb bitch loyal as always to her master. You could hear him take a long draw from his inhaler before you felt a tight grip on your scalp and you were torn from you little slice of heaven. Forced to meet the deep hollowed eyes of your captor and companion. A squeak escaped your lips and you eyes grew like saucers. He couldn't hurt you it was part of his contract to escort you in one piece, alive. But the first-and last- time you ran off without his "permission" landed you hogtied and hauled over his shoulder like a sack of scraps. That dirty part of you flashed back to the way he held you, his hand gripping your ass so tightly his fingerprints were there for weeks. The way he had a grip on you hair igniting that same heat you felt between your thighs when he had you tied up.

Part of you wondered what'd he do to you this time.

You could see something in his eyes, it was dark glow. His lips twisted into a sleazy smile as his grip tightened releasing another small squeak from you. "Ain't anyone teach you that yer 'sposed to come when called."

You cursed your hormones as wetness joined that heat between your thighs. Your face now flushing to match.

"And to think I was fixin' to give your ass a treat for findin' this place." A jar of golden liquid rolled in his free hand. "Somethin' sweet for bein' such a good girl." His smile twisted more, despite the cavern where his nose should be he could smell what he was doing to you. The only reason he released you from the hogties the last time was that scent damn near made him disregard his bounty and take a bite.

"I don't want any of your stupid chems," you spat. Trying your best to ignore his hungry eyes and the ever growing tension in your core.

"Oh sweetie, this here's better than any drug you'd ever had. Now c'mon girlie." With that he pulled you from your hiding place, tossing you over his shoulder and planting a firm grip on your ass.

"Ain't anyone teach you that yer 'sposed to come when called."

"And to think I was fixin' to give your ass a treat for findin' this place."

"Somethin' sweet for bein' such a good girl."

(...) that scent damn near made him disregard his bounty and take a bite.

i'm 🫠 this was so so good i am blessed!!!! gahhh thank you for sharing again ❤️ this isn't rusty at all!! you did a great job and i'd love to read the full piece if/when you post it. you got this bestie~!!

[banggyu0308]

watching hyuka fuck his pillow through the crack of his door because he didn't think you'd be home so soon so he didn't bother closing it and just,, hearing how whiny he is for you - whimpering your name and shit?? oh my goooood- even better if he's wearing something of yours like a tshirt or hoodie because he can smell you,, - 🌸

Gahhh Sunni I can’t with your brain sometimes- 

Warnings: pillow humping, perv Kai, jerking off (for like .5 of a second), mommy kink, dacryphilia, handjob, marking, finger sucking

Kai who didn’t  mean to be so pervy… he just couldn’t find his favorite sweatshirt, and his favorite one of yours was laying right there for the taking!! Slipping it over his head and reveling in the smell of you, smiling to himself while he goes to eat breakfast, coming back to his room after a little while… trying to distract himself from the fact that he seems to get even harder every time he catches your scent on the hoodie… 

Sliding his hand under the waistband of his sweats and palming himself through his boxers slowly… tugging his dick out of his pants and pumping himself twice, and if he really focuses, he can almost pretend you’re there with him :( sliding his pillow between his legs and laying on his tummy, trembling slightly as he ruts into the soft plush, little whimpers slipping past his lips when he presses a little harder against the pillow, pace increasing until he’s fucking himself against his pillow so desperately that there are tears slipping down his cheeks, wetting the sleeve of your sweatshirt when he wipes his face before shoving his face into the fabric, whining out little broken moans of your name and f-fuck, mommy when his hips stutter just a little :(

Doesn’t even notice when you open and shut the front door of the house, heading to your room and stopping when you hear his cries, can’t help peeking into his room, it’s his fault he left the door open anyways… finding your baby boy such a mess on his bed, dick pressed between him and the pillow, tears streaking lines down his flushed cheeks while his whimpers grow louder and louder, hips bucking so desperately into the pillow :(( opening the door a little and stepping into the room, he doesn’t notice, face buried in the soft fabric of your sweatshirt, but his head jerks up when you run a hand up his back, pressing a kiss to his ear and whispering, let mommy help you finish up, hm?

Nodding so desperately and the tears building in his eyes slip down his cheeks again when you get him on his back, taking his leaking cock in your hand, gonna make him feel so good :(( jerking him off slowly at first cause he seems so overstimulated, then quickening your pace when he moans out a broken cry of your name, slick sounds of your hand sliding up and down his dick so frantically when his whimpers increase, incoherent mumbles of love you mommy… whenever you squeeze his shaft just a little, and when you take his tip in your mouth, his whole body shakes and his pleas grow louder, baby wants to cum so bad :( 

Finally letting him and his cum paints his own tummy, clear white coating his skin and Kai trembles so hard when you lower your head to lick it up, the force of his prolonged high making his head go so fuzzy that when he looks down at you with that perfectly fucked out expression, you can’t help but smile up at him, pressing kisses up his tummy and then to his neck, sucking splotchy hickeys onto his skin, cooing praises in his ear while you tuck the two of you under the blanket, tugging your shirt over your head and taking off your bra so he can rest his face on your tits, sliding his hand between your thighs, asking so softly if he can make you feel good too? Lazily circling his fingers around your clit while he peppers your neck with kisses, pretty baby asking if he’s making his mommy feel good :(( and letting him know how amazing you feel, a wide, dazed grin on his lips when you tell him that, moving his fingers a little faster and his cheeks go pink when you hiss a little at the pleasure <3

Cumming all over his fingers while you lie there together, bringing his hand up between you and sucking your juices off his fingers, watching as his cheeks flush again as your tongue swirls around each of his fingers, jokingly pursing your lips at him and asking if he wants a taste, and kissing him with a laugh when he nods so eagerly, lips parted to his and your tongues dancing together, making out with him so messily as you both lay together, hands running up and over his sides underneath your sweatshirt

Cuddling him as close to you as possible when your tongue-kisses turn into little pecks, your face in his neck when he buries his own into your breasts, tongue dragging over your skin before he sucks a hickey onto your tit :(( mumbling a hardly coherent sentence of thank you mommy before he falls asleep, a smile on his lips <3

[zaceouiswriting]

Fairy Prince - Hearts of Leviathans - Ch.11

Character: Sky x male reader, Riven x male reader, Brandon x male reader

Universe: Somewhere in Winx Club/Saga

Warnings: None

Slowly I wake up from a deep, restful sleep. When I open my eyes, I see that the room is still shrouded in darkness and that no sound can be heard within these walls. It almost seems like a dream. But my rumbling stomach suddenly shows me why I woke up. Still sleepy, I just wanted to turn over and sleep longer.

Unfortunately, my body doesn't appear to be fond of this notion. It leaps from a hungry growl to a painful reminder of who's in charge. "Damn, you're not serious," I mumble angrily at my body. I swear if my body could do that, it would grin contentedly. Almost as if my body had its own thoughts.

Since my body leaves me no choice, I get up, go to the window and open the curtains. The garish light from outside blinds me for a moment. "Gahhh! Stupid idea!"

Blinded, I turn to escape the light, to hopefully see my life again. After only a few steps it gets a little darker, making me a little calmer. More relaxed now, I take longer steps, only to suddenly feel something standing in my way, stopping me harshly. But when I realized it was already too late. I land face-first on the floor with a violent thud. Like an idiot, I spread my arms instead of using them to break my fall.

Can this morning be any more stressful? Just as this thought is slowly running through my head, a knock on my bedroom door brings me back to the situation.

"Coming!" I call to whoever dares to disturb me on the very cozy stone floor. I push myself off the ground with some difficulty. Back on my feet, I immediately started to walk to the door. By doing so, I pass a mirror. Although I felt like I shouldn't do it, I take one quick look seeing my body in bad shape. And to be honest? I really shouldn't have even looked. My reflection broke something deep inside me. Nothing was left from the muscles hardened by war. Nothing showed my earlier hardships, for never has a blade scratched my body during the war. Now there was just a skinny little boy looking back at me. Pretty depressing. There's a way to get back in shape quickly, but it won't be enjoyable.

But there wasn't much time to sink deep into grief because someone was waiting for me, which under other circumstances would be annoying. So I used the few seconds to get to the door and wallow in the overwhelming sadness. Dressed only in a thin shirt and underwear, I take the gold handle and push it down, slowly opening the door.

"Nice to see you're finally awake! My name is Cory. I'm a senior, and here to-"

"Since when does an a'Fulgenor bow to one of my family?" I couldn't hold my mouth from speaking or smirking widely at him.

He stayed silent, his right hand still resting on his chest, slightly below his shoulder, as he was frozen in his bowing position. But even then, I could see his wide eyes and a sour expression. He straightened his back from his bowing position and dropped his hand. "What are you doing here?" His voice is so deliciously poisonous. It almost makes me want to laugh.

"Nice to see you too, Cory. How are you doing? Haven't seen you in quite a while."

"Yes, since you arranged for the engagement between me and Lady Arabella d'Monter to be broken."

"I couldn't let a sweet girl like her... marry a man from your family. You know that,” I said mischievously.

A heavy silence spreads over us. His face shows disgust and disapproval. But only for a second before his lips break into a wide grin. He looks sheepishly in both directions. His suspicious behavior makes me nervous as the twinkle in his eyes has never been something good. But before I could even think of moving back, his two strong arms suddenly pulled me towards him. He hugged me tightly to his firm chest. I felt relief wash over him. His arms are wrapped so tightly around me. His hands embrace me with ease. But his scent... the smell was so homely that I felt protected, as I always did when we were younger.

I enjoy this moment a second longer than necessary and even snuggle up against his broader chest. Luckily I'm not strong enough to cry if I were waterfalls would fall from my eyes, that's for sure.

Cory didn't say a word the whole time, for which I'm grateful. We both know how much it would hurt my pride. And my pride is the last thing that's mine that no one can take away from me, unlike anything else.

I carefully free myself from his tight grip. His eyes filled with held-back tears, making them sparkle like amethysts.

Still close together, I brush a few strands of hair away from his face. "I guess I have to thank the stars that you're standing here, in front of me, and not one of the other three idiots, don't I?"

His head tilts to one side, staring at me with wonder. "I'm sure you've heard about it. A guy got into Alfea, made a ruckus, and got arrested by three specialists.”

"Was that you?" he asked in complete shock, but a short chuckle broke from him anyway.

“Yup.“

"But you are a fairy!" He burst out angry. "I've been already wondering why you're here! Rumor has it that a dangerous, unruly mage with nefarious intentions has somehow breached the fairy barrier. They even boast about your capture and are certain they will be made "Knights of Honor" for it.” Cory's face was twisted in disgust the entire time he retold the story how he had heard it.

I could only shake my head. "Someone tried to kill me here," I threw nonchalantly in, obviously shocking Cory even further. "Therefore, no one should be trusted here. Maybe they're not just after me.” Quickly I take his hand in mine. My body isn't fully restored yet, but I could use the immense magical power soaring through me for something useful. "Do you have an… item you always carry with you?"

He's perplexed by my question and seems to think for a while. But then he suddenly jumps into action. Pulling up his sleeve, I could immediately see a piece of metal that I know all too well.

“You still have it?“

"Of course," he tells me with a big, honestly silly smile, "it was made by my favorite brother and the future of our great world!"

My eyes widen, blush appears on my cheeks. "Idiot," I murmur with a fond, hidden smile. I need to divert his attention from my face, so I grab the bracelet with both hands. As I felt the magic rush through me like a current, the air around us began to compress. The pressure finally shattered the bracelet into a million pieces. Although my focus was almost entirely on the bracelet, I could still see the sadness in Cory's eyes, the shimmer of a layer of tears over them. But he remains strong and doesn't dare to shed a single tear. He's been so preoccupied he hasn't even seen the dirt I've conjured up.

With even more magical pressure, a bright, earthy green light surrounds the bracelet, stunning the much older man in front of me.

I soon felt that the strenuous activity was taking a toll on my already ailing health. Pushing back my exhaustion, I push more magic into the bracelet until I see the results slowly unfold.

I stare at it with a relieved look and slowly let my magic fade away, saving me from burning out from accumulating too much magic. If Cory hadn't come to me, I would have gone outside and wasted most of it. At least I could put it to good use.

As the earthy, green light slowly faded, Cory's eyes widened, still glistening with the same tears. "Wow!" he commented on his newly formed bracelet. The silver is much purer than I could have done as a child. It was now braided from several thin silver threads into one of three thick braids tied together. In between are small green and brown diamonds created by the immense magical pressure and the dirt I conjured up.

“What? How?“

"We both know that you will be the one to become a Parrihan. You will need some extra protection," I tell him quietly. Usually, an artifact made by the Protector of our world is given at the "Thousand Star Ceremony" to herald a new Parrihan. But considering someone tried to kill me. I can't let someone as promising as Cory die with me.

He's obviously taken aback and doesn't know what to say. So I took his arm like a lady would do with her partner at a ball and pulled him with me, effectively using him as a crutch. I would never say out loud that my body is so weak. He would only want to give me my magic back to heal me, even though my magic is the reason I'm so fragile.

"Let me put some clothes on and take a shower. Then we can do whatever you're here to do."

Without saying anything else, I sat him down in a chair, got some clothes that Grandpa most likely got for me, and happily, if a little clumsily, went to the bathroom.

Stalking beneath the warm water conjured by a magical crystal bound to the wall of the room, evidently drawing magic from the ground. So I ask myself: How does the magic crystal know how I like my water? It's warm but not hot, just right for me.

The amazement faded when a flood of ice-cold water suddenly flowed down my body. I tried very hard to hold it back, but when it reached the end of my back, I couldn't anymore. "Ahhh!" I scream loudly, maybe even a bit shrill.

Before I knew it, the bathroom door was flung open. Cory's panicked amethyst eyes searched the room for the reason for my scream until they focused on me and my… naked glory. "You don't look so good." His voice was soft, caring even.

Stunned at his audacity, I could only stare at him, hurt. “Well, thank you to your comrades. So shut up and tell me how to raise the temperature of this stupid crystal and keep it at the temperature I want!”

Immediately his eyes dropped, hopefully, ashamed of what happened to me. Without looking at me, he stepped forward, even waiting for me to get out of his way, and then tapped onto something I'd haven't seen before a display.

"With this screen, you can control the water temperature down to the smallest detail and even across several different functions of how the water is dispensed."

He walked backward, turned away, didn't even look in the mirror, and closed the door with his back to the bathroom. 

Only when he left could I breathe easily again. Stepping back under the water, I sighed with relief as the warm water poured over my still-hurting body again.

Looking down at my now scrawny body, anger rises in my stomach. How could this happen? Where were all the security precautions? But most importantly, how the heck am I supposed to get my body back into shape? I have to fight against specialists in training, but like this, I couldn't even hurt a piece of paper. Should I... No, I can't! It's really too dangerous! I shouldn't even consider it!

But while I'm still staring at my body, I already know, deep down, that my decision has already been made. "Fuck it!" I say out loud. Only to finish my morning shower, bracing myself for another wave of pain that will soon test my limits again. Only this time, the probability of dying will be much lower than these stupid magic-suppressing handcuffs.

Exiting the bathroom, washed and barefoot, with only a towel covering what Corey has already seen, I head back to the bedroom. Standing in the middle, I finally notice that there is no sign of the older brother of one of my dearest friends. Even if it feels strange, I shrug and use the solitude to get dressed in the room. Before I could do that, however, I went to the dresser and pulled out a shirt, the only thing I forgot. All were too big for my fragile statue, but I took one anyway. After all, I did not want anyone to see my body like this. This problem wouldn't last long, and Grandpa seems to have smelled something like that already. If not, he would have given me clothes that would fit my current body and not the one I lost in my shirt captivity.

Once again, I stepped to the center of the room, this time fully clothed and with my eyes closed. I could feel the magic that resides and surrounds everything dancing around me as it hadn't done since I'd soaked my hands in blood. I take a few deep breaths, asking the magic to show me where Cory went. Magic quickly began to travel through the air.

It didn't even take a second to find him. Involuntarily I open my eyes, only to roll them, realizing the older I have always known has not changed a single bit, even after the rigorous training at this academy. I silently thank the magic for helping me. It waved me off by wrapping me tightly as if to hug me. Lowly chuckling, I go over to the bedroom door leading to the hallway and knock on it twice. I wait a second and knock three more times, only to crack the door open. "I thought you ran away."

Corey didn't answer me. His gaze is strictly forward, apparently not ready to meet mine just yet. For now, it probably would be the best not to push it any further.

"Take me to the cafeteria. I could eat an entire Rhintora raw."

Worldless, he leads me there, leaving me wondering what I can do to make him understand that what I said wasn't an attack on him or the Institution of Specialists, which Corey wouldn't be a part of for long anyway if he really wants to become a Parrihan.

However, I know, as it is with me, his pride often gets in his way, and this is just an extension of that. That's one of many reasons we became friends, even though he's older than me.

Hopefully, a little time would close this crack in our understanding.

[Masterlist]

[thedeadestmeme]

**spoilers for BHNA season 6 (from episode 7-13)**

out of context reactions, a summary:

“what the fuck… what.”

“girl, you better be okay— oh, wHAT THE F—?!”

“i agree with the fanfic writers. if someone gave Deku a gun, this shit would’ve been over.”

[incomprehensible screeching]

“THAT’S MY SON! THAT’S MY FUCKING SON! aAAAAA!!!!”

“this is the sickest guy in all eternity. you, on the other hand—.”

[accidentally launches my remote into orbit] “SHOTO FUCKING TODOROKI???”

“suneater, my favorite son, you look so awkward at all times<33”

“they show my favorite boy and i can’t even see him fight?!! …i’m so sad, bois.”

“bRO, WHERE DID YOU—? nah, fuck it. he’s just weird like that.”

“deku,,, this is the worst steven universe cosplay i’ve ever seen. i’m so sorry.”

“i would, in fact, spend forever crying over my other favorite son, Bakugo Katsuki, and his attempts for amends. i think i will, actually.”

“bro, i’M GONNA CRY.”

[wordless screaming]

“mans is going feral.”

“the use of biting in this season— hell, this entire series is insane. honestly? i’m for it. biting is the most feral choice. it really shows their desperation to survive that they’ll revert to their most feral state. in conclusion, i think Deku should start biting off fingers as a power move from now on:))”

“…so like. how’d you lose your nose.”

“yeah, he’s saying a lot of words. but like. i have serious questions. like, how does being evil correlate with a lack of smell??”

“…is it a ‘hear no evil’, ‘see no evil’-type thing. bc he’s sure speaking a lot.”

“if i had a nickel for every noseless villain i’ve seen, i’d have two nickels.“

“…i feel like i’m witnessing two men that see this ragtag crew as a found family and they’re having to accept that their daughter has grown up. and it feels extra awkward bc i think only half the crew thinks like this. but like… maybe this is normal, ya know?”

[nodding] “ah, yes. lesbian culture.”

me, seeing Best Jeanist: bruh, he’s so slay. he’s so SLAY!!!

“bEST GIRL!👏BEST GIRL!👏BEST GIRL—!👏”

“…girl what. i’m. girl, you— i can’t even begin to explain how weird comparing him to being your brother is. like. it can be a valid feeling, but right now, it feels really weird.”

“i think i’m about to start ignoring this part of the plotline and focus on the toxic yuri of it all. i think that’s a valid response.”

