#he even looks hot in a TRUCKER HAT

[attapullman]

Bob From Pi Kapp | Robert "Bob" Floyd

While this can be enjoyed on it's own, the recommended reading on the syllabus for this class is Bob From Stats before proceeding.

Summary: First he's late to chapter, and now Bob is late to your Stats final. You saved him a seat. But should you also save one for his hobby horse?

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY as always, f!reader, no use of y/n, smuttttttt, goofy frat behavior, the other Daggers do make a brief appearance

A Note From Mo: Happy Start of the School Year! It wouldn't feel quite like autumn without checking in with our favourite frat boy-turned-cowboy and what shenanigans the Pi Kapps are getting up to. Can anyone guess what unforgettable moment in TV history inspired this second part to stats!Bob?

It’s unfair how good he looks laying between your thighs.

Sandy hair disheveled, glasses fogged at the rim. Chest heaving beneath thin cotton, catching his breath after a marathon make out session in your cramped dorm bed. There’s still three sections left in the review material, but Bob’s only now coming up for air as an alarm sounds and he reluctantly sits up.

Your hands reach out trying to pull him back into your embrace. He playfully swats them away, unwillingly having to extricate himself. Your fingers catch in the hem of his shirt, twisting in the fabric.

“I have to go!” He jovially laughs, returning your grabby hand back as he wiggles into his sweatshirt. “I have chapter - a non-negotiable, remember?” 

While you sarcastically cross your arms and hmph at him, he knows you aren’t actually angry. Disappointed, sure, but how could you be mad at those big round blue puppy eyes? Especially after he’s been attached to your lips since he swung by after lecture hours ago. You’ve started having a Pavlovian response every time he asks if you ‘want to study’.

Sitting up, you take your study buddy in, straightening his clothes before having to mad dash to Greek Row. He’s all long limbs and sturdy shoulders, the thick tendons of his fingers showing off the strength that he exhibits every time you get him into bed. That trucker hat is already back on his head and your eyes wander to his freshly shaven jaw and neck.

“Bob, you can’t go to chapter like that.”

He stops in his tracks and his brows crease in confusion, glasses highlighting his cornflower eyes. “It’s not a formal thing, jeans are fine. But I gotta go, there’s a fine if I’m late and I have perfect attendance.”

You shake your head and walk him the three steps over to the wardrobe in your tiny dorm, the full-length mirror on the side barely lit by the florescent bulb. Bob fills out the entire view, the mirror barely tall enough to capture above his torso, but just enough for you to gently hook your fingers into the soft heather collar of his sweatshirt. You don’t even have to tug for him to see the glaring concern.

Mottled along the left side of his neck are three mouth-shaped mauve bruises. They’ve only just begun to bloom, but against his creamy skin they stand out like stop signs. You didn’t think you had been sucking so hard. Or bitten so deep.

“I think they look kind of pretty.” He’s teasing, but you’re mortified.

Bob kisses your heated cheek, gathering his hood around his neck. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I’ll hunch my shoulders and no one will be the wiser.” At this point he’s used to his roommates pointing out the signs of affection you leave on him every week.

You’re still hot from embarrassment twenty minutes later, curled on your little dorm bed reading through your organic chemistry textbook. Though part of that may be from the lingering kiss he gave you before promising to text you after. It’s not your fault he’s perfectly adorable and fuckable - you’re only human. 

Beside you, a small ping interrupts your (distracted) studying. It’s a text from Bob, slightly earlier than planned.

BF: They may have noticed 😬

His Pi Kapp brothers not only noticed the arrangement of love bites along his neck - you were lying to yourself if you thought they were in any way subtle -  and the house of frat boys were now taking turns lining up to get photos with Love Bite Bob for posterity. Plus he was a minute late to chapter. 

You’re still giggling to yourself when you turn off the light for the night. The photo of your boyfriend’s cherry red face matching your indecent markings, a swarm of Pi Kapp sweatshirts and backwards baseball caps in the background, and mischievous grins filling every corner of your dreams.

Students mill past you, filing into the atrium of the lecture hall with a buzz of misery and despair around them. Finals Week. Every backpack in sight is heavy with textbooks and over a dozen weeks worth of notes. Your last neon highlighter died last night from overuse. 

Amongst the throng of students also dreading your Stats final, you have yet to see that vintage trucker hat Bob has been sporting since September. It seems off-brand that he wouldn’t be early, broad back already hunched over in that cramped seat with his calculator and an apprehensive smile. 

The last few weeks of sitting next to each other have been exquisite - elbows bumping in his new desk next to yours, thighs brushing in those impossibly close seats. It’s a part of your routine at this point. Bob still lends you a pencil, but you barely take any notes once the toe of his sneaker runs along your shin and suddenly you two are playing footsie like teenagers.

It’s been a horny remaining nine weeks of Stats. It was lucky that Bob was as studious as he was or you’d have gotten nothing done, stealing kisses between flashcards. Not to mention the glorious hour he spent with his head buried between your thighs while you memorized formulas, swearing he’d only leave your clit alone after you could recite them backwards.

And yet he was missing from your very last class together. The last chance to borrow a pencil and brush elbows for an hour like foreplay. Where was he?

Wanting to get yourself settled, you resign to entering the lecture hall and sitting beside Anna in one of the front rows. She gives you a sympathetic look at your dejected grimace. Your dorm room has been a testament to many a study night as of late, the two of you swapping sticky notes and notes like candy. The hall titters with students chatting as you not-so-subtly keep checking the door for latecomers, the seconds ticking down before those heavy doors shut.

The seat beside you is still empty when the teaching assistant shuts the oak doors, signaling the exam’s start.

Your professor stands at the front of the lecture hall holding a tall stack of booklets and gives a wicked grin. “Who’s ready to see what they actually learned about probability this semester?”

A collective groan sounds out and he sinisterly laughs before starting up the ancient projector. The bustle of pens and paper disappear when the loud thunk of the lecture hall doors slam open, bouncing off the sturdy brick walls and turning every head at the latecomer.

Giggles, snorts, and neighing all blend together as the cavernous lecture hall bustles with noise. Your head whips around to catch the commotion, eyes widening in surprise. 

Five men in auxiliary blue Pi Kapp sweatshirts and their own hobby horses (featuring a rather familiar Appaloosa) come galloping down the stairs, heading straight for the center stage. Standing front and center in beat up cowhide boots, a well-used felt Stetson, and tight jeans is none other than your favorite frat cowboy, blue-eyed Bob from Stats. 

His posse of Greek lettered faux cowboys stand around him, jostling each other’s shoulders and pretending to calm their steeds. Your professor patiently waits behind the pulpit, curious how this will play out with the exam he’s supposed to be proctoring. You’re gripping your seat in confusion and anticipation.

Once the raucous laughter has died down, Pi Kapp President Jake Seresin makes a show of steadying his hobby horse once more while three fellow cowboys spread out across the room, casually milling through the aisles with their wooden horses clanging between their jean-clad knees. Looking more like a lamb at slaughter all by himself, Bob calmly holds his own, knuckles rolling over the handles of his ‘horse’. Jake grins at his Pi Kapp brother before turning to his captive audience.

“Howdy, pard’ners!” The blonde’s voice booms in the cavernous hall. Various greetings yell out from all over the rows, Anna throwing in her own Howdy.

This is crazy. Anna looks at you for answers, but you have none. Whatever is going on, Pi Kappa Phi Ranch has invaded your Stats final. 

Their president makes a show of quieting the room, hand hauntingly on his hip. “So, we’ve been traveling all over this here Wild West looking for something.”

Reuben Fitch, a Pi Kapp brother and one of Bob’s roommates, stands tall at the top of the steps and calls back to him, “And what is that something, Brother Seresin?”

“Glad you asked. We’re looking for a cowgirl.”

The name catches your attention. Your blood runs cold and by default your eyes flash to Bob, hoping to find the answers in those wide, truthful ultramarine eyes. But he continues to stare boldly ahead, letting his brothers put on their show. 

Giddily clomping around with the stick of his black mare clacking on the stairs, Mickey Garcia raucously yells out, “So let’s look for her!”

Suddenly the four men are traipsing around the spacious room pretending to ride their horses, the hundreds of seats no match for their speed as they run up and down aisles, zipping through seats and over student’s knees. 

“Not here!”

“Not here!”

“Not here!”

Heat creeps along your skin as you feel Jake’s right hand man, Javy Machado, lock in on you, the squeak of his sneakers and thwack of his horse against the ground alerting his arrival. Your eyes bore into the side of Bob’s head - spectacles still facing forward - as every classmate watches the frat boy descend. Javy stops only feet from where you’re clutching the edge of your desk.

“This one here looks like she could be a real ol’ cowgirl!” Javy’s horrible Western accent and shit eating grin are begging to be smacked off his face. He turns toward the familiar Stetson and puts both hands around his mouth as he hollers. “Hey Floyd, found a cowgirl for you!”

That sweet face finally turns to you. Adrenaline floods your nervous system as every pair of eyes in the hall watches his boots clack up the stairs and past the seats until he’s standing in the row before yours, craning over the wooden chair with delicately pink cheeks. From this angle, those cerulean eyes are level with yours. And boy, are they nervous.

His voice is wobbly, but the script is practiced. “Howdy, little lady. Hiding in plain sight, weren’t ya?”

You both know you’ve sat in the same spot since that first day he lent you a pencil.

“Didn’t realize you needed an entire fraternity to find your study buddy.” Your hand waves at the four faux cowboys standing at the end of your row, looking entirely too pleased with themselves. Despite the fact that you’re as timid as him under the stares of your fellow students, you can’t help but be a little sassy and theatrical after the production you just witnessed.

That soft grin comes out to play, always amused by your fire. “I do when I have a question for you.”

The smirk on your face wipes clean. A question? There’s a flutter in the air as students turn to each other, anxious to know what quiet little Bob Floyd has been keeping to himself. Even your professor is leant forward on his elbow patches, brow quirked in interest.

You swallow slowly before responding, barely over a whisper, “What do you want to know?”

Time and space stop as he holds your gaze. So soft and affectionate, as if you are the stars in his night sky. The same hazy look he gave you in that hall closet weeks ago that made you unable to ever look back. He licks his lips, warm hand sliding over yours on the peeling wooden desktop. His eyes are so impossibly open. 

“Will you do the honor of being my date to the Pi Kappa Phi spring formal, cowgirl?”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Relief tingles through your extremities as your brain starts up again. The pounding of your heart backs up your smart response.

“Only if you let me borrow your boots for dancing.”

Your response settles, then suddenly all around you there’s whoops and hollers. To your left, four hobby horses are whipped into the air and twirled like batons. Mickey yells out, “Yeehaw!”

And yet all you can focus on is the wide grin that’s stretched out Bob’s face, his lean body still bent over the row before yours. You know the same smile is etched on your own jaw as your fingers intertwine. He’s so utterly ridiculous and self-assured. The perfect pairing of endearing. You can’t get enough.

You really wish everyone wasn’t watching so you could kiss him.

“Alright, alright, settle down. We do have a final to get to, if Mr. Floyd would like to take his seat.”

Handing off his trusty steed to his cowboy brothers, Bob takes the hint and makes his way around the row toward you, long legs effortlessly vaulting the nailed-in desks. He stops at the knobby wooden seat next to you and gestures, as if to ask Is this free? The corners of your mouth can’t help but upturn once more as you nod, letting your handsome Bob from Pi Kapp slip into the seat and knock his knee against yours.

You lean in, letting your lips brush against the lobe of his ear. “Not that I wasn’t entertained, but what was all that?”

He shoots you the most blinding grin, the sides of his drowningly blue eyes crinkling behind perfectly straight wire frames.

“My punishment for being late to chapter - they got to choose how I asked you to spring formal.”

Your jaw slackens as your eyes trail over to where his brethren are slinking out the heavy hall doors with their wooden steeds over their shoulders. Those cruel bastards. Your hand reaches out to stroke Bob’s still pinkened cheeks, fingers resting along his jaw to imitate soothing his wounded ego.

“One last yeehaw for Cowboy Bob for the semester, huh?” He guffaws out a laugh and kisses your cheek. 

The stack of little blue booklets makes their way over again and Bob grabs one before passing your way. His eyes are glued to you, unable to stop his affectionate attention after putting himself out on the line like that. You open your mouth to say something, but stop when the significance of it hits you. It’s the last time. 

The words form out of muscle memory. “Can I borrow a pencil?”

The air between you is sickeningly sweet as he reaches down and grabs two from his bag, handing you the sharper point. You give him a gooey smile as your fingers brush. Test nerves and bittersweet affection trickle down your spine. Who would have thought your hardest class all semester would bring such joy?

For the next ninety minutes your eyes stay strictly on your own booklet, but you can’t help but feel the radiant energy off the guy in a cowboy hat and fraternity sweatshirt and his knee that somehow keeps knocking yours.

“Slow down, cowgirl! I need a minute to recover,” Bob breathily begs from beneath you, where you’re still grinding your hips into his, one arm braced on his chest and the other against your peeling dorm wall. That damn cowboy hat is somewhere on the floor and his skin has evolved into an exerted red from the two orgasms he’s already stolen from you. 

You playfully roll your eyes and mutter something about bucking broncos before stilling, still so full of him. You delicately press a kiss to his sweaty cheek, your bare chest against his, timpani heartbeats synchronized. 

“While I have you,” you start, and he booms out a laugh, his cock still nestled tightly inside you. “How were you going to ask me to spring formal before?”

He’s so cute when he plays dumb. “Before what?”

“Before the guys made you publicly humiliate yourself to the point you can never take a Stats class again.”

Bob presses his lips together, warm hand smoothing over your hips as he weighs his response. Which is hard when you smell like sex and sweat and that fragrance he can’t quite identify the undertones of but has him dizzy. It’s a miracle he can pull himself away from you sometimes.

“You can’t just be happy knowing that I can never show my face in that building again?”

You reach down to the floor and pick up the worn Stetson, plopping it on your own head. You give him a stern look, stabbing your finger into his chest. He has a hard time being intimidated when his vision is centered on your breasts pressed together so deliciously. “Tell me or I’m sending you to cowboy jail.”

He raises his neck and pecks the tops of your breasts, just how he knows you like. With a joking frown, you grab him by the nape of his neck and stare him down. 

“Fine, fine,” Bob laughs deep from his chest. He looks so joyous, the whiff of sex and amorousness coloring him so beautifully. “If you really want to know.”

As you settle in to listen, the reality is that it doesn’t really matter his original plan. It’s that he even wants to go with you, that he’s just as far gone as you’ve been the last fifteen weeks. That one silly pencil would start something worth delaying a Stats final fifteen minutes and continue to another semester.

You just hope one day he’ll get you your own hobby horse.

Massive shoutout to all the Internet besties who keep the stats!Bob brainrot fresh - wouldn't get anything done without all you amazing peeps!

taglist: @berryvanille @bobfloydsbabe @bobgasm @bradshawsbaby @cosmoeticss @creatchie8 @desert-fern @drxgxnslxyer @hangmanapologist @hiireadstuff @himbos-on-ice @jaguarthecat @jessicab1991 @just-in-case-iloveyou @kmc1989 @littlemsbumblebee @mariaenchanted @maryelizabeth13 @midnightmagpiemama @m3ndacious @nerdgirljen @nouis-bum @petersunderoos96 @roosterforme @seitmai @senawashere @smoothdogsgirl @sometimesanalice @sorchathered @spidervman @sweetwhispersofchaos @sydsommersss @tastefulregularthots @theamuz @topherwrites @xoxabs88xox @yuckosworld

[anyamaris]

Title-Golden Hour

Word Count-2273

Summary-You have no idea how you got here, and the people you encounter aren't helping. It's time for you to remember what they said.

Trope-Ateez lore au

Pairing-Lost!F!Reader x Ateez (Lore based au Ateez)

Warnings-None really, it's a little unhinged in a weird ass way. Mentions of drinking. Memory loss, lots of chickens. A cock to the face.

A/N-So I wanted to go completely off the rails and explore some of the fun of the mv as well as Ateez lore. I'm planning on exploring each member in upcoming fics based in this. This is just the intro!

Dedicated to @sanjoongie because you let me scream about this and support my unhinged ideas. I hope this helps to get you excited, don't worry. Bandit San is coming.

A huge thank you to @frenchkisstheabyss for beta reading it and supporting my insanity, I love you so much, hyung.

The song playing during the dance is Blind off the new album.

Tags- @cultofdionysusnet @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @yoonguurt @shinestarhwaa @stardragongalaxy @kpop-stories-21 @starlitmark@millennial-fangirl @ericssmile @wooahaeproductions@changbinslovelylegs @yeosxxx @millennial-fangirl @starillusion13 @duchesskaren @minki-moo @woosanbby

@cafekitsune Thank you for banners and dividers! 🤍💜🤍

“Golden hour

The brightest moments in life

Those moments are like quick flashes

And never come back”

You’d been driving along this dusty road since before dawn, miles of desolate desert stretching behind you.  

Blinking, you try to clear your head, the only memory you had were those softly spoken words and an almost hypnotizing hum bouncing around in your exhausted mind. 

Then everything was static.

Wiping the sweat from your brow, you shield your eyes from the hot noonday sun.  

Your old, reliable car was smoking behind you, the hiss of whatever had caused your breakdown filling the air.  

Distant outcroppings of rock terrain are all that greet your eye beyond the rusted old buildings surrounding you.  

The faint repetition of pickaxes echo through the open area as you survey where you’ve been stranded, the tings and clinks setting an almost eerie soundtrack for your current predicament.

Where in the world am I? 

Turning to look towards the run down motel, you manage to catch a glimpse of some cowboy hats bobbing in conversation.

It must be nice to be drinking this early, you muse, studying the three figures in chairs gathered around a small table, the crystal of their whiskey glasses reflecting the sun's harsh rays.  

A bell rings and your attention is drawn to a tiny building with a red door surrounded by green.

Is that…a diner?

Your stomach grumbles in response, causing you to take a step towards the sudden aroma of chicken hanging in the air.

It didn’t appear that anyone was at the gas station at the moment, though the sign proclaimed “mechanic on duty.”

Your stomach growls at you once more, and you decide that you can inquire inside the diner while you appease your appetite.

Walking towards the impossibly small building, the chime of a bicycle startles you and you leap out of the way as a pack of people ride by.  

Not one of them looks back at you, but for some reason you feel as if each and every pair of eyes are on you. 

You swear you didn’t even see his face, but you can almost picture the blonde man leading them with the beret grinning maniacally at you.

Hongjoong, a voice your own and not your own ping pongs around your brain.

Remember what I said.

A soft giggle echoes in your mind, tickling more than just your aural senses.  

It’s as if you can feel that laughter under your very skin.

Trying your best to ignore the creeping confusion teasing at the edges of your mind, you step forward to push open the red doors.

The man behind the counter wearing a trucker hat turns to study you as you enter, tilting his head as he narrows his dark eyes.

His name tag reads, ‘Yunho’.

You glance away as you take in the inside of the diner, walls lined with gold albums, one L-shaped counter taking up the majority of the space.  

