#he will double and probably triple cross

[warlockcctv]

Imagine sparing Benny, helping him escape and then going on for a bit and almost forgetting about him.

Then Dead Money, you wake up at the Seira Madre and guess what greedy shit heard the radio signal.

It would be like Dean Domino all over again but somehow worse (love Dean's character, he's a terrible guy)

I'd love to see what that place does to him, how he survives

Replacing Benny as an antagonist with Uylsses in the background as Benny has his ending and the effects of Uylsses are just going to start being felt through Elijah.

Is this insane? Is this anything?

[anemos-orca]

Zhongli's Dragon, Part 3: Helping Hands

◆cw: smut ft dom!zhongli x sub!reader, reader is half dragon, breeding kink (?), size difference, oral (reader recieving), pet name use (good girl), probably more qwq

◆NSFW under "Keep Reading"

◆ Part 1 ◆ Part 2 ◆

series tag: #◆zhongli's dragon

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You whimpered into Zhongli's addictive touch, your claws wrapping around his shoulders and taking a firm hold on his incredibly fancy robes as he laid kiss upon kiss along the length of your neck, hands squeezing and massaging the plush of your inner thighs. You wanted more, you needed more, and you knew that he needed it too.

The way his hands were twice the size of yours, the way his muscular frame pushed your body around with ease, the way his pupils blew out in a fit of animalistic lust- everything he did, everything about him only aided the hot and heavy atmostphere of his once dignified office.

Pulling back, he graced his long, masculine fingers along the soft skin of your sides as he pulled your silken blouse over your head, followed by your pretty little white bra. Your gleaming eyes met for only a moment before he dove back into your neck, kissing and suckling as though you were made of pure candy, while your own fingers dove under the hem of your pants to pull them off, earning a chuckle out of Zhongli, "So eager now, hmm?" he cooed, his voice so seductively smooth that it felt as though it were putting you into a trance. His firm kisses pushed you down to lay on your back and relax as they migrated from your now bruised neck down to your chest, turning from gentle pecks to ravenous licks and suckles as he took your breast into his mouth and returned his hands to your thighs. One of your hands seemed to have a mind of its own, releasing the grip on his clothed shoulder to tangle into his silky, dark locks. He hummed, seemingly amused by your greedy actions, and peered up to meet your eyes once again. They almost pierced through you, his burning orange gaze struck a sense of awareness of just how lucky you felt to have someone like Zhongli, Rex Lapis, Morax, the Geo Archon, in your life, no matter what name he may go by.

His hands began to grow closer and closer to the sopping wetness between your sensitive legs, albeit teasingly slow, before his middle and ring finger played at your folds, snaking their way between them to grace your clit. A harsh moan erupted from your throat and your grasp on the robes adorning his shoulders turned dangerously tight, nearly to the point of ripping them due to your claws. Letting go of your now hardened nipple from his mouth, he sat up, making you whimper as his hands vacated your body, "Tsk, tsk. We can not have those pretty claws of yours ripping my robes to shreds, now can we? What would i wear then?" he said, a sly grin crossing his face. You knew it was just an excuse for him to finally take off his clothes, though it wasnt something you were against. In fact, the sudden overwhelming desire to see his fully unclothed body over yours nearly shot a moan through your teeth. Upon seeing his bare, hardened chest, you could feel your arousal double- no, triple, at least. You didnt know you needed this sight engraved into your brain until now, and you were going to take every chance you got to soak it all in.

Zhongli leaned over you once again, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss before lowering himself to come face-to-face with your pussy. He groaned at the sight, drool pooling in his mouth as the tantalizing aroma of your arousal filled his sensitive, already worked up nose. The fact that he was able to control himself and not pin you down to fuck you senselessly right then and there was nothing short of a miracle.

You blushed harshly, feeling exposed and self-conscious as Zhongli stared at your needy cunt for a moment too long. Whimpering, you peered down to him, unsure if he was regretful of indulging in the moment or starstruck, "Z-Zhongli..? I-is everything oka-" your plea was cut off as with a pathetically loud moan as he suddenly dove into your wetness, his forked tongue pushing deep inside your core to lap up every glistening drop of arousal he could reach. You gasped again and again, cawing his name like a chant and begging him for more between breathless pants. His eyes closed, lost in the heavenly sweetness of your wetness, as his thumb incessantly circled over your clit, pressing and pushing at the exact places you so desperately needed him to as though he could read your mind- though, by the way you bucked and writhed each time he found the right spot, you might as well be speaking your mind loud and clear. Zhongli moaned at the unforgettably delicious taste of your pussy with each attempt he made to puck up more of your spilling juices, the vibrations very quickly sending you teetering on the edge of orgasm.

"T-there, Zhongli, more, m-more..." you begged, bucking your throbbing pussy up to meet his thrusting tongue and tireless fingers as he pleasured you.

Zhongli momentarily lifted his head, eyes half lidded and lower face glistening with the mess youve made of him, so that he could once again take in the sight of your needy, lewd expression. He would never grow tired of it, and each time you graced him with one, it was as though Celestia herself had sent a gift just for him, "Mmhh... Such a good girl..." he said, chuckling lowly as his tongue returned to your aching cunt, "Be a good little dragon and come for me, (y/n)."

That was all it took for you to fall over the edge. You basically screamed his name, your fingers tightening in his hair as you subconsciously pushed his face down into your pussy as you begged him for more, to keep going, to not stop. And he loved it.

Zhongli kept his tongue thrusting in and out of you and his thumb abusing your clit the entire ride through your high, only stopping once your thighs let go of his head and your moans settled to pitiful pants. He rose up from between your legs, hovering over your body on all fours as you lay, vulnerable and exposed, on the floor of his office, "You're lucky that everyone else has already left for the day. Otherwise..." he said, leaning down to whisper against your ear as his strong hand, still wet with your own slick, cupped your cheek, "everyone would have heard those delicious moans and known just how much you love it when your boss eats you out." he teased, causing you to deeply blush. Your hands rose up to his chest, tracing the lines of his collarbone and the muscles adorning his almost inhuman body, as you realized what came next- the main course.

Zhongli noticed the change in expression and gingerly kissed you, your cheek still cupped in his hand, before ever so slightly lowering his hips to grind his hardened cock against your folds.

"It has taken a lot of self-restraint to not pin you to the floor and breed you until you are nothing but a whimpering mess, but once i start fucking you, i dont think i will be able to hold back any longer."

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a/n: Ah i am so sorry this took so long to write ( •̯́ ^ •̯̀) i hope it is enjoyable to make up for it at least qwq

[honey-crypt]

could i possibly get a fic about sebastian helping adhd!farmer through their rejection dysphoria? i leave the rest up to you, go wild <3

- 🪩

★ like the stream - sebastian x adhd!farmer ★

word count: 1.5k

warnings: rejection sensitivity dysphoria episode

summary: it's the day of the flower dance! you're prepared to ask your friend sam to be your dance partner when you're met face to face with a kind but otherwise hard rejection from the other party. Unable to cope with the rejection because of your RSD, you find yourself spiraling when another friend of yours, Sebastian, finds you alone and distressed in the depths of Cindersap Forest.

a/n: hi hi request #2 for my write-a-thon! hope this is an okay fic, i made sure to do some research on rsd and adhd (beyond my personal knowledge of it) for this fic :D

Today had to be perfect. 

That was what you repeated to yourself, as you made your way towards Cindersap Forest for the Flower Dance. You double, even triple, checked that you had everything ready for today. It may have taken two or ten sticky note reminders, but you knew that everything was in the right place. Your outfit? Check. Your flowers? Check. Your confidence to ask Sam to be your dance partner? Check!

As you got closer and closer, the sound of upbeat classical music grew louder and louder. They should really install a better alternative to this, I don’t know George crosses this, you thought to yourself while crossing the bridge over to the festival. An open green space greeted you with the residents of Pelican Town scattered about. You exchanged pleasantries with your fellow townies, making a beeline to your friend group by a secluded corner of the festival. 

“Hey (Y/N)!” Abigail gave you a small, half salute, “Didn’t think you were going to make it.”

“I lost track of time,” you confessed, “Nonetheless, I made it!”

Your two other friends, Sam and Sebastian, paused their side conversation at mention of your arrival. Sam offered you a dazzling smile that made your heart flutter, “(Y/N)! Good to see you!” and, much to your disappointment, he gave you a friendly side hug. You forced a smile in return and responded, “Yeah, for sure. I’m just glad I made it before the dance started.”

“Would’ve sucked ass if you missed it,” mused Abigail. Sebastian didn’t respond, staring silently at you. A frown graced your lips, What’s his deal? you questioned. Your chest, however, had a different reaction, tightening up at the sight of Sebastian’s deadpan. He’s probably just having a bad day, you reassured yourself, He’s not mad at you. He’s not mad at you. 

“I’m gonna grab some of Gus’s drinks,” you perked up at Sam’s voice, “You guys got a preference for what?”

“Ooo, get me the Tulip Jubilee,” requested Abigail.

“The Blue Jazz Drop for me,” you eyed Sebastian when he spoke up. Sam looked at you expectantly, “How about you, (Y/N)?”

“Oh, uhhhhh…” you mentally thumbed through your options, “No preference, just grab me something you think I’ll like,” you adjusted your collar with your free hand, “I trust your judgement.”

“Will do!” Sam responded with a double thumbs up before leaving for the food and drinks table. You let out a deep sigh and fiddled with the flower in your hand, a small but homegrown tulip. Abigail quirked an eyebrow up at you, “Something on your mind?”

“Oh! Well,” you cleared your throat, “Just thinking about the dance.”

“Fingers crossed that you don’t have to dance with Clint like last year,” snorted the purple-haired goth. You grimaced at the memory and scanned the crowd for the aforementioned blacksmith, seeing him talk poor Emily’s ear off, “Anyone but him,” you grumbled.

“Which reminds me,” your friend directed her attention to Sebastian, “Dance partners this year?” to which the black-haired boy nodded quietly. You stared at him with narrowed eyes, Why are you so quiet today?

“Back with the drinks!” your blonde friend announced to the group, two drinks in hand and two held tight against his chest. Sam passed out the drinks and informed you, “I got you the Sunflower Tonic.”

You pressed your lips against the cup and took a sip, the sweetness of the drink evident, “This is good,” you let your friends know.

“Ew, mine’s too sour,” sighed Abigail, her lips puckered. She held her drink towards the group, “Any takers?”

“I’ll try it,” answered Sam. He grabbed the drink and sipped it, his face grimacing, “Yikes. Too sour,” before handing it in front of you, “Want a taste?”

You felt flushed at the idea of sipping the drink after Sam and seized the opportunity, accidentally taking a big swing of it. Immediately, you gagged at the taste, “Ugh! My tongue!” and spat out what little liquid was left in your mouth. Sebastian finally took the drink and drank it without any sign of sourness on his face, “Yeah, this is bad,” he stated, “I’ll stick with my drink,” the emo resumed his Blue Jazz Drop. 

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Mayor Lewis’s voice echoed awkwardly through his microphone, “The Flower Dance will begin shortly! Last chance to find yourself a partner!”