“yEAHHH!!! YEAHHH!!!!!”

“[sighs] …i miss my non-toxic bisexuals, Tails.”

“eyyy, it’s mister daddy issues— oH FUCK. WAIT, NO—.”

“bestie, you are sooo Jason Todd/JD-coded, it hurts.”

“…he’s a theater major, ur honor.”

[stage-whispering] “…i don’t think he fact-checked all of his sources”

“i’m crying on the inside. like, really hard. i will be coping via so many fanfics later, it’s not even funny.”

“SLAYYYYYYYYYYY!!!”

“bro, you are so cool. your silly puns are so funny. i hate your hair, but you’re so slay that i’ll forgive it. i love you.”

“all these daddy issues… dude, i feel like i’m watching Demon Slayer all over again.”

“hold up— wHAT THE FUCK.”

“TELL HIM, SHOUTO! KICK HIS ASS!!!”

“mY SON!!!! MY SON MY SON MY SON MY SON!! MYSONMYSONMYSON mY SONNNNN!!!”

“bro i’m literally cryignsh”

“bAKUGOFAIFDHH GAHHH, THAT’S MY FUCKING SON!!!”

“YEAH!!! MIRIO, YOU’RE SO RIGHT!! IT’S A GOOD, SILLY NAME!!”

“…what the fuck. uh,,, tododeku win? [stares at Blackwhip: Froppy Style] ,,,at what cost...”

“girl, i love that Iida respected Bakugo’s entire hero name. he heard it two seconds ago and memorized it bc it felt like the respectful thing to do. he’s the best kid ever.”

“bonding with the crew: murder-style<333”

[sighing louder] “i miss Twice, Tails.”

“this entire crew is so loser-coded. a failed magician, an otaku, a yandere sim oc, Deadpool: Ultra Rare Copy Machine Edition, and Jason Todd — all banding together to work for the ultimate loser, Guy Who Somehow Has Even Worse Daddy Issues. that being said, i’ll always support the LGBTQ+ community<333”

“being so real, i really like Spinner and Compass and their desires for found family.”

“…Compass is so fucking cool, this is not fair.”

“bRO, NO. FUCK YOU. WHY IS HE HOT.”

“and quirk by quirk, Izuku Midoriya is slowly becoming Spiderman /jjj”

“nO. NO, COMPRESS, NO. BRO, YOU WERE SO HOT. NOOOOOO.”

“girl, i am… so sad. i am SO SAD.”

“bRO I JUST SAW ANOTHER GLIMPSE OF SUNEATER, WHY IS IT ONLY GLIMPSES. THIS IS THE FOURTH TIME. I MISS MY SON. I AM SCREAMING.”

if you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading. i am currently sobbing<333. i’ll be watching the rest now, but i figured i could liveblog all these thoughts in one whole post instead of spamming. i had too many thoughts to be able to open new posts shajfkf

[spod3]

MY BOY ONLY BREAKS HIS FAVORITE TOYS:

it's like say don't go !!! i will listen to them together. i like it. he runs because he loves her !!! the layers. no one gets her like me.

DOWN BAD:

don't cry at the gym. get out of the 1950's gymnasium !!!

i think i found kaylor in this song. she mentions twins, which could be karlie. but she and joe also looked the same............. and then she mentions that she was left safe and [something] so that might reference karlie leaving her after lover [aka the fort she built them] gahhh idk. i'm sure someone can make a lovely theory out of this one.

SO LONG, LONDON:

goodness gracious ! my soul hath left my body !

BUT DADDY I LOVE HIM:

mmm. i'm having this baby? no i'm not but you should've seen your faces? mmm.

FRESH OUT THE SLAMMER:

if she went to prison and i went to prison we would meet and be friends :P

FLORIDA:

oh ! oh !! oh !!! they smell like little babies !!!! florence just started singing. my heart is beating so so fast.

GUILTY AS SIN:

upper thigh........ tasty, you sly fox. fatal fantasies? do you guys think she's referencing final fantasy and how sexy cloud is? i bet she is. who's name is she screaming !!! this woman. mmm. she made a lil bible reference. mmm. anyway. quite nice.

WHO'S AFRAID OF LITTLE OLD ME:

vigilante shit 2.0

I CAN FIX HIM [NO REALLY I CAN]:

tasty has a mommy kink, i just know it.

LOML:

the start is reminiscent of the alcott. i am eating diddle daddle ! hurrah !

I CAN DO IT WITH A BROKEN HEART:

my lips are sealed. i'm lumping it in with bejeweled.

THE SMALLEST MAN WHO EVER LIVED:

diddle daddle is so gooddd.

THE ALCHEMY:

i don't like travis kelce. nothing personal. i just feel like he'd be mean to me in school and he's dating our woman.

CLARA BOW:

i'm just enjoying my purple powerade and thinking about listening to florida again.

[timeofjuly]

doing essays but can’t help think of quinn and MC GAHHH their so cigarettes out the window by TV girl coded 🤕💔💔💔💔 been listening to a lot of TV girl and thinking of them 😵‍💫

Adding that to my mc/Quinn playlist IMMEDIATELY oh my god, literally the perfect song. Here’s a suitably depressing fic that I wrote listening to it on loop, thank you so much! TW for alluded to drug use at the end.

there will be no answer

Quinn’s cleaning out your side of the closet when she unearths your leather jacket. It’s crammed right at the back, fallen from its hanger, sandwiched between the wood and your winter coats.

She pulls it free and then holds it up into the bright yellow artificial light streaming from the bedroom ceiling. It’s an old, beaten-up thing; it had already lived a full life when you’d dug it up from the bottom of the bargain bin at Goodwill and it’s even more well-loved now. It’s decorated with a handful of pins, all of which Quinn recognises and some of which she had purchased for you herself. They clink against each other as she turns the jacket from left to right, little bits of metal and plastic commemorating places you’ve been to, bands you like, things you find funny.

She flips the jacket to reveal the tag and sees where you’d written your name in thick, black sharpie. You had liked the idea of passing it on, maybe back to another thrift shop, with your name on it. You’d thought it would be a fun bit of history for whoever picked it up next.

Quinn traces the letters on the tag with her fingertip and says your name aloud for the first time in weeks. The sound sits in the otherwise silent bedroom like an unwelcome guest, sticking in the emptiness and making your absence all the more apparent.

Quinn can’t remember seeing the jacket since last winter, so you mustn’t’ve realised it was at the back of the closet. That makes sense. Out of all of your items of clothing, this is the one that she thinks you might want back. If she knew where you were, she’d mail it to you, but she doesn’t. She has no idea where you are.

She sits down on the beige carpet and splays the jacket over her legs, feeling like a big child with a too-small blanket. Beside her sit two trash bags, one for clothes to be thrown away, and the other for what’s in good enough condition to be donated. There is no bag for things that she’s allowing herself to keep.

Her own suitcase sits open atop the bed, full of her own neatly folded things. The rest of the contents of the bedroom sits in boxes strewn around her, all labelled up and ready to be taken to her new apartment.

Going through your things is the only thing left to do.

Warmth prickles at her eyes and she clenches her fists into the jacket. The leather is soft and supple, but it’s cold. She gives into her base nature and raises it, burying her face into it.

The jacket smells like you. It smells like your shampoo and your perfume and the brand of hairspray you like and cigarette smoke and when she goes digging through the pockets, she finds an old, battered carton of cigarettes, a tube of lipstick, as well as a faded receipt for a loaf of bread, a dozen eggs, and a bouquet of flowers.

And now she’s crying. Great. Shame there’s no tissues stashed away in one of your pockets because she’s packed her own away in a box in the bathroom, so she needs to get up and use a wad of toilet paper to dry her tears. It’s the cheap kind and it disintegrates into little papery balls against her face, so she has to stick her head underneath the tap to wash them away.

Afterwards, she stares into her red, puffy eyes in the bathroom mirror, and begs herself to get a fucking grip.

This is why she’s avoided doing this for so long – for four months, actually. She’s too weak. The only reason she’s doing it now is because the lease is up and despite her stupid, sentimental heart, even she’s not pathetic enough to cart your stuff all the way into a new city.

That, and she promised her friends that she’d do it. They’d offered to help her, which is lovely of them, but the idea of someone else in your shared bedroom, going through your things, makes her stomach turn. This room, this apartment, is only for the two of you, nobody else. Even now, four months after you had dumped her over the phone from your bed in some wilderness rehab, Quinn still feels like she’s living with a ghost. Your presence is saturated in every square inch of this place and even if she wanted to (and she doesn’t), she’d never be able to get you out.

Your parents think that a change of scenery will do her good. They told her this with tired eyes and furrowed brows, crushed by the knowledge that their daughter and their daughter’s would-be murderer are the same person. They had invited her over for dinner shortly after the breakup, and your mother had held Quinn tightly and had buried her face into her hair to hide her tears. Your father had told Quinn that they would always have a place for her at their table. That their door would always be open for her, whether you’re there or not.

Quinn’s own parents have told her nothing at all because she hasn’t spoken to them in almost a year. That, at least, is a blessing. It’s been years since she’s had to deal with them without you. She’s not sure that she remembers how.

She returns back to the bedroom and picks the jacket up off of the carpet. The pins rattle. She takes a deep, bracing breath and holds it, looking between the two trash bags. They’re both almost full; she really has done her best, getting rid of it all.

Quinn exhales in a rush that makes her slightly dizzy. She folds the jacket into a neat square and places it into her suitcase, burying it right at the bottom. This is the only thing left to her. She can allow herself it, at least.

.......

In a city somewhere else, your bare arms prickle with goosebumps. The moon is huge and bright overhead, a silvery stain against the sleet of the sky. There are no stars to be seen here, light pollution having bleached them away decades ago, but even if there were, you wouldn’t bother looking up at them. The night is young and your skin buzzes with the happiness you had injected into it only a moment ago.

Another chill moves through you. For a moment, you wish you had a jacket to pull over your shoulders, or someone’s arm to curl up underneath, but then a wave of syrupy rhapsody envelopes your body, like the coziest, most comforting hug, or like submerging yourself into a blissfully hot bath. The cold washes away like it had never been there at all.  

[bobbyfloyd]

now i finally have time to give this the reblog it deserves!

first of all, i’m so in love with alpha rhett! he’s not pompous or obnoxious about his status. he embodies the role of alpha so well and it’s so sexy.

there were so many moments that took my breath away in this story.

You want him and everything that comes with him. The Abbott name, the not-so-glamourous life of being mated or even married to a man like him. Hell, you want the dirt that tracks in on his boots, the stench of sweat that clings to him after a long day at work, and the horse he's dragged to three different ranches so far. No other mare will do. Only his. 

GAHHH. i read this over and over again, i love it. i want every part of him! and i mean every part!

But then he leans his head down, temple rubbing against yours, and it's the closest thing to a goodbye that either of you can manage. This short, unspoken thing; rubbing his scent on you for both the first and the last time.

this made my heart ache. i know it’s only temporary but it’s painful, these poor babies :(

Your favorite chips, a candy bar, and the hard candies that you didn't realize you left in his truck. A torn piece of paper has been tucked into the candy bar wrapper.

Don't forget to eat :) 

oh i love him so much!! of course he’s still thinking of you and taking care of you even after you’re apart.

Even when you were greedily decorating your imaginary version of him, you never quite pictured his cock to be this fucking thick. So damn heavy that it hangs between his legs, hovering just above your belly, the faintest swell of his knot already beginning to show. 

big dick rhett agenda is alive and well!

"Only goddamn omega in the state of Wyomin'," he muses aloud, nails dragging over the side of your ass, making you squirm against him, "n here ya are, gettin' mounted by a cowboy." 

you’re damn right i am 🥵

Voices rattle in the hallway. Something—no, someone, bumps against the door, her giggles intertwining with the laughter of a much deeper voice. 

"Mine."

i could just scream. i love the possessiveness. it’s not overdone, it’s just the right amount and it’s so hot and endearing all at once.

A warmth greets your nose. Leather and something smokey sweet, like a marshmallow roasting over an open campfire.

this is so fitting! i just know that he would smell like this. so sweet and warm and comforting.

It's a hunger you've never been able to satisfy, and not another alpha will do. Not one with money. Or someone that your family hand-picked. Or someone with a fancy cologne crafted by a brand you can't pronounce the name of.

Just this one.

🥹 you always end your fics on such a good note!

this was such a good read. i was so excited when you announced this and as usual, it did not disappoint! alpha rhett scratches such a specific itch in my brain and you did him such justice.the longing, the angst, running off to be together, you checked all the boxes with this one. and even though he’s an alpha, he’s still sweet, loving rhett and it’s so comforting.

you never cease to blow me away with each new story you put out. always a favorite 💖

if heaven's a moment | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 16,000 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, alpha! Rhett, omega! Reader. Size kink, forbidden love (ft. a weak excuse for the forbidden part. we're here for ✨vibes✨, not logic), food, running away, biting, mating cycles/heat, ruts, mentions of breeding (but no implication of children/anything of that nature), first times together, knotting, the worst epilogue known to man. Brief Summary: At one point, you suppose that you did. Marrying rich sounded like a wonderful idea when the subject was brought up ten years ago. But you just had to run right into the Abbott family's youngest son, the one who had nothing but a black horse, a couple of flannels, and a championship rodeo buckle to his name. A new ranch hand, with his scruffy smile and the kindest hands you've ever known. 

There are too many cars in this damn driveway. 

Scratch that, too many fucking alphas. With their bright, gaudy outfits and stupid, overapplied pheromone colognes that do nothing but give you a chemical-induced migraine. If those claims about luring in potential mates are true, then you must be an outlier because you've yet to find yourself head over heels for a man based on his scent alone. 

A warmth greets your nose; something tied between leather and the embers of a roaring campfire, a hint of smokiness lurking underneath it all. Just a hint of it at first, swirling around your head like a daydream and weakening your knees, growing stronger with every step toward this old barn. 

...on second thought.

The barn door opens with a groan, cutting through the silence and echoing up toward the house. Your eyes dart toward the back porch, still flocked full of mingling bodies in their finest courting attire, chatting it up like they haven't had an intriguing conversation in years. Whether or not someone heard that is anyone's guess, but nobody is interested enough to look in your direction.

Thank god because you don't have a single explanation for why you're slipping into the storage barn at ten o'clock at night. 

It's too dark to see where you're going, but you've walked this path so many times that you can do it with your eyes closed. Drifting around the corner. Past the four-wheeler that hasn't run since last autumn. Through the clearing that will soon be cluttered with seasonal equipment once the hands finish tearing out the brush that has taken over the south pasture. They'll promise it's gone for good, but it'll be sprouting again come spring, and the cycle will repeat, just as it always has. 

Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

The room spins. A weight appears on your back, forcing you face down into a bale of hay. The straw prickles your cheek, but it's nothing compared to the sandpaper texture that scratches the back of your neck. The coarse stubble of someone's recently shaven face.  

A cold nose brushes against your nape. 

"Hey!" You squeal, foot blindly kicking at a jean-clad leg, but he just does it again, blissfully unaware of the goose bumps rushing across your skin.

Arms curl around your waist. "What's the matter, sweet thing?" Muttered into your ear, as if there's a risk of someone overhearing.

"Your nose is cold!" And you've got just enough leverage to turn your head to the side, nipping at his jaw. Softly tugging at his skin with your teeth, ticklish little motions that have Rhett laughing, shifting to stand up straight, as if that has ever helped him escape your reign of terror. 

"'m sorry," that nose bumps into your forehead, clumsy, "I only finished up a little bit ago."

Even in the dark, you can tell that he's still clad in those leather chaps, dirty from a long day in the fields and on the back of his horse. This close, they'll surely leave behind a noticeable grime on your white clothes, but you can't bring yourself to care. This is worth the stress of getting your clothes into the washer before anyone can see the stains.

It only takes the slightest nudge for him to reel back, allowing you to stand straight and twist in his embrace. Pale moonlight peeks through the holes in the roof, bathing the right side of his face. Unveiling the smile that upturns the corners of his eyes and the fading cut in his bottom lip, split open in a bar fight this past Sunday.

"They're working you that hard?" Tilting your head to the side, curious. Peak season isn't for another three weeks. What gives? 

"Only on party nights," Rhett chuckles, and he's just close enough for you to feel it rumbling in his chest like thunder. "How else are your folks supposed to tell them rich fellas that y' come from a good ranchin' family?"

Your brows furrow. "I didn't know that I came with a dowry."

It's easy. Laughing with him and falling into his big, warm chest, wrapped up in those arms that ought to have been chiseled from stone for you and you alone. The scruff of his cheek scratches your skin as he snuggles you impossibly closer. Your nose bumping into his neck, just below the scent gland lurking there.

The voice in the back of your head wonders if you'll ever get to enjoy the privilege of him scenting you. Dipping his head down to rub the barely visible glands against you, not stopping until you smell just like him. The closest one can get to saying 'mine' without tattooing it in red across someone's forehead.

"So which of them alphas ya pickin'?" There's that solemn tone again, low and heavy as if the words are too much for his tongue to lift.

And you know that you shouldn't say this; it's only going to make this harder than it needs to be, but it slips out of you, anyway. "The one that's standing in front of me."

There's a sourness in the air. Barely there, but you're so close that it's impossible not to catch the switch, chased by the falter of a smile. 

Oh, why does he have to look at you that way? Deep-set frown and lowered eyes, can hardly bring himself to meet your gaze, as if this will all fall apart the moment that he does. But you're still here, even if it's for a fixed amount of time. You can't have him forever, but you can until your heat decides to set in, whenever that may be. 

"We'd have to flee the state even for a chance of that workin'," he's talking under his breath like it's a thought he didn't intend to make it past his mouth. But you hear it loud and clear. 

 "Maybe..." Feigning playfulness, if only to ignore the sour twist of your belly. "But if you ever decide that you'd like to start running, you know where to find me." 

If only it worked like that. You'd love to live a life so simple that he could run up to your window and steal you away on a random midnight. Off to live your own happily ever after, never to be seen again. 

Rhett tilts his head forward, then off to the side, those pretty blue eyes never quite leaving yours. 

It's like knowing that you're allergic to something and biting into it anyway, but you just can't help it. There are only so many times that you'll get to do this, and the number is shrinking by the minute. Nuzzling the side of your head against his neck and lower jaw, dancing painfully close to the glands on his neck, a faint sheen the only thing to indicate their presence. Rhett's so big that you could spend all day rubbing yourself against him like a cat, always able to find a spot on him that isn't drowning in the warm scent that you call your own. 

Out of nowhere, a sharp puff of air bursts out of him. Some little animalistic noise that you only ever hear when you're doing this, his nose nuzzling your temple as he makes that noise again. The arms around you pull a little tighter as if there was any space left between your bodies to begin with. 

A truck engine roars to life. Obnoxious. 

Rhett jolts, his head spinning toward the door you came through, stiff like some kind of well-trained guard dog. In a sense, you suppose that's exactly what he is, considering all of those bar fights with unruly alphas who could only see you as an easy piece of meat. 

"Sounds like some of 'em are gettin' ready to leave," he concludes after a moment, and he doesn't need to speak for you to know what he intends to say next. He's got to take you back to the house before someone notices you're missing. 