There are other diners in colorful, flashy clothing seated on the red stools as your empty stomach gives another howl of protest.  

Blushing at the embarrassingly loud noise, you nod your head to the other customers as they turn to eye you.

The tall man in the hat’s expression changes at the sound, tapping his spatula in his palm.

“Sounds like you could use a bite to eat.”

His blinding smile seems to take up your entire vision and suddenly you’re pushing open the red doors once more.

“Remember what I said!” 

Your brow furrows, turning to see the cook waving to you as you leave.

Remember…? 

Your memory is only filled with the buzz of static as you try to recall anything that happened after you entered the building.

Frowning, you realize you’re no longer hungry; your stomach is full and you can only scratch your head in confusion as you bid the strange man goodbye.

Yunho.  

At least you recall something from the hazy lunch.

Glancing across the way, you notice that your car is no longer where you left it.

Instead, it’s on the side of the building, and the form of a man moves around inside of the building as the blue ‘ice cold’ sign flickers.

When did I move my car? You wonder, somehow knowing it’s being taken care of.

Rubbing your eyes, a sudden weariness takes over as you plod over to the run down motel, figuring it’s best to at least find out if there are lodgings. 

The three men who were drinking before you entered the diner are nowhere to be seen as the old motel sign creaks and groans above you.

Entering the dilapidated building, you notice the silhouette of a man at the desk, his chair squeaking as he turns to glance at you in surprise.

As he opens his mouth, a rooster flies into your face with a flurry of feathers, causing you to reel backwards.  

Landing on your ass, you find yourself in front of a motel room door, white chickens grazing around you as you ponder what the hell just happened.

“If you need anything, I’ll be around.  And remember what I said.”  a deep, velvet voice says, and you turn to watch the man who was in the office saunter back into the rusted main building.

Yeosang.

His name is all you can summon from the strange black hole of your mind, recalling the plaque on the desk that told you as much.

Looking down at the golden key in your hand, you just chalk your fuzzy memory up to exhaustion, slipping the key into the lock.

Before you can enter the room, you freeze as a man in a white suit and hat slowly strides towards the gas station.

Is he riding an ostrich?

He raises his a red lollipop to you, winking as if to say-

Remember what I said.

Seonghwa.

The moment you think it, he nods and turns to continue on, yet there’s no recollection of meeting him before.

Massaging your temples, you enter the small room, collapsing immediately upon the bed.

Remember what? 

Why does everyone keep saying that?

Why do you know these random names but can’t recall any interactions?

It’s like you’re losing time here.

Maybe this is all a dream…

Before you can even open your heavy eyelids, you can hear music coming from the old television set on the dresser.  

“All you need to do is remember what I-” 

“Said.” you mutter, peeking an eye to glance at the screen.

The form of a purple clad man in a top hat with a cane beams back at you, looking almost satisfied that you finished his sentence.

Mingi.

It’s strange how you keep recalling these strangers' names, yet somehow…

You don’t even remember your own.

Rising from the strangely comfortable mattress, you finally glance around the room you’ve been sleeping in.

More framed albums, posters of random music shows, awards and accolades fill the walls.  

Slipping your legs off the bed, you find yourself stepping on the litter of dollar bills all over the floor.  

Frowning, you lean down to pick one up, rubbing your fingertips over the paper to see if it’s real.

This place is insane and you can’t help but feel like you’ve fallen down some kind of crazy rabbit hole.

Chicken hole, you think, eyeing a white chicken as it struts out of the bathroom, clucking at you happily.  

Music plays from the television, drawing your attention to the spectacle of a man in a blue suit, with a red flower on his lapel.  

A mariachi band plays in the background as he bows, looking up at the screen to give you a sassy little smirk.

“Tonight, we dance til the sunrise! Remember what I said.”  He proclaims, causing you to flop back on the bed. 

Wooyoung.

STOP IT!

Soft laughter fills your head as you glance over at the screen, a wanted poster of a man with a mask in all black on the screen.

“Have you seen the Masked Bandit? Call 1018-1117!”

That’s not even a real number, you think.  

Opening the door to go back outside, another commercial plays before you can shut the door.

“Don’t be like Jongho-remember what we said-” 

Static overtakes your mind, and suddenly you’re outside, chickens pecking the ground at your feet.  

The sun is dipping below the horizon, and you hear the loud laughter of a large mass of people in the distance. 

A large red brick building looms and you can see some colorful banners as if decorated for a party.

Was that here earlier?

Following the sounds of music, you suddenly hear the loud roar of car engines and you rush over to see what is going on.

Cash litters the ground even out here, and your foggy brain starts to register more of your environment.

Dollar bills are being used as banners, hanging in windows, and thrown all over the ground like confetti.  

As the sun sets, you approach the peculiar celebration going on, eyes wide at the sight of the colorful outfits, the loud music playing, the vast array of curious eyes as the turn to take in your arrival.

“You came.” A voice says, the hand on your back gentle yet firm as it guides you towards where everyone is gathered.

“San?” you ask, shocked that his name came out before you even thought about it.

The man in the black hat and vest grins at you in delight, dimples peeking out as he gives you a single nod.

Before you realize what’s happening, the sky is darkening and the blaze of a fire is lighting up the night.

Music seems to come from everywhere and nowhere as you turn in circles, the beat of the song coursing through your very bones.

Yeah, it spreads when I see you, fire

The sound of an accordion playing catches you off guard, and you notice the song is in so many different languages yet you seem to understand everything.

All you can interpret is the red moon rising, the blaze of the fire as the beat takes over.

Before you can take another breath, you’re being spun around into someone’s arms.  

You barely sense the bodies writhing around you, compelled to sway your hips and get swept away with the atmosphere.

I feel an unbearable thirst, crazy 

It’s as if you’re in a fever dream as you take in the gleaming eyes of the man holding you in his arms, his blonde hair tinged with red as you hear his delighted giggle.

I'll whisper to you until the sun rises, singing

You blink and suddenly your hand is in the man in the blue suit’s, as he twirls you around happily.  

Dance just for you tonight, follow, follow

Another blink, a set of strong hands holding your hips, swaying them as he holds you close, his deep voice singing along to the song.

Singing only to you.

I'm tickled, I'm going to cut off all the perfect lines, babe

The man in the top hat and cane is dipping you, whispering yet another line,

Come closer, come dance with me-

Your hands are in the long, dark tendrils of a man with big doe eyes, his tongue darting out as he mouths the next line.

I know you want to, let’s dance

Strong arms pick you up and swing you around, a delighted laugh escaping your throat as you lose yourself to this fever dream.

His angelic voice rings in your mind, whisking you away to another world-

Until the break of dawn

My love I'll sing for you all night

A tall man yanks you to him, his large hands splayed over your lower back as he guides you through steps you shouldn’t know, yet you move confidently with him.

Matching steps under the moonlight, cha-cha-cha

Feel my heart getting hot, pam-pam-pam

Your hands meet the bare skin of a chiseled chest, the now familiar dimples greeting you as he grips your hips to sway in time with the music.  

Over and over, you’re spun around, with each breath, a new face greets you, until you’re looping back around.

You’re becoming almost familiar with them each as you feel them draw you deeper into their forbidden dance.

Hongjoong, Wooyoung, Yeosang, Mingi, Seonghwa, Jongho, Yunho, San….

Over and over they blur in and out of your vision until the chorus builds and their voices combine gloriously, hypnotizing you;

Dance tonight, in this burning night

Queen of the night, star of my eyes

Wake me up with your gaze

Take my soul, take my heart, love is blind 

Take my soul, take my heart, love is blind; Let's go

The night sky gleams golden as the edges of your vision start to fuzz, many sets of arms assuring you that you won’t fall as the world goes black.

The heat of the sun beats down upon you, the clucking of chickens invading your sleep hazed mind.

Holding your hand over your eyes to shield them, you look up at the men standing above you.

They're dressed much differently than the previous night, and you sit up slowly, wondering what happened.

Clad in wide brimmed work hats, shovels and pickaxes in hand, the maniacal eyes of the blonde man meet yours as he kneels beside you.

“Come on, love.” he says, his voice dancing as he tucks a tendril of hair behind your ear.

The sound of a clarinet fills the air as a distant rooster crows.  

“What…where are we going?” You ask him, looking around at the eyes studying you.

“Gotta work.” 

[mightystumpmachine]

urgent request (?

Patrick stump x PETE SISTER! Yeah, it's a cliché but listen!! It's Pete's birthday and the reader for some reason gets along badly with the guys. But that same night she meets Patrick and sees that he's not a jerk or something like that.Idk stumpmachine, surprise me. (((I love the cliché))))

God, I hadn't written about «Pete's sister» in YEARS!!! You made me go back to my preadolescence on Wattpad, thank you for this, I've had so much fun, and hopefully you like the result :') I also love the cliché, although I'm not sure if I did it justice in this fic 💗

☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★☆゜・。。・゜・。。・゜★

Golden Memories.

(Patrick Stump x Fem! Reader) [Female reader sister of Pete wentz]

🎈Summary: It's Pete's birthday and you get along really badly with most of his friends, so you decide to go outside for some air and discover that maybe not all of Pete's friends are jerks.

🎈Warnings: mention and consumption of alcoholic drinks. And I think that's all lol.

🎈Fic Type: fluff; slice of life; romance.

☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★☆゜・。。・゜・。。・゜★

It was a typical hot night in early July in Chicago, but it wasn’t just any day—it was your older brother Pete’s birthday.

The Wentz house was filled with people celebrating, drinking, and dancing. You, however, felt a bit out of place.

You had tried to join the party, but most of Pete’s friends seemed unbearable and even a bit idiotic to you, honestly. Except for Joe, with whom you had exchanged a few words and found him funny and charismatic.

However, you had lost Joe at some point during the night among the crowd and alcohol, and now you were alone, overwhelmed by the loud music.

You decided to go out to the backyard to smoke a cigarette and take a break from the noise.

The yard was lit by warm lights hanging from a couple of posts and bushes, creating a cozy and relaxed atmosphere. There were also a few helium balloons tied to the bushes and colorful letters on the wall spelling out: “Happy Birthday, Pete.”

You leaned on a wooden railing and lit the cigarette, enjoying the night breeze and the relative silence compared to the inside of the house.

You thought it might have been a good idea to call one of your friends so you wouldn’t be completely alone. But, to be honest, you didn’t think the party would get this out of hand.

You weren’t even aware Pete had so many friends. You wondered if he really knew all the people who were now dancing and maybe throwing up in the corners of your house. You had even seen a couple in a heated make-out session on Pete’s bed.

You sighed, knowing you had to prepare for the scolding from your mother, who had gone to a friend’s house and trusted the house to Pete and you, believing that at most five people would come over.

A few minutes later, you heard the sliding door open, pulling you out of your thoughts. You saw Patrick, Pete’s best friend, the blonde who always wore some kind of tilted trucker hat on his head and those peculiar sideburns framing his face.

He had a slight frown and seemed a bit uncomfortable with the environment, just like you.

You looked at each other for a few seconds, which eventually became a bit awkward, so he decided to approach, giving a small smile.

“You’re Pete’s sister, right?” he asked, trying to start a conversation.

“Uh-huh,” you replied, exhaling the cigarette smoke. “Though they also call me _____,” you joked.

He laughed a little. “I’m Patrick,” he introduced himself, though you knew perfectly well who he was.

Obviously, you had seen Patrick come to your house very often, along with Joe and Andy. But, particularly Patrick had always attracted you a bit. You found him cute and kind, though you had never approached him, assuming he would be like the other friends of Pete.

Seeing that the silence had invaded again, you took out your pack of cigarettes and offered him one. He immediately shook his head, trying to hide a grimace of disgust.

“I don’t smoke, but thanks.”

You raised your eyebrows, surprised, to which he smiled shyly.

He leaned on the wooden railing, right next to you, and let out a sigh, feeling a bit more relaxed.

“So... are you having fun?” you asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

“Pete knows how to throw a good party, I won’t deny that,” he replied. “But it’s not my style... I prefer quieter things. But he seemed so excited that I couldn’t say no.”

You nodded, understanding perfectly. “I feel the same way. I like to drink and hang out, but with a smaller group... plus here I don’t get along with anyone.”

Patrick looked at you for a few seconds.

“Well... you have company now,” he dared to say.

You laughed softly and the blonde just looked at you smiling with a frown, not quite understanding what had caused you to laugh.

“Sorry, it’s just that I really thought all of Pete’s friends were dicks, so being here with one of them is a bit funny to me,” you replied.

“I understand,” he said with a laugh. “Most are cool, maybe you just had bad experiences... at least I hope you don’t think that about me.”

Patrick looked at you, waiting for your response. You shrugged.

“So far, you’ve changed my mind,” you said. “Maybe... not all of them.”

The conversation continued, now more fluidly, talking about shared interests and funny anecdotes. You noticed that Patrick was much more interesting and nice than you had imagined.

At some point, you both decided to go inside to get something to drink, and although Patrick didn’t like to drink too much, this time he agreed to have a few beers with you.

The night went on and the heat didn’t lessen, leaving a fresh breeze that felt like a relief on the skin. You decided to sit on one of the chairs in the yard, away from the noise and curious glances.

“You know... you’re also nicer than I imagined,” Patrick said suddenly. “I think you’re great.”

“Oh, really?” you laughed. “And what did you think of me before? I mean... this isn’t the first time we’ve seen each other, you come over here often to see Pete,” you dared to ask with a hint of curiosity.

Clearly, at this point, you were both more uninhibited because of the alcohol, you had drunk a lot and neither of you was used to drinking that much.

Patrick laughed softly, looking at the ground before responding.

“To be honest, I always saw you as very much in your own world and we barely said hello. I figured you weren’t interested in talking to us,” he spoke a bit hesitantly. “However, you always caught my attention… but you’re a bit intimidating.”

You laughed as soon as he finished speaking. “Do you think I’m intimidating?”

Patrick nodded, embarrassed.

“Just a little?” Both laughed at the confession. “Anyway, I’m glad I decided to talk to you today. I had no idea how much I was missing out on.”

You smiled, feeling flattered. “I don’t believe a word you’re saying, but I love to hear that.”

Both laughed again and the silence that followed was comfortable. Just enjoying the tranquility of the yard and each other’s company.

Patrick looked at you from time to time, with an expression that seemed to be debating between timidity and the courage to say something else.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, noticing his intermittent gaze at you.

He lowered his head and smiled, a little blushed. “Nothing, just... it’s nice being with you.”

You didn’t know... but actually, Patrick was thinking about why he had never noticed how pretty you were until that moment.

The hours started to pass quickly, and you were making the most of every second to get to know each other.

You had stopped drinking because you didn’t want to be more drunk than you already were (on the verge of being drunk but still in your senses).

At some point, between anecdotes and bad jokes (really Bad jokes), you found yourself laughing at something Patrick had said.

You noticed how close you two were, and Patrick also realized it. Your gazes crossed, creating a bit of tension.

He blushed intensely, turning a ruby red, but didn’t pull away.

You didn’t know if it was because of the alcohol running through your veins or because he simply seemed attractive to you, but you decided to take the initiative and kissed him softly.

At first, Patrick stayed still out of surprise, but soon he responded to the kiss, feeling a comforting warmth.

The world seemed to stop around you, you felt a kind of electricity in the air that enveloped you.

Just when the kiss was becoming slightly more intense, the sliding door opened abruptly, revealing a very happy Pete, totally drunk and laughing out loud.

“Well, well! Look who we have here!” he exclaimed, slightly staggering. “‘Oh Pete... all your friends are idiotic losers,’” your brother mimicked in a high-pitched voice, teasing you.

You pulled away from Patrick, completely blushing. Patrick was also very embarrassed, but couldn’t help laughing.

“Pete, you’re totally drunk,” Patrick said, trying to maintain his composure.

Pete laughed even harder and completely ignored his friend. Staggering a bit, he pointed at you two. “This is great! I never would have imagined... JOE, GET THE CAMERA! This will go in my golden memories!”

“Why don’t you go back inside and stop embarrassing yourself? Us, really!” you suggested, half amused and half mortified.

“Alright, alright,” he complained. “But first let me give you my blessing, my dear siblings, don’t get into trouble,” Pete burst into laughter and turned around to go back to the party, muttering something about this being the best birthday ever.

Before leaving, Pete turned once more, this time pointing at Patrick with a mocking smile: “So you don’t know how to flirt with girls, huh? Gotcha, you dirty little man!”

Patrick looked at you with a small smile, completely red with embarrassment. “I think I’ve never seen Pete this drunk.”

You nodded, still incredulous at what had happened. “I’m so sorry for that, he’s an idiot,” you laughed nervously.

“Don’t worry, I know,” he replied. Still a bit shy, Patrick took your hand.

“How about we forget what just happened?” you suggested after a few seconds in silence.

Patrick looked at you with a hint of disappointment, “All of it?”

“No, just Pete,” you said, stealing a small kiss that he immediately returned.

The night wasn’t over yet, but you knew this July night would be etched in your memory.

[violetmuses]

Fever - A. Aretas 💥

Title: Fever - A. Aretas 💥

Fandom: “Bad Boys” Film Universe

Character: Armando Aretas

Pairing: Armando Aretas + Female Reader

Main Storyline: One mission burns hot! @onlyforyuto

=====

2024

Fuck the mission!

When neon lights flashed red throughout the popular nightclub, Armando Aretas looked upward to see your silhouette walking down this staircase.

Sensual music played, but you wouldn't sing, just drifting closer. Detectives Mike Lowrey and Marcus Burnett froze, unable to correct Aretas.

“Go, girl!” Tabitha waved near you and flared so much, loud as hell while cheering with other ladies.

As you keep dancing, every rhythm guides your steps toward Armando. This handsome stranger wears unexpected clothes with Mike and Marcus.

Wearing this Bud Light shirt, one trucker hat veiled his brown eyes. Dirty jeans covered both legs and older boots stepped along.

He wouldn't stop looking at you, fixated through silence as music closed your performance.

By the end of your show, no one else will make a difference.

You've rested both hands on Armando's legs and prompted more eye contact that flamed with so much chemistry.

Lifting your chin, Armando realized just how gorgeous you look up close.

His heart nearly shattered.

“C'mon! Now you're being stupid.” Mike shouted, fed up. Even Marcus rolled both eyes.

Aretas wants to stay with you, but leaves the club instead, pulled away by Mike once and for all.

[cloveroctobers]

BODYGUARD — VICTORIA HUGHES [Summer Writings]

A/N: where is the fandom on this site? Nowhere to be found and only on Twitter! Easily became my fav fem character of the series and would have loved at least ONE MORE SEASON. Would definitely watch if they decided to do a crisis one spin off in the future. Anyways Vic deserves all the love she can get and it’s a special month so here I am—if you catch my drift 😉

SYNOPSIS: life in DC has taken some time getting used to but thanks to having Travis by Vic’s side she manages—although she’s sure she would have figured it out regardless! Vic has begun navigating Crisis One on her own and being in charge of a team leads to her spending the weekend with a member Vic’s not entirely sure likes her but decides to push her pride aside through persuasion of her best friend…later bringing on further rejection?