You heard the man, this is your last chance! you grasped your flower and waited until Abigail and Sebastian went ahead to pull Sam aside, “Hey Sam, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” Yoba, his sunshine demeanor was too much. 

“Would you like to be my partner for the dance?” you held up the tulip. Sam’s sunshine self dimmed into a clouded version, “Oh, (Y/N), but Penny asked me to dance while I was getting the drinks. I’m really sorry.”

The sound of your world cracking rang through your ears, as you stood motionless in front of Sam, “Oh! I, uh…” tears pricked at your eyes, “I gotta go.”

Your surroundings began to blur and any outside noise turned into static, as you made your escape from the Flower Dance and deeper into Cindersap Forest. The bum bum of your heart and the swoosh of your blood pounded against your head. 

I hate him.

He hates me.

No, he just made a promise!

No, he thinks you’re the worst!

It was like being trapped on a carousel, your thoughts and emotions spinning around and around. Soon, you found yourself by a small stream, laying on the ground by it with sprawled out limbs. Tears rushed down your face and you heaved dryly, as your brain failed to comprehend Sam’s words and intent.

Oh, (Y/N), but Penny asked me to dance while I was getting the drinks. I’m really sorry.

You sat up, nearly flinging yourself forward towards the stream, and started to bite at your nails, “He hates me. He hates me. I hate myself. I hate myself. I-”

“(Y/N)?” 

You jerked your head to the left, Sebastian standing a few feet away from you. As he approached you, you hastily wiped your face with your sleeve, tears and snot staining the fabric, “Leave me alone,” you sniffled.

“(Y/N), what’s wrong?” he asked you, sitting down beside you with his knees to his chest. The tears resumed and coated your cheeks in the salty liquid, “I hate myself, okay?! I fucking hate myself, Sebastian!”

Sebastian tilted his head in confusion, “Why do you hate yourself?”

“Because I’m obviously such an awful person that Sam doesn’t want anything to do with me!” you cried out. Your friend frowned deeply, “(Y/N), you know that Sam usually dances with Penny at the Flower Dance.”

That made your blood steam, “I wanted it to be DIFFERENT, Sebastian! I wanted him to dance with me!” you heaved at Sebastian. He fell silent and fished out something from his suit pocket, a red tangle fidget. Your friend let it out to you and you snatched it without hesitation, fidgeting with it while you sobbed. You tried to get back to reality, but with each passing moment, the idea of returning to the present grew farther and farther away. Everything was hurting, your mind and your body, everything was hurting so much.

“I’m sorry that you’re hurting,” whispered Sebastian. You looked at him with watery eyes, “I can’t control this,” you admitted. He nodded quietly and held out a hand, to which you grasped and squeezed. Sebastian continued, “I know that these kinda things are a lot for you. I know that your mind is telling you a lot of awful stuff right now because of what Sam said, huh?”

“Yeah…” you squeezed his hand again. Sebastian added on, “I didn’t mean to watch, but I accidentally saw the whole situation go down. Sam looked upset when you ran away.”

“Well, he can shove,” you grumbled. Sebastian snorted and retorted, “He’s the one who wanted to check on you, but I told him that you seeing him while you’re in a RSD episode wouldn’t be that helpful.”

You moved closer to Sebastian and laid your head against his shoulders, “I hate my brain.”

“I get it, you’re not alone,” hummed the emo, “Isn’t this stream pretty, though?” he redirected your focus on the stream, the gentle rush of water humming against the swaying trees, “Maybe, just for a second, we can be like the stream.”

You closed your eyes and focused on the sound of the stream, envisioning yourself as one with the water. A sense of peace washed over you and you exhaled, still picturing yourself as the stream. It felt like an hour or so went by before you opened your eyes again, “I’m the stream,” you stated to Sebastian. 

“You’re the stream,” he repeated back, holding you close, “You’re the stream," your heartbeat and breathing returned to normal.

"I'm the stream."

[goldenlaquer]

Woahhhh if asks are open... can I ask for Gintoki trying really hard to impress this girl he likes, but everything goes to absolute shit because this is Gintama? Totally fine if you delete! I still devour all your old stuff to fill my soul with life 🥹 Never come across anyone who writes Gintama as accurately as you bebe 😘

Sakata Gintoki Headcanons:

If Gintoki made a list of pros and cons about himself, it would probably read like this:

Pro: he has a big dick. (Big dick reading as BIG DICK, in bold, all-caps. Triple underlined.)

Con: he's a perfectionist. (Con: he's a liar.)

So, it isn't all that hard to imagine impressing you would be a Herculean task for Gintoki.

Asking Kagura for advice is like shooting yourself in the foot. Gin-chan is penniless, she says matter-of-factly. No lady wants a broke, mooching, deadbeat boyfriend. A pause to let him absorb these insults, and then, Papi brought Mama three heads, she kindly tells him like it's the secret to your heart, and that's very romantic in Yato culture apparently. Which reminds Gintoki that Kagura is from a different species just as much as her barely counting as female to begin with. Well, in human culture, he could give you as many heads as you'd want— but that's bases away and he's been swinging strikes all throughout this sad, unrequited game.

Asking Shinpachi— no, no. Now, that's a lost cause.

He tries. He does. He really tries.

He tries complimenting you. Suavely slide in a comment about how your teeth looks like it could bite into hard candy, no problem. That your hair doesn't look as dry and brittle today than it did yesterday, and oh wow, your tits look... wow. Double thumbs up.

He tries paying for your meal, to show that he can provide for you, that he's not going to be the broke, mooching, deadbeat boyfriend Kagura deemed him to be. Work a few odd jobs and have all the correct bills in his normally depleted wallet, even break a comb on his hair and get dressed to the nines in his nice, regular clothes that passed the sniff inspection when he shook it out from a pile of unwashed laundry— and it's just, while on the way to his favorite family diner he invited you to, he's passing by a pachinko parlor, with all of its flashy get-rich-quick displays and bright dinging noises from within, and that was when he's suddenly sensing it... the taste of victory. Long story short, the only thing he'll end up tasting is the strawberry parfait that you paid for.

Whatever poor progress that manages to inch forward always ends straight back to the negatives. Damn the perverted stalker and her masochistic plays she forces on him. Damn the timing and whatever deity has pitted against him when you step onto the scene to the sight of him wielding a paddle as the stalker squeals happily while tied to the wooden cross. No, this isn't— he wants to tell you, but your expression has already smoothed into a carefully blank canvas before you turn your back to him and walk away to leave him to... it. No, this isn't what it looks like, he wants to scream.

In a mood of desperation and shots deep in cheap gutter sake, he'd even wrote a poem in the dead of night, detailing the color of your eyes and all the things they reminded him of, invented a new word just to make a rhyme with your name, how the sound of your voice catches in his chest when he hears it— shit if he knew anything about pretty words, he'd never wrote anything longer than a drawn penis before— and once he was done, what he did next was ball the whole sheet up, open the nearest window, and pitch it to the stars. The lamest shit he ever did in his life will be taken to his grave.

Sometimes, because his name is Gintoki, and he is the protagonist of a septic tank for low hanging fruit comedy series called 'Gintama', sometimes the whole universe is against him.

There is a two episode-length arc the occurs, but due to the time-constraints of these headcanons and the writer's own laziness, the details of it shall not be outlined, but please know it involves an exposition, conflict, rising action, a climax (and not the good kind), falling action, some explosions and a tiny grave misunderstanding that leaves you storming from the wreckage in fury and exasperation, and Gintoki catching your wrist, spinning you around to face him. Emotions and adrenaline running high, chests heaving in exertion, and seeing your face covered in soot and sweat and your eyes huge and wet, looking damn more beautiful than you have any right to be, that's when Gintoki finally decides to put his big balls to use and confess himself to you. Opening his mouth and—

Plotfully, the wind picks up, and then suddenly a wadded ball of paper rolls to hit your feet. Both you and Gintoki look down to stare at this interruption. You bend down to pick it up and unfold the ball, startling at whatever you find, snapping your eyes up to him. "Gin, your name is on here?"

Shit! Gintoki realizes, recognizing the paper now. This is the worst possible timing! My stupid shitty poem somehow found its way to the woman it was written for. And why the fuck did I sign it!

He looks left and right, searching for a vending machine to put his head through, and when there are none, he's scrubbing his face with his hand, looking at you and the damned poem he wrote that found it's way to you, as if was meant to be there. "I wrote it." He finally grumbles. "For you. Don't be creeped out."

Your eyes scan the page from top to bottom, reading. Your eyebrows shoot up, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"This is really what you think about me?" Your trembling voice barely above a whisper.

Gintoki pauses. Then nods. "Yeah. Every word."

Your expression blanks. You turn the wrinkled paper around. Gintoki squints.

Shit! Gintoki thinks. I was so drunk I never wrote anything down, I just drew a penis!

[cantgetworsethanthistbh]

SOOOOOOO fem stan…. i see you too have strong feelings for her 👀👀 how about ford watching her get ready for a date?

