#glitter force ❤

[oheyfox]

I just had a devious idea that I will never follow thru with but I can imagine it

First year cosplays... 👉👈

[the-californicationist]

Hey🐻❤ Can i say something ? Yeah ? Sooo

Price and Reader have sex in an abandoned parking lot after going to a bar🍻

That's all I had to say 🙇‍♀️❤

omg hot!!! hope this is kinda what you were looking for. im so sorry for the wait. thank you for being patient with me!

The After Party

The MacTavish wedding was the party of the century, and you were feeling the effects of their pricey Brut champagne. Your husband, John, had stolen a bottle for you, and you were nearly half-done with it, carefully pulling it up to your lips and letting the tiny bubbles pop on your tongue. 

Even though it was almost dawn, the party was still raging inside the bar Johnny had rented out. John had taken you aside and whispered into your ear,

“C’mon. Have a smoke with me, missus.”

While the newlyweds were distracted by their guests, so you and the captain had made a break for it, sneaking out of the reception undetected. You smiled, following him out back into the parking lot, admiring his ass in those silky black slacks. He always looked so fit when he got dressed up, even if he hated every minute of it.

John headed to his truck, popping open the door and digging around for another cigar. You leaned against the tailgate, trying to find some relief for your aching feet. John noticed your discomfort,

“Those heels botherin’ you, love?”

“Yeah,” you sighed.

“Here,” he helped you up onto his tailgate, sitting you on the cold metal, “Let’s sit for a while. Give me a chance to enjoy this.” He wiggled the fat cigar in his hands, smiling at you. 

“Aren’t they gonna miss us?” You nodded to the bar, listening to the sound of muffled dance music coming from its bright, glowing windows. 

“Ah, I’m sure the happy couple is plenty distracted.”

John hopped up on the tailgate with you, puffing on his cigar, making sure the tip was evenly lit. When he was happy with it, he offered it to you. You took it, sucking the smoke into your mouth and tasting its sweet tobacco and vanilla notes. It was a huge cigar, so too much of it and you’d really be wasted. The champagne was already enough to make your cheeks hot. 

You closed your eyes, trying to sober up a bit. John’s hand rubbed your bare back, fiddling with the straps of your low-cut dress as he fussed over you. 

“Is my girl a little bevied up tonight? Maybe I should take that bottle back,” he laughed at you, teasing you good-naturedly. 

“No,” you clutched the bottle like a prize, playing with him, “Pry it out of my cold, dead hands, mister.”

He held his hands up in mock-surrender, 

“Alright, alright. Just don’t blame me when you get into trouble.”

“What trouble?” You took his cigar from him again and purposefully took a long drag, challenging him, trying to goad him into flirting with you. 

He fell into your trap, chuckling as he took one of his fingers and traced his way from your sparkling gold necklace all the way down into the cleavage of your dress, making you gasp, 

“You know what trouble,” he leaned in for a smoky kiss, stealing his stick back, “My woman, dressed like that, gettin’ sloshed on champagne… I know where this path leads.”

“Oh?” You giggled, running your palm across his heavy thigh, feeling his muscles through the expensive cloth, “Where’s that?”

“I’ll show you.” He raised his eyebrows, getting a little smart with you, and hopped off of the tailgate. He stood in front of you, cigar bitten in his mouth, and used both of his hands to pull you closer to him, forcing your legs apart to accommodate his wide body. 

You giggled, letting yourself be man-handled, enjoying every moment of it. 

Then, he reached both of his warm hands up under the glittering hem of your dress, tracing up your legs, feeling their shaved smoothness, until he found your hips. John smiled, balancing the cigar expertly on his lips, enjoying the surprised look on your face. His fingers twirled around the straps of your thong, and he pulled it off of you, guiding it over your knees and past your strappy heels, admiring the gold lace that filled his palm. 

He brought the panties to his nose and dodged your half-hearted kick as you admonished him, 

“John!” 

“What?” He was incredulous, “I know this smell.”

He had the audacity to sniff them again, and you smacked him on his chest, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him react. John smiled, recoiling, teasing you, 

“Smells like sloshed, horny wife, so it does. Mmm.”

“Oh, my God! What if someone saw you?” You hissed, laughing in pure shock at your husband’s actions. 

“And?” He put on a serious face for you then, pocketing your panties, spreading your legs, and tucking his body between them again, getting right up in your face and taking a long pull from his cigar, letting the smoke linger between you, cascading down his full lip. He snarled, “Who’s gonna stop me? Did you see any bloke in there bigger than me? Stronger, hm?”

You shook your head, feeling your heart race with excitement at his sudden dominance. Even if you knew he was just trying to get you riled up, it was working. 

“Did you see anyone who would have the bollocks to stop me from touching my woman…” His hands were wandering, rubbing your smooth thigh up and down, pulling on the tight muscle of your calf, “Whenever, or wherever I want?”

You shook your head again, biting your lip, leaning back into the bed of the truck, letting your breasts lift towards his face, taunting him with your skin. 

He took one of your shoulder straps and pulled it down, letting it dangle across your arm. As it did, the top of its delicate fabric triangle folded, lower and lower, until the top of your breast was exposed, falling almost as low as your nipple. 

His eyes narrowed, giving you a hard stare,

“Give me your hand, missus.”

You held out your hand, palm up, submitting to his whim. 

He took it in his and pulled you forward, lowering your arm until your fingers felt the rigid marble cock he was concealing behind his zipper. John pressed your palm on him, flexing his muscle for you, letting you feel his desire.

You were leaning so far over that his face was right by your ear, and he whispered to you, menacingly, 

“If I wanted to, I’d have taken you in that bar, and there’s not a fuckin’ man alive who could stop me.”

“So,” you said, staring him down, showing him your fearless hunger, “Take me, then.”

It was his turn to wear a mask of surprise on his face, but it quickly turned to joy. He hopped up into the truck bed with you and pulled you inside, lifting the tailgate closed with a loud slam. 

John kept a thick blanket in the truck bed for emergencies, and he folded it up, laying you down on it, making sure you were comfortable. He kissed your neck, but he wasted no time in peeling down the top of your dress, exposing your nipples to the night air. You took the cigar from him so he could suckle on your flesh, leaving little hickies where he wanted to, something for you to admire later. 

You smoked his cigar, letting it get you high as your husband fondled you. His mouth was hot and greedy, and you realized John was a little more worked up than you had previously assumed. You could feel him thrusting against you absentmindedly, not realizing he was doing it, rubbing himself against your beaded gown.

You caught his furry jaw in your hands, pulling him away from his delicious work, dragging him up to kiss your mouth. You shared his smoke between you, letting it fill your senses. You’d take a drag in, share it with him, letting it fall into his lips, and then kiss him through it, tasting each other among the warm notes. 

“John,” you whispered between his wet kisses, “I need you.”

“Need to work up to it, love. Don’t wanna hurt you,” he whispered, rucking up your dress. 

You smiled, knowing he would realize the truth in just a moment. Indeed, as soon as you felt his fingertips dip into your pussy, his eyes shot up in shock and wonder. He breathed in a gasp, dipping his finger into you again, not believing what he was feeling, 

“You are so wet for me. Naughty girl. So ready for your man’s cock, hm?”

“I told you,” you kissed him, feeling his finger sink deeper inside of you, drowning in you, “I’m ready for you, John. Don’t make me wait.”

He brought his hand to his mouth and sucked you off of his skin. Then, he went back for seconds, dipping his forefinger into you like you were the batter of a cake, sugary sweet and forbidden. 

Then, once he had his fill of your taste, he fumbled with his slacks, raking his black leather belt off in one long pull, letting it clatter somewhere in the metal bed of the truck. His fingers pried open his button and yanked down his zipper, freeing his fat rod and jerking it with his hand. 

Unceremoniously, and in a bit of a rush, he mounted you, rucking up your dress even further. You spread yourself for him, wrapping your legs around his strong glutes, feeling them squeeze together to help him thrust into your hungry core. 

It was a tight fit, as usual. John was always so heavy and thick; you had a hard time working up to his size. But, you took a deep breath and let your wetness glide him in. His ragged sigh of relief was intoxicating. 

“Oh, bloody hell, missus.” He furrowed his brow as if in pain.

“You alright, John?” You tried to relax, but you could feel your body responding without you, pulsing around him with a warm, eagerness. 

“You’re warm, baby. Just what I needed. So fuckin’ good to me.”

He ducked his head into the crook of your neck and began to thrust into you, deeper and deeper until he found his end. In the back of your mind, as you gazed up at the sparkling stars, you hoped no one could hear you, but your husband’s earlier dominance made you care a little less. And as he built you up to a frothing orgasm, you found yourself caring not at all. 

Suddenly, the music from the bar got louder, and you heard the door slam closed to the bar. John stilled above you, covering you with his body, watching over his shoulder for someone to come by. Your heart was beating hard in your chest, and you gave his cock a squeeze from inside of you, pulling at his shaft with your muscle. He looked down at you, smiling, and gave you a quick pulse in return, teasing you. Both of you were clearly excited about the prospect of being caught. 

Footsteps made their way through the gravel lot, the loud jingle of keys, a door opening and slamming shut. Then, their engine revved and they pulled away, leaving you alone again. 

“Filthy little thing,” John whispered, picking up his pace again, “Squeezin’ me like that. You tryin’ to get caught, missus?”

“Just wanna make you feel good, John. Want to feel you come in me.”

“Christ,” he lamented, clenching his teeth and fucking you faster, obviously heated by your words and your wet, sticky desire, “Squeeze me again, then. Yeah… ungh… just like that. Keep doin’ that, pretty girl. You’ll get your wish.”

When he thrust into you, you tried to relax, letting his cock slip inside. Then, when he tried to leave, you twisted your muscles against him, pulling him in, trying to milk his come from his swollen head. It was driving him wild. His eyes fluttered, rolling back into his head as he thrust into you, harder and harder, chasing down your orgasm with a vengeance. 

He put his fingers in your mouth, making you taste yourself, growling at you through clenched teeth, 

“Suck.”

You grabbed his hand with both of yours, feeling your tits bouncing as he fucked you, holding his fingers in your mouth, and you began to suckle on them dutifully. You could smell and taste your scent, and it was making you feral. You let your tongue loll between his fingers, sucking hard on his sensitive tips, watching his face as his jaw fell slack. 

Then, he pulled them away from you and used them to rub against your clit, one finger on either side, making tight circles and teasing you until your legs began to shake. 

“Holy fuck,” he said, watching you fall apart, “Such a good girl for me, aren’t ya? Gonna come on me, baby?”

You nodded, plucking at your nipples, squeezing your breasts as they shook from his thrusting. 

“Good girl. Come on me. Let me feel it.”

You felt your body go rigid as the bright, flashing pleasure coiled its way into your belly, and you couldn’t help but let out a deep moan. Quick as a flash, John kissed you, letting you moan into his mouth instead of into the night air, quieting you as you exploded underneath him, shamelessly bucking against his hard length as you rode out your pleasure. 

He kept kissing you, sucking at your tongue and bottom lip, talking to you through your bliss, 

“That’s it. Just what I needed, pretty girl. Love this fuckin’ pussy.”

“I love you, John,” you said, suddenly overwhelmed with your emotions and the deep sensations he was giving you. 

It caught him off-guard, and he smiled from it, 

“I love you too, baby. You ready for me, hm?”

You nodded, whispering a yes into his neck. He looked at you with a pleading expression, 

“Tell me.”

“I need your come, John. Come in me. Fill me up, please. I want you to come in my pussy.  I want it running down my legs.”

“Oh, fuck!” He raised his voice just for a moment, but you didn’t care.

As you watched him tumble into his orgasm, shuddering between your legs, nothing would distract you from that gorgeous scene. His face twisted and then relaxed, exhausted from his efforts, a half-smile painted on his lips.

He looked down at you in surprise, breathing heavy and recovering. He slid himself out of you, leaving you with a terrible emptiness. You felt his cream drip from your body, and he wiped his cock on your thigh before he tucked himself back into his dress pants. 

John collapsed next to you in the truck bed, staring up at the stars for the first time, resting his head on your breast. 

You were wrecked, and you pet his hair, softly soothing yourself with him. 

He looked up at you, that playfulness returning to his eyes, 

“Runnin’ down your legs, hm?”

You laughed, rolling your eyes, 

“Yeah, so? You seemed to like the idea, mister.”

“I do,” he kissed your breast and took your nipple into his mouth, watching you squirm from being overstimulated, “In fact, I think it’s a good idea.”

“You’re not serious,” you gasped. 

“C’mon. No one’ll notice.”

He sat up, checked the surroundings to make sure the coast was clear and then helped you up. He lowered the tailgate and helped you stand. Your feet still ached in your shoes, and you had to catch yourself on his strong arm. He steadied you, making sure you were alright before he grabbed your hand and led you back inside. 

“I can’t believe we’re doing this, John,” you felt your cheeks blush bright red. 

“Be brave, missus. I’ll make it worth your while later.”

His face suggested more of his dirty fun, and you nodded, crossing your fingers no one looked at you too closely. 

Luckily, no one had noticed your absence. John helped you into a booth and ordered two more glasses of champagne, sliding into the seat beside you. All night, through the slit of your gown, he rubbed your leg, getting little drops of his come and playing with it on your skin, working you up and teasing you in front of all of your friends, secretly smearing his gift into your thigh. 

All night, and during the drive home, you couldn’t keep his hands off of your legs. He kept playing with you, getting bolder and bolder by the minute. When you got into the house, he stripped you, leaving your gown abandoned on the kitchen floor, carrying you straight into the den and laying you on the couch, not even bothering to make it to the bedroom.

He had a burning look in his eye as he commanded you, taking off his clothes as he barked his orders, 

“Spread your legs, missus. Let me see you. Wider.”

You did as you were told, your mind reeling from his threatening tone, eager to submit to him again. 

“Mm. You are fuckin’ gorgeous covered in my come. It’s everywhere,” he stared at your pussy and your inner thighs with wonder, using his hands to feel the shining fluids coating your skin. 

Then, to your shock, he bent to lick you clean, sucking on your folds and lapping at your wet hole, wriggling his tongue deeper and deeper, trying to eat himself out of you. 

“John!” You gasped, “What are you — ungh, fuck!”

His fingers fucked you as he ate from you, swallowing what your body gave him, licking up his mess from your legs and lips like a hungry dog, ignoring your cries of protest. 

“You want me to stop, missus?”

You shook your head, petting his scalp and scratching your fingers through it.

“Aye,” he grinned, “Didn’t think so. Hope you’re ready for round two.”

If you enjoyed this story, please consider a reblog! Thank you!!

AO3 Link

[eternal-kosmo-ghoul]

*°:⋆ₓₒ day 14. cum bulge

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡ “stuffed like a present”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ — ❤︎ mountain wants to give you something that’ll leave you completely filled

pairing: mountain ghoul x afab!reader

a/n: this one is so ass forgive me 💀 sorry if it seems repetitive compared to my other prompts

cw: nsfw content. cum bulge. overstimulation. multiple rounds. knotting (?). bondage with vines.

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“yeah… you see that? that was all me. you look so good with my cum stuffing your insides.” —❤︎

┅✦┅

“mmh fuck… oh you like that… hm?”

“a-ahh… this is like the fourth time in a row you’ve made me cum.”

“good.”

before you could reply, a sudden hip thrust into your core was enough to make you whine and clamp your mouth shut. your eyes were filled with stars, glittering with pure lust as you looked up at a certain earth ghoul, who was responsible for making you feel this good.

mountain grinned, and slammed his cock into your cervix again, to which in response you let out a loud whimper, eyes fluttering shut in the process. currently, you found yourself tangled up in the drummer’s sheets. his ghoul powers were active, summoning long, thin vines to keep you locked in place while he went to town on you, restraining your ankles and wrists. mountain was feeling rather… generous today. this year, he wanted to give you an extra special present this year, one that you will remember forever.

so of course, that idea of an extra special present involved strapping you down to his bed, and cumming inside of your tight cunt over and over again, each load of cum painting your insides white and gradually making you more stuffed with his seed.

you just writhed against his grip, body instinctively twitching from the amount of hard orgasms you just had, leaving you sweaty and out of breath. you felt the wind get knocked out of your lungs briefly when mountain slowly started thrusting again, forcing you to take another one of his loads.

“m-mountain… fuck— how much stamina do you have..? i don’t know if i can last another round.” you rasped out, and mountain only winked at your fucked out expression.

“i can go all night long if i want to, babe.” he grunted, thrusts gradually growing more forceful, rocking the bed with the strength of his hip movements. “but i’m nice… so i’ll make this our last one.”

your eyes visibly relaxed when you heard this, as you were sure that if you went for a few more rounds, you’d black out.

“oh thank satan— a-aahhh!!”

your quick celebration was then interrupted by a sudden, forceful thrust which turned into a series of rough thrusts, caused the headboard of the bed to slam into the wall while mountain fucked you with no mercy. your eyes widened with shock, and your choked up voice quickly melted into pleasured, overstimulated moans.

“s-shit! ahh! mountain!” you cried out, trying to grip the sheets to maintain some sort of balance, but mountain was relentless.

“since this is our last round for the night…” mountain grunted out, fangs bearing as he thrusted harder and harder, his cock sliding in and out of your thigh pussy with ease.

“i’ll end it all off with a bang.”

his thrusts only got more rough and forceful, each time his cock hit a certain spot inside of you that had you squealing over and over. you could feel the cum from the previous orgasms get pushed all the way back inside of you.

you couldn’t stop making such pleasured noises, and mountain was enjoying every last second of it.

“fuccck. you feel it? you feel my cum pushing inside of your tight womb?” mountain groaned, his large hands moving to press against your stomach.

your eyes fluttered open, and widened when met with the sight in front of you. your tummy had a bulge on it, and mountain pressing his palm against the little bump on your stomach only had you squirming and seeing stars.

“yeah… you see that? that was all me. you look so good with my cum stuffing your insides.” mountain praised, driving his cock deeper inside of you to feel every last inch of your tightness clamping around his cock.

“a-ahhh!”

“hmmm.. seems like you like it as much as i do.”

you could only nod your head mindlessly and let out more pleasured, high pitched noises as you neared your climax, feeling mountain’s cock throbbing inside you intensely, also signaling his upcoming release.

mountain groaned and moved his head down to bite your neck, whispering into your skin.

“ohhh yeaahh. fuck i’m so close. m’gonna make you catch onto my knot and take my seed like a good toy.” mountain whispered lewdly, which only made you tighten around his shaft.

your hands writhed against the vines restraining you, and you cried out: “fuck! i’m gonna cum too!”

mountain moaned in response. “then cum with me, darling.”

like it was on command, your body shook wildly as you came hard all over mountain’s cock. the earth ghoul also moaned loudly as he released thick ropes of cum deep within you.

both of you panted heavily, and mountain slowly pulled out, smirking when he heard you whine from the emptiness. he looked down, and saw his and your cum dribble out of your tight hole.

“fuck. that’s so hot.” he cursed, and you panted heavily in response.

you were completely spent, having gone multiple rounds with this ghoul. you thought it would never end, but alas.

mountain chuckled at your fucked out expression, and caressed your cheek with his hand. he moved it up to your forehead, and moved your hair out of the way to get a better look at you.

he pressed a kiss to your forehead, before speaking.

“good little plaything.”

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[delopsia]

Two Little Rings | Bob x Reader x Rhett

Word Count: 10,400 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader. Blood, bodily injury, scarring, food, Rhett gets hurt a lot, proposals, blow jobs, unprotected sex, Perry Abbott. Contains a special blink-and-you-miss-it introduction to a future reoccurring character, Archie ❤ Brief Summary: Bob keeps trying to ask you and Rhett to marry him, but he keeps picking the worst possible times to pop the question.

These rings might as well be boulders. 