You can't help the whine that rolls out of you, pitchy and drawn out. This whole situation is so unfair; you just got here a few minutes ago! Why do you have to go back inside and parade yourself to men and women that you couldn't give a damn about? All because you were unfortunate enough to be born as some dumb omega. 

"Naw, don't get all sad on me," Rhett mutters, and you're not entirely sure when he moved, but one of his hands has risen to curl around your cheek, coarse thumb stroking the skin there. "I'll come to your window, a'ight?"

"Rhett!" Your leg twitches, kicking against his side. Pulling hard on his hair, thighs involuntarily fluttering around his head. It's the most you can do with this pillow wedged beneath the small of your back. Open and on display for him and his hungry mouth.

"Shhh," but he can hardly deny himself the simple pleasure of pausing to drag his tongue in a loose circle just to feel you squirm. "Don't want us gettin' caught, do ya darlin'?"

Whining, your head thrashes back and forth. There's a 'no' on the tip of your tongue, but you just can't get it out—two little letters trapped in your wide open mouth. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he's forcing your legs up over his shoulders, oversized hands spanning out against the outside of your thighs, keeping you put.

"Won't be able to eat this sweet little pussy if your folks find out," Rhett just can't quit talking. Babbling as if he's completely and utterly lost himself in this, in you. "Fuck, can y' imagine the look on their faces?"

You're not sure if it's the words themselves or the vibration of his voice against your clit, but something about it has a bolt of lightning jumping up your spine. Rattling a whine out of your throat, hardly stifled by the teeth that sink into your bottom lip, your futile attempt at keeping yourself quiet. 

"Comin' in and seein' a ranch hand between your legs, runnin' my tongue up your pussy jus' like..." and he draws just far back enough for you to see the way his tongue pokes out of his mouth as he begins to lick a fat stripe up your cunt. "This."

And your back is rising up off the bed, greedily chasing the burning heat of his mouth, as if even a second of no contact might break you into two. The beat of your heart spurred on by the sloppy, wet noises that punctuate his every movement. Half of it isn't even from you; no, it's from him drooling into you like a goddamn dog. 

There's so much of it, running down your thighs and into your sheets, sure to leave a spot that you'll struggle to make an excuse for. It's a problem that you should fuss at him over, chide him for making such a mess, but he's guiding a hand between your legs, two thick fingers nudging at your entrance, and you just can't bring yourself to say anything. 

It's impossible to be upset when he's got you so wet that you don't need to pause for lube, gliding into you with dazzling ease. So, so much bigger than your own touch, such a sudden stretch that you catch the hint of an ache as they bottom out. More. You haven't even gotten used to this yet, and yet you want more. 

Abrupt, Rhett's pointed tongue dances around your clit, fingers crooking upward, seeking a special little spot. "Can't market ya as an innocent little omega if they know a man like me 's been eatin' your pussy for years."

If only he knew how often you think about that. 

The memories that flood your mind every time you've been put in a fancy restaurant to be wined and dined by some well-dressed know-it-all, intrigued by the false purity he saw in your eyes. How it's not the small talk that has you fiddling with your fork, but instead caused by the crystal clear image of a cowboy who had gotten on his knees for you earlier that morning, eating you alive, much like how he is now. 

And the perpetual, hopeless fantasy of that same cowboy barging in and taking you for his own, fed up with this sick game you've been forced to play together. All because you were born an omega, so rare that the wealthy have begun to see you as a status symbol. 

Sparkles dance in your vision, glittering like fireworks. Course fingertips spiral into a little cluster of nerves, in perfect sync with the tongue still working around your clit. The invisible flames of a wildfire ignite, heat coiling between your parted thighs and flushing up your chest. Fuck, fuck, and the room is spinning around you, hands tightening in Rhett's hair as if there's a risk of being blown away. 

"Rhett, I'm—"

"God, y' taste so fuckin' good," mindlessly babbling, but those eyes are peeling open, the corners of them wrinkling with a cocky grin. "Y' gonna cum?"

"Uhuh," frantically nodding, the best that you can without looking away from him and this. The sight of him between your shivering thighs, legs propped over his broad shoulders, fits so perfectly that your heart skips a beat. That coil is winding tighter and tighter in your lower belly, body stiffening as his tongue keeps working you over, loud and sloppy and out of sync with the fingers working inside of you. 

His chuckle has your foot kicking against his back, a barely muffled whimper slipping out of your throat. "Come on then," a third finger abruptly joins, mouth sucking harshly on your clit. Lightning jumps up your spine, arching up off the pillow. "Give it to me, sweet thing."

And that's all it takes to have you clamping a trembling hand over your mouth, cumming without further warning. Crying out into your palm as your vision goes white, heart racing in your chest, spinning out of control. Feels as if you've been thrust into the clouds, soaring among them for a few fleeting moments.

The hand remaining on your thigh is what draws you back down into reality. 

Or maybe it's the sudden discomfort of emptiness as Rhett draws his drenched fingers out of your cunt, sitting up on his haunches, obscenely shiny chin catching in the light. The pillow pulls out from beneath your hips, and it's not until you feel the rush of relief that you realize there was a strain in your lower back.

The corner of Rhett's mouth lifts, the mattress dipping as he climbs up next to you. "Reckon I wore ya out." Those jeans still unfairly cling to his hips, a little too dirty to be allowed in your bed, but you don't have the luxury or the will to complain.

Certainly not when he's settling down, an arm draping across your belly, very nearly distracting you from the scent in the air. His usual leathery scent, mixed with something a little bit sweet, a little bit warm, and entirely you. 

"For now," you croak after a moment. The simple motion of shifting to lay on your side has the room rolling again, like some kind of fucked up hamster ball. 

On its own selfish volition, your hand begins to wander. Gliding up Rhett's naked chest, feeling the groove of muscle and roaming over the old tattoo lurking just below his right collarbone. It's almost strange to think of how it was brand new when you first met him, so fresh that he'd yelped when you ran straight into each other.

You shouldn't allow it, but you can't resist wandering down his belly, exploring the soft muscles of his belly, only stopped by the elastic waistband peeking out from below his pants. It's impossible to miss the bulge tenting his jeans, such a sight that it almost makes his obnoxiously large belt buckle look averagely sized.

You wish you were as familiar with his body as he is yours.

"It ain't that I don't want ya too," Rhett must be able to read minds because he's already jumping onto your train of thought, "'m still worried I might..."

Lose control. You know. This conversation seems to arise every time you have a little fun together. The dangers of an alpha who gets too carried away and leaves behind too much evidence of your private rendezvous. 

"What if that's what I want?" You say it so firmly. Confident. 

You want him and everything that comes with him. The Abbott name, the not-so-glamourous life of being mated or even married to a man like him. Hell, you want the dirt that tracks in on his boots, the stench of sweat that clings to him after a long day at work, and the horse he's dragged to three different ranches so far. No other mare will do. Only his. 

"'s what I want, too," his hand curls around yours, delicately guiding it up to his chest, where he can crane his head down and kiss your knuckles. "Shame everyone would be able to smell me on ya. Think I'd kill to be there when they realize their special little omega got mounted by some grimy ol' cowboy."

"You're not grimy," it's only after you say it that the memories come flooding in. Dirt clinging to his jaw and neck, all the times he hasn't been able to finger you due to some crude, black substance clinging to his nails. That one time, when he came back covered in a thin layer of mud, muttering something about heifers and tagging a damn calf. "...most of the time." 

If it's not the moaning that's going to get you caught, surely it'll be the fit of giggles that squeeze out of the cracks in the door frame.

The roar of a rodeo crowd never fails to remind you of why Rhett does this. Feet stomping on the metal flooring of the bleachers. Hands clapping in a thundering applause. Unafraid to shout and jeer as the numbers on the scoreboard count up.

Four seconds. The bull's head twists to the left. Back legs kicking high into the air. A plume of dirt kicks up.

Five seconds. Rhett's right hand bobs in the air. Torn between the sheer will to keep up for the judges and the overwhelming instinct to use it to steady himself. 

Six. Your breath fogs in front of your face. Shouting Rhett's name. As if doing so could possibly help him hold on. 

Seven. The scream of the crowd is rising now. Booming voices and cowbells so loud that you can no longer hear the beat of your heart in your ears. 

Eight. The buzzer sounds. Artificial flames burst from above the chutes. 

You blink, and he's off the bull. The bullfighters are scurrying like ants. Rhett's scooping his hat up off the ground. Spinning around to face the scoreboard just as the rankings make their switch. You think the crowd may have preemptively exploded into celebration because they're cheering and hollering before you've even realized what the screen says.

1. Rhett Abbott 89.5

You've got to read it twice before you finally understand what that means. He's moving on to the finals next week.

And lord, does he know it. 

Fist pounding against his vest so hard that his hair shakes with every strike, jolted by his own strength. Mouth open. Shouting something that doesn't make it past the arena fences, his wide eyes scanning the bleachers, slowly drifting until they seem to lock with yours.

It's impossible; he's so far away that you can hardly see his features. But he's looking at you, and he's grinning, waving a big hand toward a building lurking just behind the chutes. You've only been to these particular rodeo grounds once, but you've seen that gesture enough times to know what he's asking and that you don't have to head over there right now. 

You won't see him until after he's had his five-minute shower. When he's had time to scrub the adrenaline out of his system and doesn't run the risk of knocking you off your feet by scent alone. 

Do you still regret letting him know that he almost sent you into heat once? Yes. 

A lot.

Though it can't be all that bad. Not when you and your newly acquired chili cheese fries have the pleasure of stumbling across a hell of a scene. Wet, unruly curls and a thin white t-shirt that's ever so slightly too small, clinging to every muscle and curve of his chest, biceps bulging from beneath the restrictive fabric. You can see his tattoo right through it, that bucking bull as prominent as ever.

A pair of green eyes squint back at you, attached to wavy blonde curls and glimmering lip gloss. She's not the only one batting her long lashes at Rhett and twisting her hair between her delicately manicured fingertips; there's a brunette giggling along next to her. A barrel racer done up in purple plaid to your left, another girl in glasses wearing a rodeo hoodie, and those are just the ones that you've noticed. 

All of you are so different in nature, and yet, you have the same end goal: Rhett Abbott.

He'll come when he realizes you're here; you know he will, but hell if this influx of attention doesn't make your stomach twist. Technically, Rhett isn't yours. He can pick any one of these starry-eyed onlookers and never be happier. At least they'll never hold him to the constant strain of being with an omega.

 Something plops atop your head, so big that it falls into your eyes. 

"Whatcha starin' at?" There's that familiar voice that you've become so accustomed to, rumbling from somewhere behind your right shoulder. A familiar scent greets your senses: warm, twisted with the woodsy aroma of body wash, and...something else. A faint musk that makes your nose feel funny.

With the back of your hand, you push his hat up, peering at him from beneath the rim, "I was thinking."

Rhett's head tilts to the side. "'bout?" 

Something tells you that you weren't supposed to see the swift flicker of his gaze. Down to the forgotten snack in your hands, then back up to your face as if nothing ever happened. His tongue darts out, wetting his bottom lip. 

"How I'm gonna explain where I've been all night," it's the weakest lie told this century, but you're covering up for it by lifting your container of fries. "Want some?" 

If he catches on to the waver in your voice, then he doesn't mention it, too busy fighting off the little grin working its way onto his handsome face, still clinging to that stoic alpha demeanor that you both know he doesn't have. 

One of these days, he'll figure out that his fluttering eyelashes are giving away his true emotions, almost excited to reach and take two of your fries. Cheese drips as he lifts them, so artificial that it hardly even counts as dairy, the perfect match to those greasy gas station snacks that he's been serenading you with. 

"Y' weren't out here waitin' too long, were ya?" Talking in between bites, sauce clinging to his lips like an absurd gloss. 

Your head shakes, cowboy hat jostling back and forth with the motion. "Only about a minute or two." 

A pair of sour faces twist your way, surveying the competition. If there even is one. Rhett doesn't so much as spare them a glance. Preoccupied with you lifting his beloved hat off your head and pressing his cheesy lips to your temple like this is some kind of normal thing between you two. 

"Hey!" You squeal, but Rhett's already on the move, dodging your light-hearted swat and shoving a stolen fry into his mouth. 

He'd ought to consider himself lucky that he's got those big, blue eyes to get himself out of trouble. With that big laugh that bounces around your head for far longer than it should, enough to make you a little bit dizzy.

"I thought you were worried about..." pausing to swipe at the residue with the back of your hand, wiping away his sloppy kiss, "you know, people seeing?"

Your people seeing. Or hearing. Or even catching the slightest whiff that you're entertaining the very idea of someone who wasn't at last night's party.

But Rhett just shakes his head, that stupid smile prominent as ever. "Ain't no-one to recognize us out here." 

...huh.

"So you're not worried if I..." Taking one step forward. Then another, until you're nose to nose, so close that you can almost taste the mint of his toothpaste. "Do this?"

His forehead thunks against yours. "Not one bit." 

Kissing Rhett Abbott has always been a dream, but kissing him in public is another whirlwind entirely. The rose-tinted novelty of cementing who he belongs to, whose arms you're meant to fit into, and all of those shallow things that onlookers really couldn't give a damn about. They don't care about the strong arms that wind around your waist, the palm that flattens against the curve of your spine. How difficult it is to blindly hold your fries off to the side, trying your best not to crush them between your bodies. 

As quickly as he'd leaned in, Rhett draws away, nose wrinkled. 

"What?" Is there something on your breath? Melted cheese somewhere on your face?

But he just shakes his head, leaning in for another kiss. "Nothin'."

It must have been something in the wind because he doesn't make another mention of it again. His nose doesn't even twitch when you drift past the food trucks, all lined up in the front section of the parking lot, with their fried snacks, greasy meals, and sugar-filled treats that ought to make anyone drool. 

You've only just finished your fries, but you've already caught sight of another truck, white in color, selling something that you don't know the name of but smells like heaven itself. There's no reason for your stomach to be growling, but it sings its little tune regardless of all the things you've snacked on this afternoon. Shame that you left your wallet in the truck and spent the last of your cash on those fries. 

Why are you so hungry today?

"See somethin' ya want?" Rhett's voice is damn near the only thing that can pull you out of your stupor.

"I don't need it," really, you don't. You've already had three things from here; if anything, another greasy snack is the last thing that you need. There's food at home. 

But Rhett's already taking you by the hand, drawing his wallet from his back pocket, and it's just so hard to deny his firm offer to get you anything you want. The food tastes exactly how it smells: warm and easy on the tongue. Your spare glance at the folks selling fried dessert has him bringing over two plates of it. Maybe it's something he wanted, or maybe he's eating it just to make you feel better, you're not sure, but it's gone in minutes.

In the time it takes to walk to the truck, you've acquired a bag of handmade candy, sweet and wonderful, aside from the bizarrely tart green ones that Rhett insists he likes. White lie or not, you're just happy that you won't be accidentally popping one into your mouth again.

"You're sure ya don't want anythin' else?" The squeal of the passenger door almost covers up his question. One of these days, he'll figure out a solution that'll last for longer than a week.

"I'm sure," though if he gives you an hour, you've got a feeling that the answer will be different. For now, your stomach is so full that you almost wonder how you manage to climb into the truck, the slightest bit dizzy from all that sugar and grease.

Or maybe it's from something else because it doesn't seem to be fading. If anything, it seems to be getting worse, the cars in the parking lot spinning around your head like you're in a cartoon. Even the subtle sway of the truck as Rhett gets in the driver's seat is enough to worsen it. 

You can't see it, but you can feel his eyes on you. "I don't think..." That's your voice...but you never planned on talking? What are you trying to say?

Somehow, you've gotten yourself into the middle seat. Close enough for Rhett to loop his arm around your shoulders, drawing you into his side. He's so warm that you melt like ice on a summer day, head falling against his chest, the thump of his heartbeat loud in your ear. 

"Sweetheart..." his lips brush against your temple, some little thing that sends a shiver down your spine. "You feelin' okay?" 

"Dizzy." Concluding before you've even realized what he's asked. "Why?" 

A hand curls around your cheek, urging you to nuzzle closer as if you could possibly need any more encouragement. You're already starting to wedge yourself into the crook of his neck, right where his scent is the strongest. The little gland hidden there has a thicker sheen to it than usual, glistening even in the barely there light.

"Rhett?" You try again, and this time, you might have a little more control over what your body is doing. 

His jaw scratches the top of your head, sucking in a long, audible breath. "Your heats startin'." 

No, that doesn't make sense. Why would...why would your heat be starting? This isn't your first rodeo; you would have recognized the signs if it was coming on. The mood swings, the sudden onset of clinginess, the sudden bouts of lightheadedness that leave you stumbling, the insatiable hunger right at the cusp of—

"Oh."

You don't even feel your face fall. Or maybe you do, and you're just too distracted with the sting of wateriness building in your eyes, distorting your vision, and already trying to spill over. No. No, no, no, no. This can't be your heat. You've always had them toward the middle of spring, never late autumn. That doesn't—that doesn't make sense. Why would it start now?

"Hey, hey," it's not until Rhett starts talking that you realize you've been muttering your thoughts out loud. 

Problem is, you don't care that he's heard you. How are you supposed to when there's the looming possibility that you're never going to see him again? Doesn't he remember? You've got to choose someone before your heat starts, or else your parents will choose for you! 

"I ain't goin' anywhere yet," he's pulling you in, both arms wrapped tight around you, and even the awkward angle cannot distract you from the shiver that's settling into your bones. 

"I don't want you to go anywhere at all!" You don't mean to cry out like a child, but it happens anyway, pitchy and breaking in the middle.

Rhett doesn't open his mouth again. He can't. The Abbotts may have a reputation for being able to repair anything they get their hands on, but there's nothing Rhett can say or do to fix this. All he can do is keep pulling you close until he's leaning back against the door, and you're settled up on top of him, with not an inch of space left between. 

Maybe if you don't move, time won't tick by so quickly. 

The one bad thing about time is that it does pass, regardless of what you have to say on the matter. Because eventually, that time does come when Rhett has no choice but to start his truck; there's an hour's drive ahead of you, and red flags will begin waving if you come home in a full-blown heat. 

For the first time in a while, you see Rhett's speedometer five miles below the speed limit, uncaring of the impatient vehicles blaring the horns. Doesn't get riled up when some asshole drives by flipping him off, hardly even fusses when the guy merges too early and nearly clips the front of his truck. 

All he's worried about is taking as much time as he can, keeping that arm around you for as long as he can manage. Only draws away to handle sharp turns but quickly returns soon after, and frankly, you don't even care about chiding him for his risky driving. 

There's some dumb, sad song droning on the radio when he finally puts the truck into park, and it may be dark in this truck, but you can still see the wateriness brimming his eyes. You know it because you have that same glassiness, too. 

You've got a million and one things you could say, and yet, you can't bring yourself to say a single one of them. There's no point in it; this is probably the last time you'll ever see him. Unmated, at the very least. 

The front door opens before you can utter a single word. Don't know who it is, nor do you care. 

Rhett's forehead presses against yours, mouth opening, then clamping shut just as quickly. Can't say anything either. But then he leans his head down, temple rubbing against yours, and it's the closest thing to a goodbye that either of you can manage. This short, unspoken thing; rubbing his scent on you for both the first and the last time.