alright here's the first of the ficlet ask prompts i FINALLY got around to writing and finishing. i think i went to far with this one but fuck it WE LOVE FEMSTAN HERE. Also THANK YOU for the ask😭😭

~~~

Growing up means getting bigger. Getting bigger means the space that holds a person that occupies a plane shrinks smaller and smaller. One takes up more and more space until there’s hardly any left at all, so they simply take up more and more, and the four walled rooms shrink smaller and smaller. It doubles, triples, quadruples with people, grown or growing, and suddenly there’s too little room left to get big in.

Suddenly there’s none at all, and spider webs in the ceiling corner are too visible and the dust gathered on high shelves once out of reach are too close to the peripheral of the eye. The smudge of red going slightly out of line on Ma’s lips and the stubble already starting to root and grow on Pa’s face are so small and insignificant when Ford was smaller. Ford is bigger now, even more of an observer, and although those details are still small, the space between his noticing eyes and them have closed, making it impossible not to see. That’s how growth works, and until the walls of their home turn to rubble and ash, it’s occupied space. Occupied by four or five at a time.

Occupied spaces are suffocating— one must either leave or get used to the closeness. Ford swears he’ll be leaving.

“I don’t like this.”

“I don't think you like anything, Sixer.”

Ford frowns, crossing his legs stubbornly on Stan’s mattress in silent response. Parallel to him from across the room, Stan is shimmying to a whistle tone coming from her lips, a little sway in her hips and a little bounce in her step. A little swell in her smile makes a little cut in Ford’s chest throb ever so slightly more. Too many little things, too big of a picture. The picture being the worst possible scenario Ford has ever faced in his young life.

Standing in front of her dresser, wrapped in a damp towel, Stanley was getting ready for a date.

A date with Carlos-fucking-McCorkle.

“Stan…” Ford starts a little exasperated, trying to catch her attention, but not so much that she would turn around to look at him in all his not so glorious desperation. Just… enough to listen to reason.

“Fooooord…” Stan calls back mockingly, but she’s listening, which is all Ford could ask for. It’s his chance to make a solid, logical argument.

“You’re making a mistake.”

Which is a fact. Not one taken too lightly when he catches Stan rolling her eyes in the reflection of the mirror, however, but still very much a fact. It is a mistake, and if Ford is in his right mind, which he always is, then he’s doing the right thing, trying to talk his sister out of it.

Unfortunately, Stanley had just the habit of being on the opposite side of a right mind.

Carlos McCorkle is the most popular guy in their grade, especially among the gaggles of young women. With his “hot pants and smooth moves” (Stan’s descriptors, which Ford couldn’t roll his eyes enough to) he’s made a name for himself as a rival to many other teenage boys in their school and a goal to every girl to stand by his side as designated eye-candy and probably more.

In other words: Carlos was a womanizer. And that never bothered Ford. It never even crossed his mind for even a second before, just like Carlos himself.

Until now. Now that the prick’s new pickings is Ford’s twin sister. Now that it’s Stan.

It’s blood boiling, more than anything, to think that not even a month ago, the guy had barely glanced at Stan’s way, brushing her off as the freak’s twin sister. But one second swoop, and everything just changes, as if planned by the universe. And Ford hated that. It just wasn’t logical. It had to be a ploy, a well thought out plan by the universe to punish him.

There was a piece that would lead to one night, Stan would be standing in the line of a movie theater to “Grandpa The Kid: The Movie”, and a scumbag would attempt to rob her. There were pieces that fell together when the boxing classes Stan had been taking for months for self defense in the one instance of good parenting their father has ever given her had honed her reflexes and strength enough to sock the man in the jaw. There was the giant, annoying piece of the fact that Carlos McCorkle was there and Ford wasn’t. Too caught up doing homework instead of spending time with his sister like he’d originally promised and he could have protected her because that’s what brothers do. Ford may be a wimp— he doesn’t know how much his presence would’ve actually helped. But he’d do whatever it takes to protect Stan. Swearing up and down so she didn’t have to do it herself.

But she did. And she was catching Carlos' eye all the while, as if she fucking proved herself for his sake that she’s good enough to be his new girlfriend.

That’s what Ford understood of it at least, when she came home giggly and red face from still pulsing adrenaline and blushing, gushing about him and their date when dread quickly but so very painfully crawled into Ford’s chest at the very idea he could have lost his sister right then and there and he wouldn’t have even known. Stan obviously wasn’t grasping the reality of the situation, leading to a big fight about that. They’ve made up, thankfully, but it hasn’t stopped Stan from mentioning Carlos’ name every other second of the day like a love sick dame.

“You know his reputation, Stan, even more than I do,” Ford points out, watching as Stan finally finishes combing through half dried hair into what Ford just assumes is an acceptable amount of fluff. His eyes follow her hand as she reaches into her underwear drawer.

Stan shrugs. “Eh, so what?”

“So what–?” Ford sputters, flabbergasted. “Stan–”

“I’m just sayin’, maybe Carlos dumped them for a good reason. It don’t have to be ‘cuz he’s just a huge jerk, ya’know?”

“Even you don’t believe that,” Ford groans, crossing his arms and curling up to the wall. Stan is never that generous with her opinions on people. She must really like him.

“If he is,” Stan starts again, a smile in her voice. “This time’s gonna be different. And he’ll totally ditch the whole fuckboy thing when he sees me tonight. He won’t get enough of me!”

Bitterly, Ford pipes up again. “Oh, I’m sure he won’t be able to resist you.”

Which is a mistake beyond mistakes. Looking over her bare shoulder, Stan finally looks back at Ford for just a fleeting moment to throw him a wink. “Can anyone?”

Ford feels his brain melt into their synapses. It’s what he gives as an excuse when instead of looking away, he watches Stan pull a lacy pair of panties over the length of her legs and disappear into the towel and somehow twist herself into a matching bra, which is so far a cry from her usual boxers and cheap bras combinations Ford has seen her slip into numerous times before.

Which is something he’s not particularly proud to admit, yet too desensitized to his own shame to really care anymore. He can’t make up his mind if he’s relieved or offended Stan has never noticed his ogling.

Because on the opposite end: Ford knows he observes Stan a little too much and a little too hard. He blames it on the close proximity of their childhood room, cluttered with pieces that make up the two of them forcing them together. He blames it on the gap between them narrowing even further from the slit-thin space it already was. He blames it on how growing up, his sixth finger alone already made him “too big” anywhere else, unwelcomed in any space outside of the one he shared with his tomboyish, equally outcast sister Stan who he dragged down just by being related to him and who she used her girly fists to fight battles for him and made it worse, so all they had was each other.

He doesn’t blame Stan though, even though that’s the logical conclusion when his eyes snap back in attention to when her towel drops and all the things he’s seen, memorized and fantasized over the years pulls him like a magnet. Big things like the roundness of her hips and large mass of her thighs that would fill out her denim shorts to the little details, like the dips of fat on the garter of her underwear and the scar on the back of her leg and a mole and pimples by her shoulder blade. Stan was never bothered changing in front of Ford, the barrier of Boy and Girl not mattering to her when it’s between siblings, but Ford very, very much was. He couldn’t help it, helpless to all the parts that make her so damn her.

Stan was just too noticeable, in the best way. That’s how Carlos got his eyes on her. Ford is again, stuck to seething, heat radiating under his skin for too many reasons, but biting his tongue and calming himself with the objective fact he’s currently the first to see Stan in her new garments. Of course the idea of another boy being able to is just…

Stan finally pulls on her shirt and laces up her “swinging shoes”. Finally facing and grinning at Ford with a new gleam in her eyes that made it so the one of the few identical aspects of them being fraternal twins almost unrecognizable to his own that Ford feels like smashing his glasses against his face.

“Don’t wait up for me, Sixer,” Stan says, blowing him a kiss that’s obviously just a joke but Ford internally catches it anyway, keeping it locked away in some deep vault in his mind because that's as good as he's ever going to get. She’s still humming when she exits the door, her brother’s warnings (and okay, several complaints about Carlos being a shallow prick who’s probably into tree huggers and Stan should dump him before it's too late) furthest from her mind.

Ford flops down onto Stan’s mattress. Like any twin bed, it’s cramped, and despite being a girl, she should know better than to hide her shorts under her pillow where perverted twin brothers might find it, but luckily Ford never bothers them. It’s empty. it's suffocatingly empty, even with Ford here.

He has got to get out. Ford’s got to leave.

~~

send an ask with a prompt of your own if you want! i'll get to it eventually lmao

[sundewhasaudhd]

Hi Tumblr :D 👋

My name is Sundew, I’m a MINOR (high school age) I’m acespec, pan, trigender, xenogender, ambiamorous, and use all pronouns

I’m an artist, actor, script writer, theatre kid, and AuDHD haver

Current hyperfixations: DSMP, Hatchetverse, The Skinjacker Trilogy reincarnation AU, my OC's

Special Interests: DSMP, musical theatre, casinos, Tumblr history, and some others that I can’t think of off the top of my head

Current fandoms: DSMP, musical theatre (especially Hatchetverse), Trolls, Frankenstein or the Modern Prometheus, Amphibia, TOH, DDLC, The Skinjacker Trilogy, ROTTMNT, Ramshackle (kind of), QSMP (kind of), Gravity Falls, Steven Universe Nimona, Mitchel’s vs the Machines, Chikn Nugget (that counts as a fandom right?), Bluey, SheRa, Ducktales, Adventure Time, Vocaloid, Tangled the Series, DHMIS, Descendants, Moral Orel, and probably more tbh

I'm currently working on 5 different DSMP AU's/ animated fanfics, and one day I would like to make 'DSMP the Animated Series' and my high fantasy OC's cartoon, both of which would be indie animated and available on YouTube (but we'll cross those bridges when we get there)

This blog does not support cc!Wilbur or his actions, cc!Wilbur supporters DNI

Speaking of DNI, here’s my DNI list: queerphobes in ANY way (and that includes hating on xenogender people and people who use neopronouns), racists, sexist/misogynists, zionists, antisemitic/neo-nazis, islamophobes, anti therian and anti furry people, cc!Wilbur Soot/William Gold supporters, cc!Dream Team supporters, Robert Manion supporters

I post very sporadically because of school (and by post I mean post creative works, like fanart and scripts), but when I do post, it’ll mainly be DSMP stuff (especially my own AU’s), but I will also post stuff for other fandoms, especially Hatchetverse

I’m absolutely obsessed with c!TNT duo and with take pretty much any opportunity I can get to draw/talk about them. Same with Wilbur Cross and the Lords in Black (and Webby)

Like I said earlier, I don’t not support cc!Wilbur in any way shape or form. That being said I really really super like c!Wilbur (o!Wilbur and q!Wilbur are neat too) and most of my AU’s have him as a big role

Feel free to ask me about my DSMP or Hatchetverse headcanons (or headcanons for any other fandom listed above), just know I might not always answer immediately because of school and shit like that

Also, I have a few side blogs:

@csundewsaysfuckitwebawl my DSMP OC role play blog

@yousummonusonceyousummonustwice my Lords in Black and Queen in White ask blog

@just-a-lil-theatre-guy my Hatchetverse OC role play blog

Double also, say hello to my Tumblr siblings:

@rxccoonboo @cotableats (which is an account he and our friend Cota share) @a-sociopath-do-your-research @rae-unbeloved @loneycorner

@alchemicalwerewolf @silverwaredrawersys @beattlecub

Triple also, finally updated my pronouns

Anyway, I hope you all have a nice day and enjoy my Tumblr :D

[chloessleepystories]

We have storms hitting both the east coast and west coast. Could we get a story about storms changing people on a rainy day leading to some steamy nights?

The buzz was insistent, a double, triple buzz. Jeremy hit the button to unlock the front door and a moment later heard her pounding steps coming up the stairs.

“Jesus look at you, you’re soaked!”

Candace was drenched, but smiling, as she crossed the threshold of his apartment. “Whaaat? It’s just a little rain,” she grinned.