Heavy, weighing down his pocket with their big, "look at me!" attitudes and distinct, round shapes that Bob swears are leaving massive indents in his back pocket. Their unmistakable appearance begs someone, anyone, to look and realize what he's planning before he's even tried to pop the question. 

Try being the keyword here.

They're too heavy to even sit in his palm. Wavering, about to drop them at any given moment. Sweat beading on his forehead. Heart hammering against his chest so hard he's surprised it hasn't broken out. 

"Bobby!" Comes your voice from across this big, unfamiliar house, "Did you notice that there's a deck in the second bedroom?" 

"No?" It's only one little word, and yet his lie feels as obvious as the sun in the sky. He'd noticed it when the realtor showed the blueprints, but he's not about to ruin your excitement.

Once again, he drops the little rings into his pocket, allowing them to resume taunting him with their barely there outlines. Walking to the bedroom should be easy, but these little hunks of metal are threatening to jump out and ask you and Rhett the question themselves. Even the sound of them would be unmistakable. 

And the echo in this house is horrible. 

Given it's entirely empty. Every house the three of you have toured so far has suffered with it. Every little sound jumps off the hardwood, ricochets off the too-white walls, and bounces down the hall. Even from here, he can hear the soft pitter-patter of your tennis shoes and the heavy clunk of Rhett's work boots.

And the clicks of the realtor's shiny black heels. Following loosely behind him. Grinning down at the phone in her hand because those damned rings have garnered her attention, and she can't miss the chance to catch a proposal on camera. What's worse, confronting her on it would ruin the whole damn surprise.

He wonders if his smile looks as forced as it feels. 

She's got to put her phone away eventually...right?

"What did you find?" He's asking as he passes the threshold; doesn't know what to say, but it feels like something he should say. 

Rhett jabs his index finger toward the open door on the other side of the room, "deck." That's all he says. Not another word needed. Those deep blue eyes glitter with what Bob can only place as hesitant excitement. This is the best house the three of you have viewed yet, but it's hard to get hopes up when the past house fell through. 

And the house before that. And the house before that one. And the house before that house...

Heels click up behind him, overapplied, floral perfume meeting his nose. It's impossible to have a third eye on the back of his head, but he can feel the lens of the realtor's camera trained on his back. Burning a little hole through his t-shirt and into his skin. 

"And you said how many offers were made on this house today?" Clearing his throat, Bob turns, and maybe, just maybe, she'll have to scamper back to the kitchen to review her notes before she can give him a clear answer. 

"Four." Short. Sweet. Straight to the point. But at least now she's shyly pocketing her phone. Caught in the act and unsure of where to go from here. "The owners have until midnight to decide whether they'd like to accept or reject them." 

Four?

Hell, maybe this isn't going to be your forever home, either. 

In his peripheral, Bob can see you emerge from the deck, quietly shutting the door behind yourself. You've got that same starry look in your eyes that Rhett carries; this is it, this is the one. 

But it seems four other parties have had the same thought. And Bob hasn't the slightest clue what their bid is or if the three of you are even capable of topping the offers. 

"Can we have a moment to talk about the house by ourselves?" You ask, your shoulder brushing against Bob's as you come to stand next to him, intent on being close. 

Mere moments ago, Bob was looking for a way to get her to leave, hoping to find a chance to pull those two little rings out of his pocket. But now, as he listens to her heels click down the hallway, he can't bring himself to reach for them. Four offers. There are four offers. 

Maybe proposing here isn't such a good idea.

Knuckles gently knock against his forehead. 

"Hello?" Rhett chirps, "Anyone home up there?" 

Blinking, Bob picks his gaze up off the floor, can't quite recall when it dropped. "Huh?"

You and Rhett giggle, a soft noise that dances around Bob's ears in this gentle sort of fashion, probably the only reason he doesn't turn beet red on the spot. 

"We asked about your opinions on the house," you repeat, the corners of your lips wavering, fighting off the laugh that's trying to bubble out of you. "Do you still want to make an offer on it?"

He's trying to think. The sunroom by the entryway is adorable, but the garage is a two-car rather than three. Oh, but then there's the loft outside of the upstairs master bedroom. The basement has carpet that needs to be pulled up, but there's an adorable little office down there...

"Yeah." It shoots out of his mouth before he can stop it. 

Rhett's eyebrows raise. "Yeah?"

Why did he have to say that, of all things? 

"Yeah," licking his lips as he fights for words, mouth dry as the damn Sahara, "I...I still like it." 

He's just digging his own grave at this point. 

Fortunately, discussing the house seems to be more important than mulling over his unusual choice of words. Favorite points and the things you'd want to change. Rhett's fine with the two-car garage because his work truck is too dirty to go in the garage, to begin with. But you aren't a fan of the countertops in the bathrooms, finding the material tacky, and Rhett isn't so sure about the carpet in the kitchen. The basement walls are painted moss green, a few doors need to be replaced, and there's a cracked window upstairs.

But it's still the best house you've viewed in weeks.

A deep part of Bob wishes that it was the opposite. That the house was horrible, the kind of thing that sends the three of you back home, ready to find the next one. At least the feeling of disappointment would be immediate, as compared to making an offer and thrusting yourselves into darkness, unknowing of whether disappointment or excitement awaits you in the future. 

"We shoulda ate before we got here," Rhett mutters on the way back to the truck, unusually pale in the face, "'cause now 'm nervous."

Those rings couldn't be any heavier.

Proposal attempt number two doesn't come until Bob finds himself stumbling into Wabang, Wyoming. Fresh off a plane, resisting the urge to cover his ears as the announcer's voice booms through the speakers, rattling off words that he can't understand. It's a necessary evil, being in this very spot; right next to the bleachers exit, as close as you can get to where Rhett is stationed, near the chutes. 

"Is it still loud?" You're half yelling as you tilt your head up to look at him. 

And oh, he's so happy that he chose to sit in the row behind you because this is something else. Your eyes soft as you look at him from upside down, lips parted the slightest bit. All he can do is shake his head no. There's no way you'll hear him, not with his hands over your ears, reducing all of the noise to a dull mumble. 

He's not going to be able to hear out of his right ear for the rest of the night, but it's worth it for this. 

Little do you know that your future ring rests mere inches away from your head, tucked safely away in his pocket. Well, technically, it's tucked in a plastic bag inside of his pocket because it kept clanging around against Rhett's and almost got him caught. Who could have thought that rings would be so difficult to carry around?

And how the hell do some guys get away with carrying the whole damn box in their pocket? He can't even get away with hiding it in his jacket for the two hours it takes for the rodeo to end. 

"Alright, Amelia County!" The announcer yells through the speakers, "Let's hear it for last year's rodeo champion, Rhett Abbott." 

Even you can pick up on the familiar tune of your cowboy's name, head shaping back toward the chutes. If your ears weren't covered, Bob's sure they would be perked, tuned in to every little sound. 

There he is. Hands braced on either side of the railing, carefully settling onto the back of a fifteen-hundred-pound animal bred for this very event. That stubborn cowboy hat sits proudly atop his head. No helmet. No mask. Just a soft felt hat. 

One of these days, Bob's gonna get through that dumb, thick skull and convince Rhett that taking safety precautions doesn't take away your cool points. A funny-looking helmet is worth it if it protects you from a blow to the noggin. 

Today is not that day. 

Tomorrow probably isn't, either. 

But the hat is the only way to see Rhett's sharp nod of his head. Ready to go. 

Bob blinks, and then Rhett's bursting out of the chute. Right hand held high. Left clutching at the strap around the bull's chest. The animal spins to the right. Back legs still coming down as the front ones lift from the ground. Never on more than two hooves at once. Dirt kicking into the air. Sharply turns left. So abrupt that the bull himself stumbles. 

The buzzer sounds.

Rhett comes loose. 

Falling to the ground. His arms rising to protect his face. Boots scrambling for purchase on the soft arena soil. And then he's up. Stumbling backward. Away from the still bucking bull. Fighting to get the flank strap off. Twisting. Turning. 

Its back right hoof connects with Rhett's knee. 

No warning. No indication of danger. Not even a sound. And yet Bob swears he heard the snap of hoof hitting bone.

You're darting out from the bleachers in the blink of an eye. Blindly reaching behind yourself to grab ahold of Bob's wrist. Tugging him behind you with a surprising force. Shoes scuttling across the slippery stairs. Pushing through the crowd. Darting around anyone who gets in the way.

He doesn't need to ask where the two of you need to go. Injuries are common in this sport, and even more so for anyone with the name Rhett Abbott. 

One would think that the frequency of Rhett's injuries would mean a stop to the sweat beading at anxious foreheads. No more frantic beatings of the heart and bated breath as you and Bob tumble around the corner in search of the singular ambulance stationed for the event. That clasped hands wouldn't tremble, and the silence would become bearable.

But it never gets easier.

Rhett's stumbling through the dirt, his arms slung around one of his buddies, helping him walk with just one foot. Spurs chiming with every step. 

"Long time no see!" Archie—or at least who Bob thinks is Archie—yells as you and Bob make your way through the clearing, "c'n y'do me a favor 'n tell yer idiot he can't bloomin' walk?" 

Yeah, that's Archie.

"'m fine," Rhett grits through his teeth, left foot scratching at the ground as he tries to put weight on it. Searching for purchase that Archie won't let him find. "Y'don't need to worry 'bout me."

"Too fuckin' late for that, pal," Archie's not a small man by any means, but even he's struggling to keep hold of Rhett as he squirms and tries to stand on his own two feet. Stubborn to the goddamn end. 

There are so many words jammed in Bob's dry throat. Full sentences tangling and creating a knot that he can't swallow down. Silent as he darts forward and slips beneath Rhett's open, flailing arm. 

"Bobby, I said I'm—"

"I don't care," Bob's words come out a little too sharp. Bursting past the dam.

"Just until the medic takes a look at it?" Your voice floats through the air with all the softness of a cloud, unsure and wavering. "Please?" 

Stillness. 

For a moment, Bob thinks Rhett is still going to put up a fight. But whatever fight was in him seems to have fizzled out because he gives up almost immediately. Head hanging low as he allows his weight to settle onto Bob and Archie's shoulders. Has the audacity to look like a kicked puppy, big blue eyes pleading for you to let him have his way. 

But he can't hide the way that he minds his leg. Gingerly placing his weight onto it. Jaw tightening as a hot spark of pain sizzles up his nerves. But he doesn't make a damn sound. Too stubborn to voice his hurt. 

"'ve got it from here," he grunts, mere yards away from the quietly parked team of medics, already waiting for him. Bob hates that he knows most of them by name. "I said—"

"Rhett," and maybe it's the wind that causes Bob's voice to break on the vowel. Too fragile for even the slightest breeze.

Again, Rhett's quiet. Doesn't say another word as he's brought to the bench next to the ambulance and helped to sit down. There's a tear in his jeans, exposing a glimpse of dark red flesh, already beginning to turn deep shades of blue and purple. Blood stains the side, cut but not horribly so. 

Knuckles bump against Bob's shoulder. Tapping.

"Hey man," Archie's whispering, "C'n I talk t'ya for a sec?" 

It's more of a command than a request because he's already beginning to tug Bob around the side of the ambulance. His right fist clenched tight around something, looking over his shoulder as if he's expecting someone to be watching.

"Did something—"

"Y'dropped a lil' somethin'," his hand opens. Reveals a tiny, crumbled plastic bag, something shiny tucked inside.

Your ring. 

"Jesus," is the only thing he knows to say, plucking the tiny thing from Archie's palm. His other hand dives into his pocket. Breath caught in his throat until his fingertips brush against cool metal. "Thank you."

"If it helps ya," Archie's quiet as he leans closer to Bob's ear, "I used t' hide my wife's ring in my wallet." 

And so maybe tonight isn't the night for proposals, either. 

Neither is the next day. The medic says Rhett should be fine, but he's practically dragging that left foot as he tries to walk, and proposing is the last thing on Bobby's mind. Preoccupied with improved ice packs and carefully managed dosages of painkillers that never seem to even take the edge off. 

"Why're you handin' me a bag of corn?" That sleepy voice grumbles, one eye open as he turns the bag back and forth in his hand. 

"For your knee," and maybe Bob should have wrapped it in one of the hotel towels before he handed it off to Rhett. Can already hear him quietly muttering about how they're wasting perfectly good food. "It's...the coldest thing I could find." 

Neither is the day after that because Rhett may be walking, but he's not looking any better at all. Mutters that he's fine as he toes out of his pajama pants, about to take on the momentous task of taking a shower. Didn't take one yesterday, and now he's in desperate need of one. 

"Rhett..." you say, your voice still groggy with sleep, "I...something is very wrong here." 

Rhett's head lifts, curls bouncing low on the nape of his sweaty neck. "What do you mean?"

Your face twists as you bend down to get a better look. Eyebrows furrowing at the very sight of that vicious mottling of black and blue. "Your knee is twice the size of the other one." 

It'll take four hours to find out that his kneecap is fractured. 

And it'll take eight long, long weeks of rest and therapy for it to heal. Easy for some. Horrible for a cowboy who doesn't know how to spend more than a weekend in the house, too used to working outside and having a laundry list of things to do. Even worse, when that cowboy can't stand using crutches because Royal's raised him to think that accepting help is a sign of weakness. 

There's an afternoon when Bob stumbles into the hotel room, fresh off an afternoon jog, to find Rhett stuck on the floor. Fell while walking without his crutches and couldn't get himself back up.

"Why didn't you call me?" Bob finds himself blurting, doesn't remember what happened to the bags he was carrying. All he knows is he's rushing across thin, cheap carpet, fearing the worst.

Rhett's got his head leaned against the side of the chair, laid back like he's long since accepted his fate. How long has he been down here? "Wasn't that big a deal," those broad shoulders rise and fall. "It ain't like I fell down the stairs."

"And you're sure this has nothing to do with your whole 'cowboys don't need help' shtick?" Bobby would be lying if he said he wasn't contemplating making Rhett try to get up on his own just to prove a point. But he's already halfway under Rhett's arm, acting as a crutch, all but dragging him to his feet. 

"Ahh, come on," there's that weak chuckle of his, the one that comes out when he knows he's fighting a losing battle, "I could've gotten up if I wanted to."

That does nothing to stop Bob from wondering about what kind of charges he would receive if he were to tap Royal with the bumper of his truck. Going at about fifty miles an hour, of course. 

All the while, those little rings sit tucked into the corners of his wallet. Collecting dust in the back of his mind for weeks. He damn near forgets that they're in between his five and ten-dollar bills. Almost hands you his wallet one afternoon. Even accidentally pulls them out while he's fishing for some quarters to give Amy to use on the toy vending machine. 

"Is that one for Uncle Rhett?" She chirps, voice sparkling with all the wonder in the world. 

It's too late for him to hide it. She's already taking the quarters out of his palm, eyes big as saucers, unable to look away from the tiny, round piece of metal. "Would you believe me if I told you it isn't?"

Her gum snaps. "Nope." 

Bob is the last person that Cecelia expected to teach Amy how to lie. Sworn to secrecy with an ice cream cone and a lava lamp. 

He doesn't think about those rings for the next six months. 

Between the chaos of getting moved into the new house and the sudden new adjustment of having you and Rhett living with him, it falls from his thoughts. Too busy driving to Wabang with a trailer to help Rhett bring his beloved horse with him. Spends a good week trying to help you overcome your sudden spike of homesickness. 

And then there's the incident with the pipe bursting in the downstairs bathroom and a six-month deployment that couldn't come at a worse time. He stumbles in just in time for Thanksgiving, and it feels like he's still finishing his turkey dinner when Rhett starts meekly asking to buy a Christmas tree. Then comes the rush of gathering gifts and putting up decor, and in the blink of an eye, its New Year's, and now that decor needs to come back down. Then the vacation planning starts. 

All of a sudden, it's been a year and a half, and he's in Wabang again. Sitting on the back porch, fresh out of a shower, every muscle in his body aching, overworked from unfamiliar work on an even more unfamiliar pasture. Two hundred pushups for Maverick was a piece of cake compared to this hell.

"You haven't asked yet," Amy's voice cuts through the nighttime air like a knife.

He jolts, head snapping to look over his shoulder. "I'm sorry?"

She's standing by the door, a little bit taller than he remembers. Is that a scowl he spies on her sunburnt face? "You never proposed."

"We've been busy—"

"You forgot." She deadpans, lips pressed into a tight line. That must run in the family because Bob's seen that exact expression in Rhett more times than he can count. 

"I..." his eyelashes flutter, turning back to gaze off the porch into the empty darkness of Wyoming. "Something like that."

Her house shoes patter across the old wooden floor as she comes to stand next to him. For a moment, Bob's found himself wondering if she's still young enough to accept ice cream and a toy in exchange for her silence or if she's moved on to harder forms of bribery. "Are you still going to?"

"Whenever the time is right, I will," he hums. There's still a perfectly good vacation ahead of him, plenty of opportunity to find that picture-perfect moment to pop the question.

As quickly as she came, Amy's feet patter back toward the door. "Well, you'd better make it fast," the screen door squeals as she opens it, "Uncle Rhett was on his phone looking at rings during breakfast." 

And then she's gone. Disappearing into the house once more. Leaving him to soak in his thoughts, staring up at the vast night sky. So big that it seems moments away from swallowing him and the house up into the void. Stars twinkling like a tube of glitter spilled onto a black velvet blanket. So spectacular that his phone camera can never do it justice. 

The perfect kind of night. Even the ache in his neck cannot ruin such a thing.

His feet move on their own accord, carrying him into the house and up the stairs. Where did he leave his wallet last, anyway? He's pretty sure it was in the back pocket of his jeans yesterday, but he doesn't know if he remembered to take it back out or not. 

The floor squeals beneath his bare feet as he saunters past the shower and into Rhett's old bedroom. With its old, cowboy-esque decor and a brand new queen-size bed that definitely wasn't there when he helped Rhett move out. With its too-new bed frame, the matte black metal not quite matching the old wood scattered throughout the rest of the room. 

Oh. There you are. 

Curled up on the bed, back to the door, your cell phone yet to turn off, recently used. But you don't lift your head to greet him like you typically do; if anything, you hardly seem to realize he's in the room. 

What's wrong?

You don't react when he sits on the edge of the bed, eyes still closed. Completely and utterly still, even as he moves to lay behind you. His arms slipping around your waist, nose nuzzling into the back of your neck, unsure of if you're awake or blatantly ignoring him. 

Your shoulders stiffen. 

"'s just me, sweetie," Bob murmurs, pulling you closer to him until your back is flush with his chest. You're not pushing him away, so mayhaps it isn't him who's upset you. "Do you want to talk about it?"

And in the blink of an eye, those little rings are on the back burner because you're his priority, and proposals can wait for when you're feeling better. Weighing heavily in his pocket as he follows you and Rhett to Walmart in search of snacks and an air mattress that'll fit into the back of Rhett's old GMC. All to lay back and watch the stars. 

Wabang is one of those lucky little towns with little to no light pollution, and it shows. 

But he's already spent part of the night gazing up at those glittering, faraway balls of gas. As breathtaking as it all is, there's no better picture than what lies next to him. Rhett's long since fallen asleep, his head leaning against Bob's thigh, dark hair cast across his pretty face. And there you lay, curled into Rhett's side, eyelashes fluttering, mouth slack, completely and utterly relaxed. The prettiest tangle of sleepy limbs he's ever seen.

Bob's not sure he'll ever understand how he's got both of you in his life. 

Slow as not to wake either of you, he reaches into his jean pocket, unintentionally bumping his knuckles into the side of Rhett's head in the process. The cowboy doesn't so much as stir. No surprise there. 

Rhett could sleep through the end of the world. 

There they are.

Two little rings tucked into the corners of his wallet. They've left dents in the bills stored there, and could probably use a good clean, considering how improperly he's stored them. Not necessarily forgotten, but a thought burning in the back of his head during his every waking hour. 