Either something about him was warding off the vicious beginnings of your heat, or the very smell of him threw you off the deep end because you hardly make it into your bedroom before the dizziness takes hold again. Feet dragging across the floor, forced to guide yourself with a hand against the wall while someone else shouts their recognition to the whole goddamn world. 

By the time you get your door closed, they're already muttering about which Tillerson to choose for you. Luke or Trevor? Who is the most worthy of selling you off to, like a piece of meat? 

The dizziness takes over before you've even made it to the bed. 

If heaven can be a moment, then this must be hell.

Waking up is always the worst. A dull, incessant throbbing deep in your bones, the edges of your vision blurry enough to give you the worst tunnel vision you've ever had the displeasure of experiencing. Sleeping on the floor has done you no favors, leaving a stiffness in the left side of your body that definitely was not there before. 

It's almost enough to distract from the obscene wetness between your legs. A clear fluid that stains the crotch of your pants and has left a big spot on the floor itself. 

"Maybe sleeping on the floor was worth it..." you mutter as you push yourself to your feet. Cleaning slick out of a mattress is much harder than those YouTube tutorials cropped it out to be; you'll be able to clean that before another wave of dumbness washes over.

The wipes in your bathroom are enough to take care of it, taking it off the hardwood with ease. Leaves you with more time to figure out what to do about these pants, if you're committing to trying another heat while fully dressed, or if a nightgown, while uncomfortably exposing, will be easier to handle. 

Your instincts are itching at you to build a nest, but is it even worth it, all things considered? If everyone has their way, you'll be shipped off to some alpha's house by the end of the night. First with a weekend bag, then the rest of your things once the heat fades. 

And what's that sitting on your windowsill? 

It's an amalgamation of color: dark red, beige, navy blue, balled up inside of something gray. Hell, even when you're looking at it through the glass, you haven't the slightest clue what it is. Leaves you with no choice but to peel open the window and—

A familiar scent strikes your nose. 

Rhett.

These are his shirts. Wrinkled and warm from the sun, and oh, they smell exactly like him. You can't help but squeeze the whole bundle to your chest, shamelessly burying your face into them. He must have spent the whole night rubbing on these like one of those overly friendly cats.

It's about that time of the morning when he puts his horse up in the pen while he helps with the usual barn maintenance, but you don't see her anywhere. The other horses are there: two palominos, a paint, and a handful of chestnuts, but that sturdy little black mare is nowhere to be found. 

Must have put her around the other side. 

Something crinkles inside of these clothes, deep down in the center of them. You know what it is before you've even unraveled the mess of fabric. Snacks. Your favorite chips, a candy bar, and the hard candies that you didn't realize you left in his truck. A torn piece of paper has been tucked into the candy bar wrapper.

Don't forget to eat :) 

Such a simple message shouldn't have tears stinging at the corners of your eyes, but it does, and as much as you'd like to blame it on your heat, you know that's not the case. Funny how even the bare minimum can look like the greatest act of kindness when your heart is torn in two.

Between the impending doom that is the rest of your life and the next wave of your heat coming along, you've got no appetite. That was the whole point of your inability to feel full last night, your body's futile attempt at stocking up on calories before it devolved into a weeklong period of craving nothing but sex, and knots, and alphas, and skin contact, and everything else under that umbrella.

Still, you eat it.

It's not so bad when you manage to convince your heat brain that Rhett's little note was growled into your ear, an order that you cannot possibly disobey. Snacking on the candy bar when you climb out of the shower, taking bites in between your routine, finishing it off when you settle into bed with one of those flannels. Storm clouds are rolling in, and they're doing nothing to ward off the sleepiness your heat is bringing on.

Your impromptu nap is interrupted by the impromptu barging in of someone letting you know that Trevor Tillerson has been chosen as your alpha. He'll be here sometime around nine to pick you up and take you to some fancy resort that he's rented just for the two of you. Somewhere far, far away from Wabang and the dark clouds looming overhead. 

If you had a choice in the matter, maybe it would be romantic.

The chips get you through a bout of doom scrolling on your cellphone until your face begins to feel hot, and you're rudely reminded that you've got to pack while you still can. A righteous pain in the ass that does nothing but frustrate you to no end. 

How are you meant to shove a week's worth of clothes into so few bags? On your heat, no less, the one time when you'll be soaking through most of your garments! And your laptop, where the hell do you shove that? Between the shirts? Do you even bother with these shorts? 

"Why am I doing this?" You mutter it as if you've got a choice in the matter, idly pawing at your spinning head. 

At one point, you suppose that you did. Marrying rich sounded like a wonderful idea when the subject was brought up ten years ago. A life with everything you could ever want. Endless vacations and money to spend on anything you want because you were born an omega, and such a rare thing deserves only the best. You'd had it in your head that you'd find the person of your dreams dressed up in a suit worth more than your entire family ranch. 

But you just had to run right into the Abbott family's youngest son, the one who had nothing but a black horse, a couple of flannels, and a championship rodeo buckle to his name. A new ranch hand, with his scruffy smile and the kindest hands you've ever known. 

Now, here you are. 

Your parents have invested hundreds of hours and an insurmountable amount of money into luring in alphas. They've made friendships with the families of your suitors and formed expectations for the outcome of your life that no longer align with your desires. You're in so deep that a simple 'no' will not suffice. Especially not when Rhett comes into the deal. 

A sourness blossoms in your chest, spreading into your lower belly like a plague, gut-twisting and churning as if you're about to be sick. There's an invisible hand squeezing around your heart, so tight that it just might burst, but you don't feel nauseous. Not one bit, and maybe that's got something to do with the blurring of your vision.

"Rhett," whining. Rhett. You want Rhett. Here. Right now.

That dizziness is growing worse. A foreign heat spreads deep in your inner thighs, flushing to superheat the rest of your body, but your face feels cold, and something wet is spilling across your cheeks. Tears fall quicker than the rain pattering against your window. A never-ending stream that has you hiccuping, frantically sucking in breaths of air that never quench the ache in your throat.

It is the whim of your own frantic hand that leads you to grab your phone. Scrolling through your contacts until you land on the fuzzy shape of a name that you've seen enough times for it to be familiar. 

It rings.

And it rings.

...and it rings.

"Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice messaging system," that robotic voice drones through the speaker, already beginning to ramble off the digits of Rhett's phone number. 

Maybe he didn't get to the phone in time. Yeah, that's got to be it. You'll try again. He'll pick up this time. 

"Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice messaging system."

Thunder rumbles outside, heavy enough to shake the house, rattling the knick-knacks on the shelves and sending slick rushing down your thighs. Sticky and burning, and oh god, your head is spinning like you're on a fucking merry-go-round. 

Someone's knocking at your door, the distorted sound of your name dancing through the room. Whether or not you respond, you've got no idea, but they're responding as if you did.

"Trevor is here," her voice is oddly familiar, but a face isn't coming to mind. 

"I need..." shaking your head, rattling a coherent thought into place. "I need...a little bit longer to pack."

Silence. And then, quietly, "Okay." Footsteps echo through the hallway and then dissolve into nothing.

You can't see. The colors of your room merge together into a sea of splotches, a fire burning up in your chest, the embers reaching all the way up into your skull. White and black, and gray and a spot of green that you just know is the call button. Your thumb darts across the screen. Tapping once. Nothing. Then a little lower.

The screen color changes. 

"Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice messaging system." Whether or not you manage to press 'end call,' you have no idea. All you know is that the screen color has changed. 

He turned off his phone. It didn't even ring before sending you to voicemail this time; he doesn't want to talk to you. 

Maybe he's already found company in one of those girls from last night's rodeo. Or maybe he's entirely decided that it isn't worth entertaining you anymore, not even in the slightest. But that doesn't explain why he's left you some of his flannels, like the one that you're pulling off the bed. 

His scent has already begun to fade, but as you bury your nose into the fabric, it smells as if he's really here. A little bit of focus is all it takes for you to convince yourself that he's right next to you. A big shield, curled around you, right here on the floor. How his jaw would tickle your neck as he rests his head on your shoulder, waiting until you're ready to get up and run off into the sunset with him.

Hell, if only it were that easy. 

If you were to take off on your own, right here and right now, you wouldn't make it out of Wabang. You can't smell them, but every alpha in town will pick up on the pheromones wafting off of you, and you're in no state to defend yourself. 

Even without the heat, you wouldn't be safe. So long as your neck remains bare, you run the risk of being seen as a piece of meat to others, both alpha and beta. One little nip is all it would take for someone to bond you to them forever; so simple that someone can run up from behind and do it within a second. 

When you open your eyes again, the world around you is a little clearer. 

...strange. 

Waves of your heat should last at least an hour or more, not a few minutes. Standing, even with the uneasy sway of your body, shouldn't be this easy. Yet you've got the strength to walk yourself over to the window, still open from when you took the shirts off the ledge. The wind has carried rain into the room, scattering across the floor and nearly causing you to slip. Your only saving grace is the windowsill itself, your clammy hands gripping it tight as they can. 

Evidently, house shoes aren't meant to traverse the elements. Not even a little bit of water. 

As if to reveal its schemes to you, the wind blows once more. Cool air kisses your burning cheeks, the only indication of how much you've already adjusted to your heat. Now, if only your eyes could do something similar and adjust to the shift in lighting. 

It can't be anything past eight o'clock, but night has already fallen in its entirety, a thick blanket of black covering everything beyond the horizon. Even so, you can vaguely make out the shape of something sitting in your driveway. Blocky, but there are four bits of round metal catching in the dull light hanging outside of the barn. 

Something behind it moves. Noticeably lighter than the dirt and whatever that object is. 

Your eyes narrow. Fighting the urge to lean further out the window as the thing creeps across the drive. A growl rumbles out of your throat. Goosebumps prickle across your skin. It's growing closer. 

Clink.

Clink. 

Clink.

Wait a damn minute.

"Rhett?" 

A laugh twists through the air with all the grace and beauty of a ballerina. "Did I hear you growlin' at me?" 

"You shut off your phone when I tried calling you!" Is all your dumb, cloudy mind can come up with, pitchy and whiny like a child. 

"Shh, shh, I know," there he is. The dull porch light is the only thing illuminating his handsome face. 

His mouth opens like he's got something else to say, but it closes just as quickly, still searching for the right words. Then, trying again. "Ya remember what y' said in the barn 'bout runnin' away?"

"Yes, but..." pausing to look over your shoulder at the closed door before looking back at him. "What about your horse? And, and, your job and your things at the bunkhouse?"

"I got it all taken care of," he's a little closer now, enough for you to see the longer scruff clinging to his jaw. Soft. Not quite as wirey as when it's freshly shaved. "'m startin' on a ranch in Nebraska next Monday mornin'. Owner says he knows a guy with a house I can rent for us. It ain't all that much, but I—"

"Okay." You can't help yourself. He doesn't need to say another word. 

His eyes flutter. "Okay." Parroting you, as if to make sure the word is what he thinks it is. 

For a moment or three, it's quiet. Nothing but the crunch of dirt beneath his boots and the jingle of spurs that he's too lazy to take off. And now he's standing right in front of you, nothing but this window and a small shrub separating you. His nostrils flare, and you're certain that if it were brighter out, you'd be able to see the darkening of his pupils.

There's that smile. Sprawling across his face, wrinkling the corners of his eyes, pearly white teeth glistening like he's the star of a toothpaste commercial. Can hardly close his mouth as you lean in, lips brushing against his. 

Voices echo from down the hallway, squeezing in through the cracks. 

Shit.

Your feet are moving before you can even process what's happening. Scrambling across the piles of clothes that sit on your floor. Grabbing whatever you can. Shoving it into the still-open bags. T-shirts. Shoes. Loungewear. You don't know what else. What you have and what you're missing can all be sorted out later. All you know is that those voices are getting closer, and you can't get back to the window fast enough.

You're not even sure if Rhett hears them talking, but he's not wasting time by asking questions. Already pulling the duffel bag from your arms and turning back towards his truck. Lightning flickers as you run back to your bags. Heart hammering so loud that you hardly even notice the thunder that follows.

One of the voices says your name. A laugh rattles after it. 

A zipper fumbles between your fingers. Climbs halfway down the track. Then catches on the hem of something sticking out. You can't see what it is. 

"Fucking—" swearing under your breath. You pull it again. No give. 

It'll have to do. You're already scrambling to shove the bag into Rhett's open arms. Twisting back for the last one. Phone. Where is your phone? But the room is spiraling with your movement, and your eyes feel as if they're rolling around in your skull. Vision darting every direction except for where you want it to go.

There it is. On the floor, next to his shirt. Which part of the bag are you shoving them into? You don't know. 

The voices are closer. Three. Four. Five of them. Talking, laughing together as they edge near your room and your unlocked door. 

"Baby." Rhett's voice cuts through your thoughts like a knife. 

You don't think any time has passed, and yet, turning back to the window feels like the first time you've moved in minutes. The edges of your vision swim, merging into a haze of black as you scramble to him. 

You've gotten over this window before. He's seen you do it. But as you draw a leg up and over, his hands dart out and settle on your waist. Holding you steady, like you might fall to your death if he doesn't.

Rain pelts your face like tiny bullets, freezing on your superheated skin, and the voice in your head wonders if this is what freedom feels like. The rush buzzing through your veins. The big hand that squeezes yours, the mud that kicks up under your heels as you tear down the driveway. 

Wind squeals in your ears so loud that you nearly miss the clatter ring through the window. But it's too late for them to kick in the door. You're too far gone for them to catch. Because your feet are flying beneath you. And Rhett's right alongside you. And even the storm cannot conceal the glisten in his eye. The way he laughs, loud and triumphant and excited. 

It's the scene that's played through your head ever since you met. 

A voice calls out. Rhett splits off to slam his truck bed cover closed. You keep going.

Another one echoes through the storm. Deeper. Shouting your name.

"Stop!" 

But there's no leash to hold you back. No magical lasso that they can throw out and reel you back in with. Nothing stops you from pulling on the handle of the passenger door and leaping up into the seat, scrambling to slam it shut before someone can magically appear to wedge it open. 

Rhett's door squeals open. Vehicle swaying as he all but launches himself inside, fumbling for the gear shift. 

The truck jerks forward, engine roaring as the tires spin. The tail end jerks to the left, then the right, then back to the left again, gunning it down the driveway.  

Light pours through the front door, vaguely human blotches rushing out onto the porch. Even as you twist to look out the rear window, they're nothing more than tiny spots of color, growing smaller and smaller. The headlights of a truck flick on, but it's no use. Rhett's tires are already kissing the pavement of the main road.

You blink, and the house is gone; you might as well be a million and one mile away.

Rhett's head turns, just as yours does, eyes locking for the briefest of seconds. A little rumble of something escapes him, and it must be contagious because something a giggle is bubbling out of you, boiling into laughter.  

"That was," his mouth fumbles through his smile, "not how I planned it."

"What, were you hoping to get shot at, too?" Slow, you turn to settle back into the seat, wedged between him and the duffel bag crammed against the passenger door. 

Something sharp stabs in your lower belly. So sudden that it has your knees knocking together, eyes squeezing shut. As quickly as it happened, a wave of heat curls into its place, an uncomfortable wetness appearing between your legs.

A hand appears on your thigh. Hot. Clammy. "You okay?" 

"Heat." Is all you can say. 

That's all it is, really. Cramps. The one thing that manages to be worse than your heat itself. You can handle the overwhelming craving for an alpha between your legs, stretching you to your limit as he knots you over and over and over.

Ugh. You can't be thinking of this right now. 

Just like how you shouldn't be slouching to your left, cheek squishing Rhett's shoulder, big and warm, and right where he tends to spray his cologne. Faint from a day of wear, but there's still a peppery note lingering on him, overwhelmed by...something you can't describe. 

Something that makes the tip of your nose feel numb. 

Odd. It was there last night, too, but you don't recall it appearing any other time before that. There was certainly no trace of it in the barn or when he snuck into your bedroom afterward. Maybe your heat has warped your sense of smell again; it wouldn't be the first time. 

Rhett's foot shifts from the gas, gently pressing against the brakes for an upcoming red light, fingers audibly drumming against the steering wheel. 

Something white rolls across the floorboard, tiny somethings rattling around inside. Tumbling toward the front of the truck, then falling back to thunk against the toe of your muddy hose shoe. 

"'s just some vitamins," Rhett mutters, kicking them with his foot, sending the bottle thunking against the passenger door, cap popping open. A myriad of long, round blue pills spill out, decorating the floor. 

Huh. 

You've never seen blue vitamins before, their pastel color seeming to glow in the lights hanging overhead, Wabang's feeble attempt at keeping the darkness of night at bay. Curious, you lean down and reach out for the container. Your fingertips brush against the plastic on your first try, depth perception warped by the haze of your heat, but you get it on the second attempt.

Suppressants for Alphas only 250MG Rut Suppressants.

Your head turns to Rhett. His eyes dart from the label. To yours. Then, back to the road. 

The pieces click together so perfectly that you can hear them falling into place. Resonating through your empty skull until every fiber of your psyche echoes the same thing. 

"You started your rut," it slips out of your mouth like it's a scientific breakthrough. A discovery that will be written in the history books for millennia. 

His Adam's apple bobs, swallowing hard. A pink tongue darts out to wet his lips. "Didn't want ya thinkin' that was my reason for all this."

"I wouldn't have thought that Rhett," reaching for the hand that still rests on your thigh, fingers slotting between his, lightly squeezing it in your grasp. 

But his head just shakes, foot twitching against the gas pedal. The truck lurches, finally beginning to pull through that traffic light. "'s my fault your heat started." 

"I know." You already put that together. It explains everything: the odd timing and the sudden onset of it at the rodeo. That funny scent he's been wearing...it was from the pills. 

He looks at you again, teeth worrying his bottom lip, already swollen from the abuse. First, the licking, now the chewing. If you give it a minute, he'll start rubbing at them with his fingertips. For now, those heavy eyes dart back to the road. Guilty. "'n you're not upset 'bout that?" 

You're not entirely sure what to say to him. That the timing may be inconvenient, but you're happy to be here with him, running after a fever dream that might or might not work out? Do you admit that you wish this would have happened sooner? 

So many thoughts, and yet, not a word drifts down to your tongue. Instead, all you can think to do is this. Leaning over, left arm crammed between your bodies, as your right squirms across his belly, squeezing him. A poor attempt at a hug, but he softens under your touch all the same.

"It's not your fault," you murmur after a moment. The world around you is beginning to twist again, warping into a familiar blur, makes it hard to move your mouth. "You wouldn't hold it against me if my heat triggered your rut. Why would it be any different the other way around?"

You don't feel him move, but his lips find their way to your temple, lingering for a fleeting second. They would likely stay longer if driving didn't demand so much of his attention, hand idly working the steering wheel as you rumble through Wabang. If anyone has followed you this far, then surely they'll lose you here; too many winding streets for them to maintain a trail.

There's a part of you that wonders if you fell asleep because the next time your eyes open, the road is different. One moment, you're in town, and the next, you're on a dark, four-lane highway merely illuminated by the vivid beams of his headlights. 

Or maybe...maybe it's just two lanes because the lights on the dash seem to have doubled. Blurry and out of focus, no matter how much you try to blink your vision back into clarity. Shifting in the seat, you lift your head. 

And immediately let it thunk back onto Rhett's shoulder, vision twisting as if you've spent the past thirty minutes spinning in circles. "Ugh."