WARNINGS: curse word dropped + fem reader has southern roots + a few OC’s added just for the purpose of this mini story + mentions of injuries and procedures & Travis still being Travis…

<- read my previous summer anthology fic here.

༄｡° ༄｡° ༄｡° ༄｡° ༄｡° ༄｡° ༄｡° ༄｡° ༄｡°

~WASHINGTON, D.C.~

A few bruises, a very large angry mosquito bite, and the stench of a cigarette is the first thing Vic notices when she spots you looking out into the distance above the river. You’re not far from where your RV is parked along the growing grass and Vic snorts to herself, realizing that you weren’t bullshitting when you chatted about your ride/home down at the center. You were the first to show up before everyone else on the official start of crisis one (always on your electric scooter with a seat attached and a small wired basket in the back) tipping your, “bless your heart,” trucker hat in greeting along with a apple lollipop hanging in between your lips.

Granted the crisis one team would all receive their uniforms in due time but it certainly wasn’t what Hughes was expecting just based on your file and word of mouth from HR. Vic liked to say she handled herself well trying to work with this new team but there was something about the woman from Texas that liked to throw Vic for a loop.

“Just go over there and hint at the idea of spending some one on one time together,” Travis whispered to Vic who threw her hands up in the air in annoyance.

“We’re not even supposed to be down here! The event is back that way and I don’t even know why I let you talk me into taking a walk.”

Travis gave her a side eye, “hey, I stopped you from jamming a foam board over Duke’s head, you should be thanking me.”

Duke Conway was another member of Crisis One, a bit of a airhead surfer dude that came from a wealthy family that also helped fund this program. The event held vendors that showcased many programs over the state that didn’t mainly cater to mental health services but also just health in general. There were pamphlets, foods proven to uplift your health, demonstrations, games and even other various of activities for all sorts of ages! It was a beautiful scorching hot day out here at the recreation area that felt as big as Central Park! It also started off as a good day until Duke began blabbing to the others about how he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to purchase this new surf board on this salary (yes in DC!), purposely ignoring this elderly woman who wanted more information on crisis one.

That ticked Vic off since she always has a soft spot for the elderly, her personable trait coming into play as she assisted the woman, apologizing for Duke’s actions and answering most of her questions before Travis took over so Vic could tell Duke a thing or two. That of course led to Duke still being oblivious and Vic ready to flip on him since he’s done nothing but kick back and act as if this was some chill weekend outing.

Which led to Travis leaving the booth in Vic’s second or third in command—Travis always assumed it would be you and should be since you two seemed to work together best besides the few times you agree to disagree but instead it went to Duke’s cousin on his mother’s side, Arlington Wraith. Who was a bit of a classist snob but agreed with Vic on their cousin’s stupidity but felt they should be the only one that got to say it—despite Vic out ranking the both of them.

To cool off, Travis and Vic decided to take a walk and now Vic felt like maybe this wasn’t the best idea. The braided haired leader wasn’t sure where you ran off to since one minute you were there with the rest talking to a man that approached the vendor and then in the next you were yards away.

“Thanking you for what exactly?” Vic pulled her bottom lip into her mouth by her teeth, then used a finger to scratch at her scalp in confusion, “Trying to meddle with my love life?”

A freckled face Travis lolls his head around, “Vic it’s been how long since we’ve been in DC?”

Vic lifted her shoulders exasperated, “I dont care and I don’t need to constantly be in a relationship.”

“Who said anything about that?” Travis replied with a frown, “You two may just have sexual chemistry.”

Vic rolled her eyes at this, finding this statement to be so typical of her best friend.

“Again, been there and done that! And this isn’t even what this day is about. I’m supposed to be working and she should be too which means we should only have our heads in the game.”

Travis shrugged, “well maybe your head can be in her game.”

Vic twisted her face in disgust as Travis laughed to himself, “I can’t believe you just said that cringy garbage to me and if you want to be horny—save it until one of your late nights down at those clubs you spend twelve hours in, it’s like you think we’re in Europe or something.”

“Hey, I’m single and like to have fun.” Travis argued with his hands raised.

Vic mumbled, “Yeah that’s your problem.”

Travis fires back, “And your problem is not being laid enough.”

Vic pinched the space in between her brows, “Travis…I love you truly and i broke my celibacy a while ago and still chose to focus on my work even after that but we’re older now. Supposed to be smarter even! I’m pretty sure I’ve had this conversation with you before but I think I’m ready for more than just a lay again. I’ve worked so hard to be here and sure of myself and I want to share that along with having an endless love that lasts until I’m ready to kick the bucket.”

Travis softens his teasing as he reaches to grip Vic’s shoulders and then caressing them, “that’s sweet and I love that for you but how do you expect that to happen if you don’t take another leap of faith with someone that’s right in front of your face?”

“Again!” Vic yells, “Did the whole dating a co-worker and someone that works in the same field as me.”

Travis nods his head knowing of Vic’s dating history, “fair but you’re the one that thinks she doesn’t like you…and you could at least try to be friends since it’s actually nice having someone in your corner in the work place. I mean hey look at us! So go over there and just try.”

“You’re acting as if I’m some kid at the park that’s scared to go play with the other kids or something.”

“Well I think you are honestly,” Travis states making Vic raise her brows in disbelief, “it’s just you and I out here and I know someday will be the day where you’ll want to build a family—outside of me—with someone else and she might be the answer to that.”

Travis didn’t mean that in the sense of having children since he was sure that really wasn’t in Vic’s cards. She liked being the cool aunt to Maya and Carina’s kids and basically being the godmother to Pru, who she shared conversations with every other day but a family didn’t always have to mean producing children, it could be with the people you already surrounded yourself with.

“What exactly am I even going to say? It looks like she’s in deep thought along the horizon and I’m not sure I want to disrupt that.” Vic makes excuses now, molding her lips together as she awkwardly swayed her hands back and forth.

Travis gives her shoulders a shake, “you’re Vic Hughes…I’m sure you’ll manage,” before he circles around Vic to lightly shove her in the direction of a potential love interest, “I can confirm that they also identify as queer.”

Vic whipped around to face her best friend who grins at her, “how? What? That doesn’t automatically mean—

“Sure it doesn’t but I didn’t exactly get the chance to ask if you’re her type.”

“Uh, I’m glad you didn’t! You’re so embarrassing.”

“That’s my job. Now shoo!”

Vic glares at Travis who sends her a thumbs up in encouragement. Turning to face where you stood, it appears that you’re now facing in their direction, watching their exchange but Vic isn’t sure for how long. You pluck the cigarette forward, leaving Vic to pause and shake her head as she now charges forward to stomp it out.

“Seriously?” She holds her hands down at the stomped out lipstick covered cigarette.

Your hands goes to your hips as you await for Vic to get closer, “what?”

“Not only are you killing the environment but also your lungs and possibly other organs, you do realize that don’t you?”

“Sorry mom,” you respond while Vic rolls her eyes.

Vic fans the air before taking an inhale, “What’re you doing all the way out here instead of you know, helping back at the vendor?”

You blink, “it’s actually my day off but I pushed myself to be there since I’ve been parked out here for awhile.”

“What?” Vic looks off to the side in thought, “I don’t remember that on the schedule.”

You joke, “ah, forgot all about me as soon as Duke and Arlington showed up instead huh?”

“Yeah because they give me ulcers.”

You chuckle, “And what do I give you?”

“Hmm…Second-hand smoke?”

“That’s my first one in six months!”

Vic folds her arms, “You’re right, I remember you saying that you quit so that adds more to my disappointment.”

“Oh no, what will I ever do without the approval of Victoria Hughes?”

“Okay, I’m the only one that gets to be sarcastic here.” The brown eyed woman points, leadership kicking in just a bit.

“It was more snark but—

“Whatever! I’m here to ask about your well-being.”

You stare at Vic then, “You don’t need to do that.”

“I know I don’t but if everything doesn’t flow right then I need to check on the state of my team to make sure that it does and I can tell you’re not exactly thrilled about that but…you’re on my team.”

Watch this curveball, “Right…and you’re deflecting from what you really came over here to ask me.”

“Excuse me?”

You’re waving your hand about now, “You and Travis really know how to use your outside voices so…go on ask me already.”

Vic blinks rapidly and tightens her crossed arms as she studies your shell of a face with a clear of her throat, “I don’t even know what you’re taking about I—okay.” She exhaled before continuing, “Would you like to go on a date or hangout with me sometime…even though I’m not sure you even want to be bothered with me?”

“Wow you’re really selling it,” you snort, “what’s the matter, been out the streets that long?”

“Okay, never mind. Screw this.” Vic whips around, ready to walk away until you speak again.

“I would have said no anyway.”

Vic halts and turns back around, arms still crossed as she sways from one leg to the other as the sun burned the back of her bare arms, “What was that?”

You shake your head with your eyes closed, “And not because I don’t like you or find you unattractive because that would be a huge lie. I’d say no considering I also put in time off because I’m getting surgery.”

Vic frowns for another reason now and not just at the rejection although her mind is still spinning, “oh…is everything alright?”

“Cataract surgery…I know that’s usually an older person’s problem but I beat the odds.” You unconsciously rub at your blurry eye, “They said it’s a mixture of genetics but mainly from trauma—

Vic exhales, “from that call we received a month ago? You mean to tell me you’ve been dealing with this since then? You were cleared, I saw that paperwork.”

Vic remembered that day, witnessing you double over after a schizophrenic patient rammed a pen right into your eye. The patient was calm until you turned back around to assist with wheeling them out of the home. Everyone seemed to miss checking the pockets of her robe, where a pen with a frog top was pulled and aimed right at an off guard version of you.

It felt careless and stupid and most of the team knew this. Errors were meant to be made and it should have been one of the first things they checked after securing her but it was a small pen that held quite the damage.

You nod, “yeah guess I wasn’t as cured as they thought. It’s only in that eye so it’ll take less amount of time.”

“When is it?”

“Thursday.”

“And you’re working up until that time?”

“Yup.”

“Well send me the information so I can check up on you.” Vic holds out her phone while you take it with a curious stare.

“This a way to get my phone number?”

“I can get it anyways,” Vic honestly answers, “but i also want the details…you do have someone looking in on you afterwards right?”

You shrug, not wanting to get too personal, “I’ve got Uber and Limbo.”

“Uh…limbo?”

“My ferret.”

Vic says, “You have a ferret…of course you do, you live in a freaking RV!”

You laugh as you send a text to your own phone, listing the details in the message before handing it back over to grab your own phone to send a thumbs up emoji, “if this is your idea of a date you’re more of an oddball than I am.”

“This isn’t a date! It’s simply checking in.”

“After I told you that I’m going to be preparing myself to get my eye scrapped like nails on a chalkboard.”

“I did not need that mental image.” Vic winces.

“I know,” you smirk.

“Are you nervous about it?”

“Do I seem nervous?” You question.

Vic does that thing where she talks fast but in this circumstance was to hide the fact that she may or may not being caring in different ways about you, “Some people tend to hide their emotions better than others so I can’t exactly tell.”

You lift your shoulders, “not really afraid of a little surgery but I’m open to you holding my hand later…if that’s not crossing a line that is.”

“It is crossing many since I’m essentially the head of crisis one but I was also the one who approached you about going on a date or hang out.” Vic exhales in realization that this was basically another pattern that she ultimately wanted to avoid.

Yet here Vic was acting up in the summer time with the stamp of approval from a best friend who still hasn’t gotten their own love life together.

Funny stuff, really.

You reminded, “Which I sorta rejected.”

“Until a later date.” Vic added.

“Until a later date,” you echo meeting Vic’s eyes, “…for now do you want a shot of whiskey? I’ve got some of the best in my humble abode…and don’t worry I’ll bring it out to you to avoid any other problems.”

Vic emphasized, “We’re on the job…”

“You’re on the job.”

“And you’re about to get me into a world of trouble aren’t you?” Vic laughs with her head thrown back, somewhat scared but excited to jump into what’s to come.

There’s a glint in your eye at that as you step even closer to Vic now who feels like she should be breathing regularly but knows that she’s not, “you’ll learn to love it if you haven’t already, Victoria Hughes…so? What do you say?”

She inhales with a pretty smile, “I say sure, I’ll take a shot but just one. I don’t know much about how you Texans get down.”

“I’ll teach you.” You wink, which makes Vic’s belly flutter.

“I have no doubts about that.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

“…I’m gonna walk away now so you don’t kiss me.”

Vic scoffs but her face is tight with humor,“Please get over yourself.”

You walk backwards to your RV, “Never, it’s what makes you so fascinated with me.”

“Oh god…I didn’t realize your head was so abnormally big!”

“With the brains to match.”

Vic pushed her lips out not even mad at that comeback, “…Alright I’ll let you have that one.”

You hum with another wink, leaving Vic for a few moments while Vic peers down at her phone at the text message, adding a name to match the number. When she glances over her shoulder, Travis is nowhere to be found—which actually makes Vic relieved until the creaking of your door hits her ears.

Down the steps you go, making your way back to Vic with your baggy ripped shorts, holding two shots of brown. Vic carefully takes it and holds it out to the center, “what are we toasting to?”

“Better beginnings?”

Victoria nods with crinkles by her eyes, “Better beginnings.”

“Should I be cheesy and say, together?”

“Please don’t.” Vic groans, “I’ve had enough corny for today.”

“Noted.”

They clink their glasses as you tell, “make sure you make eye contact or it won’t seal the deal.”

“So you’re superstitious?” Vic makes a mental note of that.

“To a certain extent but it’s common courtesy.”

“Fine.” Vic comments with a sigh as they briefly break eye contact to place their glasses to their lips before holding each others stares again.

One winces while the other grins, “to better beginnings.”

༄｡° ༄｡° ༄｡° ༄｡° ༄｡° ༄｡° ༄｡° ༄｡° ༄｡°

Continue with my summer anthology writings & prompts here.

[total-killer-brainrot]

Hey There Stranger

You paused briefly to take another sip of wine, and nearly jumped out of your skin as the radio at your side crackled to life.

“You done already, sugar? I was just starting to enjoy myself…”

---

You use your old CB radio to help blow off some steam.

---

All my fics are also on AO3

Not Beta Read. Rating: Explicit. Length: 1,472. Ship: Rusty Nail x You. Fem!Reader. Tags: Sexism, Bad Work Environment, Voice Kink, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Humiliation Kink, Praise Kink, Begging, Tattoos

---

Today, like every other day spent in your gruelling, exhausting existence, was awful.

Running an auto shop solo, in the middle of butt fuck nowhere, as a young woman, was possibly the worst choice anyone could ever make. 

Your long days were spent either dying of boredom, baking in the hot sun, or getting cussed out by some uptight city fuck boy who refused to believe that you knew more about cars than him. So few of your customers were decent people. In the last week you could probably count two that didn’t make you want to rip your hair out. 

Right now you were suffering through yet another obnoxious douchebag screaming at you because he was so sure you were overcharging him. You just stood behind the counter and watched him tucker himself out with a blank stare on your face. Too exhausted to even bother blessing him with a reaction. The door dinged behind him as another customer entered. An older guy, trucker by the looks of it. He gave you a short nod then waited behind the asshat still ranting in your face. 

By the time he had reluctantly paid and left you wanted to break something. Instead you forced a smile and greeted your next customer. Expecting another jackass old guy telling you how to do the job you’d be doing since you were young.

“Some people…” he tutted. Tipping his hat lower so you could barely see his face. Just his stubbled chin and the cigarette held between his lips.

You blinked in surprise. Getting empathy from a trucker in these parts was rare indeed. 

“Right? Fuckin’ audacity man…” You shook your head gently as you relaxed. Something about this guy put you at ease. Perhaps it was his voice. So deep it rattled your bones and made your brain buzz pleasantly in your skull. You could listen to him talk all day. 

Unfortunately for you he wasn’t very talkative. Polite, well spoken, but didn’t say a whole lot. Still you were surprisingly entranced by this stranger. Something about him drew you in. You weren’t the most perceptive person but you could just tell there was something unique about this older guy. But to your disappointment, he left with another nod goodbye before you could figure him out. And you were left with the lingering smell of coffee and cigarettes and the image of his smirk under that dirty old hat.

During your long, lonely shift you did allow your mind to wander. It wasn’t often a guy walked in here and caught your eye. And you’d never see him again. So why not indulge in a little harmless fantasy to get you through your boring workday. Was it really unprofessional to get off at work if you had no customers and were your own boss? Perhaps yes. So it all had to be in your head unfortunately.

-

Once home you were exhausted. Emotionally and physically. And you were still pent up and imagining that one unusual customer in all manner of compromising positions during the rest of your work day. 

Your bed creaked as you flopped down heavily, half full glass of wine in your hand, the rest of the bottle in your other. Already a little tipsy from your first glass. And already well into your second. Fully preparing to spend the night enjoying yourself to wind down from another stressful day of work.

When the most delicious idea popped into your head.

In the corner of your bedroom sat an old CB radio. Dusty from years of being forgotten. Despite the machine’s age, you still knew it like the back of your hand. Years of talking to your pa while he was on the road. It took you a minute to set it up at the end of your bed. Heart skipping a beat excitedly as the familiar crackle of the radio coming to life hit your ears. 

You flicked it to an empty channel. As fun as the risk was, you didn’t want anyone to actually hear you. Just the thought that someone might stumble across this channel by chance was enough to make your thighs press together. Just tipsy enough to think this was a good idea.

It didn’t take you long to rid yourself of your remaining clothes. Splayed out across your sheets with the little handheld microphone pressed close to your lips. A delicate sigh escaped you as the tips of your fingers slid through your folds and the tension started to seep out of your body. You let your eyes flutter closed as you allowed your imagination to run wild. It was easy to conjure some make believe man on the other end of the radio. Listening and guiding you along as your fingers pressed down gently on your clit. There was no rush. You could take your time and enjoy the slow build of pleasure. Letting your moans fill the radio channel with no need to quiet yourself. 

You paused briefly to take another sip of wine, and nearly jumped out of your skin as the radio at your side crackled to life. 

“You done already, sugar? I was just starting to enjoy myself…”

You gaped at the little machine. Face turning hot. How long had this rando been listening? Had he heard everything? Was he jerking off right now? And… Why did that voice sound so familiar? You had to slog through your hazy thoughts for the owner of that perfect growl. Then it hit you. The older guy who had come into your work. The whole reason you were doing this to blow off some steam. You sat up slowly. Keeping your eyes on the radio like it would attack if you looked away.

“Can’t be getting all shy on me now… keep going.” 

His voice was firm. No room for argument. And that voice really did something for you. You could practically feel the way you dripped with arousal as his tone lowered in demand. 

With a nervous sigh you tilted your head back. Fingers finding their way back down to your core. For a brief moment you wondered if he could hear the slick noises it made, then you heard him hum happily and your suspicions were confirmed. You bit your lip hard as you slid two fingers inside your cunt easily. Too embarrassed to moan as openly as you had been moments ago.