He could ask right now. It's perfect out here.

But waking you is the last thing he wants to do, so, again, he tucks those rings into his wallet and lets them slip his mind once more. 

The Grand Tetons are the next stop on your trip, or the Grand Talons, as Bob's been calling them. A simple pronunciation mistake that he'd made during the early stages of planning that has become something he intentionally plays upon. If only to see Rhett roll his eyes and to hear you giggle. 

The cabin is smaller than it looked in the pictures, but the unusually wide bed makes up for all of that. Settled into the far corner of the forest, with a private porch and an up-close view of the Tetons. 

In the back of Rhett's mind, he's found himself wondering about how he never considered the sheer size of these mountain ranges. They've been looming in the background for as far as he can remember, visible from miles and miles away. Witness to his every waking moment spent in Wabang. 

They don't look so small when he's standing right in front of them.

"Hey cowboy," your voice rings across the trail, a little further down than he is, "you coming?"

"'m right behind ya," there's an ache in his left knee as he starts to move again, difficult to ignore as he takes step after agonizing step. Almost to the end of this trail. Almost there.

Just another fifteen minutes. He can do that.

His pocket buzzes. Phone alight with another text message from Perry. 

U seriously cant spare a few fucking days 2 help us? 

Texting one-handed has never been his forte. A barely there skill that's worsened by the stones that slip out from his unsure feet, treading over an unfamiliar, winding path. Fortunately, he's got a short response. 

Nope.

Can't wait to hear the lecture from Ma whenever she calls next. It's hard telling exactly what she'll say, but he already knows that it will be something along the lines of, "But your brother has been through so much!" 

Burning warmth blossoms in his knee, loose petals of stabbing pain drifting through his nerves. 

"Shit,"  grinding to a halt. Pawing at the side of it. Too sensitive to squeeze but unsure of what else to do. 

A big hand glides up his sweaty back, smoothing over his shoulders. "Is your knee buggin' you again?" Bobby asks, his voice quieter than the breeze that rustles through the trees. 

The pain is only there for a moment. Fading away into a distant, nagging sensation of invisible pins and needles poking at his flesh. "Will you believe me if I say no?"

"No." Blunt. Straight to the point.

A 'maybe' would have been nice.

Your shoes appear in front of him, still remarkably clean compared to his. "Maybe we shouldn't take that hike tomorrow morning," your fingertips tickle as they reach to brush a strand of hair behind his ear. 

"'m alright," his phone buzzes as he straights up, vibrating incessantly with a phone call that he doesn't plan to answer. Hesitant feet beginning to move once more. One. Two. Three baby steps. "Jus' a little slow, 's all."

The moment the call is sent to voicemail, his phone alights again. And again. And again. Stubbornly buzzing away in his pocket. Demanding to be heard. Call after call, continuing long after he's made it to the end of the trail.

"Is your phone going off?" You ask, looking over your shoulder.

"Spam call," and that's that on that. 

But unlike his phone, his knee doesn't fall quiet within the hour. Nerves quietly screaming their grievances with every goddamn step. Bugging him all throughout his shower. Doesn't bother to stop stinging when he sits down and gets off of it. 

He'd have a better experience walking barefoot over lava. 

Fortunately, he's found himself a hell of a distraction. A half-naked Bobby wandering back and forth across the cabin bedroom. Fresh out of a shower, beads of water rolling across his pale, freckled back as he searches for a very specific blanket he bought the other day. Towel hanging low around his waist, loosening each time he bends down to root through his suitcase.

"We can hold off on the picnic if it's too much stress," you offer; your eyes may be closed, but it seems you can detect Bobby's every move. "It doesn't have to be tonight."

"No, no, no, I've got it," Bob blurts, squinting. So focused that he hasn't thought to put his glasses on. "I've been planning...tonight was supposed to be special..." Falling back into those old mutterings of his, scrambling to look beneath the bed for the umpteenth time. 

Rhett's fighting the urge to reach over and yank that towel off.

All of a sudden, that wet mop of light brown hair pokes up from the edge of the bed. Blue eyes wide. "I may have left it in the truck."

Rhett's sitting up at that, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Already regretting his decision the moment he stands. "I'll go check." Purposefully leaving out the fact that he forgot to bring in the jars of homemade jam that you bought earlier. 

Is jam hot car proof? 

He's about to find out. 

There's no point in tugging on his boots; tugging on his socks would take too damn long. Heading out onto the porch barefoot is the easiest option, calloused feet thumping heavily across the old wood, uncaring of where they land. So worn and used to going without shoes that even the gravel doesn't bug him. Those sharp edges of rock are nothing compared to the stabbing sensation in his knee.

In the corner of his eye, there's movement. 

A familiar ranch truck speeding up the driveway. Tires kicking up dirt and rock in their wake.

"Shit." Pulling open the door to the backseat, he reaches in to grab the stray jars of jam perched on top of the picnic blanket Bob's been hunting for. Classic red and white plaid. 

What in the world is this picnic so special for, anyway?

"Hey," of all the voices he could be hearing right now, why does it have to be Perry's? That truck door slams. Boots marching across the driveway. "Hey." A little louder now. 

Ignore him, and he'll go away. Ignore him, and he'll go away. Ignore him, and he'll go away. 

A heavy palm strikes the side of the truck. "Rhett."

"Are you—" tossing the glass jar back onto the seat, voice tight, "what are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" Perry's shoving him with both hands. Knocking him into the side of the open door. "You've been ignorin' me all fuckin' afternoon!"

Rhett can already feel the way his jaw clenches. Teeth grit together. "'m not givin' up my vacation t'help the fuckin' ranch, Perry."

"You can't sacrifice a little vacation?" And Rhett doesn't know how many times he's heard those exact words come out of Perry's mouth this week. Repeated over and over. Like he'll up and change his mind if he's badgered enough. "Come on, Rhett, we need help."

This is ridiculous. 

"We already sacrificed a couple days," turning his attention back to the blanket. Tucking it beneath his arm. "Y'all had plenty of time t'get your shit in order." 

"What's going on out here?" Bob's stumbled out onto the porch. Has had enough time to dress himself before coming out here. Even from several feet away, Rhett can see how his eyes widen. Lashes fluttering. "Perry?" 

That should be the end of the argument. 

But it's not. 

It never is. 

"Can't you see that I'm tryin' to have a fuckin' private conversation with my brother?" Perry's tone rises. 

"Don't you start talkin' to him like that," words snapping off of Rhett's tongue. Knuckles white as he grasps this jar of jam a little too tightly. 

Up go Perry's eyebrows. The whites of his eyes wide. Rhett can already see the metaphorical steam coming out of his ears. "I'll say whatever the hell I want, Rhett."

One of the jars slips from his grasp. Hits the gravel with an unceremonious clank. Shaking the raspberry-flavored contents, but the glass never breaks. Perry beats him to picking it up. Bending down and snatching it out of his grasp. 

But he's not offering to hand it back. 

Gravel shifts as Bob steps across it, soft blue eyes flickering between both Abbott brothers. Moving slowly. Like he's approaching two tigers. Poised and ready to strike.

"I don't...I don't mean for this to come off as rude," his empty palms rise, means no harm, "but maybe you should leave."

There Perry goes. Face turning crimson. Jaw clenched so tightly that it begins to shiver. "I sure hope you ain't tellin' me what to do, four eyes." And he's surging forward.

"Perry." Rhett's barking. Reaching out. Shoving him back by his shoulders. "Cut it—"

The world explodes with red. 

Then black.

He's stumbling. A pressure screwing into the side of his head. Drilling straight into his skull. Somethings stinging at his eyes. Hot and thick. Coating his palms as he paws at his face. Can't see. Nothing but a wall of darkness that he can't claw past. His hands are fluttering. Scrambling to grab ahold of something. Anything.

Gravel sprays, audibly ricocheting off the side of the truck. Someone's swearing but he can't place the voice. Doesn't sound like Perry. But it doesn't sound like you either. 

Something collides with his jaw. 

Teeth crashing together. Metallic fluid filling his mouth. Thick. Warm. Ears ringing with the wail of a dull siren. 

"Rhett!" That's not the same voice from before. 

Hands appear on his face. Gripping his jaw. Forcing him still as something rough rubs against his eyes. Fuck, that stings. Tiny teeth bite into the left side of his head. Tearing at his skin. He's pulling back. Squirming away. But that hand on his jaw has an iron grip that he can't wriggle out of.

A car horn blares. 

Light burns at his retinas as they burst open. Flickering weakly, unable to keep them open for longer than a second at a time. Opening and closing involuntarily. Red and wipe cloth dabs at his cheek. Soaking up a bright crimson liquid that he can't place.

"Rhett," you repeat, a little louder now. How long have you been in front of him? "Rhett!"

"What?" He'd say you're being too loud, but his own voice is too much for his ears to handle. 

Behind your head, he thinks he can see Perry's truck disappearing down the driveway. Cascaded behind a plume of black smoke billowing out of the tailpipe. What's he in such a hurry for?

"What happened?" He breathes; Bob's several yards away, his gaze trained on those clouds of black. That same shade of red waterfalls from his pale, trembling arms. Dripping from his fingertips. Looks something like lightning flickering across the sky. "Why's he bleedin'?"

Your lips don't move. Not a word leaving your mouth. 

"Bobby?" Raising his voice louder, pushing forward. 

Your hands are on his shoulders, pushing back, saying something about needing to stay still, but he can't hear it. Doesn't recall falling, but he's crawling to his feet. Legs swaying. Red clouding his left eye. Stinging again. Won't go away, even as he tries to wipe it away. Pouring from a cut that he doesn't remember acquiring. 

Bob twists, looking over his shoulder and—

"What happened?" Rhett tries again. Why's the right side of Bobby's jaw cut open? Where did that gash trailing down the side of his neck come from? But nobody's answering. You're silent. Bobby's not talking. Can't hear him. "What happened?" Saying it louder. Words shivering. 

"Rhett," it's the only thing you can say. Why is that the only thing you can say? 

"What?" Voice cracking. "Why won't—why won't y'say anythin'?"

Your mouth opens and closes like a goldfish. Fighting for words. For an explanation of something that you don't truly know yourself. "I don't know."

Gravel crunches as Bob steps closer. Slow. Deliberate. Like he's walking across shards of glass that can cut through his boots at any time. His hands raise. Bloody palms curling around Rhett's equally bloody, sticky cheeks.

"Perry hit you in the head with the jar," he whispers after a moment. Because speaking too loud might break something.  

But that doesn't follow. No. No, Rhett would remember if he was hit in the head with a jar. The jar wasn't even that big—

but his face is sticky. 

"But...but..." There's a cloud that's settled in the forefront of his mind. Clogging up his thoughts. Separating words so far apart that he can't seem to string them into a sentence. "But...you?"

"I..." Bob's gaze falls off to the side. Fixating on something past Rhett's shoulder. "He got me with a shard of glass, is all."

But he's missing a triangular chunk of flesh along his jaw. Leading down through the gash in his neck, ending just above his collarbone. White shirt ripped and stained with red. 

Can glass do that?

He can't seem to look away from it. Following even as you cart him and Bob off to the emergency room, won't take no for an answer. 

"You both need stitches," you insist, Bob's truck keys jingling in your hand. Rhett's mouth opens. He knows how to give stitches. Has been doing them on himself for half his damn life. "And you're not giving homemade ones, cowboy." 

He'd pout if his face didn't hurt so damn bad. 

And so what if he does ultimately need a handful of stitches? Nurses fuss over him, dragging him into a separate room from Bobby because of some dumb protocol. Cleaning his face with a fluid that smells like cheap vodka and burns like a goddamn branding iron. He sits there for a damn century before they turn him loose. 

By turning him loose, the nurse is only moving him to a different area, but he can hardly pay attention to her. Because Bobby is sitting in a lone chair, the side of his neck freshly closed up, looking down at something in his palm.

"Mr. Abbott," this poor nurse has been repeating herself for who knows how long, but this is the first time Rhett's heard her. "Please." 

Bob's head snaps up, shoving something into his pocket. His lips curling at the sight of this half-stunned cowboy standing in the middle of the hallway like a fool. "Baby, please don't give her a hard time." 

"But I—"

Soft hands are tugging on Rhett's bicep. Pulling him along. And he doesn't know where you came from, but you're here now. "Come on," your voice the lightest it's been all afternoon, "we'll come with you." 

What was the shiny thing that Bobby was holding?

 If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Even if your every attempt is thwarted moment before you can put your plan into action. 

Or...something like that. 

The picnic blanket may be blood-stained, and the restaurant Bob was planning to order food from may be closed for the rest of the week, but that's okay. He's crafty. Plans are meant to be deviated from.

And so what if you're still in the shower, and Rhett's half asleep on the bed? Proposals don't take that long. Yeah. This'll work. If he can just find where he put his damn wallet...

"I want your dick in my mouth."

"I'm sorry?"  Did he hear that right? 

Rhett's eyes are still closed. Brown locks fanned out beneath his head, forming a loose halo. Face as peaceful as it has ever been, like he's perfectly asleep. "I said," those thin lips wrapping around his words, "I want your dick in my mouth."

And maybe Bob's not hearing things because Rhett's eyes flutter open, head tilting to look at him. Expectant. Looks something like a spoiled prince waiting to get what he wants. 

"Funny." Shit, what was Bob looking for again? A towel? Socks? Yeah, where are his socks? They were just in his hand a minute ago. Where did he put—

they're on his feet.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Rhett sitting up. Hair falling into his face, concealing the scattering of thin cuts that surround his left temple. From here, they almost look like his only injury. 

It would be easier if Rhett threw a verbal fit. Whining and fussing until he gets what he wants. Because at least that would be easy to understand, not quite as heart-stopping as the sight of him silently standing, slowly treading across the floor. Have his shoulders always looked so broad? Biceps straining against the thin, tight confines of his t-shirt. 

Bob's T-shirt. Actually. Some dark-gray, beat-up thing from his early days in the Navy.

Tips of noses bump into each other. So close that it's hard to see the chunk of flesh missing from the corner of Rhett's left eye. Wound still so new that it's hard to tell if it will scar or not. 

Lips brush. Timidly pressing into a fleeting peck. Like too much contact will break this unspoken silence. Rhett's mouth is bitten and chapped, but it's so, so soft. Molding against Bobby's like silk. 

Knees hit the floor. Deep thunk bouncing off the walls. 

"Rhett..." Bob's uttering beneath his breath. Fuck, it's hard to think, with Rhett rubbing his cheek up against his thigh, ocean blue gaze peering up through thick lashes. Downright shameless in how his big, burning palm rises to rub at the growing tent in Bob's jeans. "Did you...did you get into somethin' again?" 

Rhett looks pretty damn lucid. Thumbing open his button and pulling down the zipper, smiling to himself all the while. Downright pleased with himself. 

Something thunks in the shower. Sounds like you've accidentally knocked over a bottle of body wash again. How long have you been in there, anyway?

Thick fingers twist through the front of his boxers, wrapping around his half-hard length without ceremony. Pulling him out into the cool cabin air, lightly thumbing at his tip. Dry. Never has been the type to drip all that much.

But that's alright because that short, pink tongue of Rhett's is poking out. Eager to let Bob's plush head rest against it like a damn welcome mat. Burning hot breath fanning out against him. 

Rhett's hand loosely strokes him. Can't do much more without some form of lubricant. "You're still soft," he complains as if anyone can possibly go from soft to hard within the blink of a damn eye. 

"'Cause you sprung on me in under a minute, sugar," Bob's fingers run through those dark strands, diligently avoiding the three-inch-long wound hidden beneath. "Gonna have to give me a minute." 

It goes in one ear and out the other. 

And it's hard to keep talking because Rhett's opening his mouth, wrapping those thin lips around his tip. So pleased with himself that he hums, the sound vibrating all the way up Bob's spine. It hasn't been more than two weeks since he last felt Rhett sink down his cock, taking him in bit by bit, but his thighs quiver like it's the first time all over again.  

"Don't..." his chest is already heaving. Seeking a breath he can't find. "Don't push yourself."

That pretty little mouth smiles. Rhett's watery eyes closing as he finds his favorite rhythm. Tongue stroking the underside, cheeks hollowed. So delighted to have his way that he doesn't complain when Bob collects his hair into a loose ponytail, gripping it tight. But having his mouth busy doesn't mean that he's not done. 

Hands wander. One loosely stroking the few inches he can't get to yet, the other falling between his own legs. Pressing the heel of his palm into his groin. Hips kicking up into his own touch. 

Bob might faint. 

Head seconds away from spinning off of his shoulders. Vision blurring, even with his glasses perched high on his nose. "Fuck, just like that."

That gets Rhett sinking a little deeper. Silky, hot throat rubbing against that sensitive tip, no longer needs to use his hand to stroke the little bit that he can't suck into his mouth. Instead reaching past layers of clothing to massage his balls. Knows just how to fucking do it. Touch firm but giving. Shit, shit, shit.

"'m gonna cum." Too quick. Too quick. Too quick. "Rhett. Rhett, wait—"

Hinges squeal. Bathroom door opening. 

There you are. Stepping out in nothing but a towel, reaching for the neatly folded clothes that you forgot to bring in with you. Skin still damp, little beads of water rolling down your arms. It's dark, but the bobbing of Rhett's head grabs your attention, sleepy eyes darting. 

You're lips break into a smile. "I leave you two for fifteen minutes, and this is what you get into."

Rhett sucks hard and pulls off with a loud, wet 'pop.' Spit-slicked lips shining in the poor lighting. Silent as he peers over his shoulder. 

A part of you wishes that you'd stayed quiet and enjoyed the show because there's something about watching Bob's head roll back and forth against the wall that has a heat pooling between your legs. Heat that you're too tired to be tending to. 

Rhett looks like he's about to eat you alive. 

"Don't you look at me like that," your voice rising, "Rhett...!"

You must fall asleep standing up because the next time you open your eyes, you're across the room. Chest against the mattress, cheek resting against your lazily folded arms. Bob's shaky palms smooth down your shoulders, angrily flushed cock resting against his thigh. Too heavy to stand on its own. 

The slick head of Rhett's cock slides between your thighs, dripping head nudging into your sensitive clit. Slow thrusts that push against your entrance before drifting past. Don't know where Rhett found the lube or where your towel went, but you can't bring yourself to voice any complaints. Tongue too tired to lift itself.

But your hips are squirming on their own accord. Pushing back against him with all the energy you have left. 

"Didn't" your thoughts are spinning in a whirlpool, reaching up to rake your nails up Bob's meaty thigh, "didn't you have...something planned?"

His cock twitches before you can even get to it. "I did...at some point." 

Rhett chuckles. The first noise you've heard him make. "Oops." Still so preoccupied with the way his cock slips between your folds, each stroke teasing the idea of pushing into you but never following through. Pressure blooming, only to fade away. 

Until you push back against him. Blunt head slipping inside without warning. 

A gasp pierces the air. 

Did you make that noise? Did Rhett? Or was it Bob? 

Calloused hands wrap around your hips, holding you still as he gingerly fucks into you. Just the tip. Lazy ins and outs that sink a little further in each time. Pushing air from your lungs on every push. Rubbing just shy of your g-spot, neglected and untouched. So unlike his usual routine that you don't know what's coming next. Your thighs tremble, feeling him push a little further, earnest now. 

"Come on, darlin'," there's that deep drawl you've been missing, "give me your pussy." 

Bob's palm slides down your back, smoothing down to your ass. Don't realize you've been clenching until your muscles are relaxing, letting Rhett properly push into you. Inch by slow, careful inch, splitting you open. Your lips part, openly panting into the bed sheets. It's been so long since you felt his hips come flush against yours, heavy balls resting against you. Stretching you so wide that your pussy aches.