"There you are," Rhett hums. His hand drops down to squeeze your knee, giving it a little shake. "Did you know that ya snore?" 

"I do not!" Your squeal comes out as a hoarse croak. So foreign in your mouth that you hardly recognize it. 

An invisible bolt of lightning fires up your belly. 

Slick pools between your legs, staining your underwear and seeping down to your thighs. There's a shiver in your bones that wasn't there before, wavering like a leaf in high wind, without rhyme or reason. And there's this deep set ache in your lower stomach, reaching all the way to your weeping cunt, almost sore from lack of use, demanding attention that your fingers can't satisfy. 

"What's wrong?" Rhett's voice meets your ears like a ray of sunshine on a stormy day. 

Shame that it can't ward off the wave of cramps thundering through your lower belly. "Hurts," 

"Jus' a few more miles, 'kay?" His arm lifts, draping across your weary shoulders like a blanket. It's a fleeting touch that'll be forced to end at the next curve in the road, but it's nice to slouch into, head coming to rest against the side of his chest. Thin muscle flexes under your cheek, stretched so tightly that you can feel the bone lurking underneath. 

You wonder if he's just naturally built so wirey or if he'll be one of those alpha's that grow bulkier with a mating bond. It's hard to figure it out without being familiar with his family; if you knew the Abbotts personally, then maybe you'd have heard the stories of it happening with his father or brother. Maybe even a grandparent.

On its own, your hand shifts, crawling to rest on his knee. It's just as bony as the rest of him, and yet, conceals just enough muscle to cling onto the backs of those bulls. They're invisible at first glance, but if you squeeze, you can feel the softness of them, wrapped around hard bone. 

"Are you feelin' me up?" He chuckles, wiggling his leg back and forth as if to try and shake you off. 

Well, you weren't yet, but now that he's put the idea in your head...

Rhett sucks in a breath. His hips jerk, the truck lurching as his foot spontaneously presses against the pedal. You've felt him in your palm before, but fuck you don't remember him being this thick, twitching under the slightest bit of pressure. 

"Wait," he grunts. That arm is already slipping out from behind your shoulder, big hand encircling your wrist.

Maybe you should have asked first. "Did I—"

"No. God no," talking so fast that he stumbles over his words, "just...hurts." 

And yet, he makes no move to draw your hand away, letting it remain there as he focuses on keeping the truck on the road, grip so firm that you're almost certain he won't let you pull back. It's all you can do to ignore the way he throbs through his jeans, pulsing against your soft palm, testing the will of the zipper confining him.

It must take a year for him to begin turning off onto an exit, dark and poorly lit by a scattered array of frail lamp posts. The road thins, and all of a sudden, neon flickers to life—a hotel sign. Logo written in such gaudy cursive that you can hardly read its name. 

A whine rattles out of you, squirming impossibly closer. 

There's a blip in your memory. 

You don't remember when he pulled into the parking lot or when you got out of the truck. But the air is cool around your ankles, and his arm is tight around your waist, forcing you to remain upright. You can't feel your feet moving, but you're stumbling along next to him anyway, head hanging low, too heavy for the rest of your body. 

"Where...?" 

"Almost there." His voice is on your left. Damn this stupid heat, why was that such a surprise to you? 

A shrill beep sounds. Green flashes. 

A bed.

It's as if a switch has flipped. The door falls shut behind you, but your feet are glued to the floor; the edges of your vision still twist, but the world around you has become noticeably...still. Surreal, even. Any moment now, you're waiting to blink away the sight of this drab little hotel and find yourself standing in the four familiar walls of your bedroom.

But as you lift your head, gaze crawling up Rhett's chest like a hungry animal, that doesn't happen. The sight of him doesn't begin to fade, his body remaining firm against yours, even as your eyes dare to meet. 

According to the romance novels and the films you've spent so much time watching, you're supposed to be the disheveled one here. Hell, maybe you are. But those films never depicted how pretty an alpha can be when their rut has set in. Freshly bitten lips, messy hair, and rosy cheeks, gazing at you with those glistening eyes. It's as if you hold his entire world in the palm of your hand.  

Slow, you twist, careful to mind where your numb feet fall, greedy hands roaming up the thick expanse of his chest, sculpted from a lifetime of back-breaking labor. Then, wandering up his neck, slowing to feel the vein bulging there, chasing it up into the soft hair clinging to his jaw. Your thumb swipes across his bottom lip, watching how it squishes under the pressure.

His eyelashes flutter; you wonder if he was a butterfly in his past life, still clinging to old habits. It's a question you'll have to ask him later when you're not halfway into leaning in and catching those thin lips in yours. 

There goes your head again, swirling 'round and 'round, set into motion by the hum that rattles out of him. One little peck. Your hands drop back down to feel the swell of his chest. A second. His arms begin to wind around you. A third, and the heel of his palm is pressing into the small of your back, and you're crumpling.

It's like a freshly knocked-over candle. The smokey leather of his scent, haunted by the fading chemical that temporarily overrode the pheromones radiating off of him. Invisible to the nose at first, but the fire is already beginning to spread until it's roaring so bright that you reckon flames might come out of your ears. 

Your arms coil around his thin waist, cinching him in with a strength you thought you'd lost. A stray foot slots between yours, his chest pushing into you, and the room is spinning. Caught by a mattress that squeals and bounces with your combined weight, unprepared for such a landing. 

"You 'megas sure get strong when ya want somethin'," Rhett's hair tickles your forehead as he settles on top of you. Perfectly slotted between your parted legs, jeans deliciously rough against your exposed thighs, pajama shorts hardly doing anything to conceal you. 

A little too curious, your hips roll, eager to find out if you can feel the bulge of his cock. 

You can.

Worse. He felt it too, already beginning to swivel forward, a foreign pressure appearing against your weeping cunt. Something jolts up your spine. Doesn't necessarily hurt; more of a reminder of what you don't have.

"Like you're so innocent in all this," your words come out rushed, riding the coattails of a shaky breath. 

He doesn't have anything to say to that, maybe a little shy as he nuzzles his nose against your cheek. A stark contrast to the bold hips that press into you, so eager and desperate to feel you. It's like the first time you crossed that boundary, ground down on each other until neither could take it anymore. 

Except, this time, you've no reason to stop there. 

No family. No concern about high-dollar alphas or uncomfortable, fashionable outfits. These peeling walls couldn't care less about who you coil your legs around. This bed isn't going to fuss at you for spreading your legs to a scruffy ranch hand without a pedigree. 

You're the only one who cares about the way he guides himself with his nose, blindly wandering back to meet your mouth. Kisses you with all the fervor of a man who's just found everything he's ever wanted. 

His hands are everywhere, cradling your face, skirting down your sides, and wandering up under your shirt, callouses catching on the soft skin of your belly as he roams beneath. Then he's above your shirt again, dragging up the swell of your breasts, on his way to grip your jaw.

It's so hard to stay still. Your fingers find their way to his flannel, already trying to work it open. It's so much harder with your eyes closed, shivering hands struggling to remain still. Fuck, this button just doesn't want to move. Stubbornly caught in the hole, refusing to slip through, even as you pull—

It snaps off. Lands atop your heaving chest. Rhett draws back, already looking down at it. 

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't be." The corner of his lip lifts, flashing a sharp canine. Cocky, as he reaches for the shirt, buttons flying as he yanks it open. "'s kinda hot."

And just like that, he's leaning back onto his haunches, hands skimming down your sides until his fingers can comfortably hook under your shorts. Obedient, your hips lift, knees cinching up to help get them past your ankles. They're gone in an instant, underwear and all.

Is he trying to take his time? Probably.

Does that stop you from impatiently pinching his belt buckle open and yanking on the zipper? No. No, it does not. 

"Alright, alright," only Rhett Abbott can laugh this prettily, cherry red cheeks and all. "'n here I am tryin' to be a gentleman." 

You and your swirling head know that he has to pull away to get those jeans off. They need to come off, but you're already whining for him to come back. Some primal, involuntary noise that you don't recall making before, pathetic as a wounded animal.

Rhett's head jerks up. "It's okay, it's okay," he's already coming back. You knew he would, but the dumb part of your brain argues that he wouldn't have unless you made that pitiful little noise. 

But regardless of the reason, his big, warm body is slotting between your legs, his big chest flexing as he crawls up to meet your mouth. It hardly even counts as a kiss, more of a pressure that serves to remind you he's there. He's here. With you, and he's not going anywhere else. 

"I ain't goin' anywhere," he murmurs as if he's heard every silent worry racing through your dumb little mind. Can't seem to think about anything except for him and his scent and the feel of him against you and what he might be doing next.

His head dips, nuzzling you with his temple. It's the simplest damn thing, but hell, if it doesn't suck the air right out of your lungs. The innately primal drag of his scent glands against your skin, marking you like a prize he's fought tooth and nail to keep. Perfect in every sense of the term, everything you've imagined and more. 

You don't know what made your eyes drift down, but one way or another, they do, and—

"Jesus, Rhett." You've been anticipating this going a number of ways, but good lord, you didn't have this on your laundry list of ideas, what-ifs, and daydreams. 

Even when you were greedily decorating your imaginary version of him, you never quite pictured his cock to be this fucking thick. So damn heavy that it hangs between his legs, hovering just above your belly, the faintest swell of his knot already beginning to show. 

His chuckle almost sounds devilish; knows damn well what he's got and what it could do to you. "Don't think much of me is gonna fit." Understatement of the fucking century. 

No wonder he never let you touch him; he probably thought it would scare you away. In your right mind, maybe it would, but you can almost feel the hearts blossoming in your eyes, already beginning to reach for him. Your hand freezes midway—maybe you should ask first. He still might not...

He's gently taking you by the wrist, guiding you the rest of the way. This is your first ride in this particular rodeo, but your fingers wrap around his base as if you've been doing it for decades. Oh, he's so much bigger than he looked, makes your hand appear tiny as it glides up the length of him. It's enough to have your heart jumping in your chest, pitter-pattering with a newfound vigor. 

Wetness pools between your legs. So much of it that you can feel the way it runs down your thighs, and you just can't help but angle him down, dragging his fat cock head through your weeping folds. 

He groans. 

Your vision blurs. 

The world might fall apart.

A sudden shiver takes hold of you. Quaking like you're being rattled from the inside out, another wave of slick drooling out of your poor, unused cunt, delirium settling at the forefront of your mind. Saliva drips from the corner of your mouth, the edges of your vision blurring to the point of disappearing entirely.

"Shit..." One of you says it. You're not sure who.

It's as if you're the gasoline and Rhett is the lighter, setting you ablaze with the slightest hint of a flame. You don't realize you're still wearing a shirt until after it's peeled over your head, and even then, the loss of it does nothing to soothe the invisible wildfire claiming every inch of your skin.

Oh, and you think he might have it as bad as you do. Noses and chests crashing together, pinning your arm between your bellies, his cock rutting against your cunt like it's always belonged there. He whines into your mouth, jerking forward, the underside of his length massaging against your swollen clit. 

"Fuckin'..." he loses track of his words, panting against your mouth like a dog in the sun, "hell, 'm tryna go slow, but—"

Your body jerks up off the bed. Desperate. Needy. Aching for more than just a brush of him against you. The slow glide of him isn't enough. More. You need so much more. But it's hard to speak when your mouths clash, tongues tangling so sloppily that calling it a kiss would be an insult to the word. 

"Go." Panting against his lips. "Slow." One more word. One more word. "Later." 

Rhett draws back, spit-slick lips glistening in the light. The corner of his eye twitches. As if set off by it, you involuntarily clamp down around nothing, needily seeking something that isn't there yet. The emptiness is nauseating. 

"Rhett," you plea, because why in God's name is he not in you yet?

Dumb, stupid, well-meaning alpha. Always has to be taking his time and treating you like you're made of glass, ready to shatter at any given moment. But you're made of the same material as he is, fully capable of rolling over and—

Teeth sink into the scruff of your neck. Every bone, muscle, and fiber in your body goes still. You're stuck like this. Face down, trapped beneath his body, ass high in the air for him. Big arms cage your waist, his chest resting against your back like you're a pair of wild animals—no grace or sophistication about it. 

"'m tryin' to be careful with you, darlin'," his growl is muffled by your own flesh, still caught between his sharp teeth, "y' don't want me bruisin' this little pussy of yours, now do ya?" 

And as if to punctuate his sentence, his hips twitch toward, cock slipping between your slick-soaked thighs. Draws back, angle shifting just enough to have his blunt tip pressing against your weeping entrance, opening you the slightest fraction, then slipping out to slide through the folds of your cunt instead. 

The voice in your head suggests it's a threat. A reminder of what he's capable of. But your body says otherwise, already pressing back into him despite the teeth holding you pliant. Thick waves of want pulsing through your veins, thoughts aligning to echo the same damn thing. You need more. 

A cramp takes hold of your lower belly, a stabbing sort of sensation that makes you wince. Whatever primal instinct lingering in your genetics is livid.

"It hurts." You cry in a pitchy tone you've never heard yourself use before. 

"'m gonna fix it," his mouth reels away from your neck, licking over the irritated skin. "I promise."

Again, you push back. Hands digging into the bed, moving with your whole body. Sharp teeth sink back into your neck, his arms coiling around you, pulling tight until you can no longer move. 

That pressure appears again, and this time, it doesn't disappear. The unmistakable sensation of his fat cock head pressing into your pussy. He feels so much different than the silicone of your toys, warm and pulsing and so much fucking thicker; you're quite literally made to take a cock like his, loose and slick with your heat, and yet there's still an ache blooming. 

It feels impossible. There's no way...there's no way that's going to fit. 

Oh, but the feel of his tip alone has you gushing around him, an obscene amount of slick waterfalling down your thighs and onto the mattress below. He groans, low and heavy, his heated breath tickling the back of your ear.

"Rhett..." 

"I'm here," he's murmuring, and again, he's soothing the bite with his tongue. You wonder if this is what it would feel like for him to mate you. For him to sink his teeth into the scent gland on the side of your neck and let instinct take over, lick the wound clean, smother you in his scent, and then bear his pretty, pale neck for you to take for yourself. 

You can't think about it for long. Not with his cock sinking into your aching heat, filling every centimeter of you, so big that he presses against each and every little nerve without needing to try. It's as if you're being split wide open, forced to do nothing but relax and take it like a good little omega. 

A whimper escapes you, pitchy and involuntary. Set off by the drag of his tip against a particularly sensitive spot. 

"'s that where you like it?" He coos, rumbling into your ear. It's all you can do to tilt your head back, your cheek bumping into his nose. So close, not another word spoken.

It's like being broken apart and then built back up again. Fuck you can feel him up in your throat. The stretch of him is so much that it aches. Your mouth falls open at the feel of him inching deeper and deeper, pushing the air from your lungs, winding your muscles tight. Head spinning with a gentleness that wasn't there before as if your own body knows that it no longer needs to fuss about an alphas cock. 

The solid bone of his hips presses into the swell of your ass. Fully in you now. His heated breath fans out over your shoulder, heavy and carrying the faintest noises along with it. 

You'd thought that you'd let go of the breath caught in your throat, but...but...

"Fuck, look at you," the soft scruff of his jaw tickles your naked shoulder, such a foreign sensation to feel him there. So unfair. You should have known this feeling years ago. "So fuckin' pretty." 

His hands roam up your sides, callouses catching on the smooth skin, dragging just right. A shiver ripples up your spine, body involuntarily falling forward, only to sway back into him. 

Stars sparkle. Your legs nearly come out from under you. "Shit, Rhett..." 

So much. There's so much of him. In you and around you and on top of you and crowding every single one of your senses. There's no hotel.  No concern about how terrible everyone at home may feel. No earth around you. Not a single star in the galaxy. Just Rhett, Rhett, Rhett. 

"Move," you whisper as kisses press to the length of your spine. One after the other, like he's trying to love on each and every bone there. 

You squirm forward, then back again, hardly enough to even count as a movement, but the underside of his cock drags right against a nerve that damn near takes your voice away. His hand flattens against your belly, but he doesn't hear you. 

"Move," you try again, craning your head to look at him. Dark blue eyes lift, looking back at you, still peppering your back with love. "Please, Rhett—"

His hips snap into you. Pressing hard.

Your elbows crumple, falling face first into the pillow, but he just keeps fucking pressing into you, as if you could possibly take any more. A whine sparks out of you, twisting to expose your neck to him. He chuckles at that, low and dark, tongue poking past his lips to run over the delicate scent gland hiding there. 

 Then, slowly, he begins to move. Drawing back at a snail's pace, his forearms caging your waist as if to keep you from running away when he pushes back into you. Shivers run through your thighs, already beginning to clench from the feeling of him inside you alone. 

You've dreamed of this too many times for the newness to remain for long, squirming beneath him, fighting to keep your eyes on his face. Flushed and red in the cheeks, has yet to say anything, but it's easy to tell that he's feeling it, too. 

Those careful back and forths are already beginning to find their confidence, like he's slowly realizing that his cock isn't going to break you into two, no matter how much it feels like it will. Hips hitting your ass hard enough to send you jolting, a surprised little 'uh' breaking past your lips. 

"Only goddamn omega in the state of Wyomin'," he muses aloud, nails dragging over the side of your ass, making you squirm against him, "n here ya are, gettin' mounted by a cowboy." 

Impatient, he snaps into you. Heavy balls smacking into your clit. Electricity jumps up your belly. You hardly recognize what's happening. But you're fluttering around him. Heart lurching in your chest. Slick gushing down your thighs. Crying out as you suddenly cum on his cock. Eyes rolling back into your head and all. 

"Fuck, that's...fuck,"  Rhett hisses through grit teeth, but he's not stopping. No, no, he's not even slowing down. 

Shocks fire through your nerves with every motion. The kiss of his fat head against your nerves. The drag of his length along your trembling walls. The slight swell of a knot catching on your swollen entrance. But it feels so good that you can't do anything but hold still, clenching around him like a goddamn vice.

"Can't believe I never—mmh," his head falls forward, thunking against your shoulder, hips rolling into you in languid motions. "Can't believe I went this long without breedin' this pretty lil pussy of yours." 

Air catches in your throat. Cunt sent into a spasm from his words alone. "If you keep talking, I'm...I'm..." You haven't got an ending for that sentence, left open-ended and hanging. 

Kisses lead up the side of your neck, working their way to your jaw. You tilt your head, trying your best to meet him. The angle puts a strain on your neck, unable to bend any further. Even as you push your hands into the mattress and try to force yourself backward, you can't...quite...

The room shifts. Falling forward into the pillow. Rhett's heavyweight collapses on top of you. Cool air greets your swollen cunt, suddenly empty. 

"Well, that didn't..." Rhett's laugh is a melody in your ear, his smile so big that you can feel it against your cheek, "that didn't work too well." 

Between the emptiness in your skull and the sudden change in position, figuring out where you start and where he ends is a...challenge. He starts moving at the same time that you do. His knee awkwardly slots behind your thighs. Your knuckles accidentally smack into his jaw. And he's moving toward you, but you're twisting against the mattress, and your noses are smacking into each other—

"There's your pretty face," he grins, a little too cheerful. You've barely got time for your back to settle against the cheap mattress before he leans in.