“You know I wanna hear you, sugar.” He grunted. You let out a weak whimper that he cut off with another groan. He was definitely jerking off as well. The image of that alone made you weak. Those large, tattooed hands gripping his cock. Leant back in his beast of a truck. Perhaps a cigarette between his lips. His hat pulled low so only his salt and pepper stubble was visible. Your mind ran wild and you didn’t notice yourself start to get louder once again until he interrupted your thoughts with a devastatingly hot,

“Good girl.” 

Holy shit. You couldn’t remember a time where you had needed dick as badly as this. You pressed your thumb to your clit once again as your fingers curled inside you. Whining needily into the mic. Barely registering the pleased grumble you got in return.

“Fuck me…” You gasped out. Pleading for him without realising you had even opened your mouth. “Please.” 

He laughed. It was so deep and so damn condescending the humiliation nearly pushed you over the edge. Just barely able to keep your cool.

“Darlin’. I’m not even there.” 

You couldn’t stop the frustrated groan as it crawled up your throat. Turning your head towards the radio as you heard something slick from the other end. Drawn back to that image of him getting off to your moans. Your hips rocked upwards. Chasing the pleasure as it twisted your stomach. Loving that he was enjoying this just as much as you were. 

“Please…” You begged once again. You heard his breath hitch, then a loud rumble. He must have just started his truck. Your heart skipped a beat and you gasped excitedly. Eyes rolling back into your head as you felt your orgasm start to crest.

“Don’t you dare cum till I get there. You gotta wait for my cock, ok baby?”

You froze. Holding your breath as you fought off the pleasure. It was torture to pull your hands away but at this point you would do anything he said. You nodded. And it took you way too long to remember that he couldn’t see you. Yet.

“Yes.” You knew you already sounded like a mess. Breathless and needy. You quickly tacked on the end, in hopes of gaining his favour. “Sir…”

His low chuckle made you squeeze your thighs shut. So fucking desperate.

“Now, where you at, sugar?”

[insomniac-jay]

Roysophia Headcanons

Last Roysophia post for the day I swear (unless 👀...)

When they officially started dating, she knew she'd have to introduce him not only to her parents but also the Amazons. Meeting her mom and dad went well. The Amazons...not so much.

Their signature way of flirting is sparring and training. Roy loves to get Sophia flustered whenever they spar by making innuendos and giving her nicknames.

Sophia loves running her fingers through Roy's hair. It feels so smooth and silky between her fingers.

Sophia likes to steal Roy's clothes, especially his trucker hat and shades (trucker hat Roy is best Roy). Roy can't even be mad when she looks so hot in them.

Nicknames between them includes "My angel", "Sophie", and "Pretty lady" on Roy's end. Sophia's nicknames for him are "Royboy", "Arrow", and "Speedy boy".

Roy took her to the Navajo reservation he was raised on and met his family. She got a pair of earrings from his sister Bird. Sophia wears those earrings in her civvies outfits.

When they get married, Sophia hyphenates her last name to be Evangelista-Harper.

Sophia keeps all of Lian's drawings in a scrapbook because they're absolutely adorable and the fridge can only hold so many of her drawings.

@calciumcryptid @peachyblkdemonslayer @autisticichihime

[rustedhearts]

cowboy blues (gator tillman x fem!reader)

summary: you do your best to make sure gator has a perfect birthday—even against the wishes of his dead father.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ rolly's roller wheels blurb commissions!

tags: cowboy!gator (no cops here!), slight angst, fluff, smut (oral f receiving).

for @softagardenblooms! i hope you love this as much as i love you for always being so kind and sweet. yeehaw! ♡

wc: 1,248

the tillman ranch.

“Days off” didn’t exist on the Tillman Ranch. Never have, never will. Gator came to know that well when he asked his father to spend his 13th birthday at the shooting range with his friends instead of cleaning stalls. Roy’s adamant refusal (and insistence on a full day’s work even on the boy‘s big 13) was all Gator needed to know that he’d never be free of the ranch.

Not even on his birthday.

So, when his father died, it didn’t even occur to Gator that he no longer had to uphold the rule. He no longer had to work holidays or birthdays, no longer had to “man up” when all he needed was a lie down. But some part of him felt like Roy would still know. Like his spirit would come and kick him in the ass out on the field.

Like when Gator made it to Hell, Roy would be waiting with a special kind of torment.

“The ranch won’t go to shit if you take one day off,” you tried to insist. “C’mon, you deserve a nice birthday. A half day!”

But Gator just shook his head, lips latched around the mouth of a beer bottle. It popped free with a noisy swallow.

“No can do, sugar. Already got the guys workin’ overtime.”

And you huffed and pouted about it, upset that you couldn’t properly shower your man with love on his special day. But no one seemed more torn up than the birthday boy himself.

He trudged to work that day, but gritted his teeth and “took it like a man.” All morning as he brushed out the stalls, he heard his father’s voice in his head. Shaming him for getting sentimental, scolding him for finding too much importance in himself. Vanity’s a sin, son. God don’t look too kindly on men who think too much of themselves.

Ironic. Even Gator could scoff at that now. Though he fought the urge, every fiber of his being ached to be with you today. Just you, just him, tangled together mouth-to-mouth. He was a simple man, and sex was the perfect birthday gift.

But Gator still needed to outgrow his father’s shadow looming over him.

But it would be a cold day in hell before you allowed your man to spend the day in a hot stable shoveling shit rather than somewhere more enjoyable.

He took his father’s death pretty hard, and now he struggled to find joy where he used to. He called it the cowboy blues, but you knew better. And you’d do your damndest to prove that you could bring the joy back.

Starting with a perfect birthday.

You instructed a young rider to hurry into the stables with an emergency. Some frantic stuttering, some incoherent rambling and panting. Gator would assume the worst: that you were somewhere hurt and needed him. He always thought you needed him, and you let him believe it.

It worked out in your favor this time, because when he came running into the house—boots clomping in a run, work gloves on and trucker hat muddy—he found you unharmed in the kitchen.

Unharmed and half naked. Well, entirely naked save the flimsy ruffled apron tied around your waist.

He scuffled to a stop in the doorway, pinkness flooding to his cheeks.

“H-honey?” He swallowed. “What’re you doin’?”

You shrugged, playing with the strings of the apron. “Just bakin’ my man a birthday cake. You want a taste, hon?”

Gator’s eyes dragged over your body, inhaling deeply. He placed his gloved hands on his hips, a glazed look glinting in his eye.

“Oh…sugar, you know I gotta—“

“Gotta what? It’s your birthday, Gator. You don’t gotta do nothin’ you don’t want to.”

His eyes flashed to yours, brief hesitance brewing in his brows. He brought his lip between his teeth and dropped his hands. His gaze slowly slid downward again, head tipping to get a peek under the lacy hem of your apron.

"That so?" he mumbled.

"Mhm."

"Since s' my birthday...does that mean I get whatever I do want?"

You tugged the first knot of the apron strings free, keeping your eyes narrowed salaciously on his. "Depends. What is it you want, Gator?"

Gator plucked the gloves on his hands by the fingertips until they slipped free, landing with a smack on the kitchen tile. His hat followed, flung aside to let his hair loose. He took a large stride forward, dirtied boots clunking. All that ranch work started to pay off on his firm biceps and wide shoulders—you shuddered in anticipation of the first touch from those rough, callused hands.

They slid over your hips first, gentle and coaxing until you pressed your palms against his chest. They roamed lower, sweeping over the swell of your ass until they found the fat of it, squeezing both globes eagerly. Your lips parted with a sharp gasp, quickly swallowed by Gator's mouth slanted over yours.

"Want..." Gator could barely separate himself from your lips long enough to speak, words squished and smushed between tongue and flesh. "You...mm...on...table."

Despite the instruction, he guided you backward and lifted the small inch to the tabletop. Once seated on the cool surface, he broke from your mouth to nudge your shoulders. You lowered back, splaying flat. Gator flipped the hem of the apron over your stomach and smoothed his hands over your inner thighs, using his explorative and needy touch to spread your legs.

One finger swept through the slickness that awaited him, a chuckle filling the kitchen at your immediate squirming.

"This is all a man needs, sugar. His wife spread open on the table...all for him."

When all you could do was gasp and writhe, coached to excitement by his prodding and massaging touch, Gator's eyes flashed to yours again with a cocky grin.

"Really know how to spoil me, darlin'."

You heard the thump of his knees on the kitchen floor before you felt the heat of his mouth, attaching itself to your core and forming a suction that took the light out of the room. His fingers gripped at the fat of your thighs with greed, disrupting blood flow and bringing a soreness that would last days. But the pleasure lapping and nipping between your thighs was enough to soothe it all away.

You worried you weren't doing enough—it was his birthday, after all. Right now, this seemed entirely about you.

But through the blurred daze of pleasure, you took a peek at the man between your legs—gripping onto flesh for dear life, moaning and groaning between the loll of his tongue and pull of his mouth—and knew he was just as delirious with delight.

Gator stood to his feet with a glistening chin and ridiculously tight tacticals, which he rubbed at with a groan as he positioned himself between your trembling knees.

"Thank you, sugar," he sighed, thickened with relief. He smoothed the gelled hair back from his eyes and let his eyes roam over you again.

"You're...welcome," you breathed, still flushed and unsteady.

The tinkle of his belt buckle knocked against the table, zipper snicking with its quick release.

"Ready to spoil me some more?"

Your grin was nearly giddy. "Whatever you want, birthday boy."

It took another two hours to free yourself from the kitchen long enough to show him the real present: a sparkling new truck parked on the lawn.

He made good use of that spacious truck bed, and decided maybe birthdays were better spent off the ranch.

[herunswithscissors]

I actually went to Gobblers Knob in Punxsutawney and was close enough to see the no shadow for myself before the drunk guys in top hats told us what they saw.

I experienced the whole frigid, boring, tedious, painful, boring, long, standing room only for 6 hours of physical hell, low rent, cheapass, tacky, corny, tawdry, obnoxious, fucking dry event for you.

It involved security pat downs for liquor on every man woman and child to keep out liquor. Weed was illegal by community consent thanks to Reagan. It was 10 degrees and dark in the dead of a Pennsylvania Winter. And there was absolutely no entertainment for hours till it got daylight. Then this local DJ comes on to entertain the out of towners. He's horrible.

Remember that we are the cash cow for this little group of local good old boys and their buddies. And for the entire town. And they treat us like shit. Just penned us up and hit us for cash money at every turn. This was 1998, so that wasn't unusual everyone outside major businesses required cash. I'm dead sure they have those little credit card scanners everywhere now. They milked us for everything they could think of.

And it was so fucking cold. You don't understand cold until you know standing huddled still in the dark cold. Most people never really experience cold. Insulation is really fucking good now. I overpaid so much when goose down jackets got sorta affordable. They were like miracles to me. I would have given anything for such a miraculous jacket then. I had to make do with layers of insulated flannels and long underwear. I did have true winter underwear from my Boy Scout days so I was a good bit less cold than my buddies who didn't know how to layer.

Most people only experience shoveling snow cold. Maybe skiing cold. A few hunting cold. (Real damn cold) And a mighty few who have lived in it for days just sitting around camping in tents with nice sleeping bags and a big fire to warm us. In teens or subzero temps. I have. You have to dig deep and layer well. And just accept being cold every single minute of your life outside of your sleeping bag.

So we were doing hunter cold. This was Western Pennsylvania. Everyone knew how to do hunter cold. My buddies were all suburban kids. I told them how to dress. A few listened.

That night we started at like 3am and drove 2 hours of dark Pennsylvania highway. Just darkness, trees, and sky. I can't remember if the stars were out. Something about those Appalachian Forest highways just are monotonous in a weird way. They are absolutely gorgeous. But they're so covered in deciduous trees on gentle mountains that everything looks the same like on Rt 80. That road is a hard one for truckers.

The constant flow of just changing contours covered in a static of waving green leaves for 1-2 hour intervals between truck stop interchanges and small towns that depend on that one Burger King to employ half the deserted depressed Dollar General ridden steel mill town.

And Sheetz. Sheetz was always a good choice. Every 2 hours along the entire highway. They set up shop in some small town, employ 30 people to make hot food to order and run a gas station for a pretty decent wage with benefits. Sheetz is one of the most decent employers out there. Predatory but decent and relatively generous about it all. It was a blessing and a lifeline to outside income for their little towns to keep new money coming into the local shopping mall or mechanic and their families. True trickle down economics works if the rich people spend their wealth in poor areas in poor businesses. I always tried to shop local when spending grant money even if Amazon or Firestone was cheaper/convenienter.

Convenienter is now a word. Take it as my gift to the world.

Anyway this monotonous optic flow of green static was bad as a passenger. You could only look outside for so long before you began having conversations with anyone about anything while shuffling the 10cds of shitty one hit wonders that were pretty bad. And I hated them all outside AC/DC.

As a driver it was hell. You NEEDED those Sheetz pitstops.

The monotony of the static flow outside was so monotonous yet you had to pay attention to these two little yellow lines surrounded by green static that moved with it all and you had to pay attention to in order to navigate the road. It was hell on the psyche. A loop of Appalachian road trip would break any insurgent.

Anyway we drove 2+ hours of this in snow. Thankfully it was in the dark. Always schedule Appalachian road trips for night. (Except in the Appalachian Autumn. Oh. My. God. My heaven is filled with autumn leaves.)

The darkness concealed the green static.

2+ hours of my best friends in the world talking shit to AC/DC and Ace of Base or whatever was the thing.

Those road trips are always fun. I strongly suggest. Even if you have to brave the Appalachian Static.

Anyway we arrive at Punxsutawney. It is in the middle of nowhere. Just another isolated abandoned steel town. They have a bit of a real downtown that most of these towns utterly lack. Often it's a gas station and a Dollar General and a bunch of run down houses with a school 40 minutes away it shares with the other rundown towns.

But Punxsutawney has a nice little town of happy people because of Phil and our fascination with this thing.

So of course there is not parking for 30,000 people. In a town of 5,000. So they rope off some field frozen solid and park us all charging Disney parking fees.

They subcontract school buses to haul people from the parking lot to the main event. The bus drivers are the first line of defense against alcohol and drugs.

Security is the second. Compete with pat downs and local cops along with PA Troopers with drug dogs and quotas to meet. No spoiling the fun with chemical enhancement!

Then you walk for fucking ever. Slowly. Going to the Knob.

It is deadly cold. And it begins to dawn on you what you are in for in this grassy pen with nothing but a porta potty or two for entertainment.

Look at all that fun!

This was before phones people. My friends and I were super studious and none of us owned any kind of video game. No handheld games. Maybe you thought to bring a newspaper or book. I think I brought a book. I'm sure at least one of them brought engineering notes to study. Most just talk and bitch about the cold.

Cold in the dark is different from cold in the light. It is so much deeper without the solar radiation slightly warming your surface and your spirits.

Then the dawn brings light and a little warmth and hope.

Then the dawn brings the DJ.

Small town DJs are interesting critters. They are small town famous and often they are unique personalities that can be really entertaining. At least between songs and commercials. Some of them are pretty amazing like Nipsey, Jen, and Earl in Harrisburg/Hershey/Lancaster/Lebanon area back when it was even more podunk backwater.

It was 1998 and this guy showed up.

So this small town guy is used to entertaining local venues with his shtick that everyone knows and loves with his slightly out of date look and inside local jokes.

Today he has 2 hours of just him on a stage in front of 30,000 pissed off college students who were expecting a lot more entertainment and maybe some food or drinks and tired & grumpy rural folk hoping to get in a little fun and excitement before going to work. At least half the crowd had found a way to sneak in a flask or something. So people were unruly.

And we just watch the poor guy spend 2 hours fighting for his life up there feeling bad for him trying to entertain us while hosting his fun little morning show for his listeners who are probably loving it all.

He got heckled. Badly. This was 25 years ago and we weren't very nice.

After 2 hours of this entertainment. The main event started.

My heroes arrived on the scene.

They have been partying all night long. In a nice warm place with warm food, comfy chairs/couches, running water, and a ton of alcohol. They are all drunk as skunks. The all come up on stage, wave and whip up the crowd, pull out their buddy, give him some scritches and lift him up to the crowd like he's the new Lion King, and then examine his shadow, make their proclamation, smile and wave, go back to their party, and count their money.

This is the highlight of the entire event. The peak of excitement. The best it got for the whole day.

Then they shoved the DJ back on stage, the national media and anyone with connections left, and the rest of us were kept penned up for another hour or 2 till it was our turn to take a school bus back to our frozen car, a 2+ hour drive through winter highways, and afternoon classes.

It was so much fun.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Why You?

CW: PTSD, panic attack, hallucination, traumatized whumpee, escaped whumpee, some referenced gore from the past

Death Valley

For @amonthofwhump day 8; holiday haunting

-

Wichita, Kansas, 2012

A man who had once gone by Finn Schneider sat in a diner just before midnight, sipping weak but scalding hot coffee and waiting for his breakfast plate to be ready. The diner held a scattering of people other than him - a group of five drunk kids who couldn’t be more than teenagers, giggling to each other, a boy and girl shooting each other lingering looks that told the man that they would probably be kissing before the night was out. 

The girl had stolen the boy’s hat five minutes ago and currently wore it with the bright and shining smile of the triumphant. The boy slid her sidelong smiles. 

How long did it take him to realize what it meant when girls stole his sweater, his coat, his hat? He couldn’t remember, really. At some point, though, he understood that it was the same as a sign waved in the air, interest made clear without words. 

There were a couple of truckers meeting for what passed for dinner at midnight, too. They’d nodded to him when they came in, thinking he must be one of them. He figured it was the eating-at-midnight, the loneliness, the heavy canvas coat he wore against the frigid chill of wind outside. 

Noah had given it to him, congratulated him on your first Carhartt, now you’ll fit right in behind the wheel with me, and he’d worn it ever since. Noah was off on a different job, and it was up to the man - who currently called himself Henry Schmidtgall - to try and fit in by himself. Mostly, that meant saying as little as possible to hide his accent and wearing these heavy coats and gloves and a thick hat.

He was on his way from his last job in Illinois, near Chicago, headed up to Montana. There were some people he’d pick up in Colorado, three or four, and then he’d head north for the border and hope they made it before the snows fell.

Meanwhile, he sat in a diner in Kansas freezing his ass off. The chill air from outside made its way through the big glass windows, and he looked out to see absolutely nothing beyond the bright streetlights flooding the small parking lot. Not that there was much to see.

He hated driving through this part of the country. 

There were no trees to stop the wind, for one, no real hills to slow it down. It blew across the fields and plains and cut like a knife. Half the time he thought if he forgot to wear gloves it would slice his skin right open. This time of year, there wasn’t even corn to rustle.

The waitress stopped over to refill his coffee, and he smiled at her, distant and unfocused. Over the tinny speakers, country music played, low enough to mostly escape notice, occasionally breaking into his thoughts as the singers wailed a particularly emotional line. The booth squeaked a little when he shifted, but he ignored it. 