He laughed. “You’re an idiot. Let me get a towel.”

She peeled off her sopping sweater as he called from the bathroom, “You know we could have just done this another night.”

“Are you nuts?” she called back. “It’s already hard enough to avoid spoilers online, I’m going to wait another 24 hours before catching up on Ahsoka?”

“Here, try this.” Jeremy was holding out one towel as he threw another on the floor at her feet. “You’re dripping everywhere.”

“Well if you would just share your password like a normal person, I could watch it at my house.” She squeezed the towel around her long hair, then tried to pat dry her skirt.

“I would if I could!” he protested. “You know they’re all cracking down on that shit.” He led the way into his cozy living room. “Anyway, I like sharing it with you.”

“I know. I like coming over here too.” She smiled shyly. He smiled too. After a moment, she looked away. “It’s a … It’s a good thing our apartments are so close together.”

“You mean you walked over here?”

“What?” She was standing by the TV, still dripping everywhere. “It’s just a couple blocks. And it’s a nice warm night.”

“A nice warm night with a freak storm,” Jeremy laughed, reclining on the couch. “You didn’t check the weather forecast before you headed out, huh?”

“Nah. I don’t believe in that stuff, any – ahchoo! - anyway.”

The sneeze didn’t seem that hard, but she swayed dizzily for a moment.

“You don’t believe in … ? What, just a conspiracy of meteorologists, you mean?”

She giggled. “I just mean the forecasts are so often wrong, I don’t even – don’t even – ahchooo!! … Don’t even uh bother … ”

Jeremy stood up, slowly. The first time he thought he was imagining it, but the second time … “Are you feeling all right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I coulda sworn, when you sneezed just then, your … your uh …” He gestured to his chest, unable to say ‘breasts,’ or any of the other synonyms that came to mind. “I mean, it’s a pretty thin top, it doesn’t hide much, like …”

She folded her arms, and pouted, a little cuter pout than he had seen her make before. “Jer, you’re actin’ real weird all of a – all of a …”

There was no denying it this time. Her chest bulged as she let out her biggest sneeze yet. Candace was normally flat as a board, but suddenly her soaking wet top was sticking to – well, there was no other word for it – her sizeable tits.

Her eyes crossed for a moment, and she staggered. When she recovered from the explosion, she looked down and gasped. “What the shit are these?” she said, grasping them with both hands. Her voice seemed a little higher than before, more breathy, but there was an edge of panic to it as well.

“I think you’re coming down with something …” Jeremy said, knowing how dumb it sounded.

“Oh, you think?”

“You should probably uh … you should get out of those wet clothes …?”

She giggled, then mock-scowled. “Oh, nice try, buddy, I see what you’re – I see … I … oh shit”

Ah – CHOOO!!

“Ow ow ow!!” Her voice had climbed another octave. “It hurts!! Je-er, help mee!!”

Her tits were straining the buttons on her shirt, and her tiny bra, usually barely needed, was obviously pinching in several places, trying to hold in the unaccustomed mass. He moved toward her.

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to – oof!”

She threw her arms around him, held him tight. She pressed her whole, wet body against his, soaking his tee shirt in moments. She was nose to nose. She pushed her bottom lip out and made her eyes big and damp. Jeremy thought she had never looked lovelier. “I need help, please,” she panted.

She was rubbing against the bulge in his jeans. Probably by accident. His erection didn’t care. He licked his lips. “Yeah, yeah, let’s uh … let’s get that off. Do you want to go in the uh …”

She stepped back, and ripped open her top in a desperate moment. A button pinged off one of his bookshelves. In a moment, she was showing him more skin than she ever had in all the years of their friendship – her chest heaving, her arms bare, her hair long and flowing (and could it possibly be longer than before?) and her plain-and-simple bra laboring with the effort of holding back the swelling melons.

Jeremy swept a palm across his forehead. Was it getting warm in here? He was wet with sweat. Wet with something – he plucked at his damp tee shirt, which was sticking to him. He rubbed his jean-covered thigh, which was spongy with water too and likewise sticking … like, were his jeans shrinking?

“Now, now listen uh – ”

“Here, here,” she turned around to show him her almost-bare back, and he broke out in sweats again. “I can’t reach it! Can you get it?” He barely registered how high-pitched her voice was now, so distracted by trying to figure out what she was asking. After a moment, it clicked, and he sprang forward to fumble with the clasp of her bra.

As soon as he had it undone, the cups flew off her boobs to land on the carpet two feet away. Her tits, released, sprang out and wobbled around like nothing he had seen outside ridiculous anime porn, as she swung around toward him. She was topless, and he grasped his swelling cock through his jeans. She was topless in his apartment, and she looked like a wet-dream cartoon.

Sounded like one too. “Ohhh!! Thank you thank you!!” she chirped. “That’s sooo much better!!!” Her eyes went to where his hand was kneading his erection, and she licked his lips. “And I know what would make it better still …”

In a moment, she was pressed against him again, her wet jugs soaking his tight tee shirt further. She stripped the shirt off him with flattering haste, catching his ear painfully with the fabric, then ran her hands over his bare chest. “Mmmm … such muscles …”

Jeremy raised his eyebrows, fumbled for words. A skinny dork, he’d never considered himself muscled but … he had to agree she was right.

She dragged her boobs down his body, falling to her knees, fumbling with his belt. “I need it, I need it,” she whimpered.

“Candace … Candace, don’t you think we should …”

“Unh uh!” she giggled, shaking her head. “Call me Candi, I think I like that better …”

She jerked down pants and underpants in one movement, and gasped at the erection inches from her face. Her eyes crossed a bit, dazed, and … was she actually drooling, a little?

She swirled her tongue around the helmet, then took a couple inches of the shaft into her mouth. It swelled between her lips, and she looked up at him, his cock in her mouth, and winked.

Candi let the cock out of her mouth with a pop. She held up her heavy melons with both hands and whispered, “I know where this belongs …”

Jeremy’s shaft slid between her swaying funbags, still slick with the storm’s rain and Candi’s sweat, and as she held her tits around it, he began to stroke it up and down against her wet skin. It grew. And grew. And grew, to a length and thickness he absolutely knew it had never possessed before.

And as it did, he felt his brain grow more sluggish. His eyelids drooped. He looked at the bimbo on her knees before him with an animal lust. “Couch. Arm,” he grunted, his voice much lower than usual. “Now.”

She draped herself over the arm of his couch, flipping up her skirt. He snatched the panties off her trembling legs in an instant, and speared her gushing cunt with his thick monster cock. She screamed out in pain and ecstasy …

As the rain came down all over the city. All over thousands of unsuspecting strangers …

An hour later, Candace and Jeremy lay sprawled on his carpet, panting. After a lot more exertion than either was used to, and months’ worth of orgasms crammed into one night, they were finally feeling a little more like themselves.

“What the fuck was that,” Candace said, in something closer to her usual tone of voice. Her breasts were no longer coconut sized, but they were still healthy large apples. Or maybe oranges, thought Jeremy.

Or maybe I’m just hungry.

He had expended a lot of energy, after all.

“I don’t know, but it was amazing, that’s for sure,” he rasped.

“We should uh … ” She sat up, looking around. Where was a glass of water when you needed one. She was powerfully thirsty. “Maybe we should hit the shower? Wash off the rest of it?”

“… Together?” he suggested.

“Why not? I think we’ve broken down that barrier.” She smiled. “You’ve been abusing all my holes for an hour, I think you’ve earned soaping up my bottom.”

Jeremy got slowly to his feet, cricked his neck. He was glad she still wanted to be friends. Maybe … maybe be more than friends. “Or …” he said.

She put out a hand, and he helped her up. “Or?”

He looked to the window, where rain was still spattering the panes.

“Or we could go outside and dance in the rain.”

Candace looked to the window. Her eyes slid to Jeremy’s smile.

And she grinned.

[lucysarah-c]

Thought on Levi with a fem reader who’s like under five feet or shorter then him? Fluff plz

I understand what you're saying; that interview with Isayama mentioning that "since Levi is a short person, short people are usually into tall people" has crossed my mind more than once.

However, I always emphasize that having a specific preference in physical appearance doesn't mean you rule out all other possibilities. Levi could feel the same way! How many women do you know who are into "short guys"? I'll wait for your response, haha.

That being said, I strongly doubt Levi would care about your height. If you're shorter than him, get ready to be called "shorty" probably all the time. It doesn't matter if he's only 3 cm taller; he'll point it out, resting his elbow on your shoulder just to playfully bother you.

Expect constant hair ruffles; it's a well-known love gesture from Levi. Since he doesn't have to tiptoe to do them, he'll be doing it all the time. If you complain about it tangling your hair, he'll probably do it even more.

Head kiss? Check. Hair kiss? Double check. Face grip to tilt it and kiss your forehead? Triple check. Personally, I think Levi is a secret "handy." He likes to grip and touch when he's in privacy, especially with face grabs.

Extra points if you two can share clothes; he'd love to see his clothes on you. Will he loudly complain about his wardrobe running empty? Yes. Is that an invitation for you to stop? Absolutely not.

The real cherry on top? This man will manhandle you as if there's no tomorrow, so enjoy *wink.*

Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @jimoonbeau @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @i-literally-cant-with-this @angelofthorr @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @l3visthighs @hum4n-wr3ckag3 Wanna join my tag list? Here!

[hitlikehammers]

intimately entwined

rating: e (but not how you think) ♥️ cw: the deepest intimacies in the most unexpected places knocking someone on their ass  ♥️ tags: established relationship, care-taking, casual intimacy, fluff, relationship development, slice of life, idiots in love

for @steddielovemonth day three: Love is wanting to do everything with someone, even if its nothing special

and yes, again: these boys probably grow up to star in the rockstar-husbands-with-the-sex-toys fic je ne regrette rien which will have a sequel flavoured revival via @subeddieweek in April whaaaaaatttt

“Another.”

And the way it’s said: it’s almost fucking expectant too, Jesus Christ, this man.

“You’re sure this is okay?”

Because, like, Eddie needs to know it is. He needs to check, then double check, then triple check because…because this feels like a wholly different step, y’know? This feels like crossing a kind of line they haven’t even dared to tiptoe near just yet, wholly different from all the other lines they’ve navigated, both reckless and careless but together, always, and that helps, in theory. It helps to know that no matter how they’ve fumbled or triumphed in this, between them: it’s been hand in hand. Before, and during, and after.

Still, though. This is…this just feels very fucking different. The kind of boundary with implications that feel heavy and expansive under Eddie’s ribs. Maybe it should seem less monumental compared to other shit they’ve done, and most of that with far less deliberation and hesitation for them, at that. But this does, it…Eddie genuinely believes this pumps weird and novel through his veins, because it is different; and incredible for it, no question. Terrifying. Wholly beggars belief, honestly, and Eddie never really understood that phrase meant but.

He thinks this thing fits it, to a T.

“I said it was, didn’t I?”

Eddie blinks, recenters: was it okay?

And this, this…brilliant perfect little shit: Eddie can hear the smirk in his voice without even looking. He can hear the amusement as much as the loose-ends of frustration. Like Eddie is being absurd here.

Which: what the actual fuck; seriously.

Like, like: goddamn seriously.

“Yeah,” Eddie answers, a little hesitant, a lot fucking dazed; “yeah you did,” because…he did. From the beginning, from even before they settled int to start this: Steve had been…vocally enthusiastic. Not that Eddie hadn’t been! He’d mostly just, he’d just been—

“You think I’m fucking with you?”

Again: without having to see Eddie clocks the eye roll, the not-even-subtle challenge in it.

Alongside the nugget of genuine hurt held for if it turns out true and that: no.

No, Eddie will not fucking have that, so.

Okay, he won’t have that, but also first:

“I mean, yeah—“ because umm…their sex life is a little undeniable.

Steve snorts; how. How