The kiss is a little too innocent for what's going on below. Soft, chaste pecks. A sharp contrast to the way he settles between your parted legs, heavy cock bumping into you. Your hand darts between your bellies, blindly guiding him toward your sex. 

It's easier the second time. The gentle glide of him, chasing away that infuriating emptiness as he sinks back into you, balls bumping into your ass. So much better. This is so much better. You're already wandering, hands roaming across the broad expanse of his shoulders, seeking the perfect spot to cling on to him.

"Look at that..." he breathes, and you don't need to guess to know what he's referring to, "gonna have y' limpin' before the nights over." 

It's the kind of thing that has you shivering. The obscene sight of his thick cock disappearing between your legs stretched to your absolute limit. Impossible to look away from, even when he draws back by an inch or two, testing the angle as he sinks back in. Almost effortless, he nudges against a bundle of nerves. Sets it ablaze like a match on gasoline.

"Fuck. I can feel ya clenchin' round me, sweetheart," his eyelashes flutter, hair falling into his red face, swinging in synchrony with the lazy rocking of his body, easing in and out of you. "'s it feel that good?"

Greedy, you reach for his biceps, squishing the girth of them, muscle flexing beneath your fingertips. "Uhuh," speaking dumbly. Not another thought crosses your mind. 

There can't possibly be a bad position with Rhett, but this is something else entirely. Feels so nice to wrap your legs around his hips, heels digging into his ass, clinging to his big, warm body. Chest to chest, so close that his scruffy jaw tickles your cheek, big blue eyes threatening to drown you if he gets any closer.

Your mouths fall open, meeting for another one of those kisses that insult the romantics attached to such a word. Nothing but lewd tongue and saliva running down your chins, panting into each other, breath so hot that it ought to fog up the room. And you just can't help it, not with the press of his cock against your nerves, so damn big that missing them is impossible.

He's too quiet. Stiffling little noises in the back of his throat, extinguishing them before they can make it past the tip of his tongue. One of your hands is slithering up his arm. Wandering across the expanse of his shoulders, fingers tangling into the loose curls at his nape and pulling. 

A whine cuts through the air. Muffled at the end, but it's there nonetheless.

Words collide in your head. Tumbling down onto your drooling tongue. "Wanna hear you." 

It should take more convincing than that, but for some reason, that's all that it takes for him to give you what you want. A little noise soars out of him with all the perfection and catchiness of the new biggest hit playing on the radio. 

You think you can cum from that sound alone. 

This is so surreal. 

The nuzzle of his nose against yours, panting against your lips. The flex of muscle in his belly, as he draws himself back and forth, rutting into you, slow, yet meeting your body hard enough to have your back jostling against the mattress. You think you catch the sound of your name, twisted into the symphony of noises rattling around the room.

"I love you," it slips out of you with crippling ease; has been sitting on your tongue for so, so long that you forgot it was there at all. 

His lips wobble up into a smile. There's a glassiness in his eye that wasn't there before. "And I love you." 

He melts. 

Falls into you, even. 

Nothing but sweaty skin and wandering hands and peppered kisses everywhere that they'll fit. Up the side of your clammy neck, atop his burning forehead. The base of his knot is starting to swell, catching on your entrance with every stroke, tugging just enough for it to rip a gasp out of you. 

"'m close," he whispers, just a little secret to be shared between you and him. Not another soul is allowed to know of this little slice of heaven situated atop this old hotel mattress. "You gotta...baby, if y' don't let me go, 'm gonna..."

"Knot." Blurting. Your eyes flutter. "Please, I want—"

He hums. Doesn't need to open his mouth for you to understand that he gets it. No fuss about the crippling lack of a condom or how you really, truly can't go back from this, instead blindly following your request with crippling loyalty. Yours. Your alpha. The one who would follow you to the ends of the earth without a word. 

Even if you wanted to, it's too late to change your mind because his knot is too swollen to slip out of you. Weary, unstable thrusts are forced into an unfamiliar shallowness, but it's forcing an angle that has him rolling directly into every little nerve. You can't stop the hand that dives between your bodies, fingertips pressing to your clit in a familiar fashion.

Just a little more. Just a little more.

An involuntary clench is all it takes to have him spilling over the edge. Face falling into the crook of your neck, cumming with a choked cry that rings through your head. Fuck nobody ever told you that you'd be able to feel his knot swelling inside of you. Stretching you beyond your limit, hot cum spilling into your pussy, not a drop of it spilling out. 

Without warning, your back twitches up off the bed, cumming without warning. Head thrown back. Heart pounding against your chest. Clenching like a vice around Rhett's twitching cock. You might be muttering his name because you can feel your mouth moving, but you're too far away to hear what's leaving your lips. Entirely lost in the thundering clouds looming in the skies. 

However long you're up there, you have no idea, but at some point, Rhett finds the strength to settle onto his forearms. Pressing kisses to your lower jaw and trailing up to your temple, shiny with your scent. No two descriptions of it have been the same, but you like to believe his description is closest to reality. A fresh strawberry pie, sitting on the windowsill after the rain has ended. 

You can't help yourself, his neck is right there. The gland exposed to you like he's trying to show it off, so sensitive that he gasps at the nip of your teeth. 

He hums, leaning back just far enough to get a look at your face. Whatever he finds looming behind your sparkling eyes is enough to have a smile contorting his lips. Then, he tilts his head to the side, properly bearing his neck to you.

You know what he's offering. Asking. The quietest proposal you've ever heard. 

Logic suggests that you wait. Give yourselves time to grow together. Adjust to the discomfort of a collar in exchange for the opportunity to take things slow. The world won't end if you step off onto the well-worn path of tradition; if it's worked for everyone else, then it should work for you.

But you've done enough waiting. Your heart made its decision a long time ago. 

The movies made this seem like some blinding moment of passion. The moment your teeth sink into the delicate scent gland, the world should explode into colors that you've never seen before. The answers to the universe ought to dance around your fingertips, hearts springing from your eyes. 

But all Rhett does is giggle. 

Gidy, like a little kid on the playground, as he cranes his head to find the matching spot on your neck. Soothing it with his tongue before his canines break the skin. 

Blood rushes to your face so quickly that you can hear it in your ears. Your heart jumps, and maybe it grows the slightest bit warmer, but...nothing changes. It's still you, Rhett, and his big, strong body shielding yours from the world. These hands that cradle your cheeks are still the ones that you've known all these years. He still nuzzles your noses together, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

Voices rattle in the hallway. Something—no, someone, bumps against the door, her giggles intertwining with the laughter of a much deeper voice. 

"Mine." 

You don't recognize...

was that you?

 "'re you growlin' again?" Rhett asks, in that playfully accusatory tone, shoulders already shaking with a laugh.

You don't realize your chest is rumbling until it stops. "No." Blinking. No, that wasn't...

"Didn't know y' were this possessive of me," there's no arguing with him; he knows what he's heard. Already beginning to cover your cheek in kisses, his body shifting between your legs. That knot is still snug, tying your bodies together for the next half-hour at minimum. 

"I'm not possessive," you try, but it's hard to be convincing when he's looking at you with those pretty blue eyes like you're his whole world and then some. Maybe that's your hopeful heart talking, or maybe it's truly what you saw. 

"Yes, you are," amusement lacing his tone, "'s cute." 

If heaven's a moment, then you must be dead. 

There are too many things in this damn kitchen.

Scratch that, too many fucking cookies. Some still rising in the oven, and others are scattered on plates across the counter, with their stupid, sweet aroma that does nothing but give you a mild migraine. This idea was better in theory than in execution. You'll be damned if you get ambitious and decide to bake treats for everyone on the ranch again. 

A warmth greets your nose. Leather and something smokey sweet, like a marshmallow roasting over an open campfire. Just a hint of it at first, carrying in through the back door and swirling around the room like a loose tornado, growing in tune with the boots thunking toward you.

Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

"Are you ever taking those spurs off?" You chirp, too focused on setting this tray on top of the stove to look in his direction. If you drop these, your life might end on the spot.

Arms coil around your waist, the thick muscle rippling as he draws you back by an inch, your back coming to rest against a sturdy chest. Lips press to your cheek. One. Two. Three kisses. Leading down to his favorite grand finale: the scar on your neck. 

A shiver ripples up your spine. 

"Gon' have to leave soon," He doesn't answer your question. Probably because you already know the answer; he was going to, but he forgot. "'s a long drive, 'member?"

"Hang on, hang on." Placing the oven mitt off to the side, you reach for a cookie. Still warm, but no longer a burn hazard. Blindly, you lift it to your shoulder until he leans forward to take it with his mouth. "You go pro, and all of a sudden, you're insufferable again."

A chuckle rumbles out of him at that, but he's temporarily muzzled, the short hair on his chin tickling your skin when he nears the end of the cookie. His lips wrap around the tips of your fingers, stealing away the final piece. 

"Like you ain't got a thing for showin' me off after a good ride," his arms tighten as he speaks, fully securing you against him now. 

...and drawing your ass right into a familiar pressure. Don't need to look to know that you're pressing yourself back into the bulge in his jeans, heavy and looking for fun that you, unfortunately, don't have time for. "Are we still talking about bull riding?" 

Twisting in his arms is easy. You've done it so many times that you ought to know that you should draw your head back, but your noses collide anyway. Breaking the habit isn't worth it. 

"Dunno," he's got chocolate on the corner of his lip, and even his smile cannot distract you from it, "you tell me." 

This is a routine you've danced a hundred times. The pre-rodeo adrenaline that has him crawling all over you like some kind of love bug, desperate to relieve the tension building in his muscles. 

Relieving it is only temporary; you should know. You rode him within an inch of his life last month, and he still jumped the fence to get to you, the camera chasing him and touting you to the world as Rhett Abbott's mate—his omega, at that. So much for organically reaching out and introducing your family to the man you left everything for. 

You still need to answer the bombardment of texts that have been rotting in your phone. 

Careful to avoid the hot pan, your hand darts back toward the counter, feeling around until you find something warm and round. Making extra of these has been your best idea yet.

"Then we're talking about both," you pull him in for a kiss. Swift. Chaste. And before he can lean in and seek out any more, you shove the cookie into his mouth. 

Your shirt is gone before you can leave the kitchen. 

By the time your back hits the bedroom door, his hands are disappearing below your waistband, and sickly sweet chocolate is the only thing you can taste on his lips. There are things to do. Places to be. Bags to load into the car and a map to figure out.

But you fear you've grown addicted to these grumbling kisses of his, crave the warmth of his body against yours and all of the other things that come with him. It's a hunger you've never been able to satisfy, and not another alpha will do. Not one with money. Or someone that your family hand-picked. Or someone with a fancy cologne crafted by a brand you can't pronounce the name of.

Just this one. 

[ghoulphile]

cooper using his duster as a makeshift pillow is driving me insane !!!!

in my case , im soso scent based n the idea of reader having his jacket which smells ineffably of him while he fucks them is sooo 😵‍💫

your writing is absolutely amazing , def my favorite ghoul blog !!!

see you get it nonnie!! not only is he already deep inside you but to then have every one of your senses completely surrounded/smothered by him and his existance?? 😮‍💨 yes please! i'm such a scent/sensation/senses girlie lol

gahhh thank you so much, i'm so honored 🥹❤️

side note: every time i see the word ineffable i'm smacked in the face by good omens lmao

[shinesobrightsometimes]

.

[chut-je-dors]

What’s your favourite Beatles album? And what do u think of all the boys post-beatles stuff?

oh god no don’t do this to me

currently my fav album is rubber soul, but it depends a lot. but rubber soul has been my fave for some time now - i love how it’s the transition point between their boy band image and the psychedelic era, and of course their song writing skills just shine on that album. (and ringo gets credit!!! yEY)

as for the post-beatles stuff, well, i love it. i’ve been especially been listening to ringo’s solo stuff lately, since i wasn’t that familiar with it aside from the few hits, and i gotta say that overall it’s a very pleasant experience. you can just put a ringo album on when you’re having a bad day and somehow.... after 30 minutes you don’t feel so bad :) currently my favourite songs of his are King of the Kingdom, Give It A Try, Gone Are The Days and No-No Song which is just pure gold. Overall my favourite album from him is probably Liverpool 8, but I can’t really say since my opinion might change tomorrow!

Paul’s solo stuff is terrific of course, which makes it difficult is that he’s got so many great albums that I really can’t choose a favourite. I’ve been listening to Off The Wall a lot in the past few months... Flowers In The Dirt might be my favourite overall. also Egypt Station has quickly become one of my favourite things. It’s amazing that Paul has managed to keep up such a level of quality in his songwriting over the years; even if his album might have been a flop back when it came out, in these days they are mostly pleasant to listen to, with little specific quirks in them that makes you wanna listen to them again and again.

For George, I usually go a few months without listening to a whole album of his (only his songs on my playlists) and then I listen to something like Cloud Nine (which is my favourite album of his) and go “WOW WHY DON’T I LISTEN TO HIM MORE HE’S SO UNDERRATE I S2G”. Each and every time. i swear,, there’s something about him that just, sort of makes you forget his pure talent whenever you aren’t hearing his songs. He has some weaker albums, but if we’re comparing to the usual level of songwriters and artists.... amazing stuff. I really love him! I love his funky phase, and of course we can’t forget the Traveling Wilburys where he did some of his best work! My lovely son

As for John, I find I can enjoy his albums as long as Yoko isn’t singing (sorry Yoko - I don’t hate her even though she definitely has her faults, but... that voice..................). Walls And Bridges is definitely my favourite from him. I don’t listen to John’s solo work as often as the others’ because I tend to get lost into his lyrics, and then I forget everything else that I’m doing at the time. I really need to sit down and deliberately listen to his songs. I think John has written some of the most beautiful songs (Love, Imagine, Jealous Guy) and I have a real soft spot for Double Fantasy because all of John’s songs on that album??? MAGNIFICENT. It also makes me really sad, because all that potential? All the creative energy that was coming back? So even though John might be my fav beatle, I listen to him the least.... but I can’t really hear his solo stuff without thinking what... happened, well, so. But well I think I’m gonna listen to Watching The Wheels on my deathbed because that song? my absolute favourite. Probably one of my favourite songs EVER.

[luderailing]

Okay okay gahhh a little bit of a fanfiction I started writing out of boredom (psssst.. @council-of-beetroot) it’s no specific au and there’s probably going to be more feedback is appreciated also

Yeah it’s about Liet, and for some reason every time I write a Hetalia fanfiction I have to fill in things with random characters so apologies about that there’s quite a few characters that aren’t part of the hetalia cast that will change later I promise,,but for a while it’s just Tolys and his observations. I don’t know what kind of thing I created but it’s here.. ..??

//ahhh hints at slight abuse and some other sentences might be a little sensitive

Anyways, enjoy

You’re hurting me. Can you stop?

Hell, is the last thing I saw. Letters upon letters of someone’s feelings, their blood and hardships, their regrets. All piled on a mahogany desk dotted and splattered with beaming red wax. I don’t even think about reading them.

I can’t. I can’t preserve what I have left. Hell is the last thing I saw. Sitting under, being watched by buzzing office lights, it’s all mundane and yellow.

Sir?

Sir, are you okay? Do I need to call an ambulance?

Is anyone here a doctor?

Call 911.

That was hell. Thrown around to different places, different white boxes where they asked me the same questions, had the same needles and stethoscopes and shameless staring lights. The same smell, the smell of any bad situation. White boxes, and fresh printer paper with boring black ink. Black boxes. Fighting wars with my mind and nurses, in their blinding white uniforms and dishonest stares.

My handwriting isn’t very good. And I can read. I can. I can check off black boxes with red pens in white boxes in squeaky grey chairs and marble countertops.

How often do you think about home?

How often do you think about war?

How often do you think about family?

I don’t think about these things. Knowing and thinking are two different things. They occupy a space in the mind, waiting. Watching. Watching, like those horrible buzzing lights. Don’t stare at them back, they’ll give you headaches. War takes up the most space. I know it the best. I don’t know home as well.

I am sent back. They called it a home, but it wasn’t what I knew. What I know. I am not left alone. I am unlucky. I am hidden. I am sent back. At least it’s not a white box. It’s more beige, with some texture. Nothing interesting.

How often do you think about love?

I don’t understand this question.

It’s not a home. It’s a community. Of people like me.

We’re all the same here.

They are not like me. They are just here. There are girls and boys, all darting looks and hiding tears. Everyone is uncomfortable. There are colors here. Pinks and browns and blues and tones that flash and dance in the background. It’s no white box. It’s closer. Closer to home. There’s a bubbly carpet floor, with patterns and shapes overlapping each other. I sit on the floor and scrub at the linty texture. The lights here don’t watch, they welcome. They’re warm, and turn red in the afternoon. I think about the wax, and a sickness boils in my stomach.

We’re all the same here.

There is no judgement here.

“Let’s introduce ourselves.”

They treat us like children here. We need to be. People who are fragile and sharp, like a land mine, are sent here. They are sent here to be held by gentle hands who won’t set them off. So they can build a harder shell. Learn not to detonate.

Girls and boys are broken here. They’ve already blown. And need to be put back together. If you crumple a paper, you can’t ever get the creases out. We’re lost causes, and the white-pillar uniformed nurses know that. They know no amount of bandages and medicine and pills can put these people back together. They’re in it for the money.

Money is everything.

To them.

They get paid to fix girls and boys with ticking bombs in their brains. With weeds and thorns growing in their hearts. Me? I was beaten and shamed and robbed and taken. Nothing new to them. New to me. New to everyone else. We are not all the same.

“Aren’t you going to say anything, son?”

There’s five others here with me. I’ve counted them all that many times. I can’t tell if any of them have their real names. So I don’t either. I shake my head.

“Why not?”

“What’s your name?”

The whole room has eyes on me now. Even the nice lights are looking at me. Except Lars, a troubled boy with a red face full of tears and fear.

My name is …Tiv.

My name is not Tiv. I think of it on the spot. It’s not Tiv. I’ve never been known as Tiv.

My name, really, is Tolys.

You’ve got to be careful when the world has your name. But what does a name really mean? Tolys used to mean a lot. To a lot of people. Tolys was a gentleman. Tolys was an ally. Tolys was a friend, a foe, a lover, a therapist. But not anymore. But they must’ve misheard me, because everyone started calling me Tip. Not that I care. It doesn’t and never will mean as much as Tolys. If only I could have it back. If I could call it mine. But if any good’s come out of this–it’s my sense of precaution. They’d never know a scrawny, scratched up, lazy-eyed unkept-haired twenty something like me owned the name Tolys.

Tolys Laurinaitis. Where’d he go?

Would you ever believe I had that many friends? Most people wouldn’t consider them all friends. Just fans. But my whole world was them. They weren’t fans. They were a family. My family. My people. A million lives I swore to protect. I know all of their names. All of them. I know them all. They take up the most space. Family. Now I’m just a memory. A picture frame on a shelf. Collecting dust. A figure of history.

Tolys Laurinaitis. That’s what they called him.

I never thought of myself as quite the achiever. Though I was praised.

He fought, he fell, he won, he lost. He came out alive.

I thought it was typical for those like me.

He gave, he sang and screamed his heart out. He gave until he had nothing left.

I only wanted the best for everyone. I felt everyone deserved a chance at the life I tried to provide.

He was used, used, beaten, scraped and cut. Until there was nothing left.