"There y'go," Rhett's fingertips swirl against your shivering thighs, "so good for me."

Your hand rises, wrapping loosely around Bob's forgotten cock. He jolts. 

"Careful, careful," he rushes, "sensitive."

Behind you, Rhett's not moving. Holding himself there, letting you adjust to the feeling of him inside of you. But God, you don't think you're ever gonna get used to this. Even if you do have the sweet sound of Bobby's labored breaths to distract you. Panting to the high heavens, all from the slow stroke of your fist along his length.

On their own, Rhett's hips writhe. Moving backward by an inch, pushing back in just as slowly. Once. Twice. Testing. "'s this okay?" 

Your head nods. "Uhuh."

Hands tighten around your hips, holding you still as he draws out of you halfway. Doesn't let you squirm away when he abruptly pushes back in, balls smacking against your cunt. Dragging against the sensitive nerves along your walls, hitting them without effort. Bounces your hand around Bobby's dick. 

"That's it," Rhett's grunting, repeating it. Doesn't let you meet him halfway. Forced to stay still and take what he has to give you. "Jerk 'em off while I ruin this pretty pussy of yours, baby."

You're trying to talk, babble whatever nonsense rests on your tongue, but you can't speak. Nothing but whimpers punched out of your throat, sounds dancing with the lewd wetness squelching between your thighs. Hand struggling to stroke Robby, grip fluttering, jerky. Too light to get him off, but it pulls a gasp out of him anyway.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, did Rhett just twitch in you?

Your cheek presses into the mattress, free hand clawing at the sheets. Rhett's finding his pace, bouncing you up against the bed with a heavy thrust that he puts his weight into. Dizzying sound of skin meeting skin, bouncing off the walls.

The hands on your hips are the only things keeping you standing, knees wobbly, knocking into each other. Rhett's fat cock head dragging against your walls. Right up against that little bundle of nerves, over and over and over. Gives you no chance to recover before he's massaging against it again. 

"Jesus," Bobby's hand is swiping over your lips, wiping away a string of drool, "look at you."

Someone's doused you in gasoline and lit a match. Sweaty skin burning, back arching as you try to rise and meet each heavy thrust into your dripping pussy. Keening high in your throat, fluttering around Rhett's cock. Arm jerking without rhythm, stroking Bob as best as you can. 

"Hold on, baby," His hand covers yours entirely, loosely guiding it up and down. Helping rather than batting you away completely. A shaky breath bursting past his lips. 

Rhett's letting go of your hips, firm, sweaty chest settling against your back. Cheek resting against your shoulder as one of his palms brace his weight next to your head, thick bicep flexing. 

Now you can hear him. Soft, pitchy noises falling out of his mouth, the sounds kissing your ears. Nowhere near as loud as the whine that soars out of Bobby's throat, his hips jerking up into your hand.

"No, no," Rhett coos into your ear, just loud enough for Bob to hear him. "Don't let him cum." 

But he doesn't stop you. Instead reaching down between your legs, calloused fingertips pressing to your clit. Forgotten up until now. Throbbing, heat pooling as those fingers begin to swirl in tune with his thrusts. 

Your hand falls off Bob's cock. Clutching at the sheets. 

"Hang on, doll," Rhett gasps, like you have a choice in the matter. 

Your legs spasming beneath you as he rams into that soft spot inside your pussy over and over and over. Rubbing over your clit. So much happening at once that you can't focus on a damn thing. Skin ablaze. Prickling. Embers of something more heating to life in your lower belly.

"'m gonna cum," he warns, "come on baby, come with me—fuck."

His hips stall. Slamming into yours. Cock twitching, heat filling you as his orgasm rolls through his sweaty body. Filling you up until you're certain that you can feel it beginning to leak out of you already. His fingers are still working your clit. Tremoring, feather-light one moment and pressing roughly the next. Spiraling and spiraling and spiraling. 

"Sen—" he's whimpering into your ear, "sensitive."

Your eyes may be closed, but you can feel them go unfocused. Body going taut. Stone still as you clamp down around him, head spinning like a top. Muscles beginning to shiver. Babbling someone's name, but you don't know who's.

Just past your head, Rhett reaches over, wrapping his hand around Bob's flushed length. Stroking roughly like he's only got a few seconds to spare. Working up and down, a damn blur that your sleepy eyes can hardly keep up with.

All of a sudden, Bob's hips snap upward. Cumming with a silent cry. Ropes of white painting Rhett's slowing hand, some spiking up to hit Bob's own chest. Staining his t-shirt. 

You think you might fall asleep right here and now.

"Christ," Bob shudders from head to toe, batting Rhett's teasing hand away from his spent length. 

With nothing to occupy himself with, Rhett rests against your backside. Weight teetering against yours, threatening to send both of you crumbling to the floor at any moment. "'re we still..." his labored breath tickles your neck, "we still doin' somethin' t'night?"

And that is a resounding fucking, no.

You don't think you could move, even if you wanted to. Legs anchored to the ground by invisible weights, numb. Can hardly feel Rhett pulling his softening cock out of you, cum already beginning to run down the inside of your leg. 

Gingerly, he guides you forward, urging you to settle up on the bed. Your back aching as you finally, finally change positions, head settling into Bob's warm, open lap. His jeans may be rough against your cheek, but his thigh is the perfect pillow. 

"We need to clean up before we go gettin' comfortable," Bob says through a yawn, "and I need to find my wallet."

Rhett's clearly heard what Bob said, but he's curling up next you anyway. Sweaty forehead pressing against your shoulder. "You've been looking for your wallet a lot lately."

"Because my money is in it, dummy."

"Are you sure you don't want a blueberry jam biscuit?" You singsong, holding your half of the treat out for him to take.

"Absolutely fuckin' not." It looks good, but Rhett can smell the raspberry flavoring just by looking at it.

He's never going to fully scrub this damn scent out of his hair.

But Robert Floyd is a menace to society whose love for food cannot be deterred. Wiggling fingers reaching out. He doesn't speak, but you can hear his silent, "I'll eat it!" loud and clear.

Your arm strains as you reach to place the biscuit into Bob's eager palm. Crumbs falling onto the bed of the truck as he bites into it. So pleased that his eyes close.

"I don't care what you say," Bob's speaking with his mouthful; you haven't a doubt in your mind that he's doing his utmost best to drive your cowboy up the wall. "It still tastes as good as before."

"Try havin' it stuck in your hair," Rhett scowls. Dramatically tilting his hat to block Bobby out of his sight. Hiding away the mottling of thin pink scars that have begun to settle into his face. Some may fade with time, but you're not so sure about the chunk of flesh missing from the corner of his eye. 

Your legs swing. Dangling off the edge of the truck bed, lifted even further by the trailer that Rhett's truck is parked on. Probably not the best place for a picnic. Certainly not what you had envisioned when Bob originally suggested it, but it works. 

Rhett's hand darts out, stealing a singular strawberry from Bob's plate. "This place sure doesn't look the same when it's empty."

A part of you thinks to argue that the same can be said for any area, but you get what he means. The only time you've ever seen these festival grounds has been when they're packed with booths, tents, and people. Have been here so many times now, but even so, you don't think you can identify the spot where you met them. Where Rhett accidentally ran into you, and Bob hunted you down to return the wallet you'd lost. 

"Maybe it'll look more familiar if we walk through it," you suggest, as if you're wearing the right shoes for such a thing. But they seem to think that's a great idea. Shoes hitting the ground without a word. 

There's a soreness in your legs as you follow suit. Cramped from two days' worth of driving and being packed into Bob's truck. Even for a modern, comfortable vehicle, it's clearly not designed for trips longer than a few hours.

Next time, a rental car is being added to the trip budget.

Bob lags behind you all the way, his hands shoved into his pockets as he ambles along. Gazing off at the treeline, pale face glowing with the golden sunset. Up in his own head again, like he has been all afternoon. Exhausted from driving, you suppose.

There's a small paved area in the center of the field, and you don't recall exactly where, but you know that you sat down for a drink with Rhett around here. Left your wallet sitting on the bench, head filled with thoughts of a wild-eyed cowboy and nothing else.

"If I run into you again, will you get another drink with me?" Rhett chirps, bumping his shoulder against yours. 

"Unfortunately, that was a one-time deal," the answer is yes, but you'd rather not be knocked over again. It's hard to forget the way your bones rattled when you hit the ground. Funny how that all worked out in the end. 

Your memory of that day so vivid that you don't notice what Bob is doing. So distracted by recollections of Bob and Rhett laughing as they found their odd similarities that you don't see the way Robert Floyd is settling down onto one knee. Fishing through his pocket, producing two little rings. Glinting in the light, his hands shaking like leaves in the autumn breeze. His tongue heavy as he searches for the words he's been rehearsing for so, so long.

Like leaves, the rings fall. 

Chiming as they bounce off the pavement, rolling away like it's what they've been waiting to do all of this time. One shoots off between Rhett's legs, bouncing off of his shoe. The other rolls even further, not stopping until gravity takes hold, falling onto its side.

You don't know what you're looking at. 

Did a ring just roll up and set itself down in front of you?

Rhett bends down, picking up the ring resting between his feet. Rolls it between his fingers, shiny and new, looks the perfect size to fit around his finger. And as you reach to scoop up the one that's fallen before your feet, you catch glimpse of something. 

Bob. 

Down on one knee. Reddened face hidden behind one of his trembling hands, reluctantly looking back at the two of you. "I promise I...I had something I was gonna say first, but—but I uh..."

Next to you, Rhett sucks in a breath. 

You can feel yourself doing much of the same. Twisting the little ring over your finger. 

It fits like a glove. 

"Will..." Bob's hand falls from his face, revealing an equally shivering jaw, "Will you marry me?"

Time just about stops. Breeze no longer rustling through the trees. Orange and red sun pausing, peeking over the horizon. 

Is it you who utters a soft "yes," or is it a whispering of the wind?

But Rhett is silent, still rolling that ring between his thumb and forefinger. Doesn't react as Bob approaches, too fixated on what he holds, to look up and acknowledge what's going on around him. His eyes flicker up. Glittering gaze settling on you, then moving over to Bobby. 

He smiles.

And that's enough. 

"Yeah?" Bobby's laugh soars through the evening air, and the world begins to turn again. "You not gonna give me an answer, cowboy?" 

Rhett can't speak. Struggling to get past a single syllable, as you reach out and nudge the ring down his finger. You've never seen him wear a ring before now. Yet, you can't remember what his hand looked like without one. 

Foreheads knock together as Bob pulls you both in. Squeezing tight, uncaring of how awkwardly the three of you knock into one another. A pile of limbs and racing hearts that mesh together like puzzle pieces. A little tattered on the ends, some missing bigger pieces than others, but fitting together anyway. 

Rhett's nudging his scarred cheek against yours, rubbing three days worth of unshaven scruff against your soft skin, "'s this why y'keep tryin' to take us on picnics?" 

Bob groans. This loud, guttural noise that devolves into a breathless chuckle, "Oh, you have no idea." 

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Sunflower: Book 1 (Complete)

Tom Hiddleston x ofc (Mia) Overall Rating:  Mature with explicit smut at later chapters. Series warnings:  Sexual content, drinking

(Note: Book 2 tentatively posting in late Oct.)

Summary: Las Vegas drew in people like him. Heart broken, lonely and rejected while his ex married someone else. Here he could be anyone though, flying under the radar of his skyrocketing fame. Las Vegas was home to people like her. Lonely, broke and with the weight of the world on her shoulders. There was never enough of anything except stress. She was one of the countless faces that lived in the shadow of the glittering lights. Two worlds collide in a drunken night neither can remember. What do you do when what happens in Vegas is a legally binding marriage contract between two strangers?

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, Bonus: Wedding night part 1, part 2

Sleepy Mornings (One Shot)

Tom Hiddleston x Shy!Reader Rated: PG13

Requested: Heyy, If you Take requests, Could i request a Tom hiddleston x shy reader. Them Waking Up together and cuddling and Kissing so basically fluffy?

Offering and Taking: Merdicking

Pairing: MerTom Hiddles x OFC Rated: Adult Warnings: Noncon, dubcon, kidnapping, Merdicks (Tom and his Merpeen both), crisis of faith, dark waters, fluids, algae covered rocks

Summary: Salena, with no ability to fight the merman who’s eye she had caught is forced to go with him. Torn between wanting to live and wanting to accept death, between fighting to remain pure or to experience the earthly pleasures of the flesh, she finds herself in a cave lit by glowing plants of the likes she’d never seen. For better or worse, she doesn’t have to make any decisions herself for he knows exactly what he wants to experience.

The offering, The taking, The keeping

Extra Credit (On Shot)

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC Amanda Miyers Rating: Adult

Content Warnings: A professor Student sexual relationship is not moral or ethical in reality. Due to the power the professor has over their student, they cannot truly consent or not consent freely. The consent in this fic is extremely murky at best. Should you find yourself manipulated into a relationship with your professor, know that this is morally and ethically wrong and you are the victim of abuse. Story contains oral sex with male receiving, rough penis in vagina sex, degradation, manipulation, public classroom sex, cream pies, unprotected sex, mention of Plan B. Please read with caution.

Summary: Amanda Miyers is on a mission to complete University in America with as little debt as possible. To do so, she must pass every class and that includes the imposing Professor Hiddleston's class. When she is sure that she'll not be able to manage that, she's forced to ask for another chance at the exam or enough extra credit to pass. Her idea of extra credit and his idea of extra credit are two very different things.

Finding Bobby (requested) One Shot

Paring: Tom x unnamed ofc- first person story Rating: Everyone, Warnings: None?

Request:  In honor of dear bobby's birthday could you write a fic about reader and tom finding or adopting him as a puppy please?? Love you ❤

Camping (One shot) 

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC Rated: PG13

Summary:  When Mary catches word that Tom had never been camping it was decided that she had to fix that. What could go wrong?

The Things you find (In the rain) *complete*

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Maggie) Rating: M for light sexual content, nothing explicit warnings: Cheating, unhealthy relationships, excessive drinking, 

Summary:  Maggie and Evan had just married and were honeymooning in London. He was a difficult man but Maggie was a kind and forgiving soul. She loved him with all she was and when that is thrown away, not even 72 hours after they said their ‘I Do’s, what’s a girl to do? Except perhaps hit up ever bar her feet can take her to while the night sky opens up above her. When Tom’s out walking Bobby in the rain, he’s thankful. It’s true that beast will come into the house muddy and wet. He’ll even likely make a mess. But in the rain, even fewer were out this time of night and he was allowed the simple peace of walking around the park like any other man. In the rain no one expected him to take pictures with them. No one expected him to sign anything. In the rain, no one expected anything of him. 

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4

Fanfic of the fanfic? Hell yes:  Day After The Rain- by @just-the-hiddles is a amazing, wonderful and hilarious story about Luke’s reaction to the events of Rain. Worth the read. It’s my new favorite thing. *warning* do not read while drinking/eating- this fic is a choking hazard.

Spring Showers One Shot 

A short follow up on Maggie and Tom. How do they hold up after a few months?

Lilith (One Shot)

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Demon ofc (lilith) Rating: M Warnings: Dub con, Sex, Oral, slight public masturbation.

Summary:  Thanks to a director with a misguided love for authenticity Tom experiences some unique side effects and a special visitor waiting for him at home

I’m Back (One Shot) *follow up to Lilith*

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Demon ofc (lilith) Rating: M Warnings: Dub con, Sex, Oral, slight public masturbation, rough oral sex (M receiving)

Clueless *Completed*

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x ofc (Sofya) Rating: T

Summery: Sofya was a perfectly plain woman living a perfectly average life in small town Arizona. She went to work, came home and repeated the process the next day. She dated average men who found her to be too plain and always left. Nothing remarkable every happened to her. When a tall British man named Tom walked into her life- or perhaps it’s better to say when she walked into his, spilling coffee all over them both in the process- her lack of experience with anything beyond plain and average left her clueless as to what was coming. Could Sofya ever be something more than perfectly plain to someone?

Chapters: Coffee, preparations, Hiking, Conventions, Whiskey

Of Mermaids and Fairy Tails  (Mermaid Series Part 1) One shot

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OC   Rated: G Warnings: Free diving can be a dangerous sport, please swim responsibly.  

Summery: Tom, Chris and Chris’ children are traveling, giving mom a break. In an effort to entertain the children, they visit a Mermaid show and it’s hard to say who’s more mesmerized by the mermaid, the children or Tom.

The Mermaid and The Prince (Mermaid Series Part 2) One Shot

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x ofc Rated: G

Summery: Rose and Tom had a few great dates and then, poof, he was off to live his life. If not for the friendly texting, it would be like he was never by her side at all. Yet the memory of his kiss still burns and Rose holds hope of seeing him again, of touching him again. He promised to return to her side and she believed him. But when she finds pictures of him with another woman, doubts creep in. He never said he was hers.

A Mermaid On Holiday (Mermaid Series part 3)

Pairing: Tom hiddleston x ofc (Rose) Rated: M Warnings: Non explicate sexual activity

Summery: Rose has no plans for Christmas and is content to laze around her apartment enjoying the three week break from work that was forced upon her. Tom found himself trying to pick between spending the holiday with Rose in the USA or traveling back home to Britain where he could spend it with his family. With his heart torn between two places and the advise of his Mum in his ear Tom had made his decision. He’d have his cake and get to eat it too. Rose, pack your tail. This Mermaid is going on holiday.  

Chapter: Part one, Part two

The Gift He Didn't Know He Needed *One shot Holiday fic*

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC Rated: M Warnings: Just some insinuated smut, drinking and hey- if you’re going out in below freezing weather please bring the correct gear even if you don’t plan to spend time outside.

Summery: Being newly single during the holiday season was a drag under the best of circumstances. Spending the holidays far from him and surrounded by happy families made it sting even more. In an effort to hide from the pain, Tom thought it a good idea to book himself a cabin away from town to wallow in his misery. Unfortunately, bad directions and even worse luck aligned and he found himself lost on a mountain during a blizzard. Woefully unprepared for the arctic weather, the world set about turning him into a true frost giant when the engine cut off and refused to return to life. With no cell phone signal, Tom was lost as to what to do about his situation until a truck rolled to a stop and his salvation stepped out into a flurry of snow.

Thirsty Tweets *One Shot*

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC Monica Rating: PG13 Warnings: sexual tweets

Summary: Tom and Monica visit Neil's late night talk show to promote their new movie 'Before Dawn' and get roped into playing Neil's favorite game- "Thirsty Tweets". When Monica finds the tweets she must read uncomfortably sexual she makes do the best she can in the name of being a professional. It wouldn't do to appear to be more because Tom most diffidently doesn't see her that way, right? What happens when its Tom's turn to read the tweets about her?

Too Late? *one shot w/ pick your ending*

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x reader Rating: G

Note- this is a pick your ending story. Happy or Sad- the ending is up to you.

Summary: While waiting at home for the man you love to return to you the internet serves up pictures that sting and cause all the doubt hidden in your heart to flair to life. When Tom returns home and can’t provide a answer good enough for you, you leave with nothing for the airport. Can Tom change your mind and convince you to stay or is it too late?

[yaatrickyassification]

Kill The Prince!

[Scaramouche/Wanderer x Fem! Reader]

Synopsis: Task on taking the 6th Prince’s head back on a golden platter to the rebellion forces, you set foot in the land of the cold and barren nation Snezhnaya. As forces collide and destinies are made, it seems that you have taken his heart instead of his head.

TW: Grammar, not proofread

Word count: 1972

〈〈═════»❣❤❣«═════〉〉

The cold made you shiver in your cushion seat as the simple but elegant carriage took you up to the mountain hill where the Zapolyarny Palace stood tall and proud. The palace which was usually cold and unwelcoming now glitters with lights made from the elements of the world, as the carriage passes through the floating string of lights in the entrance. Your eyes make the sight of Anemo, Geo, Electro, Dendro, and many more. It must have been the gifts of the esteemed rulers from every nation, you thought.