“Here and now, jackass,” he snipes back and Eddie…Eddie really and truly doesn’t fucking know what to do with this. How cal, Steve is. How focused and dedicated to the task. How monumentally and profoundly, just…

How this is sitting in his chest as so much more than the rest of it somehow in a way Eddie cannot wrap his mind around to understand and it’s frightening. Not understanding something so clearly and intimately important; so clearly fucking intimate.

“Not exactly,” Eddie ultimately settles on speaking rather than continuing to gape, continuing to stew in his terror as his heartbeat picks up but speed, it comes out more choked than he’d been hoping; less convincing by a mile as a result. “I don’t think you’re fucking with me like, like it’s something intentional,” and Eddie seeks out Steve’s gaze directly then because that’s it, that’s the hurt part he needs to root out and not crush to bits because he doesn’t crush any part of the man he loves, ever; no.

No, Eddie needs to root that out so he can draw it into the pounding in his chest warm and safe to be cradled and adored until it snuffs itself out in contented fucking joy, for being loved right. Like it deserves.

Which might be part of the problem in the present case just: this time it’s a problem for Eddie.

“Like not mean or anything,” he reiterates, to make absolute sure of this part too; “I just…”

Steve watches him as he struggles to put any part of it into words, can’t even move, or fidget like this: caught, and kinda giddily so underneath everything else, and maybe he needs to lean into that base sensation, see if he can chart his way out from the center versus stumbling around the sides:

“It can’t be, like, enjoyable,” is what he ultimately settles on saying as clear as he came because honestly, that sums up the bulk of it.

Plus he’s learned by now to trust Steve to reach around his rougher edges and find the heart of his meaning, or else, and probably more often: hold his hand as the send out a search party between them for the right words.

Because that’s still it, isn’t it: together.

And of everything else, Eddie doesn’t have to even pysch himself up to trust in that; it just it. It comes natural like breathing.

“Umm,” Steve draws out, a little incredulous; “why not?”

Why not? Why isn’t this exchange clearly one-sided?

“Because,” Eddie tries to find his words, or at least some of them: “I guess, what do you get out of it?”

Steve’s the one glancing to lock their gazes and Eddie…Eddie doesn’t feel ashamed where he might have early on. But he recognises the similar dive where it still lives in his stomach for the gentle warmth that Steve stares into him. Like he sees Eddie’s question, and loves Eddie enough that he won’t dismiss it.

“One more,” Steve instructs confidently, just-shy-of-demands.

“Steve—“

“If you hate it we never have to do it again,” Steve counters; a compromise; “promise.”

“That’s not—“ because fucking hell, as if Eddie could ever hate it.

“One more,” Steve reminds him with the patience of a saint and…Eddie’s moving almost without any thought for it at all, like his body runs the way of his heart and moves for Steve be rote, which.

Kinda, yeah.

“Blow,” Steve’s instructing and Eddie’s doing the moving-by-instinct-because-Steve-says thing again; knows he’s blinking owlishly as he purses his lips and does as he’s asked.

Blows. Ever-so-gentle.

“Okay,” Steve assesses and then grins: “okay, that’s it. Perfect.”

Eddie won’t fucking argue. Not least because it’s true.

Though he’s more invested in the perfection looking up at him like this.

“Verdict?”

And okay, Eddie thinks maybe he has words now, at least inside his head: intimacy wasn’t something he’d ever had before Steve, and frankly was never something he was hanging hopes on ever getting, again—before Steve.

But it wasn’t just because he didn’t have other options that Eddie banked on intimacy equalling sex, either. Because once he did have Steve, it just shifted to the idea of sex as a way of showing love. The more of himself he could give to Steve, the more intimate they’d become: the more of him that was Steve’s for the taking, the more of Steve he look reverent into himself, body to body: that was intimate. That was a relationship, how it looked as it grew. First time Steve came inside him. First time Eddie licked him open. First time he fucked Steve’s gorgeous goddamn thighs.

That kind of thing.

But Eddie’s not sure even the heaviest, headiest sex has ever left his heart as much of a thumping, fluttery mess as just this, which doesn’t feel like just anything: Steve. Sitting in front of him. With a bottle he drove out to Indy to get just for Eddie. Because Eddie wanted it. Because Eddie would like it. Because it might make Eddie happy and it did, it really really did, and—

Steve’s just painted his fucking nails the most gorgeous shiny black, only the slightest bit straying off on the skin, too, and it’s somehow hitting Eddie deeper than the first time they fucked, the first time they stretched each other open, the first time they 69’d in the sheets.

This is apparently what knocks Eddie on his ass for just how deep the love goddamn goes.

“That.”

“Hmm,” Eddie hums, blinking back to the moment where he was busy getting caught up in the new revelation of what intimacy looked like, not to mention caught up in admiring his nails: “what’s ‘that’?”

And Steve’s smiling beatific, incandescent, as he pokes Eddie’s cheek, no, more specifically: as he pokes Eddie’s dimple.

“What I get out of it.”

And Eddie flushes hot under Steve’s touch, then, as it all adds up and seeps in strong enough to shake his core before reshaping him from the inside out as Steve taps the little divot in his skin playfully:

“That.”

Which is how Eddie realizes full on and forever, probably something he already knew, just somewhere under the surface: the intimacy was the sharing of the joy. And in love, especially a love like this one: joy itself is the payoff.

Joy, like everything, is shared by default.

Eddie lifts his eyes, meets Steve’s smile so wide, and relishes the color on his nails as a sign of it for seeing; relishes the dizzy cadence pumping in his chest as proof for the rest of him, to feed and nurture this depth of loving for all the simple things, undimmed and forever until his heart stops doing anything at all. Because there is no pay off, even if there is always something to get out of it. Out of all of it.

Because love is them; together.

Intimately entwined to the goddamn cells.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland

♥️

divider credit here

[vicsnook]

Driving You Home Pt. 2 | Scott Miller x Reader

word count: 2967

warnings: Smut, 18+, unprotected p in v

notes: Hello! Here is part 2 as promised of Never Left Me. I’m sorry that I left y’all hanging with that cliffhanger but I swear the slowburn is so worth it. Hope you enjoy & please don’t forget to like+reblog 🫶🏼.

The sound of rain and Scott cursing wakes me up and I realize I’ve been asleep for a while since it’s now dark outside. Looking around I realize we’re stopped somewhere along the highway and he’s standing outside in the rain yelling at someone on the phone. Guess some things never change.

We make eye contact and I shoot him a pointed look, my brow arched and he shakes his head. I unbuckle myself and step outside and immediately regret it as the cold rain hits my skin.

“So,” I say, approaching Scott as he finally hangs up, “What’s going on?” and the look he gives me is enough to make me want to get back in the SUV.

“We have a flat, Y/N and Goddamn Triple A can’t get here for another 2 fucking hours.” He says, kicking the very flat tire and I have to hold back a laugh.

I calmly walk to the trunk and pop it open, shoving our bags to the side and pulling up the floor mat and low and behold the spare is there and a jack sits right beside it.

“Hey smarty pants, come give me a hand!” I yell to Scott and he rolls his eyes but still helps me pull the tire out. Thankfully it looks like it’s in good condition. “You know how to change a tire?”

He feigns offense. “Of course, but I’d rather not in this rain.”

“Scott, you’re a terrible liar. Pass me the lug wrench and step back.”

“The what?”

I look up at him and notice the slight blush in his cheeks. Of course, he’s probably never changed a tire in his life.

30 minutes later I’m drenched but the new tire is on and the old one is back in the trunk. “Let’s get this show on the road,” I say, eager to get out of the rain.

Scott turns on the heater as we get back in and I shoot him a grateful smile. “Uh, thanks for changing the tire.” He says awkwardly as we pull back out onto the highway.

I shrug. “It was nothing. Should we pull off and get some rest? There’s a motel a few miles from here.”

“Sure thing,” he replies and then we sit in silence ‘til he pulls up to the motel.

-

“Sorry man, but we only have one room left.” The hotel clerk tells Scott and I watch as he winces as if it pains him to share a room with me. “Well, is it a double bed at least?”

I watch the hope shatter from his face as the clerk tells him it’s a single queen bed. He looks at me and I shrug my shoulders so he turns around and tells the clerk that we’ll take it.

The walk back to the SUV is silent and as we gather the bags I can’t help the laugh that escapes me. “What?”

“Nothing, sorry it’s been a long day.” I respond, not wanting to tell him the real reason, which is that we seem to be a living book trope.

I follow him into the room and set my bag on the shabby desk and watch as he takes off his still damp shirt. My eyes trailing through his body shamelessly. Why does he have to look like a Greek God?

“Hey, take a picture, it'll last longer.” He says, snapping me out of my trance and I can feel my cheeks heating up. He smirks at me and heads to the bathroom to I assume take a shower and I can’t help the thoughts that creep into my mind. Stop it! You’re supposed to hate his guts.

When Scott comes out of the bathroom, I look up from my book only to be met with only a towel hanging loosely from his waist and water still dripping from his chest. Lord please have mercy on me. His hair is curly and it takes everything in me not to cross the room and run my hands through it so instead I grab my bag and run into the now empty bathroom.

I shiver under the cold shower since Scott used up all the hot water but the cold water seems to help with my steamy thoughts. Well maybe not. I get dressed and slowly do my nightly routine to avoid spending time with Scott. When I finally emerge back into the room to a thankfully dressed Scott, he’s laying on the bed reading a book.

“Took you long enough. What you couldn’t stop thinking about me naked?” He asks, as I set my stuff by the door and the urge to smack him or fuck him consumes me.

“In your dreams dipshit. I’m going to sleep.” I reply, laying on the bed as far from him as I can.

He clears his throat and I turn to look at him and notice he’s holding some chips and a soda out to me. “Figured you’d be hungry and this was the only thing at the vending machine.”

“Uh, thanks,” I murmur and he nods, returning to his book. My stomach is in knotts as I try to eat because my body is too aware of the man sitting next to me. There was a time I wouldn’t have hesitated to act on my thoughts but that was before he got me fired.

I hear him breathing beside me while I scroll through my phone and it makes me want to scream. Although the meanest thing he’s ever done to me was get me fired I’d rather be stuck with anyone else.

“I’m gonna get some fresh air,” I say, getting up from the bed and walking to the door. “Wait up, I think I’ll get some too,” Scott replies, getting up too. Fucking hell I can’t get away from him.

“No!” I yell, before thinking and he stops, looking at me like I’ve grown another head or something. “I just need some space, okay?”

His face falls as I say that and honestly I feel terrible but it’s true. I don’t trust myself around him. He nods and gets back in the bed and I walk outside, softly shutting the door behind me.

I lean against the door and take a few deep breaths reminding myself that stopping for the night was my idea. The night air is cool and I walk over to the SUV and try the handle and lucky me it’s unlocked.

I recline back in the passenger seat and close my eyes trying to calm my thoughts and before I know it I’ve fallen asleep. Light knocking on the window startles me awake what feels like a few minutes later but according to Scott it’s been an hour.

“You’re not going to sleep in here to avoid sharing a bed with me, are you? Cause if that’s the case I’ll take the car or the room floor.” He says, and I look into his eyes and can tell he’s being sincere which makes me feel like an even bigger asshole.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep here but really I have no problem sharing the bed with you so long as you stay on your side,” I say, getting out of the vehicle and following him back to the room. “Scout’s honor.” He replies, holding up three fingers and I chuckle.

We lay with our backs turned to each other and I hope he can’t feel my heart racing. I close my eyes and try to keep my thoughts away from anything inappropriate and very quickly I fall asleep.

-

I wake up to Scott sitting up on the bed reading and all I can think about is how handsome he looks. Stop it!

Then I think of how bad my hair probably looks and it’s enough to send me tumbling into the bathroom where I find he’s left my bag on the floor for me. Why is he being so nice? ugh