I have lots of close friends. Brothers, sisters, allies and friends and lovers and crushes. Sometimes I regret keeping in my feelings.

One grey day, rainy and fogged, persisting and fearless, one grey day, our hero fell helpless. There really was nothing left of him.

You’d think being immortal would give you all the time in the world. I’m not even dead, yet I feel my life was so short. There’s so much I wish I’d done. Now I don’t even know who’s still out there. Are my friends okay? What about my family?

I really do think about love.

Mr. Lithuania? Mr. Lithuania, are you okay? Mr. Lithuania?

That was the last time I heard a name I owned. It was more of a title—Lithuania. A community. My family, my people. Now, I don’t even know if it still exists. How long has it been?

Sir, are you okay?

Sir? Do I need to call an ambulance?

Call 911.

Did that ever even happen? I would have guessed it a weird dream—If I wasn’t here. If I wasn’t here.

“Tip, you’re our newest classmate. Do you have anything to say about yourself?”

I shake my head.

The nurse, I assume, she isn’t wearing any stagnant white uniform, wanders her eyes over my figure. Studying me. She smiles. She hasn’t stopped smiling all day. Her lipstick is the brightest thing in the room. I trace circles onto the carpet, focusing on her. She has the face, the stature, and the mascara of a commercial dentist. At least, I know she’s been to one, with teeth like brand new piano keys.

“You can call me Doctor Jan. I’ll be here for you, if you need anything.”

She doesn’t say anything else, but her eyes are like lazers. Piercing right through my soul. She wants me to talk to the others. I’m not going to. My throat feels warm and scratchy and I find conversations exhausting. Thankfully, I’m a pretty good listener.

Good thing too. I don’t talk to any of the other troubled children, but I listen. I listen to them, I listen to Doctor Jan, and all of her associates. She’s not our only supervisor. There’s Takeo, a broad-shouldered man built with a brain for killing hopes. He and Doctor Jan speak in rushed whistly manners to each other, exchanging horrible secrets. I’ve listened, from behind corners and outside doors. There’s Sister Esmile, an old, short nun with coke-bottle glasses and a busy mind. I like listening to her the most. She doesn’t talk to us troubled ones. She talks to herself, late at night. In the morning, she mumbles and mumbles and sometimes she bothers Doctor Jan with her crazy old lady claims. I like it though. She’s a wonder. And you never know what she’s going to say next. I don’t think she likes me, but sister Esmile is my favorite. The more I listen, the more I learn about this place. I learn it’s called St. Cleric’s, and it’s like a rehabilitation center. But not quite. It’s not a psych ward by definition, but it might as well be. I think they disguise it, no one wants to be afraid of a bunch of kids, after all. Especially in a catholic town like this. That’s what I listen to. I needed to know where I am. Goldborough. A town called Goldborough. I’m not sure where.

“For the love of fuck, in all of Goldborough is there a man to fit your shitty standards, Jan.”

“If there was, he’d be dead already, love.”

I could hear the faint pop of a kiss.

Takeo is a nasty human being. So is Doctor Jan. Nasty people in nasty situations for the money. It’s all the same. I’ve got to get out of here.

There’s a ‘lounge’ room, with tables and paper and pencils and charcoal and markers. There’s even more colorful carpet in here, and stools and bean bags, and an old, boxy TV positioned in the corner on a stressed shelf. It never turns on. I spend most of my time there or in my room, which I share with Sammie, a chirpy teenager unable to control her temper, Maria, a graceful girl with not-so-graceful words, and Lars. The boy of tears. Maria and Sammie bicker and hit and shame each other, but do so silently enough that Doctor Jan doesn’t lift a finger to it. Sammie isn’t quiet. When Sammie hates, she hates loud. Sammie hits and pulls hair and cries and screams, insulting words at Maria. Maria sighs and points and huffs and ignores. Lars cries and watches. I listen. All I’ve ever done is listen.

The rooms are set up in bunk-beds. Two on each symmetrical side, with a sealed window decorating the middle. I’ve claimed the left bottom, under Lars. I squeeze myself into the corner of the bed, scribbling away words on a paper. Words that used to have meaning. I write my name, my home, my friend’s names, and what I wish for. Each day. So I don’t forget any of it. I write in the language of my people. It’s my life. My secrets. I cross out my name every night before I set the paper away, tucking it under the mattress. I won’t forget.

There’s a certain hour of the afternoon, where no one dare go out of the rooms past. No one wants to go alone, despite not knowing a soul here. Maria would rather be with Sammie than Doctor Jen. Or Takeo. Sister Esmile doesn’t show up half of the week, anyways. No one can count on her. This is the hour everyone sits on their beds and watches each other silently. Everyone sharing the same thoughts, though so different. Sammie shifts and wiggles, punching her pillow.

“This is fucking dumb. I need something to do.”

Sammie looks at all of us consecutively, as if she’s deciding which one of us to rip limbs off of and tear up. Sammie always has a furrowed brow, the kind that makes her always look pissed. She’s bubbly—as bubbly as a pessimist can be. She’s full of energy and things to say. This place is not for her. She spoke and spoke and spoke, regardless of whether anyone would answer. She spoke to herself, to us, to Doctor Jan (though, Doctor Jan smiles but fails to hide the fact that she couldn’t give two shits about anyone in this place), to everyone but Takeo.

Why don’t you say something, son?

Wild to me how different people can be. Eye-opening. No matter how different, this place isn’t for any of us. It was boring, oh it was boring as hell, and it ran us dry of our life. Of our personality, of our light, and for some, of their blood. Of their will. I don’t get bored very easily. I can sit still. I can wait. I waited more than I should have, and now I had to. I have to wait here. Wait out my sessions, wait out the white boxes, wait out Doctor Jan and Takeo and Sister Esmile. I have to wait out Sammie and Maria. I have to wait out the time-sensitive lights and the creaky bedframes and the boring window. Some day I’ll see something new.

•••

The chairs in the lounge are cold and plastic. Not comfortable in the slightest. Doctor Jan is in her office, leaving us to be watched like prisoners by Takeo. I don’t care for his glare. He’s nasty and stupid, but if you sit there and breathe quietly, he leaves you alone. I trace vague words onto the table with my fingertip. The table is cold too. Doctor Jan pokes out of her office door and scans the room. I watch her, expecting to motion to Takeo. I watch her. Our eyes lock and she points, gesturing for me. A weight forms in my chest. My gut twists. Doctor Jan leads me into the office, a minimalist messy room I would no more than expect to be her office. Stains decorate the soft ceiling tiles. The lights in here watch. They stare, they remind me. She sits down at her desk, and pats the tabletop.

“Sit. We’ve got things to discuss.”

I sit uncomfortably on the cheap desk stool, in front of stacks of paper and a dusty monitor. Doctor Jan smiles, an evil, evil fake smile. One that could only come from those red lips. I say nothing.

“Tip. I’m going to tell you something. And, you know what, I’m just gonna rip it off like a band-aid, okay?” She taps a file on her desk, shifting the papers into place.

I stare at her. Her smile fades.

“You’re going home. For real this time.”

My whole body jolts. I don’t know if she could see it, but a whole lightning bolt went off in my chest.

“I’ve—we’ve arranged for you to go to school, too. To give you another chance. It’ll be like a fresh start. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

I shift in my seat. “School?” My voice feels brittle and shaky, as if I haven’t spoken my entire life.

Doctor Jan nods. “A college, technically. It won’t take up most of your time, it’ll just be a short few months so you can transition into getting a job and all that. So you can get your life back together.”

That’s her way of saying you were fucked up, and I want you out of here. She doesn’t care about what I get her paid from the government anymore. I forget to speak, staring at her liar red mouth. I know this is actually happening. At least, I hope so. But she’s not happy for me. She’s happy for herself.

“Don’t worry. You’ll get the hang of this.” Doctor Jan continues, tapping a pen to the file on her desk. “You should get packing. You’ve got a long ride ahead of you.”

“Where.” I insist. Doctor Jan pauses. She opens the file, and licks her finger before flipping through the bright papers.

“You’re going to America. It seemed like the best choice. For you know, someone like you. Not anywhere too busy like New York, though. It’s a place called New Hollowpool, down in Virginia.”

America. Have I been in Europe this whole time? My heart sinks. They’re taking me farther away. At least it won’t be here. At least it won’t be here. Anywhere would be better than St. Cleric’s.

America. America.

I admit, I almost forgot.

So much time in that place has made me start to lose myself. I don’t feel like Tolys anymore. Tolys had a friend from America. We were partners, in business. I remember this much as I pack.

It’s amazing, how much a person can experience, and still forget.

I start counting the days to my flight.

[maddogofshimano]

Goromi Event: The Butterfly Who Dances in the Night

Alright lets kick off this blog with my translation of rggo’s Goromi Event: A butterfly that dances in the night!

As a disclaimer: I have studied japanese for coming up on 3 years now, but I’m not a professional translator and I’m nowhere near fluent! There will definitely be mistakes, but it should be mostly correct thanks to a lot of time on jisho and trawling through japanese explanations of kansai-ben. I originally posted this on the Minnesota Fats Clan discord, but I’m going to clean it up a bit here.

By the way, it’s really funny seeing Goromi next to these anime girl hostesses for the event page.

Summary: This is the setup to the Goromi encounter in Majima Everywhere, it’s how Goromi gets herself hired at club SHINE. It was a scratcher event so players had to gather as many scratchers as they could to redeem for prizes. Nishida had no idea that any of this was going to happen, and the entire plan was to get Kiryu so mad that he’d attack. Kiryu going on a date with Goromi was never even considered.

<2005...> <Kiryu has returned to Kamurocho after his jail time for killing Dojima> <Majima Family Office> Majima Family Goon: Fuwaaaa~ I'm tired. ...Hey, Nishida. Nishida: What's up? Goon: The boss has been in that room for a while now, what's he doing? Nishida: You're right... Nope, I don't know what he's up to. Goon: Usually he's on a rampage outside when he’s got any free time... Do you think he's watching porn? <Majima exits his office> Majima: Oi! Let's head out!! Both: H-HUH? <Name shifts to Goromi from now on> Goromi: Call a cab. We're going to pink street's club SHINE Both: ... Goromi: ... Both: ... Goromi: ... Both: ... Goromi: Say somethin' ya idiots!!! Both: I'm sorry!!! We'll prepare right away!!! <in the taxi> Goromi: ... Goon: ...Oi, Nishida Nishida: What's up. Goon: What is the boss doing? Nishida: I wish I knew... Goon: Man, even you don't know... Nishida: I hate... that I absolutely don't know what's going on Goromi: What are you two blabbin' about? Goon: S-Sorry!! We just kinda don't know what we're doing on this job... Goon: ...Wait, I got it now Nishida. This is "Waiting for penetration". I've heard about it before (TL note: yep that is also a euphemism for sex in japanese) Nishida: Waiting for... penetration?! Goon: Mhm, our boss is setting themself up as the "boke". They're overcome with a craving to be the boke in a comedy bit! (TL note: I am so in the weeds here but I think I got it) Nishida: I don't think that's it... Goon: I gotta be right! Surely their kansai blood is calling out to them! Goon: Well... we gotta answer to their bit! Nishida: I-I see...! <arrive at pink street> Goon: All right, let's do it Nishida! Nishida: Ehhhhh... Goon: W-wait up boss!! I want to know what you’ve done with your look!! Nishida: We should go all the way with it and shave your beard~~!! Goon: Aha, ahahaha!! Nishida: Ha, hahaha! Goon: I'm sorry boss, but your boke bit is the best- <get's taken out in one hit> Goromi: What the hell's so funny? Nishida: W-wait- <also gets knocked out> Goromi: Laughin' at a woman's appearance... You better apologize to Goromi! Nishida: G-Goro... mi? Goromi: Yep. Right now I ain't Majima Goro. I'm a butterfly dancing in the night. The name's Goromi. Ya better remember it. <Club Shine Backroom> Manager: Now... you're having an interview soon right? I hope she's good. Employee: B-Boss, I'm afraid we’ll be doing the interview right now. Manager: Ah, good good. Bring her in. Goromi: Thank you for inviting me. Manager: Who?? Goromi: Who my ass! I'm Goromi, and I'm gonna be takin' care of this store from here on. Manager: W-wait a minute... Goromi: What? Manager: Nonononono, you, you look like a man! Goromi: Is that some kinda problem? Manager: Oh, I guess I can't say anything... Wait, nononono, I'm not going to let you overrule me! Manager: B-bad, bad bad bad. No, you can't be hired! Please take your things and leave! Goromi: What the hell are ya saying? You're gonna throw away a priceless jewel like this? Manager: Surely you must understand. Maybe if your face was shaved or... Manager: No, nonono, it's not just about appearance. Working here requires that and skill, service, politeness, all of those are required! Manager: You don't even know the right way to sit!! Some clumsy, vulgar bowlegged person can't work here. No chance! Goromi: So if I meet all your standards, I'll get to work here. Manager: Ye- W-Well, you do have a tattoo... Goromi: I didn't see nothin' about tattoos bein' banned here. Manager: W-well that's... Goromi: That seems to be my answer. Manager: Nonono! That's not for you to decide! Manager: (But I'm also getting cornered... Think, I have to think of something!) Manager: (...That's it! I found it! A weakness I can use while still being respectable.) Manager: Goromi-san... do you know what the most important thing in a cabaret is? Goromi: Ah? What is it? Manager: It's that the customers can relax! This should be a place where they can relax even more than their own homes. Manager: That's our policy Goromi-san, so, I won't be able to hire you. Goromi: What the hell? Manager: You have a smell on you... the smell... of blood! Manager: Have you been in a lot of carnage? You can't hide that smell Manager: Being assaulted by such a smell... I'm unable to relax! Manager: That's our policy... So! I can't hire you! Goromi: If I could scrub that out, then you'd hire me? Manager: Ehh? Ehhhhhh... to get rid of that... well... Goromi: Is that perfume right there? Gimme just a little. Manager: Th-this perfume?? W-Well, no way, it's...extremely valuable! Manager: P-Plus... you can only get it from scratchers. So I can't give it to you! Goromi: Huh, guess I'll do that then. Manager: Eh? Goromi: The only reason ya won't hire me is my smell, and I can fix that with perfume. Goromi: I can get that perfume right there if I can get enough scratchers. Goromi: So I'll go get that scratcher perfume and come talk to ya again. Goromi: Then everything's roses and Goromi gets hired. That about right? Manager: Y-Yes... Goromi: Yes! You just wait here a sec. Manager: What a powerful woman... <scratcher event runs> <back at SHINE> Nishida and Goon: ................. Manager: ............ Goromi: What? Don't ya wanna tell me how I smell? Manager: ......Y-Yeah... It's like being in a flower garden. Goromi: So you're sayin' I don't reek of blood anymore? Manager: R-Right... Goromi: So then... Goromi got the job? Manager: Yeaaah... I look forward to working with you... Nishida: Um, I'm really sorry about my boss... We'll make up for any inconvenience... Manager: Thank you for your concern... Goon: Anyways, boss, you never did tell us why you became a cabaret girl...? Nishida: I also don't know why... Goon: To think I have to listen to you... Nishida: This is no good...! I'm going to be beaten again...! (tl note: it was really hard to tell who was talking to who here, so sorry if it’s confusing) Goromi: What a mess. Oi, Nishida! Nishida: Y-Yes? Goromi: Contact Kiryu-chan for me. Tell him that Goromi is waiting for him~ ❤️ Nishida: Eh? Kiryu-san...? Goromi: Obviously! This is all to get Kiryu-chan angry! Goon: ...How do you mean? Goromi: Gahhh! You really are an imbecile! Goromi: How? I wanna fight Kiryu-chan. Kiryu-chan don't feel like fightin' me. Goromi: Therefore, there's no choice but to change his mind. Basically I gotta get him riled up! Goromi: He comes to have a fun time at a cabaret club and ends up with a beard and an eyepatch- Goromi: It'll make Kiryu-chan'll get so mad! That'll be a fight! Bam! It's a perfect strategy! Everyone: .............. Everyone: I see...!

<event end>

Here’s a little bonus content: during the event Goromi took over as shopkeeper and running the gatcha rolls

She would also comment on what you did

[youranxiousnerd]

Most Likely To Thoughts

because i am an angry theater kid

spoilers below

First of holy shit. That was one of the best episodes of the season. My second favorite (episode 5 has a special place in my heart okay?)

big red is awesome

i missed ABF this episode hes awesome

miss jenn you literally did the exact same thing 

“would you like to be the first” “im good”

ashlyn youre a cutie

oh my god guys they’re actually rehearsing

FRICKING GO BIG RED

EJ YOU KILLED IT

Gaston was ICONIC. 

the callback to 1x08

“monkies”

im sorry you guys haven’t blocked the 2nd act?!?!?!?! its MARCH the show was cast in January you’ve had TWO months i have been in shows blocked in less time

*angry theater kid screeching*

“It’s an expression, Sebastian”

Seb is going to snap one day. This is like the fourth time this has happened this season. 

Like he lowkey looked pretty sad and angry after that comment. Maybe the episode 10 Seblos fight isn’t going to be so private.

ANYWAYS back to the episode (i will gladly talk about seblos all day)

KOURT AND NINI KOURT AND NINI

they lookin good

kourt and nini have started a “relationships are hard” club and the members include big red, gina, and seb. ricky and ej pop in from time to time

kourtney that is a great lie well done

communication saves lives and obviously ricky and nini never got the memo

ricky no

did you learn nothing from nini and ej?

i do like how he immediately regretted it. like he knows he effed up

oooo ej, gina, carlos, and seb thats intersting

do not try to tell me carlos and seb dont hold hands in class bc they do

#giveusmoreoftheseforupleaseineedagroupchat

AIHFDAKFHGAL GINAS SNORT I LOVE IT

ej honey i think you like her

ngl i might have jumped on the portwell train

GINA LEFT BAHAHA

cash caswell

i hate him already

ej just sinking in his chair

carlos’ somewhat impressed face i cant

cash you son of a gun why

cash this is career day not show off your son day

ej noooo

“seize the day” theatre kids share a knowing glance

im shocked carlos didnt stand up and do the choreo 

miss jenn has a new man every episode omfg

mazzara is my fav

STOP

HOLD THE PHONE

THEY ARE DOING TECH WORK

I REPEAT, TECH WORK

IM A TECHIE IM FREAKING OUT OMFG

those are the nicest high school aprons like where are the ratty tshirts?!?!

how is sebs so messy

bitter seb

i smell tension

ope seb is mad

he is going to snap one day i swear

you can tell carlos regretted it or just doesnt understand what happened

im glad the seblos fight is building instead of something out of the blue

seb has been kinda pushed around this season im happy he is finally saying something

and no more seblos the rest of the episode rip

carlos go after your boyfriend come on

you know what would have been fun? they have their bantar while cleaning brushes and rollers in a clogged sink

ricky have you ever asked how big red is doing?