One of the teenagers threw her head back, letting out a bright burst of laughter that traveled through the diner like a gunshot. Everyone tensed a little, then went back to their soft conversations or - in Finn’s case - to staring at nothing.

Two waitresses argued over politics by the countertop, the cook occasionally chiming in while bacon sizzled and eggs fried in a saucepan to one side. The man who used to be Finn Schneider barely listened to them. He didn’t know anything about American politics and he didn’t care, either.

The bell over the door jingled as it opened, a merry little sound, and he looked up on pure instinct.

Then he froze.

His hands clamped down around the cheap ceramic coffee mug until the heat burned his palms, and still he held on. The chill was no longer on the outside of him, but boiling up from within, traveling up his throat and turning into the softest whimper. 

Luckily, that came just as the chorus of the song hit its crescendo, and the tiny noise he’d made was smothered by she was the one that got away, the one that wrecked my heart…

Hesitating just inside the door was a woman in her midtwenties with black hair that flowed loose down her back like water, blown around by the freezing wind. She had a cell phone up to her ear, wearing tight black jeans that flared out over heavy boots, a thick sweater and the same kind of coat the man who used to be Finn Schneider was wearing over that. 

Finn saw her in profile, left side only, her aquiline nose and light brown skin, one green eye - he was sure it would be green, although he couldn’t see from here - and full lips. She laughed, to whoever she was talking to. “Yeah, I’ll call you when I get back on the road,” She said, her eyes scanning over the booths and tables, taking in the sparsely populated little place. “Yeah, I try my best to be. Mmhmm. Love you, too.”

She shifted, shoving the phone into her pocket.

Finn stared at her, years falling away. If she turned her head, he knew she’d be missing one eye. The right side of her head would be bashed in, crushed bone and brain and so much blood. If she turned, he’d see one green eye ringed in a little line of brown, just the one, an empty marble in a broken face.

He never did quite understand what had happened to the other eye.

He last saw her on Robert’s living room floor, a dead body dragged along on a trash bag with her hair a terrible halo clumped with blood and gray matter. He’d listened to the awful, final sound of her body thumping down the basement stairs, disappearing into the dark. Then he’d seen Robert bring up the barrel with little left inside but bones he’d bury somewhere in the wilderness while hunting for new victims.

What had her name been?

Robert had shown him the driver’s license, made him hold it and smear his fingerprints all over the thing. A smiling, pretty woman’s face with long black hair. Nicole Chumani. Age 24, address somewhere in North Dakota.

Robert had commanded Finn to read every detail out so he couldn’t look away from it. Hair, black. Weight, one hundred forty-five pounds, height, five feet six inches…

Only when Finn had broken down into tears inside his cage, Robert disgusted by his emotions, had he taken the license back and driven her body away to be dumped with all the others. She’d been in California, Robert had said cheerfully, to visit a friend who came out here. She’d been to California to have a nice visit, and she’d had one, and then she’d run into Robert at a rest stop at 3 AM when he was hunting.

And then-

She’d been buried in the woods, with the others Robert didn’t keep in his basement. Somewhere in the woods, somewhere along a highway in Wyoming, somewhere no one was ever looking for them.

And here she was, now.

When Finn glanced down at the floor, he could see the blood dripping and puddling there beneath her feet, bits of gray matter floating in it. Bone, like shards of glass, the slight curve of a skull.

“Just you, sweetheart?” The older waitress called out, a woman in her fifties maybe. The dead woman smiled, giving a nod in affirmation. “Sit wherever you like, it’s too late for anybody to be all that picky.”

She laughed in response, and Finn blinked, watching her back as she walked to a booth, pausing just before it. Bloodied footsteps trailed behind her. His heart stilled as he waited for her turn around - to see that bashed-in face, to throw up all over the table and to have only coffee inside of him to lose - and then it began to beat again. The heavy thump of it knocked the air from his lungs.

She turned his way as she sat down and he realized it wasn’t Nicole Chumani at all. 

There wasn’t any blood on the floor. 

No bone or brain.

He blinked, rapidly, and shook himself like a dog shaking off water. 

She didn’t even look like Nicole Chumani, and her eyes were clearly far too dark to be green. Her hair was too long, although didn’t he read once that hair keeps growing for a while after you die? Her face wasn’t broken at all, wasn’t bashed in and destroyed by Robert’s hammer blows. She had two perfect dark eyes. 

She glanced over and caught him looking at her - staring - and Finn immediately looked back down at his coffee. The next time he chanced a look, she had her phone in her hands, and he knew what she was doing.

He knew.

She was taking a photo of him, maybe, or just describing him in a text to someone she trusted. Guy staring at me, creepy asshole.

It was only-

She’d just looked like-

He almost asked. Do you remember Nicole Chumani? She went missing in 2003? But of course she wouldn’t, they probably had never heard of each other. How many people lived in the States, that he should assume any one person would know about any other? This woman would have been a teenager when Robert dragged a body across the floor in front of Finn’s face.

It would have been fine, if he had died, and Nicole Chumani had been the one who lived. She would probably have done a better job with her life than he’d done with his. 

A plate was set down with a clatter in front of him and he jumped, heart in his throat, eyes jerking up to see-

The waitress, blinking with surprise. “You all right, hon?”

Finn swallowed, once, twice, three times. “I-... yes, thank you.” If he kept his sentences brutally short, he could mostly cover up his accent. Noah told him to, that he needed to not seem like someone who didn’t belong here, but it was hard when he belonged nowhere at all. When he shouldn’t even be alive. When he should have been buried in the basement with the rest. “More coffee, please?”

She nodded, bustling away. His stomach flipped at the smell of the cooked eggs and bacon in front of him, the toast with its little cups of butter and jam. He wasn’t hungry any longer, but he made himself spread the butter anyway, take a bite of crunchy browned bread and salty fat. 

The waitress poured his coffee back up to the top, then glanced up at a clock that hung on the wall near the door. “Merry Christmas,” She said, with a solemn thoughtfulness.

“Wh-... what?” Finn blinked.

“It’s after midnight, hon. Merry Christmas.”

“Oh… ah, Merry Christmas, thank you.” He caught himself before he could say danke. 

She walked back over to her argument over the President with the other two, and Finn ate some bacon with a tongue that did not taste it, with teeth that were barely aware as they chewed. He could feel the woman in the other booth looking at him, still. Wondering why he had stared at her like that.

There was nothing he could have said to ease her mind, now that she was worried over him. No way to say, look, I’m sorry, but you look just like a corpse I once knew-

He had to stifle a giggle, put a hand over his mouth. Hysterical fear threatened the edges of his vision, settled like a weight against his back, ringed him like the bars of his cage. 

He didn’t dare look her way again. Not only because he knew what he looked like, but because he was terrified that if he did, she would be missing half her face again. She would point at him, glaring with her one baleful remaining eye, and ask with a mouthful of missing bashed-up teeth and cracking broken cheekbone what made you so goddamn special? Why did you get to live and I had to die?

And he’d have to say, I don’t know.

He fled into the night a few minutes later, his meal barely touched and a twenty dollar bill left on the table. 

The man who used to be Finn Schneider was in Dodge City before he stopped feeling the weight of one single eye on his back. 

-

@finder-of-rings  @endless-whump @arlinthesnep  @thefancydoughnut  @newandfiguringitout  @doveotions  @pretty-face-breaker  @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow  @boxboysandotherwhump  @oops-its-whump  @cubeswhump  @whump-tr0pes  @whumptywhumpdump  @whumpiary  @orchidscript  @nonsensical-whump  @outofangband  @eatyourdamnpears  @hackles-up  @grizzlie70  @mylifeisonthebookshelf  @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp

@whumperfully @pigeonwhumps  @squishablesunbeam  @darkthingshappen @whumper-soot  @pumpkin-spice-whump @pardonmekreature  @d-cs @honey-is-mesi @whump-queen @sowhumpful

[sillyrabbit81]

Can you write about meeting Sy for the first time & it turning into something more please? Like you have to ask a stranger for help to reach something on the shelf at the grocery store & it’s him or maybe you meet him on a vacation with friends. If smut happens, that’s ok too. 😏 You’re writing is my favorite!!

Thanks for the ask Anon. Sorry, no smut but I hope you enjoy it!

Summary: You buy too much at Ikea and have trouble fitting it in your car. Will a hero come to your rescue?

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader

Word Count: approx. 1.5k

Warnings: None, fluffy.

Authors Note: Thanks as always to @amberangel112 who had to work a little harder on this one for me and pushed me in the right direction.

Masterlist

Tetris

Wiping sweat from your forehead you start having a tantrum in your mind. Fuck this Ikea furniture, put it together yourself, flat pack bullshit! This shit is meant to be easy, but no! Twenty-five kilograms isn’t hard to lift but when its bloody 2 meters long and you’re playing Tetris with your trunk it fucking sucks. You’re going to have to take two trips. Fuck your back just twinged.

Growling with frustration, you go to your handbag and grab your water bottle taking huge gulps. It was so humid and hot you thought someone had thrown a wet woollen blanket over you. Your feet felt like they were on fire in your canvas shoes, you should have worn sandals or flip flops. You grab the front of your summer dress and pull it away from you trying to let some air in to cool your skin.

As you use your dress to fan yourself, your eyes start to wander around, and you notice a guy parked near you packing his stuff in his truck. Fuck he was huge with massive shoulders, thick legs, and a big scruffy beard. You can’t tell how old he was, but shit, was he hot. He was wearing a trucker hat, dark grey cargo shorts, well-worn with scuffs and splatters of paint and a red t-shirt that while it appeared a little small on him, it looked fantastic. He squats low to lift a couple of his flat packs into the tray and your eyes meet for the briefest second. You turn away quickly, pretending to study your trunk. Fuck, he saw me. Mortified, you take one last swig from the bottle of water and put it back in your bag.

After being sprung by the hottie you feel even warmer and not to mention embarrassed by the situation. Yeah, you were a strong independent woman, but it was at times like this you wished you had a man around. And if he happened to look like Mr Hottie over there, well even better. What made you think you could bring home this much stuff at once?

Sighing you pick up another flat pack. It wasn’t as heavy as the others, but by now you were exhausted. You shove it on top of the other boxes, pushing with your hip until it seemed like it was all the way in and tentatively shut the trunk, testing its fit. It did but that was it, the car was full and you didn’t see a way to make the last two boxes fit.

“You know, if you stacked ‘em flat instead of on their sides you may have gotten more in.” A deep, southern voice says. You glance at the truck where the hottie was, but he wasn’t there. Before you turn around you wonder if you want it to be the hottie giving you unsolicited advice or if it was too humiliating for him to see you in such a helpless situation.

You turn and it’s the hottie. God, he was a hot. You try and think of something witty to say but instead what you say makes you sound like a petulant child. “You could have said something earlier.”

If he was annoyed, he didn’t show it, he smiled and said, “Well, I’m here now.” He comes closer and you see the beads of sweat rolling down his neck and disappearing into his shirt. You wonder how he can stand to have a beard in weather like this, but you’re glad he does, it seems to suit him. You watch him study the trunk before he turns his attention to you and your eyes meet again. Oh no, they were so blue and pretty with long eyelashes so thick they made you envious. Could he possibly be more attractive?

“What are you thinking?” you ask. “Can you make it fit?” He raises an eyebrow and smirks, his look makes you feel like you said something inappropriate but you can’t work out what. He presses his lips together to hide the amusement on his face and looks back at the trunk.

“Sure,” he says. “Help me with this one?”

At his direction the two of you pull out a couple of the boxes and he helps you rearrange the flat packs. His instructions are concise and clear, no padding to the words and it seems to you like he was used to giving orders. You wonder if he was the boss of a building company, a personal trainer or maybe a soldier. You think about asking, but his tone is all business, no room for small talk at all. He isn’t being rude, he smiles as he works with you, and he does all the heavy lifting, just asking you to help guide the boxes into the right spaces. You had to admit, his demeanour was appealing, his confidence alluring and his appearance downright sexy.

When it all fit, he says, “Well, now. You’re all set.” He flashes you his grin again, showing you his teeth and a hint of dimples in his cheeks nearly hidden below all the thick hair on his cheeks.

You can’t help but smile back, “Thank you so much. I mean you didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he says. “I wanted to.” He crosses his arms across his chest and tilts his head like he’s thinking. “Why were you tryin’ to do this all by yourself? Surely you have a boyfriend or someone who could help you.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” you say quickly. Shit, that sounded desperate.

“If you want, I could go to your house and help you unload them.”

“Oh,” your alarm bells start ringing. You don’t know this guy; he could be trying to find out where you live or he could do something to you if you let him in. There’s no way you could stop a guy that big. But on the other hand, he could just be a nice guy. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

He smiles, this time a real charming smile. “You didn’t, I offered.”

You bite your lip thinking and you notice how his gaze strays to your mouth. “Look, I don’t know you and…”

“Say no more,” he says. “I understand.” His face still held that charming grin, he wasn’t angry you refused his offer which made you feel a little better and you half regret saying no.

You know you have to say good-bye, but you don’t want to and you look awkwardly at your feet. You realise you can’t drag this out any further, so reluctantly you stick your hand out. He looks at it and takes it. “Thanks, I owe you one,” you say.

After a couple of shakes you expect him to let go of your hand, but he doesn’t. You feel this thumb run over yours, exerting just enough pressure to feel the texture of his calloused pads against your soft flesh. “How about you let me take you out for dinner tonight and we’ll call it square?” he asks.

“Oh.” You’re surprised, but recover quickly to say, “Yeah, sure. But how about I pick you up and pay for dinner as thanks.”

“Counteroffer,” he says. “How about you pick me up and I pay?”

You hum pretending to mull it over, “How about I pick you up and we split the bill?”

He follows your lead humming before he answers, “Ok, final offer. What if you pick me up, we split the bill for dinner, but we stop and have some ice-cream on the way home, I’m buyin’?”

You let out a little laugh and say, “Deal.”

“Well alright then,” he says. He glances at your hand, letting his thumb take another pass over yours before he lets it go.

“So,” you say.

“So,” he repeats with a grin. “You gonna take down my address?”

“Oh,” you say. You pull out your phone and write his address down. He gives you his number too. “What’s your name?”

He chuckles and says, “Syverson.” He spells it for you. “Most people call me Sy.”

“Sy,” you repeat.

“Yeah,” he says nodding.

“Well, I’ll see you in a few hours then.” On impulse you press call on your phone. Sounds of metal music come from his phone. “Fucking Hostile?” you ask.

“You like Pantera?” he grins. You nod. “Never woulda picked that.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and looks at it and goes to put it back.

“That’s me,” you say, and you tell him your name. He adds you to his contacts and for a moment you look at each other awkwardly. “Well, I’ll see you at around seven?”

Sy hums and says, “How about six?”

You grin, liking the game he’s playing. It’s like he’s letting you win, but still controlling the situation. It was kind of hot. “Six-thirty,” you offer.

“Six-fifteen,” he counters.

You laugh again and say, “Alright, Deal.”

“Well, alright then,” he says. “See you soon, Darlin’.” He tips his hat to you. You stand frozen as he hops in his truck and drives away, giving you a wave as he goes. He tipped his fucking hat.

You seem to be able to move again, so you jump in your car, your hands shaking as you call your best friend. When they answer you squeal excitedly, “Oh my fucking god, I think I just had a Wattpad moment.”

Tag List 1

@henryobsessed @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @posiemax @nostalgicb-txh @moonlacebeam @anitababi @agniavateira @blakerogue @shadesofarrogance @mansaaay @stxlemate @wheretheriversrunintothesea @amberangel112 @madbaddic7ed @eldarwen333 @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @summersong69 @littlefreya @littlebirdofrivia @luclittlepond @myloveforhenrycavill @mary-ann84 @tellingyouastory @beck07990 @zealoushound @sofiebstar @sweetlybigdragonn @bloodyinspiredfuck @marantha @diegos-butt @greensleeves888 @endofalldays01 @justaboringadult @ysmmsy @offroadinjandals @littlewrenofrivia @pussyverson @foxyjwls007 @kebabgirl67

[butwhyduh]

Hair Bows

Roy Harper x batsis!reader

Summary: a date turned into a play date turned into work. Basically Lian taking over Titans tower. And canon has no home here.

“I’m just about to head out the door,” you said over the phone, still doing your hair. Roy wasn’t the most punctual guy and this was your way of coping. If you were also always late, it didn’t bother you as much.

“Wait,” Roy said and you heard a muffled sound like him running his hand down his face. “I can’t go.”

“Why not?”

“My babysitter punked out at the last minute so I can’t leave Lian. I’m sorry,” he said.

“Oh, uhhh, bring her,” you suggested, hopefully sounding casual. You’d met her a few times but nothing big and your date was just a walk in the park. Nothing a kid couldn’t do. And you were hoping to be a little more seriously dating.

“Seriously?... on a date?” He asked.

“Not if you don’t want to. But I just thought we were going to the park and we can let her run around. You know what? Never mind, if you need to stay home it’s cool. I don’t know anything about kids-“

“Hey, it’s a good idea,” he said stopping your ramble. “I just wasn’t expecting it. Most people don’t want someone else’s kid on their date.”

“Most people shouldn’t date people with kids if they can’t be around them,” you answered, finishing up. “Now am I meeting you both at the park or..”

“Now I know why I’m dating you,” Roy said and you could hear the smile through the phone. “I’ll pick you up. Lian’s not a fan of riding in other people’s car so Uber is out.”

“Can’t blame her. See you soon,” you answered.

——————————

You had changed into a slightly less sexy and more family friendly top and sensible shoes by the time Roy picked you up. Can’t chase a kid in heels.

Roy looked nice in a button down and jeans with no holes in them. Not a trucker hat in sight. And of course, Lian was a doll in a spring themed dress and leather bottomed sandals. The first thing she showed you was an impressively high kick.

“And it’s okay because dad makes me wear shorts under it. For taking out punks,” she said knowingly. You nodded.

“For punks. Good idea.”

“In case they get fresh,” Roy said to you as she ran to a slide.

“Fresh? She’s 5. Maybe Lian should teach me that move. I know this guy that’s always trying to get fresh,” you said as he wrapped an arm around your waist from behind and rested his head on your shoulder.

“Hmmm, should I kick his ass,” Roy said playfully.

“I’d pay to see you kick your own ass,” you said with a laugh.

“Ouch, and I thought you liked me,” he said, sounding dramatically wounded. You laughed again.

“The entertainment value tho. Hard to beat.”

“So many ‘hard to beat’ jokes I would make right now,” he whispered in your ear and you pulled out of his arms. You were rolling your eyes but the grin ruined the disapproving air you were trying to have.

“Not that kinda date,” you reminded him and as if on cue, Lian ran over to Roy and grabbed his hand. She started dragging him to a food truck.

“Can we get a funnel cake? Or ice cream? Or a hotdog?” She asked excitedly.

“Hotdog and then ice cream on top of a funnel cake,” he said in a mock serious tone as he bent down beside her. She grinned widely. “We aren’t animals!” She squealed and dragged him to food truck.