I shower quickly, grateful for the hot water and do my morning routine and by the time I’m packing everything into my bag there’s a soft knock on the door. Scott’s holding a brown bag with what I assume is breakfast when I open it and my stomach involuntarily growls with hunger.

“Perfect timing.” He says, chuckling as I take the bag and sit in the bed while he goes and gets ready for the day and before I can embarrass myself by oogling at him, I decide to wait for him in the car.

-

We drive off and the silence between us is peaceful. Only broken when he needs directions. I feel a spark of relief as we pass the Oklahoma welcome sign. There truly is no place like home.

“What’s going on in that brain of yours?” Scott asks, as we drive by the fields of the place I know we both adore.

“I’m just thinking about how glad I am to be home,” I answer truthfully. “No place really compares to here.”

“I agree. Also, I’m sorry about how things ended between us. I was an asshole and work really isn’t the same without you.” He says, “Or the team.” and I eye him from the corner of my eye and see how tense he is. Apologizing never came easy to Scott so he really must mean it.

“Uh thanks. For what it’s worth, maybe it was for the best. I’m happier now with the wranglers.”

He rolls his eyes and looks at me in disbelief. “You can’t possibly enjoy spending time with those hillbillies.”

“I do. Way more than I ever enjoyed spending time with you,” I spat, defensively and I can see a flash of hurt that he quickly covers with a scowl. So much for getting along.

“Suit yourself,” he responds, pulling off the highway and onto a dirt road. Huh?

“What are you doing?” I ask, aggravated. All I want is to be home and away from him. He turns to look at me and I feel a shiver go through me when I notice his slight smirk.

“We’re not going anywhere until you admit you like me more than Tyler,” He tells me and I notice that this isn’t about the wranglers. This is about us and his ego.

“I never said anything about Tyler.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you want him more than me. That you don’t miss riding with me and hoping I’d pull over and have my way with you.” He says, and I realize maybe I haven’t been hiding the way I feel as good as I thought. Or Javi fucking snitched.

“You’re delusional Scott. Take me home.” I say, avoiding his eyes and toying with my phone which he takes out of my hands. “Hey!”

“We’re not going anywhere until you answer me, sweetheart.”

I look up at him and I know I’m trapped. I’m the world’s worst liar so plan B it is. Turning away I pull open my door and step out the car, ready to walk back to the highway and hitch a ride. Or get Scott to quit being a baby.

The sound of his door slamming behind me does little to stop me as I pull my bag from the trunk. Until he reaches over and takes my bag and throws it back in. “Stop it Scott! You either take me home or I’ll walk there.” I spat, annoyed at his little game but all he does is laugh at me.

“What’s so funny?”

“That you’d rather walk home than admit you want me.”

“Oh fuck off Scott.” I say, turning away from him and walking back to the passenger seat but he cages me against the back door instead. His warm breath on the back of my neck sends shivers down my spine.

“All you have to say is that you don’t and I promise I’ll drive you home immediately after.” He whispers in my ear but the words are trapped in my throat. I turn to face him and his face is stoic. Fuck, maybe I should’ve stayed facing away from him.

His thumb presses on my bottom lip and pulls it down slightly and our eyes are locked onto each others in a silent war of who’ll give in first. Oh screw it, I think closing the distance between us and kissing him.

His hands immediately find my waist and pull me even closer to him as I run my fingers through his hair and he moans into my mouth as I tug at the ends of it. This man will be the death of me.

He pulls us off the side of the car, still kissing me and I hear as he pulls the back door open. Wordlessly I follow him into the small backseat, pulling the door shut behind me.

I straddle his lap as our kisses become desperate, months of pining and anticipation all coming through. He nips at my bottom lip and I can’t help the moan that escapes my mouth and he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into my mouth.

My hands are grabbing fistfuls of his shirt as his wander under mine and I feel like my body might explode. He pauses his wandering to help me take off his shirt, buttons flying everywhere.

We stare at each other briefly, our chests quickly going up and down while we try to catch our breath. His hand caresses my cheek and I lean into his touch as I run my fingers down his chest and his very nice abs.

He pulls me closer and rocks me against him and I can’t help the moans that escape. He grins, trailing kisses down my neck. I pull back to help him pull off my shorts and he slides his fingers into my underwear, circling my clit immediately and I nearly scream.

“You ready to admit you want me, honey?” He drawls, as he quickens his pace on my clit and I nearly come undone.

“Shut up and fuck me Scott,” I reply, panting as he edges me closer and closer to my release.

“Tell me baby, tell me it’s always been me,” He says, rocking me against him as he continues drawing circles on my clit and before I can answer I come undone.

My body shakes in pleasure as he coaxes me through my orgasm and all I can think is that I want him. Now.

“It’s always been you, Scott.” I finally manage to say as I come down from my high and the smile that lights up his face as I say that, warms my heart.

But I don’t have time to dwell on it as he pulls me off his lap to undo his jeans and I take the opportunity to undo my bra and pull off my underwear.

His lips are on my nipple as soon as the bra comes off and I moan loudly as he sucks on one and plays with the other. “You like that, baby?”

“Mhmm”

I stroke him and he puts his hand on mine making me go faster and I smile when he closes his eyes and moans my name.

But then he stops me and crashes his lips on to mine, pulling me up and then easing me back down onto him. I moan in his ear as he lifts me and guides me up and down repeatedly. “Le-t m-e ride y-ou,” I finally manage to stutter and he stills us.

And just like that I’m riding him like a stallion that needs to be broken in. We both groan as I set the pace, his lips on mine and then on my neck as I ride him, chasing my high.

He stills me for a second and slides his hand between us, catching on my clit and making circles as I resume the pace and it takes everything in me not to come right then and there.

“Goddammit Y/N,” He growls in my ear as I reach my orgasm, fluttering on him and he takes over fucking me through it and my mind is blank with pleasure.

“That’s it baby girl, cum for me” He says, as I start to come down from my high. “I’m almost there baby, can you hold on?”

I nod and he lays me down on the seat and I put my hands on his shoulders as he slowly slides in and out. The feeling is almost too much. “It’s okay baby, almost there” He coos.

And as he increases his pace my legs tighten around his waist and my nails dig into his back. Both our moans fill the car and I hope that no one lives near here as I scream his name and he comes in me, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he does.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Scott says, his hand caressing my cheek and I smile feeling my cheeks blush at his revelation.

“I’ve thought about it for a while too,” I admit and he grins as he pulls out and slides a towel under me.

He cleans me up carefully, trailing kisses as he goes and my walls slowly chip away as he does. Finally my shirt is on and I’m fully dressed and he pulls me in for a soft kiss and I melt against him.

“Now let’s get you home so we can do that again,” he tells me, winking as he closes my door. I shake my head, grinning,and watch him get onto the drivers side in his semi open shirt thanks to the missing buttons.

And now I hope the car ride goes fast. But for other reasons entirely.

[coldresolve]

Moneymakers, pt.xlix // Pinned

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I didn’t hit the heart.

The back tires slide sideways on the road, whining through the corner of an intersection. The sound is soon replaced by the engine accelerating to the peak of second gear. In the rearview mirror, flashing lights momentarily disappear behind the cover of an office building. If Renee keeps hyperventilating, he’s pretty sure he will pass out.

A punctured lung isn’t fatal. He’ll be okay. I didn’t hit the heart.

It feels like he’s running low on adrenaline, or maybe the cumulative stress is finally breaking through the brunt of his body’s defenses in the wake of actually fighting. The pinky of his right hand is either broken or dislocated. He has no idea when or how it happened, but it bends unnaturally at the base knuckle, and he can’t close his hand properly around the steering wheel. The pain there is only just starting to make itself known, and it fades in comparison to his knee, his elbow, the back of his chest just under the shoulder blade where he bumped off a branch in the fall. There’s no way his finger is the only part of his body that didn’t make that fall. The pain is making him sweat.

So much of his headspace is split between frantic self-reassurances and the struggle to stay alert through growing agony, his attention to where he’s actually headed takes on a negligible role. The last wave of the morning rush hour traffic is mostly aimed downtown, so Renee automatically drives in the opposite direction. The main roads alternate between double and triple lanes, giving him plenty of room to overtake, and on red lights, he slips past the queues via turn lanes, barely slowing down to look for crossing traffic. He doesn’t have a plan. There’s what’s directly in front of him, and not much else.

Meanwhile, they steadily accumulate in his mirrors. What started as two by the apartment complex turns into five, six, seven, trickling in from side roads or catching up as the minutes tick by. Four-wheelers and SUVs, or the standard Dodge Chargers. Renee is a good driver, but he knows it doesn’t take much horsepower to keep up with a fucking Clio. When he veers off a ramp to the highway, he doesn’t feel an ounce of relief. Still, he kicks down the accelerator hard enough to make the pain in his leg spike. Every movement feels shaky, disorganized.

I didn’t hit the heart. He’s going to be okay.

His cheeks puff up at several unsteady exhales, and he blinks hard, wiping his forehead. The wind rumbles around the carrosserie. In and out between the commuters. Suburbs make way for scattered woods and fields, and the highway divides to accommodate a wide, grassy median. His pursuiters have kept a relative distance so far, but as the traffic gets lighter further out of the city, they slowly creep up closer. Close enough that he can actually hear the sirens over the Clio’s engine, the tires on the road, the rushing in his own head.

Renee has fled from cops before, but never in a car, and not always successfully. He can’t think. They’ll probably try to pit him. Await the authorization like dogs, and then eagerly watch for an opportunity.

Slaloming between other commuters. He’s going fast enough that the occasional semi doesn’t take more than two or three seconds to pass, and for all he knows, they’re driving the limit. A few tight squeezes rather naturally make him seek out the shoulder, where he can drive unhindered, and he speeds up exponentially – a passing glance in the rear view mirror tells him that at least one of the cops had the same idea before he did. He grits his teeth.

Would they do a pit at speeds this high? Do they even care if they kill him?

Up ahead, a little grey Ford blinks towards a coming exit ramp, turning directly onto his path. They’re not expecting someone overturning from the right, and even when Renee lays on the horn, the driver doesn’t react. To his left, a larger truck is blocking his way, effectively boxing him in. With a hiss, he finds himself forced to brake – but he still closes in on the Ford, tailgating near enough that he’s pretty sure the bumpers come within mere inches of each other.

“Move,” he says under his breath. “Move.”

As he knocks his fist into the horn again, right at the beginning of the exit ramp, the Ford’s driver freaks out. Contrary to any semblance of reason, the driver doesn’t move out of the way – instead, they suddenly slam on their brakes.

Renee barely has time to react to the flash of red light before the Clio rams into the Ford, momentum lurching him forward, halted sharply when the seatbelt snaps taught over his chest. The rebound makes every part of his body scream out in pain.

“Shit! Fff—”

Both cars swerve. While the Ford drifts toward the shoulder of the ramp, Renee’s only focus is to keep himself from overcorrecting as the back tires slide. He succeeds, but only so far as to not crash into the guard rail. By the time he regains control of the Clio, he’s far enough on the exit ramp that any attempt to veer back on the highway would be suicide, so he steadies his new trajectory. Sweat stings his eyes.

The unexpected route starts up circling a large patch of grass, then thankfully merges with another highway running perpendicular to the first. North, south? It doesn’t matter.