ASHLYN WITH A DRILL

OMFG GUYS I LOVE DRILLS YESSSSSS

why is there no drill piece in the drill what is she doing? is she bolting stuff or predrilling?

ash trying to be supportive

i love ashlyn guys

omfg two parents this episode what is this?

kourt’s mom being on her side love to see it

“i live to serve”

“i cleaned your desk a little” yep she’ll take you back after that

the shade kourtney is throwing im living for it

ricky just disappears and reappears

oof-okay richard

the pizza place fight. they were both in the wrong, im glad kourt shut them down

REDLYN NOOOO

i love them

ash is trying so hard and red is trying to get her to understand

mazzara you sneaky

i thought it was a date lol

miss jenn take the hint

PORTWELL HOME SCENE

that was really sweet, like go ej and gina, they have one of the healthiest relationships on the show because they learned what not to do.

thats a nice treehouse

lesbians build nice things

i should know

bc im one- ill stop

the treehouse scene-holy shiz. its amazing. props to josh and olivia, i was on the verge of tears. best rini scene of the season, hands down. it was beautiful

nini is sobbing i cant

ricky you can cry its okay

im so happy the breakup happened, major rini shipper in season 1 but they have fallen flat this season. it was handled so well and just gahhh

nini sobbing by herself 

NINA IM CRYING NOW STOPPP

roman sounds so good holy. 

like so good

this does damper my theory on ricky leaving halfway through the show and seb taking over as beast and singing this

MONTAGE TIME

“you’re gorgeous”

mazzara fell hard

“To Miss Jenn” why am i laughing

GABFILFBIWE PORTWELL

OH MY GOD GINA IS ASLEEP 

EJ AND THE HOODIE

GUYS I CANT ANYMORE IM LOSING IT

THE LITTLE SMILE WHEN EJ TURNS THE LIGHTS OFF

REDLYN IS BACK IM SO GLAD

you guys are adorable

howie fell hard

omfg ej

ej noo we love you pls be okay

redlyn you cuties

RICKY NO

IM SOBBING NOW

OMFG LOOK AT HIM

HE HELD IT TOGETHER FOR NINI 

GUYS IM CRYING I CANT

AHHHHHH

we stan big red in this house

ricky and the pillow no

glad ashlyn sticked around

i am dead. ricky thank you thats it.

like that broke me

i should not be crying over this i have already cried to much this season 

you know what would have made this scene better? seb just sitting on his bed then carlos texts him and he pushes his phone aside. something to show them drifting bc its happening and i need content

like where were they the second half?

ITS OVER

WTF

LIKE WHAT THE ACTUALLY HECK YOU CANNOT END IT THERE

WHAT IS HAPPENING 

As you can probably tell, I lost my mind this episode. I have no words, nothing at all. All I have is my tears. The past two episodes have been the best of the season. Episode 8 was another level.

[smidgen-of-hotboy]

Jay's Thoughts: Extended Cut

Every time you use the phrase “way down” a part of me gets so excited

OH OH OH- okokok. Nyx i think was the one to point it out in your post yesterday with the sneak peek, smth about Eurydice dying in some versions because she was bit by a rattlesnake and drawing the parallels of that to the feeling in Juno’s stomach and yeahhhhhhh. YEAHHHHHHHH- kisses kisses kisses ya’ll are so smart Also the mental image you’ve created in my head of juno walking “shirt soaked through with sweat”- like, he’s miserable buttttt…. Also… beating myself back so i don’t say something i later regret

THE RUSH I’M GETTING RN IS THE SAME AS THE RUSH I GOT LISTENING TO THE CLEAN BREAK PART 2 FOR THE FIRST TIME OOOOUUUGHGHGGHHGHGH- THIS COULD ONLY BE MADE BETTER IF JUNO MENTIONED THE SMELL 

“...and a wall around his heart. [stopSTOPPPP-] His overalls were covered in muc and brick dust, [lack of care for his appearance which is very important usually to Nureyev] his glasses were broken, and his eyes looked hollow and weary. [MY HEART!!] But, gods, he might as well have had a gilded halo around his head for the way Juno wanted to fall down at his feet weeping and praying.” [IDOLISM SPOTTED!! DEIFICATION SPOTTED!! ANGEL NUREYEV SPOTTED!! MUSE! WORSHIP! RELIGIOUS IMAGERY! GAHHH- this has everything in it that I want and love and its only the beginning….]

“Blesses Saint Peter of the Workers.” OH WE DOING THIS HUH ZEPH??!! OKAY! OKAY THEN- Saint Peter is an actual Saint, he holds the keys to the gates of heaven and is referenced in the song “Sixteen Tons”. A different Saint Peter is accounted as “the wonderworker” for his acts of wonder working in 920 (organizing famine relief and ransom for captives and treating the ill). The Wonderworker was called a Thaumaturgy, someone who performs miracles (which, actually fits the narrative Kabert have built for Nureyev and the Dokana group…)

Oh boy, nothing can go wrong now that Juno has found him! I STAND CORRECTED HE ISN’T RESPONDING TO HIS NAME! AAAAAGGGGHHHHH-

OH THE RATTLESNAKE IS STILL HERE

“Nothing. Just that steady Hadestown rhythm of breathe, strike, lift. Breathe. Strike. Lift.” So even Juno can hear it…

“He wasn’t alive now. The poorly sutured gash in his neck was evidence enough of that.” I’m crying. I’m actually crying. I’m coming down from my high writing that Angel of Brahma thing and now this and I’m crying. 

“Juno was nearly crying now [NO SHIT JUNO HERE I GOT YOU BABE, I GOT YOU BABY GIRL, I’LL CRY ENOUGH FOR BOTH OF US], scared and desperate, the world going blurry through the tears stuck in his lashes. The rattlesnake hidden in his stomach was letting out another steady hiss, it’s teeth bared in warning once more.” [Rattlesnakes hissing and rattling their tail is indeed a warning sign. This is all a big red flag Juno. You gotta run while you can.]

“I’m here to take you home.” THIS ISN’T FUCKING FAIR-

“And then something strangely extraordinary happened. Peter blinked. And it was like a miracle.” NOT FUCKING FAIR- Buddy is rioting back home. She is pissed, beyond pissed, and IT’S NOT FAIR! NONE OF IT IS FUCKING FAIR!! AGGG- I got something good to share after this, something real good. 

“And a grin more blinding than the sun snuck on to his face, chasing away the despair and melancholy.” I feel like there’s a line you wrote before that is similar to this… I might just be thinking though of how you describe Juno’s singing and his song.

“He looked at Juno, wonder and surprise and love in his eyes, and mouthed a single word. Juno!” OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH- I’m dry heaving this is too fucking sweet.

Describing hugs and embraces will never not strike me in the gut. So precious, sacred, vulnerable… THE SMELL! Or at least it’s A Smell. Either way I called it I’m complete. And the fact that Juno felt whole again with Nureyev. Like- he was halved when he lost Ben. He was so lost and desperate and lonely, and losing Nureyev reopened that wound, but now that he has Nureyev back in his arms (no matter how temporary) he feels whole again. Speaking levels.

Zeph I am raising my hand in the air for a big ass high five, low five, mid five- all the hand slaps right now. I LOVE getting to incorporate sign language into my writing, it’s a lot of fun. In some of my earlier attempts, I wrote American Sign up as if it were Glossed, and now a couple of years later I’ve turned to treating it like spoken dialogue. It is a very real experience for someone who is not a native signer to have to switch my brain from English to Sign and struggle to do so so quickly. I am very used to asking people to SIGN SLOW PLEASE LEARNING Makes me curious though why Juno knows sign…

Juno hastily explaining “Jet’s a psychopomp whatever that means” = Juno explaining what the fuck the Ruby7 is

“And then when I got to the wall… I just. I sang.” Something something- original mythos, Orpheus sang to Cerberus and subdued the dog with his sad song. He sang to Charon and got free passage across the Styx because he was that sad. This imagery though is reminding me of that one Adventure Time episode where Magic Man steals Finn, Jake, Princess Bubblegum, BMO, and Marceline’s stuff. And the only way to get it back is to sing a true song from the heart. 

This Juno is very close to S2 Canon Juno. Destructive and hasn’t learned his lesson yet. And now he sort of is but… not really… He called your name before he went. Guess you didn’t hear it….

“Soft like a magnolia petal in early spring with the kind of tenderness and care that only a very deep-rooted love can produce.” MAGNOLIA PETAL??? Language of flowers meaning NOBILITY… hmmm… Rex Glass alias is King Glass… Slip Jackson is King of Hadestown… hmmm….

“growing through the cracks of Nureyev’s walls” LIKE TEH WALLS TO HADESTOWN OOUGGGHH!

And Juno babe- love the optimism. Love the “My name is Juno Steel, and I always get my man” type attitude you’ve brought with you, but that won’t work! Try Again! :D

“You’re not from around here, are you?” OH NO OH SHIT RUN JUNO STEEL, RUN!!

Anndddd Nureyev’s blue screened, he’s hit flight or fight and he chose FREEZE!

“And who the hell are you?” he sounds like a literal child in my head rn lol

“An old friend of Petyas’. [OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT ITS THE SLIPPY BOY-] And the man who owns this city. You can call me Slip. You’d best be going, though. This city doesn’t take kindly to strays.” [OHHHHH!!]

Juno Steel, “I always get my man” = Juno Steel, “I’m not leaving without him”

“He hasn’t told you, has he?” I can hear how fucking smug he is rn

“a sick feeling beginning to snake back into his gut. ‘Tell me what, Peter?’” FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK ABORT- ABORTT!! RUN NUREYE!!!!

“I told you I own this city, and that includes the people in it. My darling Petya [OH OH OH THIS MAKES ME WANNA BITE HIM, HIT HIM, FIGHT HIM- NO ONE OWNS PETER NUREYEV- NO ONE!!! Smth smth “everyone who’s called me Pete wants to be my parent”] I was initially going to keep him from having to work out here, but since he decided he would rather keep company with my workers than me, [yeahhhh- i wonder why.] I decided to let him do some of the work himself,’ Slip shrugged, walking forward and resting a hand on Peter’s shoulder.” [the jarring gap between Slip calling him Petya, calling him My Darling Petya, and Juno still thinking of him as Peter… it’s fucking with my head in the best way.]

“It isn’t true… it can’t be true. Tell me it isn’t true.” my brain says this is a reference to “Is it True?” and i’m getting sense of a rebellion? Of the workers turning on Slip and demanding that he give Peter and Juno a chance? Hmmmm? I have hope. I believe. 

“Executives? Would you mind showing this young man here what we do with trespassers?” OH FUCK- not even a “young lady” but a “young man” OH FUCK- Slip’s boutta catch some hands“Suddenly, two large, identical men dressed in brown coats appeared behind Juno. Before he could say a word or move in defense, there was movement, a sharp pain radiating through his skull, and then Juno Steel knew no more.” Huh. huh. HUH! HUH?! WHAT?! He can’t be dead- he can’t be! …right? Mmm- S1 reference on the horizon maybe? Reference to Juno being thrown in Miasma’s tomb? OR SEASON 4 REFERENCE TO PALOMINE CORRECTIONS??? HMMM!!! I’m excited for whatever is to come :)

SONG FOR A CAGED LOVEBIRD: PART 13

this took. a while!! life has been busy recently lol. i feel it is important to note that this part 13 also cashed in at 1,666 words. this was not intentional, but uh. definitely has got some evil undertones.

reading some of the stuff peter says might get a lil confusing- just remember he is signing all of this!! i didn't want to write the word "signed" three million times and sign language is literally a language, just not a spoken one, so i used "said" instead

I SUMMON THEE TPP CREW: @smidgen-of-hotboy @ceaseless-watchers-special-girl @urjover @one-joe-spoopy @waters-and-the-wilde @demonic-panini @the-private-eye

Way down deep in the pit of Juno’s stomach, a scaly rattlesnake of dread curled up and bared its fangs.

His muscles ached and his shirt was soaked through with sweat, and every few steps came with a cough from the horrible, black-dust air. He’d been searching the walls for hours now, looking for any sign of the tall, knife-thin figure that had sliced his world in half from the moment he walked into it. 

He’d seen a lot of workers. It took a lot of effort for him to not cringe at the sight of them. A hundred thousand faces, laying brick and chipping away at stone, each one looking as bone-tired and hopeless as the next. Some even looked vaguely familiar, distorted into someone he recognized through the dream-like haze in the air. But he hadn’t found anything of Peter Nureyev yet.

The rattlesnake shivered out a tense hiss. He was beginning to question everything. Had Rita remembered what had happened correctly? Maybe he’d missed him somewhere? Was Peter even here?

And suddenly all of Juno’s fear melted away.

There he was. A lone figure against the harsh lava glow of the factories behind him.

Just like he had the first time, he looked tired and disheveled, dirt on his face and a wall around his heart. His overalls were covered in mud and brick dust, his glasses were broken, and his eyes looked hollow and weary. But, gods, he might as well have had a gilded halo around his head for the way Juno wanted to fall down at his feet weeping and praying.

Blessed Saint Peter of the Workers.

Juno broke into a sprint.

“Nureyev?! Nureyev!!”

There was no answer. Peter just kept hacking away at the rock with his pickaxe, head bowed to the ground.

Juno scrambled up the rickety wooden ramp to the top of the wall as the rattlesnake slithered back into his gut. Peter barely noticed him. “Nureyev. Nureyev, please. Peter, please look at me!”

Nothing. Just that steady Hadestown rhythm of breathe, strike, lift. Breathe. Strike. Lift.

Juno grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around. Peter’s eyes were completely empty, like the work here had sucked every last ounce of life out of him. Flashes of memory sped by in Juno’s mind. 

Peter laughing. Peter working out logic problems with Buddy. Peter telling stories with Rita. Peter fixing up the bar with Jet. Peter looking at him in wonder. Peter being alive.

He wasn’t alive now. The poorly sutured gash in his neck was evidence enough of that.

Juno was nearly crying now, scared and desperate, the world going blurry through the tears stuck in his lashes. The rattlesnake hidden in his stomach was letting out another steady hiss, it’s teeth bared in warning once more.

“Peter, please, you gotta remember me,” Juno whispered, pulling Peter’s head down to his. “I’m here to take you home.”

And then something strangely extraordinary happened.

Peter blinked. And it was like a miracle.

The hollowness cleared from his eyes in an instant. He squinted slightly through the dim light and broken glasses, and then recognition sparked in his eyes, and a grin more blinding than the sun snuck onto his face, chasing away the despair and melancholy. He looked at Juno, wonder and surprise and love in his eyes, and mouthed a single word.

Juno!

And then they were in each other's arms, holding each other like it was the only thing in the world that existed. Juno realized he was fully crying now, and Peter was crying too. His fist was clenched in Peter’s shirt that smelled like coal dust and sweat and fear but he didn’t care. He didn’t care. All that mattered was that they were here now, and they were holding each other, and he felt whole again. And it was like the world released a breath it barely knew it was holding back.

They stayed like that for a long time, crying and hugging and gently rocking back and forth, until both of them could breathe normally, like the sheer fact of the other’s presence could fix every problem they had ever known.

Juno pulled away from the hug first and kissed Peter hard. “You absolute DUMBASS. What the hell were you thinking, Nureyev? Getting yourself tangled up in the underworld?”

Peter made a slightly sour face and began signing something at Juno, too fast for him to understand.

“Wait, wait, wait. Slow down a minute. It’s been a while since I had to interpret sign, babe. You’re gonna have to sign slower than that.”

Peter sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes, but planted a sweet kiss on Juno’s cheek before signing again, slower this time.

"How the hell did you get down here?"

“Jet led me. Apparently he used to work for Hadestown as a psychopomp or something. He wouldn’t go into it too much, though.”

"No, no, no," Peter said, snapping his fingers closed in slight frustration. "How did you get past the wall? No one gets in unless they come by train."

“Ah. Well, that’s interesting. There’s a backroad that I went down. And then when I got to the wall… I just. I sang. I asked it to let me in, said I needed to find you, and the stones just moved aside. I don’t know how.”

There was a pause. Peter was chewing on his lip now, looking at Juno with some emotion akin to reproach on his face. “What’s the matter, babe?”

"I called your name before I… left. And you never came for me."

Juno sucked in a pained breath through his teeth and looked at the rough-hewn ground. “You…. you did. I know.” 

Peter’s expression was rapidly approaching one that looked like it might burst into tears. "You knew? You heard me?"

“No, I didn’t know. Rita saw all of it. She…. she told me the story.” Juno sighed deeply, ran his hands over his face, and squatted down to the ground. “I’m so sorry, Nureyev. All of this is my fault. I should have been paying more attention to you, because you told me that you were hungry and I thought it would be fine, I just didn’t listen, and if I had listened, you wouldn’t be in this mess-”

Juno broke off as he felt Peter’s fingers under his chin, forcing him to look up. 

"Listen to me. This is not your fault," he said gently before giving Juno another kiss. His face had such a soft expression on it, soft like a magnolia petal in early spring with the kind of tenderness and care that only a very deep-rooted love can produce. 

Juno looked at that softness growing through the cracks of Nureyev’s walls and found himself falling in love with him all over again.

“It’s okay, though. I can fix this. I came to bring you home again. I can just sing the song again and the stones will let us back out- what’s the matter?”

Peter had begun shaking his head slowly. "Won’t work," he said, jaw clenched tight and face painted with varying shades of regret.

“What do you mean, it won’t work? It’ll work, I promise, Peter, I can get us out of-”

“You’re not from around here, are you?” 

A booming voice echoed across the wall in response, and Juno watched Nureyev go completely still, eyes wide and face stark white with fear and panic. Juno wasn’t sure who the man in the neat suit walking towards them was, but Peter’s reaction to his voice was enough to set Juno on edge in his defense.

He stood, back straight and eyes narrowed with as much confidence and menace as he could manage. “And who the hell are you?”

The man grinned, and something about his smile made Juno want to punch him. “An old friend of Petya’s. And the man who owns this city. You can call me Slip. You’d best be going, though. This city doesn’t take kindly to strays.”

Juno didn’t move a muscle. The man stared at him, eyes cold and clean and razor sharp.

“I said, you need to leave this city. Now.” 

“I’m not leaving without him.”

Nureyev stood then and turned to face the man, Slip, with a tension Juno had never seen in him before, and began shooting angry words in his direction. His hands were moving too fast for Juno to catch anything more than a few words: “alone,” “deal,” “my voice,” “take,” and “let him go”. Slip’s grin only widened.

“He hasn’t told you, has he?” he asked, leaning slightly to see Juno’s face.

Juno looked at Peter, a sick feeling beginning to snake back into his gut. “Tell me what, Peter?”

Peter looked at him painfully before staring wide-eyed at the ground and chewing on his lip.

The rattlesnake buzzed out a tremor of fear. “Peter, what did you do?”

“I told you I own this city, and that includes the people in it. My darling Petya here signed a contract for a job, and now he belongs to me. I was initially going to keep him from having to work out here, but since he decided he would rather keep company with my workers than me, I decided to let him do some of the work himself,” Slip shrugged, walking forward and resting a hand on Peter’s shoulder.

It was like the world was collapsing in on itself.

“It isn’t true,” Juno breathed, eyes widening. “It can’t be true. Tell me it isn’t true.”

Peter wouldn’t meet his eyes. He simply nodded and said nothing else.

The rattlesnake’s hiss crescendoed. Juno felt like he might throw up.

“Executives? Would you mind showing this young man here what we do with trespassers?” Slip called.

Suddenly, two large, identical men dressed in brown coats appeared behind Juno. Before he could say a word or move in defense, there was movement, a sharp pain radiating through his skull, and then Juno Steel knew no more.