You grinned as you watched them. Roy had fucked up a ton but this was not one of those times. Nope, he was a great dad. He looked back at you confused as why you hadn’t joined them and you jogged over to them.

“Sorry, just lost in thought,” you said as they made your food. Roy had a hand casually around your waist as Lian tried to swing on his other arm.

“Bout what?” He asked.

“How good a dad you are,” you admitted. He gave you a shy crooked smile before kissing your forehead.

“You bats are always in your head too damn much. But thanks,” Roy ended softly. He handed Lian a giant hotdog that she promptly started eating before giving you your food and he his. “Let’s find a spot to sit before you drop that giant hotdog.”

As Lian licked sticky sweet ice cream coated funnel cake pieces off of her arm, Roy’s phone went off. He smiled apologetically before getting up to answer it. A few minutes later he came back to the table looking even more apologetic.

“Titans business. I have to go but...” he started, running a hand through his red hair. “I don’t have a babysitter.”

“I could watch her,” you suggested and Lian looked up at him kinda sad. “I could watch her at the tower. You’d be right there but we’d stay out of the way.”

“You sure? That isn’t too much?” He said unsure, looking between you both.

“Yeah, I’ve watched kids before. And I know the tower really well. We’ll watch movies and fall asleep. Do you want a sleep over?”

“Yeah! Go on dad, I’m fine,” she said waving a hand at him. You both laughed. “Dads,” Lian said rolling her eyes playfully. Yep, she’s Roy’s alright. “Do you have popcorn?”

“Yep!”

“Candy?”

“Yep! And I know where my brother Tim keeps the good imported stuff,” you said and she grinned.

“Not too much. Or staying up too late. Or anything scary or too grown up,” Roy said on the way to the tower. “And if anything happens. Anything. Get to the panic room.”

“I know the procedures,” you said putting a hand on his shoulder. “And I can keep her safe. Don’t worry. We’ll have fun.”

“And I can kick punks!” Lian said proudly.

“And she’ll kick punks! I’m hoping she hits Gar first. Did you know he can turn into any animal? He just chooses to be a punk,” You said and she giggled.

“Wow!”

“Alright. No kicking punks unless it’s really important because-“

“My body is a weapon. I know, dad,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Roy repeated the same sort of things up in the living quarters of the tower before giving you both a kiss. “Stay safe,” he said before going downstairs.

Some of the younger Titan recruits didn’t leave on the mission and were hanging out or training. You walked Lian over to the couch and went to find a movie she might like. You dusted off the dvds they had. Probably hadn’t added any new ones in many years with the extensive funding of Batman giving them every streaming service ever.

“How about this movie,” you asked, holding up a sun bleached dvd case. “Space jam?”

Lian looked at it carefully before nodding. You put it in the player and came back. “What about popcorn? Dad says movies are crap without it.”

“Oh,” you said. “Right. I’ll make some.”

“Popcorn?” Came a voice around the corner before the next you saw was a wind of red. “Hey kiddo,” Bart aka impulse said to Lian before shaking her hand. “Let’s pick a movie. There are some pretty good ones I haven’t seen. I’ve seen 12 movies.”

“Only 12,” she frowned skeptically and you took the opportunity to go in the kitchen and make popcorn.

“Hey, did you let Lian have speedster piggy back rides,” Tim aka Robin said ducking his head in the kitchen.

“No,” you said quickly running in the living area quickly. “Okay, enough of that. I don’t think her dad would be cool with this,” you said pulling her off of him. She pouted a little.

“Why does it smell like fire,” Cassie asked from the hall and you hurried back in the kitchen to see a flaming bag turning in the microwave. Before you could do it say anything, Bart opened the microwave and tossed the bag into the sink where the sponge lit on fire. Lian shrieked and you jumped up turn on the water to put them both out.

“That popcorn smells ewwie,” Lian noted. You sighed and pinched your brow. This is fine.

“I’ll make more and you go pick out a movie. And nothing else,” you emphasized.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bart said with a salute. Tim winced.

“Sorry, he’s a lot.”

“One minor kitchen fire is not too bad. Have you heard from the mission?” You asked as you cooked the popcorn.

“Not yet. But no news is usually good news,” he reminded you and you nodded. That’s what Roy always said. You grabbed the bag and went in the living room to see an entire hot pink tackle box filled with every kind of hair tie and bows and baubles. Bart was sitting on the floor and Lian was currently tying a bright yellow bow in his huge mass of red hair.

“She wanted to do his hair so I got my stuff,” Cassie said.

“She’s a natural. She doesn’t rip out half as much hair as Cassie,” Bart said with a grin. You sat on the couch near them and started the movie as the popcorn passed around.

Halfway through the movie, Tim’s phone goes off. He looks at it and frowns. “Alright guys, we got to suit up.” They grumble but get up. Bart does a quick shake that reminds you of a dog and all the bows vibrated out of his hair. Lian laughed and tried to catch them as they fell out.

“Lian, give me just a minute to talk to Tim,” you told her and she nodded before putting a red barrette in Cassie’s hair. You walked in the kitchen with Tim.

“Is everything okay? Dick? Roy?” You asked quietly.

“I’m not sure. We’re just being called in. I’ll try and let you know more,” he said. You nodded and hugged your baby brother.

“Be safe out there.”

“Always.”

Lian was sitting on the couch as the cartoon played and she had moved on to putting bows on the fuzzy blanket on the couch. She yawned as she put bows in your hair and you looked at the time. It was probably close to bed time for her.

“Lian, do you want to lay down while watching your movie?”

She yawned again and nodded. “Yeah, dad will be home late again, hu? Work?” She was pretty used to his hero duty.

“Yeah, but I’m here.”

“Yeah, you’re here,” she said before laying on you. You froze for a second before feeling your heart warmed. She rubbed her popcorn greasy face into your shirt before getting comfortable. After a short while she was asleep and you pulled out your phone to take her photo.

You wanted to send Roy the photo but didn’t dare disturb him. You kept worrying about him and Dick and now even Tim as they fought. Why had they needed the back up? Were they hurt? In too deep? You had a hard time doing anything but worry.

Lian turned in her sleep and all but pinned you to the couch with her little fists gripping your shirt. You pulled the blanket over her. You tried to stay awake but once it hit 2 am and you were trapped on a couch with no lights on, you fell asleep.

Around 4 am, the team wandered in the tower slowly. They hushed one another as they saw you and Lian on the couch. Roy came in and stopped to look. He took out his phone and took a bunch of pictures of you both with a smile before he hobbled to the medical bay to be cleaned and patched up.

“Hey,” he whispered while gently tapping your shoulder a little while later. You woke up blinking in the light. “I’m going to carry her to the car. Are you coming?”

“Oh, yeah,” you whispered back. Roy carefully pulled the little girl off of you and she clung to his shirt in sleep. He grabbed his bag of gear as you got up with a stretch. You waved bye to everyone before leaving.

Halfway down the road, Roy turned to you. “She really seemed comfortable on you.”

“Yeah, she climbed up herself. I was a little surprised. I guess I didn’t mess up tonight,” you said with a little self deprecating laugh.

“Nah, you did great. I had to hear all about it from the kid heroes on the way back. The hair bows was genius,” he said. The car quietly pulled in his driveway.

“That was Cassie. And when Lian saw all of Bart’s hair her eyes went wide like a cat at a ball of yarn,” you laughed.

“Yeah, she’s a fan of long red hair. Ask me how I know,” he said shaking his hair and you laughed. Lian moved in her sleep.

“So she ripped out your hair so Bart’s could survive,” you said quietly.

“Something like that. Can you get the door,” he said before scooping Lian out of her car seat. You held the door as he carried her to her room and laid her in her toddler bed that currently had a Superboy blanket. She had just about any hero you could image in some product or another.

Roy met you in the kitchen. “Thanks, you know. For watching her today. I appreciate that,” he said. You tossed him a water bottle.

“Yeah, she’s awesome. We had fun,” you said, leaning on the counter with your elbows. Roy came up behind you and rubbed your shoulders.

“Not everyone is cool with dating a dad so thanks,” he said. You turned your head to look at him.

“Well, they are missing out. Got my own DILF,” you teased.

“Oh god, I’m a DILF,” Roy said with a hint of horror in his voice. “Speaking of ILF... I know someone I’d like to ILF,” he said kissing your neck and pressing himself against your back. His hands moved under your shirt and up to your chest. “Wanna take it to my room?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

[aggravatetheaxe]

BO SINCLAIR X READER - Waffle House Pt. 1

You're a server at the south's greatest and best-loved institution: Waffle House. The graveyard shift can be tough, but you can usually find ways to entertain yourself. Turns out tonight's entertainment is named Bo, and he wants to know if you're on the menu.

I wrote this especially for my friend Zin! This title is SAFE FOR WORK. Pt. 2 is NSFW (and in Bo's POV!)

Soundtrack: Diner Ambience ; Rain ; Faint Hard Rock

Words: 3,269

Part 2

Part 3

Masterlist

***

READER POV

It was raining when he came in, a light rain that tapped on the windows and made you want to leave your shift at Waffle House early to crawl into your warm bed. He was just some guy—average, white, brown hair, blue eyes. And yet you felt compelled to watch him as he tapped his dripping boots against the door and shook out his hat.

Wow.

You were new to the overnight shift. It was mostly truckers coming up and down the interstate, guys who just wanted to tuck into a warm meal and leave. They tipped well, too, so you didn't mind. It wasn't like your sleep schedule wasn't fucked anyway. May as well make some money while you were up all night.

This was the first time you'd had a physical reaction to any guy who'd walked in. You completely forgot about the orange juice you were in the process of putting away. You could feel your heart race as he gazed around the restaurant, and when his eyes found yours and he flashed you that grin?

Wow.

He took a seat at the breakfast bar, right in front of you, like he could sense your pulse quickening. "Evenin'."

Right, you were supposed to greet him. "Hi, there. Can I getcha some coffee?"

"That'd be real welcome, [miss / sir]." His crow's feet wrinkled, and he set his hat aside on the counter. His twang sounded so good mixing with the classic rock pouring from the speakers that you had to bite your lip to keep from sighing. "Sure is comin' down out there."

"Yeah," you agreed with a breathless laugh. God, did you sound stupid? You turned quickly, retrieving a mug and the fresh pot you'd just finished brewing. "How do you like it?"

"If you bring me the fixin's, I'll do it up," he said easily. When you turned and handed him the mug, his eyes found your chest, staring at your name tag for an extended moment. Then, his gaze crawled to yours. "Y/N."

Your face was so hot you wondered if he could see you blushing. Rather than say anything stupid, you practically shoved ramekins of creams and sugars at him, then mumbled some excuse or another before disappearing into the kitchen.

Pressed against the wall, you took a few deep breaths. You saw a hundred men every shift, some of them quite handsome, and yet this guy was standing out to you. Why, you had no idea, but you had a table of college kids to wait on and three other people at the counter ... you couldn't be fixated on this one person.

The cook glanced up at you, then did a double take, frowning. "You okay? Look like you're about to pass out."

Worried your Average Man had heard him, you cleared your throat and announced, "I was just getting some straws," before grabbing a handful and exiting.

You shoved the straws in your apron, trying to avoid eye contact with the man ... but as you poured refills and took orders, you found it hard not to glance over at him. He was just sitting, enjoying his coffee, but every so often, you could feel him watching you from the corner of his eye.

You knew you couldn't put off talking to him for long. You had to take his order, after all, and he'd been patient. As you walked back to him, he looked up, smiling brightly. "Welcome back."

"Thanks." Why were you thanking him? Jesus Christ, you sounded like an idiot. "Ready to order?"

He laughed a little, carding a hand through his slightly damp curls. "Once you give me a menu, darlin', I reckon I won't be long."

"Oh, sh— shoot." You scrambled to grab him a menu, slapping it down in front of him. "Sorry. It's been a long night."

"No worries." As he flipped the menu open, he nodded to his coffee cup. "Can I get some more a that, sweetpea?"

"Of course." Man, you were really fucking up this serving thing tonight.

By the time you'd grabbed the pot and refilled him, he'd set the menu down and was ready with two white packets between his fingers. He tore them both open in one motion, then looked at you, smirking. "Extra sugar. Don't tell."

Shit, you can have all the sugar you want. But your mouth was not half as dirty as your mind, and so you just smiled back, trying so hard to keep from giggling. "So, what'll it be?"

"I'll get the, uh ... Texas bacon patty melt with hashbrowns."

"Sure. How you want those hashbrowns?"

"Just plain. Actually, make 'em smothered. Oh, an' a side of biscuits 'n' gravy, please."

"You got it." You jotted the order down quickly and passed it through the kitchen window, readying yourself to move on to the next customer for your own sanity.

But it was the man's voice that drew you back to the counter: "Hey..."

You turned. He was about to ask you a question, you could tell from the tone of his voice. "What's up?"

"I'm not really from around here." His smile was friendly enough, but his shocking blue eyes seemed almost calculating. "S'pretty late, an' I don't feel like sleepin' in the truck again. You know any good motels 'round here?"

It didn't even occur to you in the moment that he could be flirting. "Well, there's a Motel 6 not far from here ... a Red Roof a few miles down the interstate. Those'll probably be your best options in terms of good quality."

His expression shifted a bit, but then his smile widened, crow's feet wrinkling again. "All right. Thanks, sugar."

Sugar. You weren't new to being called that—you lived in the south, after all—but something about the way he said it...

You tried to get him off your mind the rest of the night, but it was kind of difficult. Even after he'd finished his food, he lingered, draining coffees and flipping through a newspaper someone had left on the stool next to him. He got up to go to the restroom a couple times, but besides that, he stayed planted right in front of you, where it was impossible to ignore him.

It was an hour and thirty minutes later that your shift ended. You gathered your things, and as you headed toward the door, you weren't surprised to find him still there.

For some reason, only then did his lingering presence give you pause. Why was he hanging around a Waffle House at 3 a.m., anyway? He'd said he wasn't from around here ... had he gotten kicked out or something? Chosen a direction on the interstate and just started going?

Poor guy. You bit your lip, going back and forth with yourself for a few moments before your pity won out. "Hey, sir."

He looked over his shoulder, forehead wrinkling.

"Um, you take care. Lindsey'll ring you up whenever you're ready."

He cracked a smile and waved. "Take care, darlin'."

You tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered at those words.

The sky was just beginning to turn the color of dusk, but it was still raining as you exited the restaurant and headed to your car. Your keys jingled as you wrestled them out of the pocket of your jacket. It took you a moment to find the keyhole in the driver's side door, squinting through the rain like you were.

The inside of the car was blissfully dry, and as you slammed the door and blocked out the pounding rain, you closed your eyes and pushed out a long breath. It was time to go home—have some dinner of your own, maybe some tea, then collapse in bed.

That thought finally moved you to put the key in the ignition and turn.

And turn.

...And turn.

Well, you were the only one turning, because the engine certainly fucking wasn't.

Dread crawled up your spine and gripped the back of your neck. What? How could something like this happen? You'd just paid through the nose for a ton of repairs and an inspection. How could your engine just...

Anxiety floated you as you climbed out of the car, braving the rain to look under the hood. But hell, you barely knew which one was the engine, let alone how to fix it if it was broken. Your hands shook as you fumbled for the hood prop, heat climbing your face and stinging your eyes. How were you gonna get this fixed? How would you even afford it? Below minimum wage and tips from truckers wasn't going to cut it.

You turned, leaning against the side of the car and taking your cellphone from your other pocket. The tears finally fell once you realized that you didn't have anyone to call. You slammed the hood of the car and covered your face.

"Hey."

The voice, raised over the downpour, made you jump. You'd been standing in the rain for a few minutes, sobbing your eyes out, and you were completely soaked through. The rain and the heat of your tears fogged your glasses so bad, you couldn't see who was there no matter how you squinted.

"Hey," he said again, much closer now. You recognized the twang.

Quickly, you grabbed your glasses off, wiping them against your shirt before replacing them. You could see the Average Man much more clearly now, watching you but keeping his distance.

"Hi," you managed, sniffling hard.

His face fell. In a few seconds, he was beside you, offering you a hanky from his back pocket. With a little mumble of thanks, you wiped your face and blew your nose. The hanky smelled like motor oil and musk. He was close enough for you to smell him, too, feel the heat coming off his body.

For some reason, that made you cry harder.

He clicked his tongue above you. "Why you cryin', darlin'? It's pourin' out; you're gonna get soaked."

"My ... my car," you managed, gesturing helplessly.

"Oh? Somethin' wrong with your car?"

"Yeah. And I don't know jack shit except the model and year." You vented your frustration in a hard exhale, wringing his hanky. "I just got it inspected, too."

The man paused for a moment. "Well, hey, I'm a mechanic. I could take a look if ya like."

You raised your head, wiping your glasses again. "I— no, it's fine. It's raining out, you don't have to..."

"I don't mind," he said dismissively, opening the hood with one hand and propping it up. "Pretty thing like you shouldn't cry like that."

Again, you found yourself staring at him. This man definitely gave off an ... energy, calling you pretty while fixing your car. For a stranger, he was certainly taking control of a situation he hadn't even been aware of a minute ago. You'd been well aware he was attractive and compelling, but this was a whole new level. You were so taken off guard you couldn't think of a response.

"Go ahead and climb in front," the man said, waving you that way. "Try 'n' start it when I knock on the window."

"Okay." You slid into the front seat again, waiting for his command. He knocked once, and you turned the key.

No luck. You hesitated before knocking back.

Another knock. No luck. After the third, he rapped on the driver's side window instead, and you opened the door for him.

He was soaked. His clothes were drenched to his skin, his hair curling wildly around his ears and forehead. "No luck, darlin'. Think your engine's shot."

You felt your face crumple, any hope you'd had now crushed. It was four-something in the morning. Where were you going to get a ride home let alone a tow truck? And then how were you going to pay for it all?

"You gonna be okay?"

His words shook you out of your reverie. Your chest felt cold and numb ... the beginnings of a panic attack starting to take hold. "I just ... I don't know what I'm gonna..." You clenched your hands, freezing and trembling, and inhaled shakily.

"Listen," he said after a few moments, glancing up at the sky. "It's real shitty out, if you'll pardon my French, an' I don't feel right leavin' you all alone out here..." He sighed, almost grimacing. "You want a ride? I can getcha home, you can rest an' make your phone calls in the mornin'."

Getting into a stranger's car ... it was the most stereotypical thing in the world, but you didn't see any way you could turn down the offer. He seemed nice enough, and if it came down to it, you could run if not defend yourself...

At this point, you'd risk anything to be somewhere warm and cozy instead of in this stupid, freezing parking lot.

"I don't want to ... inconvenience you," you said weakly.

"It's no bother." His smile tightened a bit. "I'd rather you say yes or no so I can get out of this downpour."

You slipped out of your car, shutting and locking it behind you. Hopefully it would be alright for the night. "As long as you don't mind, mister."