As Renee accelerates again, beneath the sirens and the roar of the engine, he starts to hear a faint rumbling sound. He thinks it’s the Clio at first. It’s doing remarkably well, doesn’t drive as though anything major broke in the fender bender, but his eyes still search the dashboard for hints, finding nothing. Meanwhile, the sound grows louder, and takes on a deep, rhythmic quality. It's not until he’s on the next highway proper that Renee realizes, and his stomach drops.

The seatbelt bites his neck as he looks over his shoulder, eyes scanning the sky. It must be behind him or on the passenger side, hidden by the Clio’s ceiling – he can’t see it, but the clearer that sound becomes, the harder it is to conclude otherwise.

They’ve got a fucking helicopter on him.

 Swiveling back to watch the road, Renee locks his jaw. “God,” he wheezes, sound rough in his throat. His breathing has far from settled, and he’s starting to feel a prickle in his limbs. Traffic continues to thin out before him, and the whine of the sirens grows stronger. It’s always the same car in front, a jet black box of a four-wheeler, close enough now that Renee can see the outline of the driver and a passenger, although he can’t make out any details.

Something vibrates in his pocket. Steadying the wheel with the root of his bad hand, he manages to maneuver his phone out without swerving too much.

It’s an incoming call from Davin.

Renee sneers, quickly tossing it in a cup holder.

One patrol car surges ahead, rapidly gaining more and more space in his mirror. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what it’s trying to do, and Renee tries his best to stay directly in front of it, aligning bumper to bumper – when a second cruiser joins in, weighing the odds unevenly.

The one to his right manages to get up halfway beside him, and before Renee knows it, the crush of metal against metal accompanies a swift loss of control, as a Dodge forces the back tires of the Clio sideways. The impact sends it spinning violently, and for several seconds, the world beyond the windows is reduced to a blur of light and shadow, and his knuckles are white against the leather of the steering wheel. Twisting it and sharply tapping the brakes, Renee fights the skidding tires, but the Clio still shudders sideways. The rear end grips the asphalt, halting the spin, but when he finally manages to steady the car, he’s facing the wrong way on the highway, glaring at the steady approach of his pursuers.

As his momentum rolls him backwards, a split second passes in which Renee is paralyzed, watching wide-eyed as flashes of red and blue creep forward with a threatening, relentless thirst. For what feels like an eternity, all he can do is stare, barely comprehending the enormity of his situation.

Without thinking, he yanks the gear into reverse, barely losing further momentum as he slams the speeder to the floor. Several seconds, he stares in disbelief at the swarm of cops on his heel, raspy gasps escaping from his throat. It doesn’t feel real, but somehow, it is.

His heart is racing as, in quick succession, he whips the steering wheel sideways and yanks up the handbrake, locking the rear tires. Rubber burns on tarmac, suspension whining as the Clio pivots on its axis, swaying at the end of the J-turn, when Renee releases the clutch, accelerating as fast as he can to steady the car’s trajectory. In less than two seconds, he’s facing the right way on the road and rapidly increasing his speed again, one gear at a time. Behind him, the cop cars lurch forward on his heel.

Shit, shit, shit.

Staying on a highway wide enough to accommodate a maneuver like that suddenly seems like a terrible idea. The first exit ramp Renee spots, he zeroes in on, air whistling through his teeth.

After a dead intersection, it veers off to a smaller road splitting rows of plowed fields, some of which still shelter patches of snow between the crevasses.  Five, six miles pass without another attempt to pit him, although with almost zero traffic, they’re no more than twenty-odd yards on his ass at all times. As the landscape changes, waving across the horizon, patches of trees becoming more and more frequent, he gets a glimpse of the helicopter, swaying back and forth across the road, field to field, seemingly having trouble keeping up with the pace – because it’s too slow.

Renee knows he needs to lose it, but he doesn’t know how. Part of him is settled in the idea of driving until, magically, some genius solution will spontaneously offer itself up. But it’s been, what, twenty-five minutes, now?

At some point, the cops suddenly shrink in the rearview mirror, distance emphasized by the dust thrown up by the Clio’s tires. Renee should’ve been suspicious, but he isn’t – he feels mindlessly hopeful. Not long after, the phone rings again, hum amplified by the cup holder.

Renee’s eyes snap to it, lips retracted in a growl. “Fuck off. Fuck you.”

It causes enough of a distraction that, although he spots the car parked on the side of the road, Renee doesn’t see the spike strip until it’s too late to dodge or brake. The only thing he has time for is a sharp inhale, and a grip that tightens on the steering wheel.

Two loud bangs and a whole lot of hissing. Running over the strip itself is no worse than a minor speed bump, but the moment the tires are back on asphalt, the Clio begins to swerve. Not violently, but it’s enough to make Renee curse. Steering has instantly gone to shit – there’s a delay between him pulling the wheel and the car actually turning, and when it does, it wobbles in either direction, never quite going where he wants it to go.

They picked the spot well. Less than two hundred yards from the spike strip, the road makes a turn to the left.

He’s sure he brakes before the bend, but the Clio doesn’t fully respond. The front wheels don’t have enough friction with the road to cause a ton and a half of metal to turn nearly enough, and the back wheels can’t slow its momentum. What should’ve been seventy degrees is instead eighty.

The car leaves the road for a short patch of grass, bouncing off the ground so hard, Renee’s seatbelt snaps taught again. In an instant, it breaks through heavy underbrush, narrowly missing the larger trees closest to the road, continuing down a wooded embankment. It’s a blur of jolting movement. A trunk clips down the driver’s side, breaking all windows and shearing off the mirror, altering the car’s trajectory, and the Clio snaps sideways and begins to roll.

Renee loses consciousness.

He thinks he does, anyway, because the next thing he knows, the world is completely still.

Silent, apart from the hiss of snapped hydraulics, the click of hot metal rapidly contracting as it meets the open air, the slow whirring down of a fan somewhere.

He's hanging upside down in his seat, arms hanging above his head, legs resting on the bottom of the steering wheel, struggling to comprehend what just happened. The seatbelt’s pressure on his body makes him breathless as he blinks, sparks dancing across his vision. It feels like his lungs can’t fully inflate, as if the air is barred from reaching further than his collarbones. Blood is quickly rushing to his head, veins pulsing at his temples. Renee let’s out a choked cough, arms swaying with the movement of his torso.

The windshield, almost entirely opaque with cracks, has collapsed and partially dislodged from its frame. All the contents of his car not nailed in place lays strewn about the ceiling. About half a year’s worth of empty soda cans and greasy takeout bags, receipts and tissues and paper cups, all mixed with dirt and leaves and shattered glass, fragments of bark and plastic and twisted metal. Bits of the forest, bits of his Clio.

Turning his head further reveals a space that has caved in on one side. Half the seats are gone, replaced by an almost perfectly rounded door wrapped around the trunk of a tree, from which large wooden splinters look like they’ve exploded into the cabin.

Somewhere outside, sirens approach, the whining noise echoing off the hills.

Renee lets out a small sound, struggling to swallow. He looks down at himself – up, technically.

A branch an inch and a half in diameter has shot through the windshield and now presses against his stomach, just below his ribs. It doesn’t move when he breathes, which is odd. When he wraps his good hand around it and tries to push it aside, it doesn’t budge; instead something warm runs up his chest at the movement, diffused in his shirt. He blinks up at the blood steadily spreading through the fabric. When the muscles of his abdomen flex with an involuntary gasp, he feels a tugging in his back, too.

His back…?

A slow realization makes him dizzy. Blinking a creeping vignette from his vision, he manages to squeeze his hand through the gap between his back and the seat, a movement that feels revolting enough to nearly make him gag. Just next to the small bumps of his spine, his fingers hit something rough again: bark.

The branch isn’t pressed against him. It’s going through him.

Letting out a small sound, Renee lets his arm drop to the car’s ceiling, watches the blood on his hand drip steadily on the ripped canopy. Swallows repeatedly. He’s breathing hard and shallow, wide eyes occasionally drifting to nothing, only to return to focus, with no real rhyme or reason.

He can feel it clearer now. There’s a horrifying pressure in his abdomen, a sense that his insides have been pushed away to accommodate the foreign object. Small twitches of ripped muscle, the harder spasms of a body battling shock, it all writhes around a new axis. The branch carries some of his weight, tugging at his organs. The fact that his lungs can’t fully expand isn’t just in his head – it must be adjacent to his diaphragm, close enough to get in the way of movement.

With as deep a breath as he can mechanically take, he wraps both hands around it, tries to push it out and away from himself. It doesn’t move an inch, and the pain is creeping in, like the corrosive gnarl of an acid, churning its way through his guts. It doesn’t move, no matter how hard he tries to push or pull. He makes a couple attempts to snap it, but even if his arms weren’t so weak, it would’ve been a fool’s errand.

Renee lets out a low groan, cut short when his throat closes up, and drops his arms again, awash with exhaustion and a dawning panic.

Nailed to the seat. He’s nailed to the fucking seat.

Buried somewhere midst the debris on the ceiling, his phone rings. The sound makes him look up – down, whatever – and although he can’t immediately spot it, his eyes catch on the gun lying above the passenger seat, aimed directly out the window.

A grim thought passes through his head.

Reaching out makes his vision darken, raw flesh shifting across wood. The tips of his fingers barely brush over metal, nails tracing the seams to draw it close enough to properly grasp. He lets out a shaky breath when he finally manages to pull it closer, then wastes a precious moment to gather his bearings, gasping in pain. Warm blood trickles up the side of his neck. The gun is heavier than it was five minutes ago.

Renee’s voice is raspy as he groans, shutting his eyes. “F-fuck,” he bites out. A quick heartbeat drums at the sides of his skull. “Fuck, fuck…”

He can hear them shouting in the distance. Barking at the sight of broken underbrush, the trail he left behind.

As Renee tries to lift the gun to his head, he heaves in a breath that sends a sharp jab of agony through his core, triggering a spasm of his body, which in turn triggers another wave of pain. The back of his head bumps the headrest, air blocked as his throat constricts, and both his hands divert, wrapping as best they can around the branch to steady his movement. Still, it takes a while before the pain fades enough that he can open his eyes. Through a haze, his blurred vision locks on his left hand, struggling to grasp both gun and branch in one crooked grip.

Gun, branch.

He’s not thinking through it, and it’s a wonder he doesn’t accidentally send a round going through his own legs in the process. But by some miracle, when he presses the lip of the barrel against the branch, a mere inch or two from his stomach, he awkwardly points it sideways, perpendicular to his body. He doesn’t have the wherewithal to close his mouth before he shoots.

It's an instant, violent jerk of the branch, instant recoil’s lash to his hand, instant ringing in his ears. Renee drops the gun, biting his tongue hard before he shouts hoarsely, lets it echo in his throat for every inebriated gasp that follows. Through a flash of blindness, it takes a second for the world to return, creeping back from the void, only for the dark to linger in his periphery as he manages to look up at himself. He can barely keep his eyes focused.

The branch is shattered, long splinters tracing up the grain of the wood, and the route of the point-blank shot has left a half-cylinder across its diameter, singed black from the heat. More notably, the blast has shattered it in two – the part jabbing through the broken windshield, and the part still lodged in him.

First, a sense of despair, a desire to listening to the voice in his head beckoning to either give up or give in. There hasn’t been hope in this endeavor for a while.

Still, Renee finds himself tucking the collar of his shirt between his teeth, biting down hard as he leverages both hands on the back of the seat. Shutting his eyes, he pushes his body forward, dragging himself off the branch.