You step out of the carriage with light steps, trained as you were in masking your presence. You can’t exactly stay quiet with the purple heels clicking and clacking every step you take, the off-shoulder purple dress that’s designed with flowers sways from left to right as you make your way up the stairs and into the palace. The long dress stays true to its purpose of covering the daggers placed on your ankles.

The celebration was in full swing, as the palace doors opened welcoming you in its otherworldly presence. Even though your goal was to kill, it isn’t too much of a distraction to the mission if you just stop for a minute and take in the fantastic structure of the palace, this wasn’t the first time you have come to the palace. But there was a difference between seeing it on the inside, of course, all you’ve ever done before coming to this party was survey the area and observe the rotation of palace guards that will take the watch at night.

As you make your way through the ballroom and to the buffet section, you watch with a stoic expression as nobles from all nations frolic around the ballroom, your [h/l] [h/c] perfectly masked the disgusted expression slowly overtaking your features. Everyone in this ballroom knows how Snezhnaya rules their land at the hand of its Empress and her 11 children.

They don’t rule with warmth and comfort like blankets made for enduring the winter night, they rule with iron fists and stormy blizzards. Taking up their nation by its neck and squeezing for all its worth, villages were left with no money and crops due to the long winter nights and the high taxes, and children and parents were left to starve. With every protest to the Tsaritsa to control the weather and bring the sunlight back again, the snow seems to worsen leaving all protesters to shut their mouths and stay all day long in their cabins.

You glance at the grandfather’s clock situated on the right side of the ballroom, it’s almost time for their arrival and it also means that you need to act fast with what you’re doing. The plan was simple, as the clock strikes midnight the Empress will raise a toast, a cup filled with red wine, and a small piece of bread. The poison was in the wine and the antidote was the bread, you have heard that the 6th Prince has refused to eat the bread every time the ceremony took place. Without the antidote, the prince will die. But if things go south, a push in the right direction will do the trick. You glance at the dagger that was skillfully hidden beneath your dress.

You might ask, why the 6th Prince? Not the crown prince Pierro who’s next in line for the throne? Well, it is said that the 6th Prince was a gift from the mighty ruler of Inazuma, and look how things are going inside the castle (thanks to your informant) the Tsaritsa has bestowed power unto the 6th Prince, the power that was normally gifted to the next heir on the throne. And together with the support from the nation of eternity and the newly bestowed power from the Empress, it was no-brainer that there is a possibility of the 6th Prince becoming the next emperor.

Unfortunately, rumors of the 6th Prince’s tyranny spread through the land, and it spurred the little terrified hearts of poor civilians. Willing the rebellion forces that have kept quiet for five years finally move and tonight will be the setting stone for a civil war that may last for years.

The trumpet made a sound and the doors to the palace opened, the Tsaritsa walked through the red carpet and lay straight on the floor. Your ears picked up sounds of shock gasps and breathy mumbles of gossip through every noble present in the room, of course, they couldn’t let their mouths stay shut when the 6th Prince Scaramouche was walking side-by-side with the Tsaritsa while the crown prince was left behind together with his siblings.

As the murmurs and whispers fade into the background your [e/c] orbs made contact with the 6th Prince’s and you let out a small whisper of amazement, the prince’s eyes were purple mixed with lighter shades of blue, and for a moment you can see a small strike of lightning in his mesmerizing eyes before it vanished as quickly it appeared.

11:55 PM

The Tsaritsa gathers everyone into a circle before raising her hand in the air, a golden cup filled with red blood wine and white bread in her other hand. You glance around before making contact with your other accomplice that was assigned in the kitchens, she gives a small nod signaling that the deed was done.

11:56 PM

You glance at the side of the Tsaritsa expecting to see the 6th Prince raising his cup, but the place beside the Empress was empty.

11:57 PM

You hurriedly look around everywhere as you scope the surroundings trying to find any man of short height, with purple hair, and striking mesmerizing eyes. In the corner of your eyes, you spotted a white coat making its way to the royal gardens. It has to be him.

You run with your heels making noise but the loudness of the cheers for the Tsaritsa drowns it out, you made your way to the gardens and came upon the man standing beneath the white moonlight basking in the light that the moon gives. As if sensing your presence, the man’s relaxed facial expression turned furrowed as his eyes opened revealing his intense stare that settles down deep into your bones.

11:58 PM

“Who are you?” His voice was cold and it battled the stormy blizzards that Snezhnaya has, you inhaled as you felt your muscles contract at his deathly stare. Your limbs froze due not to the cold but to his menacing aura that he is giving out in waves, you bite your tongue so hard that it drew blood as you crossed your legs and gave a shaky curtsy. “Your Highness, I apologize for intruding on your time, then I shall excuse myself.” You were no match for him, it was the bitter truth, you can’t take him down now when you’re not fully prepared.

You stop in your tracks as the wind behind you picks up, and you can feel small currents of electricity stinging your skin. You turned to face the prince with a shaky but polite smile on your face. “I said, who are you? If you turn your back to me once more, I will behead you.” This wasn’t going well.

“I am [Y/n] Sokolov, your highness.”

“I have never heard of any Sokolovs in the empire.” You smiled.

“That is because we have just moved to Snezhnaya, Your Royal Highness. You see my father is a merchant—”

“I didn’t ask for your pathetic background.” Wow, rude. You tried to stop the myriad of insults that will soon spew out of your mouth.

11:59 PM

“Who sent you? Is it from my mother that hails from the land of Inazuma? Or my siblings? Which one are you?” His eyes struck you down, his weapon Tulaytullah's Remembrance floats atop his right hand as he waits for your word. “Your Royal Highness, I assure you I have come with my own two feet, no one sent—” The prince then laughed and created a sword made of wind, if you keep your eyes a little more you can see lightning slashing through the ripples of wind.

He then steps forward, and forward, your legs betraying you in this very moment as you stay still on the ground. He looks you straight in the eyes, as the tip of the sword finally made contact with your neck. The sharp edge pricks the skin and a trail of blood flows from your neck down to your collarbones.

“Your Royal Highness, there seems to be a mistake—”

“I don’t see any problem here; you’ve come to take my head but you’re the one getting beheaded.” He scoffs as he pushes the blade more into your skin, you can almost feel it stabbing into your throat.

“Your Royal Highness, I have not one inch of the intention of trying to kill you!”

12:00 PM

“Is that so? Then explain why you were following me around.”

“I—”

“If you don’t give me an answer in three seconds, this blade will strike you with no mercy.”

“Your Highness—” You gasp out as you can feel the wind around you constrict, leaving no place to escape.

“3.” He counted.

“Wait! Please take a moment!” You cried out to the man before you to have a bit of mercy.

“2.”

“It’s because—!”

“1.”

“I love you!” You shout as you close your eyes, waiting for the blade to strike you and welcome you in its embrace. You waited and waited but felt no movement from the man before you. The blade that was tightly pressing onto your throat disappeared and you will yourself to take a peek, gently opening your eyes, you spot the prince staring at you with wide eyes, his mouth agape, aided with the moonlight, you spot a small blush creeping onto his cheeks.

He dispelled the sword and you watched in silent amazement as the sword melded with the wind, but the air around you that constricts was still there but its hold that was hostile before is now gentle like a breezing wind.

“Say that again.” He looks you straight in the eye, and for a second you thought you saw his eyes turn vulnerable before they disappeared as quickly as his irises steeled.

“I—I love you?” The prince nodded his head before tilting it to the side.

“What did you love about me?” He looks at you inquisitively and with every passing second the wind around you constricts to a tight hold. “I like your eyes, and your hair too. And your clothing style, your voice too.” At this point you were just spitting out everything your mind tells you too, every word that comes out of your mouth, Scaramouche turned even redder under the pale moonlight his eyes glistening with an emotion you can’t describe, a laugh left the prince’s lips as he holds your face close to his, “how interesting.”

Scaramouche then gently backs away from your bewildered countenance with an uncharacteristic soft smile on his porcelain face, “[y/n] Sokolov, I will be sending you an invitation. Be sure to take responsibility.” He then turned away from you, and with a flick of his finger, the air that surrounded you disperse. Without the air holding you against your will, your knees weakened and you fell to the ground with a thud. Your hand is now holding the wound that was still flowing from your neck.

[avrmee]

Family? - Simon "Ghost" Riley

Summary: The 141 task force finds out about you

Warnings: Nothing really, just some swear words here and there, bad writing

It started out with little things that the team started to noticed. Ghost wasn't at the base for a week. Since it wasn't anything new, no one questioned it.

But this time something was different.

When Ghost came back he smelled very feminine, like vanilla or something. He had some pink and gold glitter on him here and there but most important of all, he had a small photo in his front pocket of his vest.

You couldn't see the picture since it was facing ghost but the task force wanted to know what it was since he rarely shared anything about his personal life. And that photo was like seeing ankles for the first time in the 1890's.

Soap and Gaz were the nosey ones, Price didn't really care because he had somewhat of an idea of what was happening. I mean he has seen you once but not really talked to you cause it wasn't his business

At the moment they were on a plane on the way to the airport to go home after a long and brutal mission. Ghost was sitting next to Price and Soap and Gaz were sitting in front of them playing thumb war.

The plane ride was about 5 hours long and to say ghost was tired was an understatement. Soap and Gaz were asking him questions about everything the whole time so when the plane landed he let out a sigh of relief.

He loves them, even though he would never admit it but they were annoying. Like those little brothers who wouldn't leave you alone the second they hear something about you and a girl

There were a few people there, mostly Gaz, price and soaps own families. There was one family though that they haven't seen ever. A woman, a little boy about 6 or 7 with a baseball hat that said the walking dead and a little girl that's about 4, he blonde hair in pigtails with flower hair clips and purple string around the hair tie.

It was odd but they didn't say anything until Ghost was the first person to get out of the plane. Gaz, Price and Soap saw him walk fast to the small family. They looked at each other before turning their attention back to the scene unfold

They were shocked to say the least when the boy and girl ran up to him and jumped into his arms. It was a cute sight to see but confusing none the less.

The team haven't really seen Simon's face much but they still know what he looks like especially his eyes. Both his son and daughter has his eyes. His daughter though has his blonde hair and lashes.

In the corner of their eyes they saw a women there standing with a soft content smile. A few tears in her eyes. But what caught their attention the most was a bump. A baby bumb

Simon was expecting his 3rd kid. "I'll hand it to him Cap. Tha' man has game" Gaz said out of nowhere making him laugh. "I jus' wanted to say that!" Soap said with a chuckle.

When they turned their attention back back to you guys they saw how you pulled up Simon's mask just a little above his lips. They saw how you guys leaned in and share an affectionate kiss.

When you pulled away from each other Simon squatted a bit to give your swollen belly a kiss.

They all watched in amazement on how Simon could be such a softie. Their attention was cut short when Soap's phone rang.

Simon was calling him

Confused, Johnny answered and put it on speaker.

"You three stop staring at my wife and kids. It's creepy. If you want to meet them then there's a dinner Tomorrow night at my house. I'll send the address. Be there at 5." Simon said before hanging up.

it's not the best cause I wrote it in a rush but yeah hope you gusy enjoy

Please request something I don't mind

HAVE A NICE DAY ❤❤

[heavenlymorals]

Of Christ and Yuletide

Summary: As Ivar stared out the Kyiv skyline, watching the people down below, Prince Igor asks him to come inside, which then to leads to discussions regarding the winter holidays.

This is my entry for the NorsetalesforWinter winter event hosted by the wonderful @nothingtolosebutweight and @barnes-lothbrok ❤ This is the first fandom event that I've ever attended and I hope you all enjoy~

Kyiv was Lord Hodr’s plaything. 

Or, in other words, Kyiv was cold. Unbearingly cold. Gods, it was almost stupidly cold. It was the type of cold that burned your skin to settle in your bones, leaving you lifeless, with lips the color of purple royalty and skin the color of the skies. In the back of his mind, Ivar was sure that Kattegat was colder than Kyiv, considering, if his navigational skills weren’t completely useless, that the city was south of Kattegat, but still. 

The cold made his lashes thick with frost and skin more delicate than silk. It made his hands kin to ice. It made his heart go numb and his soul ache. Perhaps that was the cold of Kyiv. Not the breath of winter as he blew over all, forcing them all to wallow in a sub-zero decay, but the cold that he felt inside him. Clamoring, wasting, a monster with jagged teeth whose stomach was an endless void, a glutton for anything and everything. Who took, and took, and took, and left one with nothing. 

Loneliness. The monster was loneliness. Once again, and forevermore, Ivar was lonely and this time, he had only himself to blame. Not the gods, not the people of Kattegat who wanted nothing to do with him as a Prince or as King, not his parents, not his brothers. 

Only him. 

And truthfully, that hurt more than anything. 

He sighed and balled his fists a couple of times before flexing out his fingers. Why he did this, he had no idea. Ivar then wrapped his hands around himself, pushing the thick black coat that he was given closer to his skin. He was on one of the balconies of the palace and was leaning against the railing, his crutch beside him as he supported his body on the thick railing. 

The wind blew with vigor, the force almost knocking him off his feet. A harsh shiver forced its way up his spine again. The wind became harsher when Ivar realized that it was accompanied by snow. The snow dusted Kyiv all over. Perhaps a bit childishly, Ivar tilted his head upwards and flicked out his tongue, catching two snowflakes, which melted immediately. He felt odd as he thought about when was the last time he did that. Kattegat. Yes, Kattegat.

Pathetic.

He sighed and began to look outwards again. 

Kyiv was cold, an image straight out of Niflheim, but it still held its own beauty, one that can only come from a people who learned to accept Kyiv for what she is and build their lives around her identity. Ivar was in awe as he stared out, at the temples-turned-churches, at the towers touching the sky and the clouds, at the people down below illuminated by golden light as they carried torches to quickly take shelter from the snow. He then looked up. The sky was streaked with clouds, and behind those curtains, the stars peaked out, numerous, glittering, sprinkled everywhere. The moon was a crescent and provided little light, thus the torches had to make do.

He then began to wonder as he watched. About many things. Many stupid, insignificant things. About the cold. About the snow. About the lives of the many people who scattered under the balcony. The animals too. 

Suddenly, he was that young boy back in Kattegat, bored and tired and hurt from watching his brothers play without bothering to include him and thus crawling to the market district in Kattegat to sit behind a crate or two to just watch people. They never noticed him. He was invisible, about as invisible as the mistletoe that is destined to kill Baldr by the hand of Hodr. The cripple will kill his better half and then the world will end. 

Or so, that’s what they say. The Seer once said that he shared the likeness of both the “good son” and the “forgotten son” of the lords on high. What that means though, is still a mystery, and since the Seer has been killed (by your own hand, you monster), Ivar didn’t bother with it. The Seer’s words only hurt his head and damaged his ego in the most inconspicuous ways. 

In any case, he watched people and began to learn a lot. There was a woman who had five children and not one of them was her husband’s. There was a man who poisoned his brother for his inheritance and blamed his death on sickness. There was a man who hated another man so much that as revenge, he would fuck his enemy’s young daughter, a shapely, pretty thing, right behind his house. Ivar saw the good, the bad, the admirable, the deplorable, everything as he watched Kattegat. 

“Ivar? It is very cold. You come inside?"

And he watched him too. Igor, Prince Igor to be exact, was the young boy who owned all the skies and lands of the land of the Rus. Or would own. His soft voice, still delicate by the sheen of childhood,  was made choppy by the whistling wind and the fact that he was speaking in Ivar's Norse tongue, or at the very least trying to. It made Ivar smile, that the child would willingly struggle just so he can make Ivar more comfortable by speaking his native tongue. Ivar was sure Oleg taught him, but still.

 Oh, the innocence of children was something so pure, so beautiful. Even someone as debauched and tainted as Ivar could see that. Igor was the prince-to-be-king of all the Rus. He shouldn’t care about such things, shouldn’t even think of them, but the fact that he did was precious.

It made Ivar’s heart ache. Poor, poor child. So naive to reality.

Ivar turned his head around and answered the Prince in his Rus tongue. He learned it rather quickly. Oddly quickly. Same with the Saxons’ language. It was a gift that the brood of Ragnar and Aslaug seemed to have. To learn and master tongues in such a limited time. 

“Hello, Prince Igor. It’s quite alright. It’s not that cold.” Liar. If it weren’t for his pure stubbornness, he probably would’ve shattered like a delicate sculpture made of ice after someone throws it at the ground with passion. Igor knew this, for he raised one eyebrow and looked at him as if he was a fool. 

“I hear…I heard your brother Hvitserk once mutter that you are crazy. He must be right if you think that this is not cold. I can see ice on your lashes. What are you even doing out here?” Igor attempted to continue his Norse speech but promptly gave up and like a fish to water, it was quite obvious that he was far more comfortable with his native tongue. Ivar smirked at that and smirked even more at Igor’s observation of his mental state. He wasn’t even wrong. 

Ivar then shrugged and continued looking forwards. “I am watching. The view is rather interesting.” 

Igor’s delicate face scrunched up in confusion. “What is there to watch?” He then skipped to the balcony where Ivar was and heaved himself upwards a bit on the railing to have a better view of what captured Ivar’s eyes. Almost automatically, Ivar’s left hand left its folded position and hovered like a fly over Igor’s collar, there to catch him in case something happened. Igor did not notice, to which Ivar was glad.

 One time, when Oleg peeled Ivar away from Igor for another moment of odd affinity between them, he fleetingly and perhaps bitterly joked about Ivar’s “motherly tendencies” (Oleg’s words, not Ivar’s) towards Igor, to which Ivar had taken offense to, though refused to properly acknowledge, as Oleg was like a storm, and like a storm, you cannot choose whether or not it’ll spare you. 

It made him think, though. About that part of life that he was so close to, or at least thought he was so close to having. For as much as he bullied Ubbe, wherever that bastard was, for wanting to “settle down”, he did find parts of it to be attractive, such as the joys of fatherhood, real fatherhood, not the spectacle that Ragnar made of his four other children, to have them only to have them, as ornaments to his name and not as actual sons. Maybe it was just the primitive nature of man, or maybe it was Ivar’s desire for a normalcy that fleeted away from him like he was the plague the second that he was born with his wilted limbs, but Ivar longed for fatherhood.

That was the reason, he was sure now, why he allowed Freydis to carry on with her “divine child” charade for as long as she did. He was not a fool. He was not crazy, though many would seem to disagree (even himself, at times).. He knew that he couldn’t father a child. He knew that he couldn’t conceive a child by his blood. But still. It was such a pretty fantasy that he allowed it to continue until it became pretty no longer. 

Sweet Baldr. Sweet child, weep no more, for you are in the embrace of the gods. It pained Ivar still, to think of his son. It pained Ivar to think that the only reason why he killed him was so he wouldn’t have to suffer the same way Ivar had and still has to suffer. Ivar made himself a name because of his ferocity and his tenacity, yet still, he was miserable. 

His thoughts were interrupted by Igor’s babbling. 

“There is the baker! He’s got with him some sacks of grain. And there is the smith, he’s closing up his shop. And there is a mother and her child, and there is the priest, and there is a man drinking, and there is…well, there is nothing interesting.” 

Ivar chuckled a bit and gently patted the top of Igor’s head. He would ruffle his hair if it wasn’t covered by his hat, which he noticed was crooked, as Igor probably only wanted to quickly find him and then come back inside. Almost automatically, he fixed the position of the hat, which Igor didn’t even care to notice as his eyes were still in a hawkish mode as he stared down Kyiv. 