The man simply smirked in response, slamming your hood and heading for his truck. It was a beat-up Chevy in dire need of a paint job, but it was running, which was more than you could say for your own vehicle. He opened the passenger side door, then shut it behind you, hurrying himself out of the rain. The pickup's vintage interior smelled faintly of cigarettes as you slid into place, buckling in.

He swore softly as he climbed in beside you and started the truck. Heat blasted through the air vents, and you relaxed a little. It smelled musty and old in here, but the engine sounded good, and whatever problems there were were easily smoothed over by the handsome company and the rock droning from the radio.

"Name's Bo, by the way." He spared you a smile as he backed out of his parking space. "Only fair you know mine since I know yours." When you balked, he laughed. "Your name tag, remember?"

"Oh. Right. Duh."

The man—Bo—took it in stride. "You must be beat as hell, shift like that. Betcha can't wait to get home and curl up in bed."

"Yeah," you replied, giggling awkwardly.

Bo smiled. God, he was so pretty. "Don't blame ya. I'm dog tired myself. Do just about anything for a drink and a soft bed right now." A chuckle. "Guess I'll just have to settle for a beer and a motel mattress."

Again, you giggled awkwardly.

On the other hand, he wasn't awkward at all. In fact, he seemed perfectly comfortable carrying the conversation, as if he'd gotten the script before you and rehearsed his lines a thousand times. "So where'm I headed?"

"Oh, uh, take the next exit..."

You continued to navigate for him, but you were working from memory, your eyes barely on the road. You couldn't help but watch his hands as he maneuvered the truck. They looked strong and warm, with fine hairs near his wrist, and on his right hand, a signet ring glistened in the low light. When he stroked and squeezed the steering wheel, his muscles and skin shifted beautifully over his knuckles.

You kinda wished you were that steering wheel.

Eventually, the truck pulled up to your apartment building, engine purring as it idled. "This the one?"

"Yeah." You clutched your things closer and smiled over at Bo. "Thank you for this. Really, I don't know what..."

You'd been about to say I don't know what I can do to repay you, but the state he was in, it wasn't hard to guess what he needed. Not only was he drenched, but he looked half-dead with exhaustion despite that easy smile of his.

Even as you opened your mouth, you knew this was a crazy idea.

"Do you ... want to come in for a minute? I can at least get you a towel, um, and maybe some cash for taking you out of your way."

Bo paused. He had an expressive face—you could see him weighing his options. "What the hell," he sighed, giving a tight white-guy smile before cutting the engine. "Sure."

Your heart leapt. You had half expected him to turn you down out of politeness, but you supposed you had inconvenienced him. Excitement mixed with terror at the thought of having this man—a stranger—in your apartment. Alone with you.

But it was a little too late to back out now. You slipped out of the truck and led him quickly up the front steps, then the interior stairs to your apartment. As always, your building smelled like Second Floor's cats and First Floor's cheap weed. Bo only stood behind you, hat in his hand, nice and polite as he waited for you to unlock your door.

"Home sweet home," you said, laughing awkwardly as you stepped in.

Bo gave a cursory glance around the place but didn't seem to feel one way or the other about your decor, simply smiling at you. He sure did know how to make people feel at ease. This almost didn't feel like an insanely stupid idea.

"Make yourself at home. I'll go get a towel. Um, and I can get you a drink. What do you like?"

"I'm not fussy, but I'll take whiskey if you have it."

Your place was so small, you were able to carry on the conversation while you hurried to the bathroom and grabbed a fresh towel from the cabinet. "I think one of my friends left some behind the last time she was over. Wild Turkey? It's bourbon?"

"That'll do." When you brought him the towel, he gave you one of those dazzling grins in return. "Much obliged, darlin'."

God, you just wanted to stand there and take him in while he toweled himself off, but you forced yourself not to, instead going into the small kitchen and fetching the whiskey. You weren't much of a drinker yourself, but you'd seen your friends drink plenty, so you poured a couple fingers in a wide glass and brought it out. He had already made himself quite comfortable on your couch, leaned back, legs spread, arm across the back of it.

"I hope it's not irresponsible of me to give you a drink when you're gonna be driving," you said as you handed him the whiskey.

He chuckled. "Don't you worry about me. I've pro'lly driven worse off a thousand times." He threw it back in one go, and you watched his slightly stubbly throat bob as he swallowed smoothly. He practically moaned, "That's it," before wiping his mouth. Looking you up and down, "None for you, sugar?"

It took you a moment to find your voice. "I don't really drink much. Tastes like paint thinner to me."

That drew a laugh from him. "Sacrilege." Then a hum. "You don't have to stand there, y'know. It is your house."

Sitting next to him would mean his arm was practically wrapped around your shoulder. An edge of wariness was beginning to press against your thundering heart. This was such a terrible idea, for so many different reasons.

You approached slowly, lingering before him. The way he looked up at you through his lashes, body sunk into your couch, nearly made your mouth water. He lifted his glass slightly. "Think I'm good for one more ... if ya don't mind."

***

Part 2

Masterlist

[blouisparadise]

Here is a list of amazing bottom Louis fics that were posted or completed during the month of January. Between the third month of the Bottom Louis Fic Fest and all the other fics that authors posted throughout the month, it’s clear that this was a great way to start off the year of bottom Louis fics!  Happy reading!

1) Leave It All Here In This Bed | Explicit | 1071 words

One of Louis’s many sleepless nights.

2) Games Are Only Fun If You Win | Explicit | 1554 words

Louis and Harry have a bet. If Louis wins that means he's off laundry duty. If he loses well.

Let's just say Harry won't be complaining.

3) If It Makes You Feel Alive | Explicit | 1691 words

Louis is horny one night on the tour bus so he and Harry fuck while trying not to get caught by the others.

4) Beg Me Silently | Explicit | 2140 words

“So, your boyfriend…is he planning a magic night for you at home?”

Louis snorts. “He’s not, actually. He’s pretty hardworking, you see, so he comes home late.”

“Such a shame.” Harry walks towards Louis, so close that they’re sharing the same space. “You’re so beautiful, Louis. If you were mine, I wouldn’t make you wait for me.”

5) Birthday Wishes | Explicit | 2895 words

Note: This is part 3 of this series.

The one where Harry takes Louis to dinner for his birthday, and gifts him with a vibrating butt plug he wears to the restaurant. Fluffy birthday sex follows.

6) New Year, New Beginnings | Explicit | 3577 words

Note: This is part 4 of this series.

The one where Louis and Harry unexpectedly end up at the same New Year's party. Louis makes Harry jealous, and Harry shows him just how bad of an idea that is.

7) Heaven In These Sheets | Explicit | 3557 words

Bunny Hybrid Louis has it out for his boyfriend’s phone.

8) Pits Of Love | Explicit | 3934 words

Harry smells Louis' sweat for the first time after they've moved in together. His alpha goes a bit wild.

9) First Blow Hits You Cold | Explicit | 3986 words

Louis wears a shirt with a big ass H on it for his livestream, and Harry really, really likes it.

10) Close Your Eyes And Surrender To Me | Explicit | 4209 words

Note: This is the sequel to this fic.

Harry hummed and pressed his lips to Louis’ forehead. “I am very stressed, but I also know you’re stressed and tired too.” He glanced to Louis’ face seeing the confirming nod. “But, if you’re sure you’re up for it.” Harry smirked, waiting for Louis to say it was okay before he laid the boy down on the bed and hovered over him. “I really love this color on you. You look so pretty. Always do.” He spoke quietly, rubbing his hands over Louis’ soft thighs and moving them to his tummy. He then moved his hands up to Louis’ hair. It had been a while since Louis’ last haircut and it was now long enough that he could tie it up in little ponytails and even little braids. Louis currently had two hair clips in his hair. One was gold with little stars on it and the other gold with a moon. “I love your hair princess. Do you feel pretty?” He asked.

11) P Is For | Explicit | 4349 words

Note: The pairing for this fic is Louis/Pedro Pascal.

Louis and Pedro, winter in New York, a coffee machine, and bilingualism.

12) Pull Out Your Heart | Explicit | 5028 words

He wants to apologise, the five letters sit on the tip of his tongue but he does not. It means nothing to either of them.

13) Loving You's the Antidote | Explicit | 5070 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest! Check out the full collection here.

Prompt 302: Alpha Harry & Omega Louis are divorced but still spend each other’s heat/rut together because they only really trust each other but things get complicated when Louis (or Harry, author’s choice) spend it with someone else. Cue angst with a happy ending.

14) Sweet Talk With A Hint Of Sin | Explicit | 5095 words

“What the hell are you wearing?” Harry had the nerve to ask, and Louis bristled slightly.

“Well, what the bloody fuck does it look like?” Louis snapped, breaking his seductive demeanor momentarily because he was wearing this ridiculous get-up for Harry. He had thought that this would go over well.

And now that the moment was here, it was going anything but.

Harry’s brain seemingly malfunctioned, completely unbothered by the fact that he was now standing in an actual pool of red wine, or that there might even be broken glass directly next to his feet. He was focused solely on his boy splayed out on their bed. “Are those ears?”

“Yes,” Louis mumbled, reaching up to finger the burnt orange fur of the fox ears. “And a tail,” he said, shifting to lay on his stomach so that his perky ass was on display, showing the way his lube slicked hole had been prepped and was now hugging the impressively sized plug attached to the fox tail.

15) New York's Beauty | Mature | 5274 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest! Check out the full collection here.

Prompt 104: AU where Harry is an alpha wolf and Louis is a hybrid kitten. They were roommates. While they were arguing about something stupid, Harry wanted to bend Louis over the kitchen table and knot him right there. He slowly accepted his feelings and extreme desire for Louis, so he started to tease the hybrid until he would beg Harry to fuck him. They fall in love.

Louis needs to feel comfortable with the camera so harry fucks him until he is blushing and calm and gentle.

16) I Went Astray To Make It Okay And He Made It Easy | Not Rated | 5537 words

Note: This is a sequel to #17 on this list.

Harry makes sure to put on his blue truckers hat that has 'if you ain't a fisherman, you ain't shit' printed on it to hold back his hair out of his eyes. He remembers when he came home after buying it and Louis went on for days about much he looked like such a Dad. He made sure to fuck him hard that night and show him that he's a fucking DILF not just a Dad. 

17) You Make My Heart Beat Like The Rain | Explicit | 6611 words

Note: This is the prequel to #16 on this list.

"You're stunning, eh?" Harry whispers, his Canadian accent thick with lust. It usually slips out when he gets horny because he knows it turns Louis on. Harry presses his lips into the curve of his neck. His hot breath makes Louis shiver. He opens his eyes and sees Harry's bigger, tattooed arms wrapped around him, completely engulfing his smaller frame—and, fuck, maybe he is up for it.

Why does his boyfriend have to be such a fucking DILF? He blames it on a twitter thread he read a few weeks ago.

18) Baby, Let Me Love You Goodbye | Explicit | 6837 words

Harry and Louis are going through a divorce after being together for 10 years, so Louis comes over to collect his things, and, well…what’s a little goodbye sex, just one last time?

19) A Place To Call Home | Mature | 8113 words

The thing is, he’s pretty sure he’s found home in a person in his life, someone who’s been essential in everything he’s done since he was seven years old. Through every broken bone, through every breakup, through every failure; through every triumph, personal and professional, and every goal he has scored in his time in Man U, there’s been someone there for it all.

That’s his best mate. Harry. A twenty-two year old with the kindest heart known to man, a slow drawl that is entirely too endearing, with the dreams to open up his own flower shop. A quiet and earnest boy with those he doesn’t know, and open and honest and absolutely lovely with those he loves.

It all hits him, really, the night of their final game of the Premier League. Again, timing is not his forté. They’re gearing up, ready to hit the field for the second half against Liverpool that determines their ranking in the League, when his brain decides to come online (after seventeen years, apparently), and conveniently supply him with the revelation that oh yeah, you’re kind of in love with your best friend.

20) To Love Without Reason | Explicit | 8854 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest! Check out the full collection here.

“Come on in, soldier,” Louis pats Harry’s chest and walks away, leaving Harry to follow behind.

Harry stands in the living room, looking around at Louis’ dwelling. Family pictures placed high on a shelf, certificates of Louis’ practice, and other trinkets that make Harry entirely too nostalgic.

“I have to warn you,” Louis says as he puts the kettle on, the water droplets from his hair trickling down the golden skin of his back. “The door jams if you lock it so you'll have to leave it ajar.”

Harry acknowledges with a soft hum, too entranced by Louis’ glistening skin to form a coherent reply.

21) It's A Game We Play In The Sheets | Explicit | 9426 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest! Check out the full collection here.

“Louis is… He’s a boy I’ve been talking to.” He bit his lip, grin evident. “After I watched one of his videos during a Harry Reacts a few weeks ago I messaged him and…”

His sentence was cut short by the sound of a timid little “Hi” being whispered into his ears.

Harry closed his eyes for a second, pausing to take in the online presence of the real-life fairy, before he opened them and smiled. “Hey Lou. Ready to play with me?”

22) One Track Mind | Explicit | 9911 words

“You have a lot of friends, huh?”

Harry nods again. “A few.” The muscles of his bicep flex under Louis’ touch, and the alpha looks a bit drunk from the feeling, his eyes blinking slower and lips quirking at the corners. He’s leaning in, his alpha scent surrounding Louis from all sides.

“Mm,” Louis hums, squeezing his fingers tight, just to hear the sharp way Harry inhales. Then, when Harry is least expecting it, Louis returns the earlier sentiment—leaning up on his tiptoes and pressing his weight into Harry for balance, drawing his lips up close to Harry’s ear, and whispering, “Why don’t you go tell them goodnight.”

23) See You When I Get Home | Explicit | 10308 words

"What are you thinking about?" He repeats Louis' question from earlier.

"You." Louis' reply comes out in a moan. It shocks Harry, and his brain scrambles for the right thing to do, the right thing to say. He doesn't even know how to feel, or if he even heard Louis correctly.

"Me?"

24) Floating | Explicit | 10435 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest! Check out the full collection here.

The one where Louis has control over water in every form but he doesn't know what to do with it. Harry is here to guide him.

25) I'm At Your Mercy Now (And I'm Ready To Begin) | Teen & Up | 10552 words

Where Louis' soulmark was leaked, Harry keeps his private. They're both famous popstars. Louis is waiting for his soulmate, Harry has a feeling it's him but Louis is completely oblivious.

26) You And I 'Till The Day We Die | Explicit | 10807 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest! Check out the full collection here.

Prompt 124: A fic inspired by Groupie Love by Lana Del Rey, where Harry is a Rockstar and Louis is his cute little boyfriend who tries to hide himself in the middle of the crowd. (Preferably set in the 80s)

27) Moonlit Sky Over Gentle Waters | Explicit | 11377 words

Harry left his hometown to sail the seven seas and returns seven years later, yearning for something — or rather, someone — that he isn't sure he can have.

28) Late Night Devil Put Your Hands On Me (And Never, Never, Ever Let Go) | Explicit | 11524 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest! Check out the full collection here.

Harry is a demon that feeds off of people’s nightmares. He finds his next meal in Louis’ dreams where he changes and molds them to become scary nightmares. Soon harry learns Louis is a lucid dreamer- he can act on his own in his dreams. They interact in the real world and have sex in the dream world. when the demon catches feelings for louis, he wants to live.

29) If You're Feeling Lonely | Explicit | 12807 words

The guest list is on the desk. Louis runs through it and stops a third of the way down, a familiar name catching his attention.

Harry Styles.

All he needs to do is confirm whether Harry Styles is the same Alpha whose scent left such a memorable impression on his body.

30) Want You To Play With Me | Explicit | 14335 words

"I'm quite not finished with you yet." Harry whispered right on the shell of his ears and squeezed the girth of his cock, making Louis shudder a sloppy puff of air as the tickling sensation ran through his spine, Harry was intoxicating. "Let me play with you a little more, Lou. I promise I'll give you what you want. Be my good boy, hm?" He slowly annunciated every word and licked a warm line on the nape of Louis' neck — Louis curled in his arms at that. Submitting himself a little bit more.

"Always wanna be your good boy." Louis whispered back and enveloped Harry's hand in his.

31) No Good Unless It's Real | Explicit | 17021 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest! Check out the full collection here.

Louis is a very busy farmer who’s just trying to make it to his next nap and Harry’s the new hot vet that’s determined to infiltrate every area of his life.

32) Tennis Court | Explicit | 18285 words

Louis and Harry are co-workers and Louis is sure Harry hates him because he always refuses to help him with his heats.

33) Joker Is Wild | Explicit | 18444 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest! Check out the full collection here.

Prompt 390: A reality show AU where Louis, Harry, Liam, Zayn and Niall are selected to stay at confined in a luxury mansion for 1 month, where they are required to have explicit, graphic sex at all times, like a porn Big Brother kind of show. Every week there are several different sexual tasks and trials that they must overcome together, which all ends in orgasms for all of them. When the boys all discover Louis is strictly a bottom, and a slutty one at that, they all can’t wait to get their hands on him. Bonus if other hot celebs are there too, like Shawn Mendes, for example. Includes lots of hard gay sex, rimming, blowjobs, gang bangs, ass worshipping (Louis ass, of course) and double penetration.

34) Baby, Let Me Love You Goodbye | Not Rated | 20249 words

Louis almost calls Harry daddy. Cue denial, feelings, and way too much dirty talk.

35) Give So Much (Not Enough) | Mature | 24610 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest! Check out the full collection here.

“For my little lion,” Louis slid the smoothie bowl in front of Oscar, letting him dig in with his little hands. “And for daddy.”

He didn’t process the bowl in front of him, the push across the table causing a raspberry to roll off and fall on his lap, because Louis calling himself mummy may make him feel all sorts of mushy emotions, but Louis addressing Harry as daddy was suddenly having a very different effect on him. Since when did Louis saying daddy out loud render him speechless?

“Daddy’s still sleepy, but we’re up bright and early right Ossie?” Louis’ cooing shook him out of his daze. The man coughed, picking the raspberry off his lap and swallowing it with unintentional, and very unnecessary, eye contact with Louis. “Well, is it better than your protein smoothies and why?”

Harry chuckled, spooning another heap of the strawberry banana goodness into his mouth, “Way better sweetheart.”

A friends to lovers au with tons of mama Louis and domesticity.

36) Short And Sweet | Explicit | 29658 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest! Check out the full collection here.

Louis is a shy university student in a world scarce of male omegas. He's always dreamt of having an alpha despite his sheltered upbringing, fantasizing about being loved and cared for. He's immediately smitten by the mysterious alpha with curly hair, broad shoulders, and the addictive coffee scent.

37) Under Thorn And Bramble | Explicit | 31931 words

Note: The pairing of this fic is Louis/OMC. This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest! Check out the full collection here.

Prompt 445: A historical AU where Louis is working as a servant on a farm. The family that owns the farm is exceedingly cruel to him and he is often exhausted and in pain from his work. A mysterious stranger boards at the farm and is very intrigued by Louis, but Louis doubts his interest in genuine. Any pairing fine.