“There are many interesting things if you take the time to think, even if the view itself doesn’t seem interesting, Prince Igor. Look over there,” Ivar explained, pointing to a small scene of two men speaking to each other in a shifty way, their heads turning to random sounds like dogs, all perked up, “it’s just two men talking, but why are they so paranoid? Why are they looking around every now and then? And what about that woman over there?” Ivar pointed to a woman who was clutching something close to her chest, a bundle, taking an effort to conceal it as much as possible, “what is she hiding? What is she doing?” 

Igor tilted his head a bit, like one of those colorful birds that Ivar had the pleasure to see during his travels on the silk road, all blue and yellow, and then crossed his arms on the railing. “I don’t know…Maybe those men are planning something special and are trying to keep it a secret from their families. For Christmas maybe? And maybe the woman is just trying to keep whatever she's holding warm? A baby?” 

Ivar blinked a couple of times at the innocence of Igor’s reasoning and then smiled. Perhaps he was in a charitable mood, so he didn’t bother to bring forth more nihilistic possibilities of the behavior of these people. “Hmph, you’re probably right. But still. The behavior of everyone, no matter how insignificant, stems from something, and sometimes, those things can be important. To you, especially, as you are royalty.”

Igor rocked on his feet back and forth for a bit, probably fidgeting to keep himself at least just a bit warmer. Or maybe it was just the mannerisms of children. One of the two.

“Well…Every royal family has spies, Uncle Oleg told me once, though he was drunk…” Igor began.

Ivar nodded. “Yes, he’s correct, they all do. How else would we get anything done?” 

“So if I want to know stuff, I can just send them to do it for me! It just seems so boring…I’d rather go to the puppet shows.” 

Ivar laughed. “Of course, you can, but you can always trust your own eyes far more than you can others, especially if you have the moment to do so. Humanity is so colorful, my dear Igor, and many of those colors are so, so ugly.” Ivar sounded wistful, and philosophical, as he stared up into the sky and watched the streaking of the stars.

Igor raised his brow and looked at the Norseman before replying a few moments later. “...You should probably come inside, Ivar. The cold is making you say weird things.” 

Well then. 

Before Ivar could answer that cheeky revelation that isn’t even wrong, Igor grabbed his empty hand, the one that wasn’t grasping the crutch, and all but forced him to come inside. Attentively, Igor made sure to watch the way he moved so as to not hurt Ivar, which Ivar found sweet but rather unnecessary. He didn’t say anything though. Perhaps he was growing soft like Ubbe, but he found the gesture to warm the coldness that he willingly forced himself into, to continue his timely tradition of people-watching, something that his late mother told him he had in common with Ragnar. 

A few moments later, Ivar found himself in Igor’s room. Igor led him to sit on his bed. It was heavenly warm, a very lovely contrast to before, and Ivar took notice of the decorations that quaintly painted the room in splashes of rustic charm. Rustic and so, so familiar. 

Igor must’ve noticed his staring and then climbed on top of a table to pluck off an ornament from the tree that the servants put in his room. He then jumped back down, with all the enthusiasm that a young boy can have, and handed it over to Ivar, who nodded and then began to look over the thing, taking note of the details, the grooves. The ornament was made of light-colored wood and depicted the scene of a woman and man looking over a crib with a child while a lamb sat down in front of the crib. He tilted his head a bit.

“I am assuming this is for your Christmas holiday, yes?” 

Igor nodded. “Yes. That’s Mary and that’s her husband Joseph and the child is our Lord, Jesus Christ.” 

Ivar’s thumb grazed gently over the face of the wooden child and then smirked when he touched the lamb. “And what’s the lamb for? Is it a sibling to your Christ?”

Igor let out a giggle and then gasped, putting his hands over his mouth. “You can’t say stuff like that, Ivar!” 

“Why not? Would your Uncle Oleg get angry?” 

Igor shook his head violently. “No, no, he’d probably laugh, but still! The priest told me that good Christians shouldn’t joke about such things. It’s blasphemy.” 

Ivar smirked and then gave back the ornament to Igor. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m no Christian, then, hmm? Don’t worry your little head about blasphemy. And anyway, she gave birth to your Christ without a father. Is it that unbelievable that your Christ may share blood with a lamb?” Inwardly, Ivar thought about the man who told him that story. Bishop Heahmund. Strong, butch, vicious, lying Heahmund. 

Perhaps he should’ve expected such treachery from the man, but like with Freydis, he was enamored by the image that he bestowed upon the man without him ever knowing. He wondered where Heahmund was now, whether he was alive or dead. Back when he was King of Kattegat, he hoped to the Gods that Heahmund was dead, rotting with the maggots, his death anything but honorable. Now? Not so much. Technically, Heahmund did what was asked of him. He fought for Ivar. Almost died for him too. Besides that, he had nothing connecting him to Ivar other than a debt of gratitude for keeping him alive which the Christian never wanted. In a strange way, Ivar missed him. His talks, his odd stories, his stalwart allegiance to his god. It was attractive, in an odd, odd way. He couldn’t try to explain it even if he wanted to.

His odd infatuation with odder Christians did not end with Heahmund. There was Oleg too, though he was cut from a different cloth. He cared little about the odd Christian rituals that Heahmund was obsessive over, though that could be credited to the fact that he was a Prince and not someone whose reputation and legacy come specifically from the Church, like Heahmund. Both men indulged in their carnal desires, as any man should, but whilst Heahmund was ashamed of the matter, coy even, Oleg couldn’t care less. He drank, he fucked, and when he prayed, it wasn’t for forgiveness, but to expand his influence, the reach he had in these snow-capped lands. 

He liked that. How unapologetic Oleg was. How he cared little about what anyone thought of him. That was obvious. It made him so charismatic and so magnetic that even Ivar became trapped in his web of gilded words and pretty promises. And how pretty there were…

He was also wary of how unapologetic Oleg was. That made him dangerous. It made Ivar feel like a wife who was always alert because her husband would always come home reeking of mead and ale, which would then make his moods unpredictable. For how generous Oleg was to him, Ivar also knew that it had much to do with his forced submissiveness to the man, a state of being that humiliated him whilst also keeping him very much alive, which, at this point, was all he craved. 

“Uh…Yes? It’s too strange. Do you have a figure in your faith who gave birth to an animal?”

Ivar nodded and Igor’s eyes widened. “Oh, yes. There is the Jotun Angrboda, who gave birth to a wolf and a snake, Fenrir and Jormangandr. Her consort, Loki, another Jotun, also gave birth to an eight-legged horse named Sleipnir who our King God Odin rides, though in his defense, he was in the form of a mare when he did so.” 

A few moments of silence pass. “You say it like it’s so normal!”

Ivar shrugged. “Stranger things have happened. And besides, Loki and Angrboda aren’t gods like the Aesir or the Vanir, so we don’t care to give them their own carvings during this time.” 

“During this time?” Igor questioned, the fire from the fireplace making his blue eyes shine like precious jewels, the type that vain women would kill for to pluck and put on a circlet or a necklace. What a precious boy.

“Yes. Back home, I’m sure the people are getting ready to celebrate Yuletide.” His voice was wistful, nostalgic. Perhaps even a little melancholic. Igor could tell.

“Yuletide? Isn’t that a celebration for your gods? Uncle Oleg told me once. He showed me a carving of two of your gods that you make whilst celebrating. He got it from a Danish tradesman. If I can find it, I’ll show it to you,” Igor offered and Ivar couldn’t help but smile. He could read Igor very well, now. 

As much as the boy was sprung up to show Ivar the intricacies of the culture of the Rus, one that came from the wayward Norse who made their own way in this mysterious land, he was also just as aware and interested in Ivar’s ways, of the Norse’s ways. He could sense that Ivar missed Scandinavia. If he were to find the carving, he would give it to Ivar. Oleg shouldn’t care. He gave it to Igor after all. He had many more trinkets. 

“Yes. During Yuletide, we celebrate our Gods and ask them for prosperity. Children are also told by their parents that they must behave, or else our King God, Odin, will take them away with his Wild Hunt. In return, they are given gifts. Small gifts in their shoes, as they leave out hay for Sleipnir in them, and bigger ones under a tree. Similar to the ones you have here. Those carvings that you spoke about? We hang them on the tree. An honor to the gods and whatnot. Your decorations and garlands reminded me of that, I suppose.” 

Igor nodded and then smiled. “Well…Is the Christian God one of them that you celebrate?” There was a hopeful gleam in Igor’s eyes. It amused Ivar. Oh, Christians…

“I don’t think our gods would be amused if we were to dedicate our celebration to only one god. We have many gods, not only one, child.” Back in York, if Heahmund was to ask him something similar, though he never would as even acknowledging Ivar’s gods or celebrations for those gods would probably burn his tongue, Ivar would be smug and grin and tell him that his Christian God was a selfish God who expected too much and would only be satisfied by his followers turning to groveling worms. But this wasn’t Heahmund. This wasn’t Oleg either, who appreciated Ivar’s Norse ways, but who found them as valid as wives’ tales.  

“And besides, don’t you Christians believe in only your Christ god,” Ivar continued. Igor shrugged before getting up to start pacing around his abode, opening chests and carding through piles of trinkets and knick-knacks that were placed neatly around the furniture, on the tables, and in the chests. 

“Sure. But if Uncle Oleg can be a god, why can’t you celebrate more than one? Whenever Uncle Oleg hosts parties, it’s always like a holiday. A holiday dedicated to him, the prophet.” 

Ivar chuckled. “Do you truly believe that your Uncle is a god?” 

Igor shook his head and continued looking around for, well, whatever it was that he was looking for. “No, but it sometimes seems like it. He sees and hears everything. You can’t do anything without him knowing, and if he doesn’t know, he will find out, and then…if it’s something he doesn’t like, you disappear. Maybe he hasn’t created the world, but, as far as the Rus is concerned, he is a god.”

Ivar blinked a couple of times. And what a god he was, that Oleg. He gave Ivar a life of luxury, the warmth of another body, and the prestige of a prince that Ivar took to like a hand that would fit a well-worn glove. And Ivar was grateful for that, perhaps even indebted. Yet Oleg took. He took and took. He took his autonomy, his freedom. He was a prisoner here, no matter how pretty Kyiv was. 

It felt strange to hear such, well, daunting words coming from a child. But in a court filled with nothing but lies, treachery, and shadows, such revelations would be obvious to a boy, especially one that is a heir to a land so vast and so wise. “Your Uncle is no more a god than I am, Igor. And I promise you, with everything I can do, I will make sure you are no more a prisoner of this gilded cage.” 

Igor stopped his little search for a few seconds before starting again. Ivar stayed quiet and let the boy continue on his quest. A few more moments later and Igor seemed to have found what he wanted. In his hand was a small wooden carving, similar in shape to the one he showed him before, the scene of Christ being born, but one depicting something else. He skipped over to Ivar and gave it to him, a smile on his precious face. Ivar looked down at the carvings and took note of the two figures carved on them. 

Both of the figures were wearing male garments, thus they were gods, not goddesses. The figure on the left had a smile on his abstract face, with hair that reached the small of his back. The wood was not stained there, thus the figure’s hair was golden. Near his head were lines depicting sheens of light. The figure on the right was more somber in his emotions and though his hair was of a similar length to the god on the left, it was stained, thus he had dark hair. On his face, interestingly, were bandages covering his eyes and in his right hand was an arrow. 

Ever the pious man when it came to his gods, Ivar instantly knew what the carving was hoping to predict.

“That’s the carving I told you about! See, that’s the two gods. Their names are Baldr and Hodr.”

Ivar nodded his head and looked the carving over, a soft smile gracing his red lips. “I can see that. You can tell. Hodr is blind and Baldr is said to be so beautiful that light emits for his visage.” 

Igor nodded, taking note of the information before asking another question. 

“What are they the gods of?” 

“Oh, many things. Baldr is the god of beauty and light, obviously. The summer sun as well. Purity and innocence and righteousness. He is also said to be one of the wisest gods, one whom all would go to ask for advice,” sometimes, Ivar wished he asked Baldr for wisdom instead of Odin, eccentric as he was, “and to the right is his brother Hodr. He is the light god’s twin and opposite. His domain is darkness and cold and winter. They prefer Baldr, my people, but without Hodr, Baldr’s gifts would hold no value.” 

Igor nodded and then grazed his thumb on the arrow in Hodr’s hand. “Why does he hold an arrow? Is he a god of the hunt as well?”

Ivar shook his head. “No, no. Well, not that I’m aware of. That’s the arrow he will use to no doubt kill his twin with in the future.”

Igor’s eyes widened. “Why would he do that? Was he jealous?”

Ivar laughed. “Anyone would be jealous of Baldr, but no. His mother, our mother Goddess, Frigga, wished for no one to kill her son, as he informed her that he began to have nightmares of his death. Other than just completing the role of protecting one’s children, she also knows that his death would mark the beginning of Ragnarok, the end of the world, and the end of the old Gods’ reign. She then goes across the realms and asks of everything to take an oath to never harm her son. Every animal, every insect, every rock and plant. All except one. The mistletoe.” 

“Why would she ignore the mistletoe?” Igor asked, furrowing his eyebrows. He climbs onto his bed and sits next to Ivar, pressing his side to Ivar’s. Ivar, almost automatically, wrapped one of his arms around Igor, pulling him closer to him. 

“It was too young. In any case, the Jotun Loki, the one I told you about earlier, was jealous of Baldr, and thus found out about the mistletoe. He carved an arrow from the wood and went to Asgard. The Aesir were busy entertaining themselves by throwing things at Baldr, knowing that he wouldn’t be harmed. Hodr, being blind, didn’t take much part in the fun. Loki came to him, giving him the arrow, and told him he’d help him take part in the commotion. Hodr took the opportunity and Loki guided his hand. He killed his brother, not knowing he even could, and Loki slipped away, thus the blame was put on the god of the night, even though it was an accident. And when that happens, Fimbulwinter will begin. It will be three years with nothing but winter. And then Ragnarok will happen, the twilight of the gods.” 

Igor was silent for a few moments and then looked up at Ivar. “That’s…That’s very sad. I hope it won’t happen.”

Ivar smiled and then ruffled Igor’s head. Igor yelped and batted away Ivar’s hand, which made the Norseman laugh. “You’re a Christian, aren’t you? How can any of this happen if none of them exist,” Ivar asked playfully. Igor huffed. 

“It’s still sad, though!” 

“Yes…Yes, it’s sad. Here,” Ivar brought the carving to Igor’s hands but the boy gently pushed the offer away, which puzzled Ivar.

“Keep it. It’s a gift. Maybe it can remind you of home,” Igor said, smiling, and the tone of his voice made it clear that the boy would not take no for an answer, thus, Ivar refused to refuse his offer. And besides, it made him warm inside, this touch of Scandinavia, a place he missed dearly, for, with all its faults, it was home. Igor deserved far, far more than Oleg or Ivar. At least Ivar was proud to admit that his fondness for the young boy did not only stem from his title as a prince and future heir.

“Are you sure,” he then settled to ask. 

“Of course! You’re my friend Ivar. On Christmas day, I’ll get you a bigger gift, I promise.”

Ivar snorted and hugged Igor closer to him, giving him a firm kiss on his head. “Thank you, Igor. I'll get you a gift as well.” 

Igor grinned and then yawned. “You don’t have to, but thank you, Ivar…”

It did not take long for the young boy to fall asleep and Ivar didn’t have it in him to let the young child go. 

So he didn’t.

He held him tight and pressed him close to him, much like how a wolf would do anything to protect its pups. 

Ivar closed his eyes and began to dream of a future that had more to him than just this mindless existence, one that existed just to suffer in misery and pity.

Who will Ivar the Boneless be? In the future, what will his life, his fate entail? 

He had no idea. 

Kyiv was cold. But for now?

For now, he was warm. 

[deepdarkdelights]

You're welcome babe, its unfortunate you feel things not going the way you'd like for those fics and I think that's a sign for a deserved break from them! I feel if you don't, you may end up feeling more stagnant in general and on top of that losing all interest.

But the fact that you are feeling excitement for other works is the direction to go forward with! Perhaps, the whole frustration on how to go with the particular fic, this can give you better insights with the new creativity! And please don't pressure yourself with timing, I absolutely love each and every one of your fics dearly and I know taking breaks in some works are essential bc inspiration is needed, but in the meantime if your feeling inspiration then go towards there 😋

And wow Reaper and All that glitters was such amazing reads and that further adds to my point of working on where your mind wants you too.

Don't forget you're a human, you have moments and bursts of motivation/inspiration and lack of it too. Do things for yourself because its what makes us happier, and I promise everyone else will also fall in love with those works ahead too 😊

I hope you take care of yourself too ❤  you're one of my favourite writers I've come across, your work takes me away from my a lot of things and I love you for that. Also coming off anon feeling a bit shy haha

Awww, stop you're going to make me cry you are just the sweetest 😫💜

Also, I know how hard it can be to come off of anon, just know that I'm proud of you for doing something outside of your comfort zone - you're doing great 💜

I really think you're right, forcing myself to write something that is just frustrating me is a surefire way to staunch inspiration and my drive to write. Sometimes, I think that I'm done writing and that there's nothing left for me to put out, but I also know that I'm not ready to leave yet. I do want to write more, but forcing myself to abide by my own made-up rules as to what order my works need to be written and released is really silly 😂 If this tells me anything, it's that I need to step outside of my own comfort zone.

I'm honored to be one of your favorite writers and serve as an escape for you, I hope I can keep making fics that you enjoy dear 💜💜💜

[rosegoldandsequins]

@akiiyamashun​​  //  SENT :

∆ CATCH ∆  -  sender grabs receiver’s hand(s) to keep them from losing their balance/falling.

❛ ❤ ⋯      

Okamura’s cabin sparkled : everything was covered with a fine, glitter - like substance that made the entire room shine like the surface of a diamond. The lighting inside was soft and warm. It made the reflective stars and planets patterned across the walls appear to spin and glow. Bits of gold jewelry were laid out across one of the tables, atop which sat a large mirror. There were digital images set along the frame of the glass, many of which showed Okamura’s favorite places that the Tojo had visited. 

Akiyama stepped into the quiet sanctuary with a hum. He slipped off his shoes, scratched a hand through his shaggy locks, and swept his eyes around the dazzling space. It didn’t take long for him to find its sole occupant. Mindful of his beloved’s secret, the First Officer used the door’s controls to lock it behind him.

The Fae was asleep in her bed, long locks strewn across the covers. Due to the warmth of the room, she was dressed simply in a white nightgown with slim straps. Her garment exposed the light that shone from beneath her thin skin. It pulsed in time to the flutter of her heart. How fast the beat was would be alarming in another species, but the swift rhythm was normal for the Fae.

Smiling, Akiyama approached her. He leaned down toward Okamura and laid a hand gently on her hip. The Fae warbled and stirred. “Good morning, my star,” the First Officer whispered, kissing the side of her head.

Slowly, Okamura opened her eyes. She vocalized her protest with a series of slurred chirps that sounded like muffled song. Until, of course, she realized it was him. Irritation at being awoke turned to confusion ; her confusion at his presence quickly turned to delight.

Without a second thought, the Fae scrambled up out of her blankets. Akiyama took a half - step back, unable to help his laughter at her excitement. Okamura was still too groggy when she tried to get out of the bed itself, and her foot caught at the edge. The First Officer hurriedly grasped her hands and pulled Okamura against his chest to prevent her from falling onto the floor. ( with how fragile her bones were, any sort of spill could be treacherous ; it was best to avoid them altogether. )

A startling field of suspended glitter erupted from the pleased creature in his arms. Okamura righted herself and snuggled into him. Her mouth trailed along the side of his neck. When he turned his head, she was able to capture his lips and kiss him deeply. The Fae drew her arms up in order to entwine them behind his head.