38) Pink In The Night | Explicit | 32324 words

His finger was tapping on Louis’ chat before Harry could even think about it, eyes reading over the last text he’d sent Louis. I miss you. Do you miss me?

Harry had felt so pathetic that December night, alone in the dark room of the Japanese apartment he’d been staying at, the strong smell of alcohol clinging to his clothes.

Louis hadn’t replied, but Harry wasn’t surprised; he had texted Louis a few times before while he’d been away, but there had never been a response.

It pained him to admit that this was their new normal.

39) Coeur De Pirate | Explicit | 34207 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest! Check out the full collection here.

He tilts his chin up as the Captain strides across the deck, his footfalls falling loudly against the planks. The crew watches them from afar.

Stepping into his space, the Captain wraps an arm around Louis’ waist and pulls him in. He lowers his head to breathe his words against Louis’ cheeks. “I won,” he whispers, “I’ve come to claim my prize.”

40) If The Sun Don't Shine | Explicit | 36330 words

In a world where you meet your soulmates in dreams, Louis has spent the last three years going to bed hoping to finally meet his, only to end up disappointed time and time again. It all changes with a violin.

41) The Pirate And The Piper | Explicit | 38396 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest! Check out the full collection here.

The one where Harry is Hook, Louis is Pan, and nothing is what it seems.

42) Begged And Borrowed Time | Mature | 40198 words

Prompt 60: Time travel AU where Louis somehow gets thrown back in time and ends up in the dark ages, during the reign of the Styles family.

43) I Ain’t Gonna Fence You In | Mature | 40645 words

Louis Tomlinson is a 18 year old city boy who is forced to spend his summer before his senior year at his aunts farm. There, he meets Harry, a 19 year old country boy his aunt hired to help around the farm.

Maybe the farm isn't the worst place to fall in love?

44) Don't Want No Other Shade Of Blue | Explicit | 43285 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest! Check out the full collection here.

Prompt 339: it was foretold that Alpha Prince Harry would be mated to a beautiful male omega with eyes that could rival the stone amethyst, but Omega Prince Louis refuses to believe it.

45) No Easy Choice, But You’re Mine | Explicit | 44963 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest! Check out the full collection here.

Louis is an omega hitman with one last job that goes a little sideways. Harry is the alpha bartender that looks a little too closely and cares a little too much.

46) Sedative Duty | Explicit | 46588 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest! Check out the full collection here.

Pop-star of the moment Louis Tomlinson is on his third-world tour. He decides to hire renowned professional dominant Harry Styles to unwind while on the road. In an effort not to raise suspicion by the crew, fans, and press, Harry pretends to be his bodyguard. He ends up being far more than that.

47) Just Always Be Waiting for Me | Explicit | 46837words

Note: Please be sure to check tags for any trigger warnings.

Harry Styles is a librarian at a private school who is not very devoted to his job but is very devoted to Louis Tomlinson, the resident English teacher, and has been ever since they met six years ago beneath a lonely streetlight.

Louis Tomlinson is a self confessed bookworm whose passion for Peter Pan, the literary classics and Harry Styles' happiness knows no bounds. He's self sacrificing, somewhat self loathing and haunted by a trauma he can't talk about.

Mutual pining abounds in this fic where a Peter Pan quote is never just a Peter Pan quote, caretaking is a love language and a platonic nude is never actually platonic. Louis has a kiss that belongs to Harry but he also has a painful past that might end up hurting them both.

48) Since The Future | Explicit | 48947 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest! Check out the full collection here.

"It's done."

The words were barely above a whisper when they left Harry's mouth, but they hit Louis with the force of a freight train. It was done. Holy fuck. They had created a time machine. And tomorrow, they were travelling to the future.

49) Dirty Laundry Looks Good On You | Explicit | 50581 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest! Check out the full collection here.

When Louis Tomlinson finds his clothes lying in a sad soapy mess on top of the washing machine in which they are supposed to be, he acts upon his anger and retaliates. What he doesn’t expect is having to deal with a six-feet tall, curly-haired and dimpled man in return, who seems to arouse confusing feelings within him and to make his life take an unexpected turn for the better (or worse?).

50) Hamartia | Explicit | 66970 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest! Check out the full collection here.

Six years is a long time for Louis to mend his heart back and erase every lingering, stubborn memory of his ex-lover, Harry Styles. But when news of the war being over spreads across the world like wildfire, and he stumbles upon the alpha he vowed himself to never see ever again, he realises that not even a lifetime will be enough for him to pick up the scattered, broken parts of his soul. He's far from expecting the alpha he loved to be struggling in the same way.

All the ointments in the world might never soothe the pain out, but it doesn't take long for them both to come to the conclusion that, maybe, the only medicine to their heartbreaks are what caused them in the first place.

51) Feeling Borrowed, Always Blue | Explicit | 68214 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest! Check out the full collection here.

Louis has been dreaming of his wedding since he was young - he just never expected it to happen like this. words

52) Mind Over Matter (You Under Me) | Explicit | 73825 words

Note: This fic was written for the Bottom Louis Fic Fest! Check out the full collection here.

It’s dark outside when Harry finishes practice for the day.

53) Rogue | Not Rated | 94992 words

Louis is a rogue Omega who's suffered through rejection and abuse for the biggest part of his life. He stumbles onto the Styles pack, quite possibly the kindness one he's ever met.

54) Chandeliers And Fake Smiles | Mature | 145010 words

On the brink of winning their first Grammy; up-and-coming rock band One Direction find themselves in the midst of the biggest scandal of their career - right before tickets for their world tour go on sale. in order to save their reputation, Louis Tomlinson must find it in his heart to forgive pop singer and heartthrob Harry Styles after his first impression rubbed him entirely the wrong way. after all, they cannot sell a relationship if it looks like they hate each other.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

[pascalpanic]

At Last (Frankie Morales x gn!Reader)

Summary: you, Frankie, and your fur baby go camping! Little does Frankie know what you have planned.

W/C: 2.1k

Warnings: flirting, innuendo, alcohol, food, language, otherwise, this is toothaching fluff!

A/N: SAMMY MY BELOVED @sanchosammy GAVE ME THIS IDEA! I hope it’s as cute as I think it is :) also, Charlie (Frankie’s pup) isn’t involved in this fic but she is still part of the fam :)

Pine trees surround you on either side, tall and majestic. You can see the blue-gray sky patching through the canopy; the clouds are leaving, but some linger a little longer to clog up the sky. The air is warm and slightly humid, but a wonderful breeze rustles through the trees and rushes across your bare arms. Your trail shoes squelch underfoot in the damp ground. You sigh, totally content with this moment. 

Frankie’s flannel is tied around his waist, leaving him in his khaki cargo pants and t-shirt. A couple of curls peek out from under his ball cap, turning into little ringlets at the nape of his neck. He walks in front of you on the trail, his boots pressing prints into the soft ground. His back profile is beautiful, even with the large camping pack, and you can’t help but grin. 

Foxtrot embodies her name- Frankie is holding her leash, and the auburn and white dog trots up ahead of him, sniffing along the mulched and muddied path. The air smells of humidity that’s just passed over and that wonderful accompanying petrichor. Fox’s white paws are surely getting dirtied, but that’s only to be expected. You don’t care, too excited to watch your boyfriend and dog walk ahead of you. 

Frowning at the bend of Frankie’s back, you catch up and take his free hand. “Let me carry something, baby.”

“No,” he shakes his head, lacing his fingers through yours. “You have important cargo,” he teases and pats your back lightly. 

Strapped to your back, in a backpack-style blue case, is your ukulele. One hand carries the cooler, slung over your shoulder, filled with food and drinks for tonight. Frankie carries the heavy-duty stuff- the tent, stakes, more essential supplies. “At least let me take Fox.”

Her red ears perk up at her name and she stops, turning and growing excited, as if she forgot you were there. “Yeah, hi Foxy!” You coo as she runs towards you, jumping with her front paws in the air in excitement. “Yeah, you love it out here, don’t you?” You ask her in a baby voice, scratching behind her ears as she circles around your legs and prevents you from moving. Frankie drops her leash in order to prevent your legs from being tourniqueted by it, and it drags behind her in the mud. 

When you pick up the leash, it’s sludgy and damp, but you don’t mind too much. You continue the hike forward and Frankie and Fox follow at your sides, both beaming ear to ear and enjoying the serenity of the woods. 

Frankie picked the campsite, so he’s technically leading the way, but the trail is fairly straightforward, meaning you don’t need to be led. Frankie points out wildlife here and there: chipmunks, rabbits, cardinals and chickadees flitting through the pine-needled canopy. He’s in his element, and you’re in yours: with him. 

The mud gives way to drier ground ahead, and luckily enough Frankie pulls off to the side. It’s the perfect spot, with a beautiful little field of wildflowers. “Welcome to your five-star hotel for the night, babe,” he assures you and kisses you softly, making you giggle and kiss him back with excitement and a pinch of nerves in your stomach.

There’s a routine the two of you have silently adopted. Frankie sets up the small tent, just big enough for the two of you and Fox. You gather kindling, set up a fire, arrange the chairs and all-around make the outdoor area of your campsite ideal.

Frankie is a man of patience, truly, but sometimes the little portable tent proves to be a challenge. You allow Fox off of her leash, knowing she’s well-trained enough to stick around the site, and find your way to the mess of fabric and stakes covering the man. “Baby. For the love of God, we do this all the time,” you tease.

“Well, something must’ve fucking changed,” he grumbles as he fiddles with the parts. You get on your knees on the soft bed of dried pine needles and help him out. With your help, the tent takes no time at all to put up, and you stand and brush off your hands. Frankie gives you a sheepish smile and you give him a kiss. 

The two of you don’t need to converse while you set things up. You enjoy the woods, the rustling of the wind and chirping of birds. Fox curls up on the blanket you set out for her, and when everything is done, you unzip the cooler and hand Frankie a beer. “Well, now we’re all set.”

“Let the fun begin,” he chuckles and twists the top open, clinking his glass bottle to yours. 

“So, Francisco,” you smile over at him. “What do you have planned for this trip? I know you have some sort of plan laid out up there,” you tease and rap on his head softly, through the trucker cap resting there.

He blushes a little and looks away. “I don’t always have a plan.”

“Hey.” You turn his face back to yours by the chin. “You do and I absolutely love it. Now tell me about it, please, baby.”

Frankie removes his hat and runs a hand through his curls. “Well, I figured we could start the fire soon, cook dinner over it. It’ll get dark pretty quick. Then hang around the campfire, maybe play some of the games I packed.”

“Is a quiet tumble in the tent on the cards?” You ask him with a teasing grin, nudging his side. 

He shrugs, jokingly, as if he’s considering it. “I don’t see why we couldn’t squeeze that in. We only have, oh… three hours of time in between these plans.”

“Then we’ll use all three of those hours,” you shrug and steal a kiss, smiling into his lips. “I love you. And I love it out here.” You were never a nature person before Frankie, usually preferring indoors adventures to hiking or camping. Frankie looks like he belongs out here, and he probably thinks he does. Even if you didn’t enjoy the fun of outdoors adventuring, you’d have at least one thing to enjoy: Frankie’s excitement and enthusiasm over it. “Thank you.”

Fox is curled at Frankie’s feet, and he bends over to scratch her ears, running his fingers through her scruffy fur. “Thank you, baby. For coming out here with me and putting up with all of this. I couldn’t ask for a better adventure partner.”

-

You do, indeed, cook dinner over the fire. You’d prepped all kinds of chopped vegetables to be grilled over an open flame, and had additionally packed pre-cooked hot dogs as well as s’mores ingredients. Frankie is a firm believer that it’s not camping if it doesn’t include graham crackers, chocolate bars, and marshmallows.

Luckily, your Frankie is a skilled griller. He always is, always has been. He takes care of the cooking part, since you prepared everything else, though he lets you hold the hot dogs over the fire to roast. “I feel like I’m at camp again,” you laugh as you slowly rotate the food over the fire.

Frankie is taking charge of the vegetables, expertly. They’re getting a beautiful char, you notice. “It’s much better, because you don’t have to sneak around to make out with your boyfriend at night, huh?” He teases and tosses you a grin. 

“But I get my boyfriend all to myself,” you nod and confirm. “And I have my baby girl with me,” you coo as you rub Foxtrot’s head, where she’s resting at your side.

The meal is delicious, of course, when the two of you work together and each used your strong skills. Frankie slips bites to Fox when he thinks you’re not looking, of course, but it’s endearing, the way the dog’s big brown eyes mirror those looking down at her.

There’s not much conversation while you eat, mouths occupied with food rather than speaking. That’s alright. There’s plenty of time for that tonight and tomorrow.

The sun starts sinking lower when Frankie brings the marshmallows from the tent. “Guess what time it is!” He exclaims as he rips open the bag, skewering two marshmallows and holding them over the fire.

Like he’s a skilled griller, he’s also a wonderful marshmallow-toaster. Frankie toasts yours to perfection, just the way you like it, and you do your part as the s’more-sandwicher, shoving the marshmallow between the graham crackers and chocolate.

There’s no signal out here, and you agreed neither of you would use your phones unless an emergency happened. Frankie frowns as he sees your phone. “Hey. Put that away. Don’t use that.”

“There’s an emergency, Frankie,” you whine, opening the camera app with one hand and eating the sugary dessert with the other.

“And what’s that?” He asks, taking a bite of his s’more. 

Strings of gooey marshmallow connect the sandwich to his lips, making him laugh, and you snap a picture at the perfect moment: Frankie’s closed-lipped smile as his s’more falls apart on him. “You’re too damn cute, that’s the emergency,” you laugh and set the photo as your lock screen, tossing it away.

Frankie’s schedule actually worked itself naturally. After the s’mores and a wet-wipe hand-washing to remove the endless marshmallow from Frankie’s hands, you find yourself sitting around the fire, no light left in the sky. When you look up, all you can see is inky blue and pine trees, the stars yet to make their nightly rise. 

“I have a song request,” Frankie asks and raises his hand like a child in a classroom.

“Yes, Francisco?” You tease as you walk to the tent, grabbing your ukulele and returning with it, sitting back in your lawn chair with it. “Hit me.”

“Only The Good Die Young by Billy Joel. No, wait- Country Roads.”

Laughing, you noodle around with the strings for a moment. You knew this moment would come, and here’s the opportunity. “I can play all of those and more, Frankie. We’ll do the Billy Joel first,” you nod decisively.

Frankie sounds like the forest wolves at night when he sings along. He absolutely howls, taken away by the song, taken to a place where his voice isn’t just a little on the rougher end of good. He belts the words and dances along in his seat, like you do.

Then Country Roads. You thought the last one was bad before you hear Frankie’s booming voice echoing the ballad of West Virginia through seemingly the entire preserve. But you don’t care in the slightest. You sing along proudly, strumming your ukulele harder and harder until you’re sure you can’t add any more volume before snapping a string. 

After the song, you pause and rest your ukulele flat on your lap. “Frankie, baby. Can I ask you something?”

He nods, smiling over at you. “Any time. What’s up, buttercup?” He asks, taking one of your hands and kissing the knuckles.

“Will you marry me?” You ask. The question is straight and to the point, blunt and honest. Your face conveys your hope, and the grandiose speech follows. “I love you beyond belief, Frankie. I love you almost as much as you love these woods. I know you love me too. I just… think it’s time. We’ll be perfect for it. What do you say?”

You can feel Frankie’s slightly-chapped lips curve into a smile against your hand. He’s grinning and then he’s crying, soft water droplets forming in the corners of his eyes. “Of course I’ll marry you,” he grins, grabbing your ukulele and setting it aside.

Once the ukulele is on the ground, Frankie stands in front of your chair and lifts you to your feet, kissing you with such fervor you can’t help but gasp. When he breaks away, you smile, eyes watering too. “I know it wasn’t the most elegant of proposals, but-”

“It was the most us,” Frankie cuts you off with a teary grin. “I would be honored to be your husband, my love. You really want me enough to do that?”

“Frankie,” you coo, cupping his face in your hand. “You are the best husband I could ever want, could ever dream for,” you assure him and kiss his nose gently.

The man laughs, wiping his tears away. “Then let’s get married,” he whoops excitedly, then lets out an excited shout to the woods. “We’re getting married!”

You laugh at his loud and booming declaration, but nothing can detract you for the love and joy in your heart.

When you and Frankie settle down in your chairs again, you pick up the ukulele and finish off with one last beautiful song that you and Frankie have always adored, with a title that truly fits: At Last.

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain @tacticalsparkles

[howdoyousleep3]

I know the usual schtick is Steve seeing Bucky dressed up for the first time, and barely being able to keep his hands off him the whole night, but consider:

Bucky’s from a higher class upbringing, his daily dress is pressed suits, sharp ties, and cuff links. When he and Steve meet, they’re total opposites, no one would’ve guessed that they would be able to stand each other, much less be practically married less than six months later. And maybe Bucky’s just out of college, maybe he hasn’t even graduated yet, working a summer job at his dads company. Maybe he’s the liaison to Steve’s company, there for a weekend to see what this highly successful start up is all about.

And maybe Steve takes one look at him, with his carefully coifed hair and shined shoes, and he’s gone. And maybe Steve doesn’t get his number, maybe he pouts for a week until Nat rolls her eyes and drags him to the country club, where she’s also bullied Bucky into going because he’s been sulking all week. And Steve sees him in a nice polo shirt and slacks, dressed down but still a far cry away from Steve’s trucker hat and shorts.

And they hit it off. Steve’s absolutely enthralled with this outgoing, cheeky kid who gets shy so easy, turns all red when he gets close and whispers all breathy in his ear. Bucky’s in awe of this man who’s unlike anyone he’s ever met in his, admittedly, sheltered life. They start going out, start hanging out at Steve’s place, at the lake, at all their favorite bars and restaurants. But everytime, Bucky’s dressed up, polo shirts, slacks, nice shorts, button downs, Steve’s never really seen him let loose. Never seen him without a mountain of hair gel and a tension ringing through his shoulders.

But then! Maybe Bucky has a fight with his parents, gets a bad grade on a test. Maybe he’s just had a bad day and needs some stress relief. So Steve invites him over, for beers and grilling and expects Bucky to be put together and to have to slowly draw him out of his shell. But then Bucky shows up in a tank top and shorts, soft and worn and so obviously loved that Steve can’t keep his hands off him. Cant stop running his hands through his hair, messy in a way that can’t be intentional.

And maybe Steve presses Bucky into a lounge chair, kisses him dizzy because he can’t believe that this is his. That Bucky trusts him enough to let down those walls and the carefully fabricated facade he’s been born into. It’s only been a month or two since they met, it’s the end of summer and they’re hot and sweaty and sticky. Bucky’s moans blend in with the chirping of grasshoppers and Steve might be truly, terrifyingly in love.

He carries him upstairs and truly sets out to take him apart. Bucky’s very glad he doesn’t have plans the next day, but he’s even more glad that Steve’s there to carry him to the breakfast table and feed him raspberries and waffles by hand.

This got away from me, Mama K, but I hope you have a wonderful day 🥰💖

😭 oh baby where is the fic 😭