Since the Tojo was docked for scheduled maintenance at one of the Federation’s key ports, the administrative officials had declared that all of her senior officers needed to show for review. They claimed it was to make up for the time missed while the Tojo was out, but Okamura knew better. This was all ‘ red tape, ’ as their grumbling captain said  ―  excuses to hold the ship and crew hostage for a brief spell. All it really did was infuriate Daigo, who reported to their summons first. As second - in - line, Akiyama was forced to do the same today.

“I missed you,” Okamura breathed, breaking their embrace to get a better look at Akiyama. “Even if you do look excellent in your dress uniform.” She slid her hands over his shoulders and down onto his breast as she slipped out of his hold gracefully.

“You think so?” Akiyama asked, raising an eyebrow. “I hate this thing ; it’s too tight.” For emphasis, he pulled at the collar of the shirt. By design, it hugged the lower half of his throat. Practically choked him, he moaned every time he was made to wear it.

Okamura laughed. The sound was high - pitched and uniquely melodic. “Are you saying that you need helping taking it off  .    .    .  ?” she teased, reaching for the intricate clasps on his side. 

Akiyama kissed her forehead. “I think I might,” he chuckled. His breath tickled her flesh, causing the Fae to squirm. Her laughter grew louder as the First Officer moved to capture her slender frame. He drew them down onto the bed, though he was mindful to keep her on top ( for her pleasure as much as her safety ). Okamura lifted her torso up, hands planted on either side of Akiyama.

“What is that look for?” he murmured, brushing a portion of her hair over her shoulders. The task of removing his pesky uniform was temporarily forgotten. When Okamura furrowed her brow, he brought up a hand to her face. A thumb grazed under her bottom lip, highlighting the sweet curve to it. “This.”

“  ―  an emotion, I think,” the Fae replied truthfully. “I’ve been reading and watching what’s available in the databases. This feeling is  .    .    .  I love you. What humans call it.”

Akiyama blinked, stunned into silence. Of all of the phrases she could have said, that was certainly among those he hadn’t expected. Her unusual wording suggested that Okamura was unfamiliar with the phrase and perhaps even the verbalized sentiment ( while some of their peers were terribly fond of her, he couldn’t imagine any of them ever said they loved her even if they did platonically ). It saddened him to think she had never heard it before  ―  though what truly struck the First Officer dumb was how genuine her expression was. She may not have known how to share it exactly, but she did love him. With all of the weight those three little words carried.

“You don’t want  .    .    . ‘ I love you ’ ?” the Fae asked, beginning to draw back quizzically.

Akiyama cursed his silence. “No, no  ―  Azumi.” Tenderly, he grasped her arm to stop her from sitting up properly. “Your ‘ I love you ’ is something I do want, uh  ―  well, your love is something I want. Both.” The First Officer sighed, unable to hide his amusement at himself. “What I am trying to say is : I love you, too.”

( and he did, he realized, as he watched her features flood with relief and a sense of elation she didn’t quite understand. she was the most beautiful thing he ever laid eyes on, and this  .    .   .  this was far greater than two attractive crew members sharing their pleasure with one another anymore. it was real. )

“I hope I get to say it for a very long time,” he added affectionately, tucking strands of rose gold behind her ear.

[aparnaj-1981]

POETIC THURSDAYS (142)

Hi Everyone, Welcome to my website and have fun. ❤❤❤😊😊😊

GREEDY SCAVENGERS: A POEM BY ME AI WordPress Greed has no gender, no face, no name, A force relentless, without any shame. In the hearts of those who crave and consume, It spreads like shadows in a darkened room.With eyes that glitter, they hunger for gold, A bottomless pit where their souls are sold. Whispers of wealth, a siren's call, Leading them blindly to their downfall.They tread on…

[charzard-lord]

Engagement (Doctor/River/Reader)

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Fluff, angst, forced marriage, blackmail, guns (never used, but there as a threat), worry of unrequited love (but they’re all just idiots lol), happy ending

Pairings: Eleventh Doctor/River, Eleventh Doctor/Reader, River/Reader

Key: ☁️💣❤☂️

Summary: The Doctor takes you and River to an alien planet that’s in the middle of a festival. When a handsome prince offers you a glittering rose, you accept, unknowingly agreeing to a marriage with him. When you try to back out, the prince threatens to kill the Doctor and River if you don’t comply. Seeing no other choice, you agree. Will you get out of this? Or will you be stuck on an alien planet married to a stranger?

Moodboard

A/N: I’ve had this idea in my head for a while and I finally finished writing it! It’s a little angsty, but don’t worry, the ending is very fluffy. Also I’m super gay for River and the Doctor so yeah. Enjoy! 

“Oh you’re gonna love this,” the Doctor grins madly as he rushes around the TARDIS console, pressing buttons and pulling levers. You can’t help smiling back at him. His energy is infectious. 

You look over to River. She is regarding the Doctor with an amused smile of her own. Her eyes meet yours for a brief moment and you both share a look, equally entertained by the Doctor’s antics. She moves to secretly press the right buttons when the Doctor isn’t looking and you stifle a laugh. 

Your heart swells as you watch the two of them. You’re falling deeper and you can’t stop. You’re not entirely sure how it started. You were definitely in awe of them both when you first met, but that was all it was - awe. Yet somehow, it grew into something more. You would never admit that, though. 

It made you happy to see them happy together and that was enough, no matter how much it hurt to not be on the receiving end of their affections. You weren’t jealous of them for being together, you just wished they would look at you the way you looked at them. But how could you expect them to reciprocate your feelings? You couldn’t. So that’s why you held their friendship so dear, because you knew that’s all you could have. 

“We’re here!” the Doctor exclaims as he runs to the doors of the TARDIS. You shake your head to rid yourself of your thoughts and follow him, curious as to where he brought you this time. 

As soon as you step outside, you’re rendered speechless. The planet you’ve landed on is indescribable. The sky is a burnt orange with a million stars glittering like diamonds and the trees seem to reach all the way into the sky, their long red trunks tethering them to the ground. Tall, pastel pink grass sways in the breeze, gently dancing to nature's rhythm. 

An excited laugh escapes your lips as you run into the grass and twirl around, throwing your head back and admiring the stars. You miss the way both the Doctor and River look at you, eyes full of adoration and longing. 

“It’s beautiful!” you shout, taking in all the gorgeous sights before you.

“This isn’t even the best part!” the Doctor replies, and you stop spinning for a moment to look at him, the smile still ever present on your face. It seems that you stop a little too quickly though, and you soon realize that you’re falling. Before you reach the ground though, something stops you. 

“Careful, sweetie,” you look up to see River, your faces only inches apart. Heat rises to your cheeks as you mumble out a ‘thank you’ and remove yourself from her arms. 

Again, you miss the way her eyes soften with affection. 

You straighten out your clothes and clear your throat, asking them where you’re going next. 

The Doctor leads the way towards a city that seems to be in the middle of a festival. He explains what’s going on, but you’re not really listening. 

All different types of species roam the streets, dressed in extravagantly bright colors and luscious fabrics. Music plays loudly while the crowd sings and dances, throwing what look like flower petals, in the air. It’s enchanting and you feel yourself drawn to a group of aliens dancing. They beckon you closer when they notice your presence and encourage you to join them. You gladly comply, feeling a little awkward at first, but the open energy that flows between the people eases your nerves and you soon find yourself lost in the rhythm. One of them places a flower crown on your head while another wraps you in a brightly colored scarf. You laugh, feeling as light as a cloud, and you catch sight of the Doctor and River dancing with another group. The smile never leaves your face. You feel grateful that everyone seems to be having fun. 

After some time, one of the aliens grabs your hand and pulls you along as the group follows. You don’t think to pull away. It feels safe and fun and happy. What could go wrong? 

You come to a clearing and the aliens stop, signaling for you to do the same. You do, and notice that in the center, someone is surrounded by a huge crowd who seem to be fawning over them. The alien holding your hand whistles suddenly and the crowd parts, giving you a good look at who it is everyone is obsessed with. 

Someone you can only assume to be a prince stands there, smiling at you. The only way you can describe him is ethereal. His skin is a dark shade of purple, so dark it almost looks black, shimmering in the light. He is dressed in elaborate, elegant robes, his long silver hair tied back into a braid. His face is sharp and angular, carved by the gods themselves, and his golden eyes seem to be peering right into your soul. You momentarily forget how to breathe. 

Before you’ve even had time to fully process his presence, you realize with a slight panic that he’s walking toward you. He stops right in front of you and kneels, presenting a rose the same color as his skin, offering it to you. 

“A beautiful rose for a beautiful angel,” his voice is like honey and you find yourself at a loss for words. The whole crowd seems to hold their breath in anticipation. You suddenly feel very pressured to accept the rose. Would it be rude to refuse? 

Gently, you pluck the rose from his hand with a barely audible ‘thank you’. The silence is broken as the crowd erupts into cheers and applause. Someone hoists you up on their shoulders and you yelp in surprise, looking to your right to see that the prince is receiving the same treatment. Confused, you open your mouth to ask what’s going on, but before you have a chance, the beings holding you up start to levitate off the ground, and then launch themselves into the sky. A terrified scream is ripped from your throat as you ascend higher and higher. You don’t dare look down, afraid you might pass out from fear. 

You hear delighted laughter from your side and look over to see the prince, eyes closed, head thrown back, and enjoying the ride. An unsure laugh bubbles up and soon you find yourself smiling with him. How often do you get the chance to do this? May as well savor the moment.

Before long, you’re descending again, back into the crowd. The noise is overwhelming. Everyone is cheering, screaming, clapping and you find yourself swept up in the moment. 

You look into the crowd and see the Doctor and River. You smile and wave to them, but their faces are twisted in worry, some other unreadable emotion swimming underneath the surface. Anxiety makes its home in your stomach as they make their way to you. 

“We need to leave, right now,” the Doctor says as soon as he’s close enough. He grabs your hand and starts to pull you away but another hand reaches out to seize you. 

“Where do you think you’re going with my fiance?” you turn in shock to look at the prince, who is glaring daggers at the Doctor. 

“Fiance?” you repeat, dumbfounded, but neither men are paying much attention to you. They start to argue, tugging at you to accentuate each point, and your head is spinning. Their voices elevate in volume until they are practically screaming, still pulling you back and forth. Finally, you reach your breaking point.

“ENOUGH!” you shout, and both men stop in pure shock, looking at you wide eyed and flushed from the effort of shouting. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”

Immediately, they start talking over one another trying to explain and you roll your eyes, pulling free from both of their grasps. They both try to reach back out to you, but you quickly back away, causing them to grow quiet. 

“One at a time, please,” you look between them and settle on the prince, “how about you explain first, uhm-” you stall, realizing you never got his name. 

“Prince Zeravia,”

“Right, uhm, Prince Zeravia, why don’t you go first,”

“Very well. This man is trying to get in the way of our wedding day, and quite frankly I don’t have the patience. We must be leaving soon to prepare for the ceremony,” he says matter-of-factly and you stare at him blankly. 

“Wedding? What do you mean by wedding? I never agreed to a marriage,” you laugh but there’s no humor behind it. 

“Well you accepted my proposal, so yes, you did,” 

“Proposal? What pro-” the words die in your throat as you remember the rose. You take it out and present it to him. “You mean this?” He nods his head, looking at you pointedly, as if you’re stupid. You let out an exasperated sigh. 

“I didn’t - I didn’t know it was a- a- a proposal!” you stumble over your words, suddenly very flustered. You look between them before saying “I’m not getting married!” incredulously. 

“I think you’ll find that you are,” Prince Zeravia says darkly, and you feel an involuntary shiver go down your spine. He snaps his fingers and suddenly someone is being forcibly brought towards you, struggling to get away.

“Get your hands off of me!” You take a sharp inhale. River. 

She is forced to her knees in front of you, hands tied behind her back. The guard who brought her takes out a gun of some sort and points it at the back of her head. She looks… scared. River is hardly ever afraid. This must be serious. 

“Let her go!” the Doctor shouts, before he is restrained by a few other guards that seem to have appeared out of nowhere. He is given the same treatment, hands tied behind his back, forced to his knees, with the barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his head. 

“What are you doing?” you can hear the panic in your voice, but you are unable to move, frozen in fear. 

“You have a choice, love,” Prince Zeravia leans toward you, lifting his hand to run cold fingers over your cheek. You flinch, feeling tears start to well up in your eyes. “Marry me or watch your friends die,” he whispers the last part and a sob wracks through you. 

“Don’t listen to him!” the Doctor says, but his voice is distant. There is no choice. You can’t let them die. 

“O-okay,” you say with a shaking voice. “I’ll marry you,”

***

Several aliens fuss over your hair, makeup, and clothing, bustling around like there is nothing wrong. Meanwhile, you sit in a chair, feeling completely numb. How did it turn into this? 

Prince Zeravia had ordered his guards to take the Doctor and River to a holding cell somewhere, to make sure you wouldn’t back out. The Doctor had tried to convince you that you didn’t have to go through with this but you knew there was no other way. Getting married to a stranger wasn’t ideal, but as long as they were safe, you could live with yourself. 

“You look beautiful,” the alien doing your hair says to you, brushing through your locks. You don’t respond, instead choosing to stare at your reflection indifferently. 

“You’re very lucky,” another of them says, draping different fabrics over you, comparing the colors. “Everyone in our city has a huge crush on him,” they continue and you suppress a scoff, biting your tongue. 

Seeing that you don’t seem interested in conversation, they continue their work in silence. You stare ahead blankly, completely checked out. Time seems to stand still and rush past at the same time. Nothing matters anymore. 

Once you are fully dressed, you are ushered into another room and instructed to wait there. You don’t bother fighting back. 

You sit there for a long while before a thought pops into your head. If you’re going to be married off to a stranger on an alien planet, this could be the last time you get to see the Doctor and River. 

You walk to one of the guards posted by the door and tap their shoulder. They avoid looking at you but ask what you need. You make your request and wait while they radio someone, before nodding to you and leading you out of the room. 

As you walk down the corridors, the harsh reality starts to sink in. Tears start to roll down your cheeks, but you quickly wipe them away. Now is not the time. 

Finally, the guard leading you stops in front of a large set of double doors and signals to the other guards posted there. The doors are opened and you are led inside. Descending stone steps, you assume you are going to some kind of dungeon. Your theory is proven correct as you come to a series of holding cells.

As you round a corner, you see River and the Doctor in a cell together, and break into a run. You reach their cell door and they both call out your name, trying to get closer, but unable to make it very far due to the chains on their hands and feet. 

“Doctor! River!” you almost start crying again, but hold back, not wanting to worry them even more. “Can I go inside?” you ask the guards without looking away. Keys are jingled and the door is unlocked for you. You almost trip in your haste, running into their waiting arms. 

They grip you tightly and you feel a hand petting your hair gently. This time, you are unable to stop the tears, sobbing as you hold them like they are the last thing tethering you to sanity. In a way, they are. 

Finally, you part, wiping your eyes and trying to muster up a smile. 

“You look wonderful,” River says, attempting to break some of the tension. You laugh wryly, trying to stop the new wave of tears threatening to break free. 

“Don’t worry. We’ll find a way to get you out of this,” the Doctor’s voice draws your attention and you look at him. 

“I appreciate the sentiment. But in case this is the last time we see each other-”

“No. Don’t even talk like that,” River cuts you off, but you hold up a hand.

“Just let me finish,” you look at them with such an intensity, they know you’re serious. “Thank you. For everything. Traveling with you has been magical, terrifying, and wonderful. I’ve seen and experienced so many new and amazing things. Things I never thought were possible. I’ll never forget you,” your voice breaks on the last part and you can’t stop the waterfall. 

You fall into their arms again and they hold you, trying their best to ease the pain.  When you part, the Doctor grabs your shoulders and looks you directly in the eyes. 

“This is not goodbye because I won’t let them take you. I promise, I’ll get you out of this,” His eyes are filled with such sincerity and determination that you almost believe him. 

“Time to go,” one of the guards says. You share one last teary embrace with the Doctor and River before you are ushered out of the dungeon and to the ceremony. 

***

Your nerves feel like they’re on fire. You are currently being led down the aisle by a young child throwing flower petals in front of themself. There are hundreds, if not thousands, in attendance, and all eyes are on you. You want nothing more than to shrink in a ball and disappear. 

You glance up and briefly meet Prince Zeravia’s eyes. You don’t like the way he is looking at you. As soon as you reach the altar, he reaches out to grab your hands, and you have to fight the instinct to pull away. 

Who you assume to be a priest, or someone with a similar status, starts reading from a book. It sounds similar to a human ceremony, with some notable differences, although you’re really not paying attention. That is, until the priest speaks a familiar and classic line. 

“If anyone objects to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace,” Right as the words leave his mouth, some commotion seems to start happening at the back of the crowd. People look in curiosity as a strange noise fills the air. Well, strange to them, but wonderfully familiar to you. 

The TARDIS materializes in the center of the aisle and the Doctor and River emerge, shouting “I object!” at the same time. A huge grin breaks out on your face as you tear yourself away from the prince. He tries to grab you, but you’re already halfway down the aisle. You practically jump into the Doctor’s arms, nearly knocking the both of you to the ground. 

“I got you,” he says, holding you close. You only have a moment to enjoy it, as you hear the prince shouting orders to capture you all. The Doctor ushers you inside the TARDIS as River holds back some of the guards. 

You watch as the two fight off the assailants. Once they have an opening, they both rush to join you. The doors close behind them and they are both at the console, ready to take the ship far away from the chaos. 

You wipe some sweat from your brow and your fingers brush against the purple rose. You realize it’s still in your hair and remove it. You examine it for a moment before making a decision. 

“Wait!” you shout suddenly, causing the Doctor and River to stop dead in their tracks. They look at you expectantly and you briefly open the TARDIS doors. You toss the rose out before slamming the doors and shouting “Now get us out of here!” 

They both smile widely at you and pull the necessary levers, rocketing the three of you out into space once more. Once you are a safe distance away, you all look at each other, before breaking out in a fit of adrenaline induced laughter. Once you have calmed down enough, a question pops into your head. 

“How did you two escape?” 

River presses a few buttons and pulls another lever before turning to face you. 

“Turns out the prince had enemies. A lot of people didn’t agree with the way he did things. Some freedom fighters helped us get out and find the TARDIS. They directed us to where the ceremony was being held and we rushed over as fast as we could,” she walks over and takes your hands in her own. “I’m glad we got you out of there,” 

“Me too,” you admit sheepishly, flustered by her close proximity. She releases you with a smile and you all settle into an unsure silence, as if some unanswered question still lingers in the air. The Doctor and River seem to be having a silent conversation and you can’t help but feel like you’re missing something important. 

After a long while, you feel exhaustion start to set in. It’s been a tiring day, physically and emotionally. 

“Alright, well I think I’m gonna go to sleep,” you say with a yawn, stretching your weary limbs. Just as you’re about to leave the console room, the Doctor’s voice stops you. 

“Before you go, can we… talk?” you turn to face him and notice that he is looking anywhere but at you. He fiddles with his hands nervously and you feel your stomach drop. Is he going to ask you to leave? You couldn’t bear it if he did. 

You look over to River to see that she is also avoiding your gaze. 

Oh no. 

You swallow your nerves and brace yourself for what’s to come. 

“Sure,” you say, praying he doesn’t hear the way your voice shakes. 

“This whole… thing, has made me think, made us think,” the Doctor gestures to River, still refusing to look at you. You swallow the lump in your throat and wait with bated breath for him to continue. 

He fiddles with the console and sighs deeply. You feel a new wave of panic set in and for what feels like the hundredth time that day, you can’t stop the tears that escape. 

“Please don’t make me leave,” you sob, causing both the Doctor and River to look up at you, eyes wide. 

“What? No. No! I don’t want you to leave!” the Doctor rushes to reassure you, coming over and taking your hands in his own. He reaches up to brush away a stray tear and rests his hand on your cheek. You lean into his gentle touch. 

“Then… what is it?” you ask, voice still shaking. 

“I- we- well, you see it’s… ugh I’m no good at this,” the Doctor stumbles over his words and looks to River for help. She gladly steps in. 

“We care about you so much, almost too much,” River says as the Doctor moves over to give her room to stand in front of you as well. She grabs your left hand, the Doctor still holding onto your right. 

“Almost losing you to someone else was terrifying,” she continues and you feel a flicker of hope. Could it be? No. There’s no way. 

“What do you mean?” you ask, trying to stamp out the blossoming feeling in your chest. No use in getting your hopes up, only to be let down. 

“Well, to put it plainly, we like you. A lot,” 

“As friends?” you say dumbly and River laughs. 

“Oh, I think we’re past friendly feelings, love,” 

“I- I don’t understand,” 

“Maybe this will help to clear things up,” she says, capturing your lips in a fiery kiss. You hesitate for only a moment before returning the gesture. You melt into her and suddenly you and River are the only people in the whole world. 

When she finally pulls away you’re breathless, feeling like you’re surrounded by a warm cloud of bliss. You look into her eyes and struggle to find the right words. At that moment, the Doctor shuffles awkwardly at your side and you notice that he’s still holding your hand. You flush as you realize he just witnessed the whole thing. And held your hand as you kissed his wife. 

“He feels the same,” River says, seeming to sense your unease. 

“Is that true?” you turn towards him and he again avoids your gaze. 

“Uhm, well I mean, yes, I like you in a way that’s, uhm, you know, more than friends, but if you don’t, uh, feel the same, that’s, I mean, I completely- mmf!” you cut off his rambling by pressing your lips to his. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, flailing them around, causing you to smile against his mouth. Gently, you grab his hands and lead them to rest at your hips as he melts into you. He complies easily, letting you take the lead. 

You’re the one to pull away, and when you do, he chases after your lips, capturing them once more. All his love is poured into the kiss; you can feel all his pent up emotions spilling into you. Finally, you have to come up for air. You both pull away and smile at each other, feeling as light as a feather. 

“So,” you say after a long moment, “what now?”

“Now,” the Doctor says, moving towards the console, “we have all of time and space. Fancy a trip to the Medusa Cascade?” 

“Hell of a choice for our first official date,” River says, joining the Doctor at the console with a smile. 

“Only the best for you two,” he looks over at you fondly and you laugh brightly. 

“I can’t wait to see it!” and with that, you’re off, ready to explore the stars with the two people you care about the most in this universe.

[duckymcdoorknob]

Duckydcukyduckyducky HI!!! I have a very specific request for chocolates event. I would love a box with glitter, square TO round with milk chocolate. Walnuts and Oreo please!

Hi!!!

This sounds like a fun challenge, I’ve totally got you !!!

You didn’t specify characters, so I’m gonna use my chef’s recommendation!

Keep in mind this is fluff to angst, so this shit gonna hurt!

CW BELOW: Angst, MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE SHOW

𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑏𝑜𝑥 𝑤𝑎𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑐𝑟𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑙𝑦 ❤︎

Chifuyu’s panicked giggles echoed through the ToMan base, as him and Baji frantically cleared corners. The two had reeaaaally pissed off Mikey, but in the best way.

“We have to lose him!” Baji yelled, smiling widely

“He’s too fast!” Chifuyu yelped in reply.

“You trust me, yeah?”

“I guesS SO!“

The long haired boy had picked up his friend, seating him on his shoulders, and picking up speed.

“BAJI! CHIFUYU! GET BACK HERE!”

The two were laughing brightly. The blonde of the two drumming his hands on his “ride” ‘s head, and the other zooming around the base with glee.

“I can’t believe we got him!” Chifuyu chimed with delight.

“Of course we did, I’m the prank master.” Baji replied, turning to look for their commander.

When neither saw him, the long haired boy set his friend to the floor.

“Let me rephrase: I can’t believe we lived to tell the tale.” The blonde boy said with a cheeky grin.

“We aren’t out of the woods yet. Keep your voice down.” Baji hissed, scaling the floor to keep watch for the commander.

When pounding footsteps were heard by them, the two immediately froze with wide eyes.

“Quick, hide!” Chifuyu barked in a hushed tone

Baji obliged and dove under a blanket on the couch, next to his best friend. “Don’t make any noise!”

“Baaaaji! Chiiifuyu!”

A Mikey, with whipped cream all over his face, entered the room the two were in. His eyes immediately fixated to the blob of blanket on the couch.

“Oh. Guess they’re not here.”

He stomped on the floor a few times, then tapped, as to show retreating footsteps.

“I think he’s gone” Chifuyu’s voice whispered.

As soon as the two emerged from under the blanket, they were tackled to the couch by Mikey. He wrapped them both in a hug, and wiped the whipped cream onto their faces too.

“GAH! MIKEY!” Chifuyu yelped in delight.

“You found us!” Baji chimed, “Welcome to our blanket club!”

Mikey chuckled heartily, he couldn’t stay mad at his friends for very long. “I’m totally gonna get you for this!”

“Relax, Mikey. Everything’s fine!”

—

Both Chifuyu and Mikey stared at each other, tears leaking down both of their faces, as a dying Baji uttered these words.

“Y-yeah… everything’s fine…” The commander replied, forcing a smile on his face.

“Chifuyu… don’t look so glum, I’m gonna be great.” The long haired boy beamed, “We still have to get Mikey back for when he pranked us.”

“Of course, Baji.” His voice could only exit as a whisper. “Just… Please… don’t leave me.”

“Relax guys. Everything’s fine.”

“Everything’s… fine.” The two whispered.

As a dead silence washed over the group, the only sound heard was the pained cries of a boy who just lost his best friend…

❣︎𝑉𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑒’𝑠 𝐶ℎ𝑜𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡❣︎

—————♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎✞♡︎—————

[petriquors]

— play pretend (suga x gn!reader | fake relationship)

❤ pairing !! college!sugawara x gn!reader

❤ trope !! fake relationship

❤ requested by !! @duckymcdoorknob

❤ word count !! 1.1k

❤ author notes !! ducky!! hi!! thank you for this lovely prompt that resulted in an epic little summer romance with a “to all the boys” vibe. this is my beach episode, so i guess that means i’ve peaked.

“i’m kind of running out of ideas, is the thing.”

“yeah, i can tell,” koushi tuts.

“i bought you coffee,” you remind him, nodding toward the drink. “you should be nicer to me.”

“you bribed me with coffee, is what you mean,” he corrects. despite the resisting tone in his voice, there’s mischief and excitement in his eyes, and you think you might be winning.

“no, the bribe is that you get an all-expenses-paid trip to okinawa. and, before you say anything, me being there is a gift, you little jerk.”

he laughs, and it’s as bright as the sun outside the university cafe window. summer vacation is around the corner. but, for you, that means your annual family beach trip, and that beach trip means inevitable questions about your love life that you don’t want to deal with right before senior year.

“all i have to do is convince your parents that we’re dating.”

“please,” you offer one final beg. “pretty please, koushi?”

“you’ll owe me.”

“i know.”

“and i’m not a benevolent debt collector.”

“i know,” you emphasize, “i’ve met your high school friends.”

he leans back into his chair, and it creaks to punctuate the faux-thoughtful pause he forces you to sit through before he finally agrees, “okay. let’s try to have some fun with it.”

koushi takes the scrutinizing gaze of your father in stride, carrying your suitcase for you as if this is something he does all the time. he even has both of your boarding passes between two fingers, a cheerful grin on his face, and polite words warmed up to greet your aunts and uncles with.

his hand rests on your knee while your whole family waits together at the boarding gate, and one of your little cousins has latched onto your soon-to-be-teacher “boyfriend”.

with wide eyes and a bow already falling out of her hair, she asks him, “when did you fall in love?”

the two of you trade a glance. that wasn’t a question you prepared an answer to.

“when we first met,” he lies, easily, “my heart just said ‘they’re the one!’.”

your cousin gasps, eyes glittering with joy while koushi smiles warmly at her. “like in a fairy tale!”

“yeah, a lot like that,” he muses. because he knows you heard something off in his tone, your eyes meet momentarily before he leans toward your cousin, teacher-face on, and adds, “which fairy tale is your favorite?”

though he’s indulging the little girl’s imagination, you feel koushi’s thumb press into the side of your knee, and your cheeks heat up in spite of yourself. he’s good at this; too good, so good that even you would be convinced of his feelings if you knew this wasn’t all an act.

“look what i got us,” koushi calls from behind you. a hand comes to rest on your arm as you turn to face him, and he dangles a pair of phone charms in front of you. “we can match! which do you want?”

it’s a pair of shisa, the lion-dog mascots of okinawa, one of which holds a beach ball while the other grasps a seashell.

“the seashell, obviously. volleyball is your thing.”

“you know me so well,” he chuckles before gently taking your phone from your hand to add the charm for you. you follow his eyes when he glances toward the entrance of the shop, and you spot your mom and one of your aunts conversing close enough for them to be able to hear you.

koushi hands you your phone with a smile just as you catch your mom glancing over, and you panic.

you lean to press a kiss against his cheek. his eyes are blown so wide and his complexion is so pale that he looks like he might pass out from shock once you pull away, but you smile sweetly at him nonetheless, mouthing a quick ‘sorry’ before your turn to hide your blush.

“you need water before you destroy my cousins,” you chide, putting on a show for your gossipy aunts just a few feet away from you. koushi hums in agreement, taking the bottle from you, and you add, “sunscreen too. i’m not dealing with you being all peely.”

“it’s not like we’re sharing a bed,” he teases with a wink.

you shove his shoulder as you rub the cream into his arms. “go on and prove yourself out there.”

“thanks,” he says, grinning, when your high-school-aged cousins arrive to steal him away for an endless game of beach volleyball. what comes out of his mouth next sounds so simple and reflexive that you curse his acting skills:

“love you, sweetie! see you later!”

you struggle to stifle a choke.

the two weeks pass by without incident as far as your family goes, but you sense one small problem while you stand on the beach with koushi, toes in the water as the waves lap at your ankles.

you catch yourself thinking that the end of this trip is sadder than usual. koushi proved to you that he would be an excellent boyfriend for someone by going above and beyond just faking a relationship, and you quietly wish you had the chance to experience the real thing.

“i think i want to enjoy this,” he says softly, fingers toying with the fabric of your open sweatshirt. “you know, if we’re breaking up once we get off the plane.”

you swallow. after only two weeks of faking it, the agreed-upon end to your “relationship” feels so real that it has your throat closing, stomach twisting, and heart pounding in a rhythm that sounds like an echo of “no, no, no”.

after toeing the lines of real and made-up so closely, settling firmly on one side scares you, but not nearly as much as the thought of losing your “boyfriend” to someone else. so, you relax into his side and he pulls you closer, his embrace feeling like the most honest thing you’ve done for this whole trip. koushi smells like sun and sea; on one hand, it’s inviting, but on the other, it’s a reminder of what you’re about to leave behind.

“i don’t want to,” you confess. “break up, i mean. is that stupid?”

“if it is, then we're both stupid. i want to keep doing this, but without the pretending,” he confesses in a whisper, voice placed just above your ear.

you look up at him for a beat before your body moves on its own, responding with glee to forgoing the lie you’ve been telling yourselves. you lean up as he leans down, noses bumping before you nod. his eyes light up as bright as the setting sun, and he tugs you by the hips into your first real, honest kiss.

[gracie-rosee]

THANKSVEMBER 2021

🍁🍃🍂

Every day of November is dedicated to an awesome writer/fic

♡

Day 1: @heirofflowers

Words cannot even describe how much I adore her fic Snakes & Daggers. Rowaelin's dynamic is written so well here that I literally feel like I'm reading the actual books. Very beautifully written. Had me in tears some times and laughing my ass of others. This is hands down one of my favorite Rowaelin fics I've ever read. I would suggest everybody drop what they are doing and start reading this right now! ♡

Day 2: Fly and Aim by Kriticize on AO3

I love a good college au and boy does this fic deliver! I wish I knew if this writer was on Tumblr because if so I would be flooding their inbox 24/7 telling them how much I love this fic! Rowaelin in this is peak enemies to friends to lovers. I love reading about these two idiots whenever a new chapter is up. Plus... hot athlete Rowan? Sign me up!!!

Day 3: @themoonthestarsthesuriel

I couldn't pick a single fic from themoonthestarsthesuriel that I loved the most. Literally every single thing she writes is amazing. But if I had to choose some of my favorites, I would say No Choice But to Love You is up there. Its HOT AF 🔥❤ Also The Bet is amazing and I loved reading the same idiots fall in love. I'm just going to link her entire master list because honestly it's all just so good. @themoonthestarsthesuriel writes Rowaelin and Feysand so well. I seriously can't get enough of her writing.

Day 4: @morganofthewildfire

Honestly, Morgan writes some of the best stories I've ever read. I can't even put into words how beautiful her writing is. This was so hard because I love so many of her fics but I think if I had to pick one, my favorite would have to be The Lucky One. This fic fucking RUINED me. Literal tears streaming down my face, sobbing uncontrollably. Oh my GODDDDD she writes so well!!! Morgan has such an incredible gift with words. I'm literally never going to stop bugging her to write a book. I need her to write a book just so I can like, hug it? If that makes sense lmao. I want to buy a whole bunch of copies just to display on every bookshelf in my house so that if anyone asks I can say "my friend wrote that! And it's fucking awesome!"

Here's her entire master list. Do yourself a favor and binge read every single thing on there. I'm literally begging you. 😭

Day 5: @tomtenadia

*screams incoherently* where do I even begin? I absolutely love every single thing @tomtenadia writes. Everything. I especially adored her last fic Families. It's just so sweet and fluffy. I may need a dentist appointment just from reading all this sweetness. I'm currently reading her ongoing fic A Little Braver and it's amazing. Aelin is a badass firefighter, and Rowan a hot air force pilot. It literally couldn't get any better that that. I love how she writes rowaelin so well. Their relationship always feels so real in everything she writes for them. @tomtenadia's writing never disappoints 💗

Day 6: @writtenonreceipts

Her fic For the Love of Game is amazing and it's one of my favorite rowaelin fics. Her writing style flows so well and she has such a talent with putting words together.

I'm still in the process of reading through everything she's written so far. Whenever I get some free time, I'm catching up on her fics. I seriously can't even choose a story that I like the most because everything she writes is just sooooo good. I am so jealous of her skills with words.

Day 7: @lemonade-coolattas

I first discovered her phenomenal writing during Rowaelin Month with her amazing fics. The way she writes is just so lovely and captivating.

One of my favorite fics of hers is Glitter. It was the first fic I read from her and what got me obsessed with her writing style. It's so sweet an fluffy and I absolutely adored it as well as her other rowaelin month fics. I'm so glad I found her lovely stories and I can't wait to read what she comes up with next.

Day 8: Weight of Living by Peanut12 on Ao3

There are not enough words in the world to properly describe how much I love this story. This is one of those fics that I find myself constantly coming back to time and time again without fail.

The author's writing style is so tender and beautifully put together. It is a little on the angstier side, though... You know those scary fics that you are always nervous and excited to read the next part because it could totally be super fluffy and adorable, but on the other hand you just know that the author can completely rip your heart out at any second? Yeah, that's this fic right here. In any case, I love the story so much and can't wait to see where it goes. I probably check this fic for updates more often than anything else.

Day 9:

Day 10:

Day 11:

[walkawayinsin]

Baz Luhrmann movies in a nutshell

I was reflecting on three movies, by Baz Luhrmann, that are actually pretty much the same; the rom-flics Romeo + Juliet, Moulin Rougue and The Great Gatsby.

We start of with the main trope characters (SPOILERS duh): - The aspiring romantic youth™️ (you can say Jay Gatsby and Nick Carraway are this role combined in The Great Gatsby). He's the tragic dreamer who ends up broken or even dead by the end of the movie. All because he is also the hopeless romantic who fights for the love of his life 

- Beautiful and sad grrl™️. "She's so lucky, she's a star but she cries cries cries" and oh she CRIES. She's soooo beautiful and everybody thinks she got it all but she's all alone and used by her surroundings. The main hero makes her the happiest but they don't end up together in the end. It's often because the hero ends up in trouble and it's often because of problems aka other men she deals with (Juliet’s cousin and marriage, Daisy’s marriage and Satine’s Duke). Actually (Jay Gatsby is also included here because he's Nick's "perfect god"...)

- The third wheel. There's always this third party involved in the story. And he claims our main heroine because he's a rich and popular bachelor™️. He doesn't have to necessary actively claim her or be a douchebag (In Romeo + Juliet the heroine is forced by her parents and Paris is actually trying to be sweet) but he's the main reason to the couple’s demise. Is goofy at times. 

- Goofy but sad friends. They are funny, they are charming, they like to party but they always end up sad or dead. You can say Nick Carraway had this role also together with traits from The aspiring romantic youth™️. Also Jay Gatsby shares these traits because in the other movies it's the "goofy but sad friends" who starts or drags the main character to the PARTIIIIES✨.

- "Bitch I'm Fabulous 😎". In Romeo + Juliet it's Juliet's mom. In The Great Gatsby it's Jordan. In Moulin Rougue it's Nini. They're sassy, they're fabulous and bitchy. Cares mainly about their own self interests. More interesting than the main heroine tho. Could have had so much more potential but dissapears to leave room for the tragedy.

- "Include POCs but pretty much don’t give them too much room for the fabness". They are charismatic, funny and often the Goofy but sad friends. They catch your eye but in the end these characters are hardly explored and always surrounds the tragic pair-plot. *sips coffee not surprised* 🙄 ☕

- The XTRA-everything scenery. It’s big and it’s bold. Perfect for PARTIIIIES✨ But it is actually not that xtra-glam once it alls becomes tragic and shit.

With the key trope characters we can start with the plot and how it envolves; It starts with an introduction about the XTRA tragical end which lies ahead in the movie. You've been warned. Then The aspiring romantic youth™️ being introduced and it's all light hearted and funny. The aspiring romantic youth™️ is focused on their aspiration (Nick Carraway takes the role in this one in Gatsby) But he is dragged by "Goofy but sad friends" to extravaganca PARTIIIIES✨. GLITTER, MUSIC AND GLAMOUR BABY. There is the spark, one way or another, for the hush hush-romance between the main tragedy-pair to begin. (We all know Nick crushed badly on Gatsby okay.) And somewhere in between is also Beautiful and sad grrl™️ being introduced. It's important to show how extraordinary beautiful she is and also how tragic she is btw. The aspiring romantic youth™️ becomes or (in Jay Gatsby's case is) completely starstruck and enarmoured by the Beautiful and sad grrl™️ and he pursues her like there's no end to it. Beautiful and sad grrl™️ has their doubts first (not much tho) and gives in to The aspiring romantic youth™️. Then begins the hush hush-romance phase. The couple is so IN LOOOOOOVE and sooo HAPPY. It's just OH MY GOOOD. ❤❤ But then people stop being so oblivious to it and realize hey "that's forbidden fruit mister". And then begins the "US AGAINST THE WORLD"-part. The tragic pair faces opposition from EVERYONE and I mean EVERYONE (more or less). Even the Goofy but sad friends are like "it's cute and all but you're screwing up everything idiots" (Poor Mercutio...). The hero has a breakdown phase. The heroine has a breakdown phase. Their love is threatened. He rages and cries. She cries and cries and cries. Lots of shouting or loud singing and angsty af.  Then comes the calm before the storm. The couple decides to fight for their love. But ofc it ends up all shitfaced even more screwed up and angsty than before. Anyway in one way or another the couple is so close ending up with each other (Jay & Nick in this case ok good...) but then there is the "Death did us part" moment where one or both lovers dies. And it's all back to the sad intro. Everyone is sad. Love is dead. The ones who are left are nihilistic and sad. And the world is horrible. The end.

I regret nothing