He's aiming to get it over with as quickly as possible, but the sheer scope of agony instantly radiating through his body turn his efforts weak, unsteady. Renee is vaguely aware that he’s screaming through the self-imposed gag – at least whenever he has enough air to do so. There’s no words for it, really. It’s pain that reaches a crescendo so high that, like sound, it occasionally slips out of his ability to even sense it. The feeling of blood beginning to flow more freely as the internal pressure offered by the foreign object is reduced. The feeling of coarse and splintered wood dragging through his body a fraction of an inch at a time, hitching on whatever tissue it meets – organs, muscle, skin...

How much time it takes, how long he struggles to free himself, there’s no telling. It feels like an eternity before something gives – with a final, agonizing tug, he falls a half-inch, seatbelt digging deep around one shoulder. The branch presses against the small of his back, still hitched in the fabric of his shirt. Renee is barely conscious when his shaky hand fumbles for the clasp, eventually finding it. The first press is too feeble to release the seatbelt, but his second try is followed by the sound of tearing fabric, and he suddenly crashes down. He lands on his head and shoulder, body flopping sideways once his legs clear the wheel. He’s lying flat on his back on the ceiling suddenly, bits of debris digging in.

Hungry, starving, he gulps down air. Each lungful is marked with some noise or another: a half-moan or a grunt, a whine, a choked-out murmur. Through every spasm of his body, he moves, and eventually ends up on his side in the mess of debris, curling around himself – around the wound, now freely bleeding.

And his phone rings again.

It’s somewhere above his head, buried beneath a handful of leaves and a soda can. Unseeing, he instinctually reaches for it, dragging it down in front of his face as he gasps.

Pressing his good hand to the seeping hole in his abdomen, he lifts the phone to the side of his head with the other, and lets the majority of its weight simply rest there to spare his energy. Part of him starts pitting a sarcastically cheerful greeting against a myriad of insults, but the only thing that escapes his mouth is a half-hearted, raspy sigh.

Davin wastes no time on niceties. “They’re at the spot where you veered off the road,” he says. “The forest is pretty thick, and you can’t see anything from the air. They perk up sometimes, but I think they’re waiting for a canine unit. You need to get going.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Renee lets his cheek rest in the debris. “… bleeding,” he mutters on the exhale.

“Tie something around it.”

He lets out a weak laugh. Immediately frowns, confused.

“More cars are pulling up, man, you need to move.”

The bloodstain has grown under his hand just in that short period of time, slipping down his side as opposed to his chest. His back feels wet, too. “I have… nowhere to...”

“Go in the opposite direction of the cops. There’s a road down the hill. You need another car.”

“… didn’t mean…”

“Are you listening to me?”

Renee blinks. “Y-yeah…”

“Then do as I say, and call me back when you’ve got a car. I’ll tell you where to go.”

The call is disconnected.

Renee swallows. Lets his arm flop to the ground, phone clutched awkwardly in his broken hand. Some distant part of him still capable of humor notes that him feeling drained is getting truer by the minute. The urge to laugh at it, though, is quick to wash clear.

It takes a while, but Renee eventually musters up the energy to push himself off the ceiling. Crawling slowly on his hands and knees, he squeezes out the broken passenger side window, small shards of glass hooking in his shirt, scratching at his skin. His hands sink in the wet earth, leaves and bits of rotting wood sticking to the blood on his palms. It’d be soft to lie down and die in, he thinks, if it wasn’t littered with torn sheets of metal and plastic, or the occasional exhaust pipe.

His eyes distantly drift across the wreckage. The Clio has taken on a new shape, panels dented or ripped off, a wheel or two missing. It’s a brief glance, but he can’t spot a single thing on it that doesn’t look broken. The first thing he bought with his own money is now too tanked to even sell for parts.

Using a tree for balance, Renee slowly manages to haul himself to his feet, an effort that makes the pain in his abdomen flare exponentially, and he shudders. He can’t stand up straight, has to hunch over. His legs feel too weak to support him, but they nonetheless do, albeit shaking with the effort.

Between his shoes, a steady drip of red on the leaves. Pat-pat-pat-pat.

Who’s bleeding faster? Me or…?

It’s the last place his mind should’ve gone. Not now, not when all the barriers are gone.

It seeps into him as he tries to move forward, hands clutching his torn shirt, not putting pressure as much as just guarding. A burning in his throat, and a sense that gravity gets stronger. He hasn’t walked two steps before the pressure in his chest becomes overwhelming, and his legs give out. Painfully dropping to his knees on the forest floor, he clamps a hand over his mouth in an attempt to stop himself from sobbing.

Finally, he lets out a hoarse scream and slams his broken hand into the ground, once, twice, and then a third time in quick succession, until the pain drowns out most of everything else. As he raises his arm for a fourth strike, it’s as if his body’s visceral reaction to the pain, the lingering instinct for self-preservation, becomes a force that physically prevents him from bringing it down again, however much he might want to.

So Renee screams his lungs out instead.

Previous / Masterlist / Next

[total-drama-brainrot]

This Alenoaheather AU is bringing me an unholy amount of serotonin and I love it- I’m still just now discovering it and I wish I knew about it sooner😭😭 But question if I may!

So, by the time Noah gets eliminated, where would you say his relationship lies with Alejandro and Heather? Like, does he leave the competition like, “You both tried to play each other, but I ended up playing the both of you, L” Like does he just think that Alejandro and Heather only romantically like each other, and he was just their attempt at emotionally manipulating one another, or does he at least have an idea that they potentially may feel romantically towards him? Honestly I’m just curious about how his elimination would play out between the three of them-

I'm glad other people are enjoying this AU as much as I am. Me and Perp are slowly spreading our Alenoaheather propaganda and it's working.

It's been established that Noah's elimination in this AU will take place at some point in the early post-merge game, probably either China or the Serengeti (though Niagara Falls might work too. We haven't exactly touched on how each challenge can/will play out since this whole concept has been put on the backburner), which gives his dynamic with Heather and Alejandro time to blossom from the initial double fake dating ploy into something more genuine.

Well before his elimination, Noah's been caught in his double-crossing ways; or to be more accurate triple-crossing, since Noah initially decided to play along with both Heather and Alejandro's schemes with the intention of throwing them both under the bus (or at least reaping all of the benefits for himself). But, by the time his ploy is figured out, the three of them have developed genuine feelings for each other.

As such, Heather and Alejandro are hesitant to have him eliminated; sure Noah somehow managing to pull the wool over their eyes for as long as he did was infuriating, but it was also impressive. Like recognises like, and the two biggest schemers in the game can appreciate when they've been outplayed, aggravating as it is, especially when the person who bested them essentially used their own trickery against them. Also, though the two of them would never admit it, both Heather and Alejandro know that they'd honestly miss Noah's caustic company.

Of course, at this point in the competition Heather and Alejandro are still deep in their "rivalry" phase, so it takes the two of them a very convoluted and overcomplicated conversation to figure out that they both share the same sentiment concerning a certain cynic- since every encounter they have with each other is practically a game of backhanded compliments and dancing around the true meaning of their words. It takes even longer for them to come to an agreement, given how stubborn the both of them can be, but eventually they manage to co-operate.

Which is what leads to The Confrontation, the point in the story where the two fake dating plots merge into Heather and Alejandro putting aside their differences to rule the game together, utilizing Noah as their shared right hand man since he's shown a knack for strategy and subterfuge. After all, why would they want to get rid of the one person on the jet who's able to go toe-to-toe with them in terms of scheming, when they can instead keep him around as an accomplice?

At least, that's the excuse they both use. But the two of them internally can't deny that, even if it was all pretend, Noah wasn't a bad "boyfriend" by any means, and they genuinely enjoy his company. In turn, Noah's accepted that neither Heather nor Alejandro are as insufferable as he initially assumed, and that playing along with their grand plots is actually really fun. (And maybe he also likes the two of them, but Noah would never admit that.)

But there's a a whole cast's worth of people on the jet who the trio also have to consider in their plans; it would be super suspicious of all three of them if the flirting and Aleheather's animosity suddenly ceased. No matter how oblivious the rest of the competitors are, a sudden public change in their dynamic would be the equivalent of waving a huge red flag and screaming "hey, we're in an alliance, vote us out!" Very counterintuitive to their goal of winning the competition.

So the three of them resolve to act as they have been during challenges, and sneak off to the confessional when it's most convenient/feasible to do so, where they can plot and scheme away from the rest of the cast.

This means that, at least to everyone else in the game, Noah's still in this weird grey area where he's actively flirting with both Heather and Alejandro. Or, well, "flirting", since I imagine most of the advances would be initiated by the other party and Noah would play the part of the blushing damsel- or more accurately the begrudging but highly amused recipient, since I just can't conceptualise snarky, stoic Noah being the type to get flustered easily.

I imagine The Confrontation would happen somewhere around London timeline wise (it just feels like the most appropriate place to have a major shift in the plot happen, for obvious reasons), which would give the initial fake dating aspect of the AU time to run it's course without getting stale, and allow the three of them to establish their dynamic as a trio before the merge hits. It'd give Alenoaheather around five or six episodes worth of time to grow closer as a trio (from Greece's Pieces to Niagara Brawls, at least) and have their feelings grow and develop at a natural pace, to the point where they acknowledge that, perhaps, not all of the romantic tension between them is fake.

And then, of course, the Fake Cheating Arc happens. Noah's elimination is the catalyst for this section of the plot, which Perp and myself touched on pretty heavily in one of our reblog chains, and at this point in the story Alenoaheather are in a sort of vague kind-of-dating situation; the three of them know there's feelings there, but they're all more invested in the competition (and their manipulation of such) than trying to figure out what exactly is going on between them. Plus, World Tour takes place in 2010- concepts like polyamory weren't exactly common knowledge back then, so the three of them wouldn't have any basis of comparison for what their dynamic is/would be.

That, and the three of them are all fairly emotionally closed off, so getting them to admit genuine feelings for each other and show vulnerableness to anyone would be like pulling teeth. As it stands, they're fairly content to continue acting as a Trickster Trio, contented to leave whatever's going on between them unlabelled for the time being in favour of focusing their time and energy on winning the million. There's an unspoken understanding between the three of them; what they have is special, inconceptual and indescribable by mere words... which is mostly just an excuse for the three of them not to breach the subject, since they have the collective emotional intelligence of a spork.

That doesn't mean they don't love each other. Because they do, even if some of them (Heather and Alejandro) aren't exactly familiar with concepts like "unconditional love" and "loyalty/compassion for someone besides yourself" and "lowering your emotional walls and being the most genuine version of yourself in front of the people who care about you". It's a steep learning curve, but they're doing their best.

But that's besides the point; at this point in the plot, the trio are essentially a throuple in all but name at the point of Noah's elimination.

That's why his suggestion of playing off of his "cheating" is initially met with hesitance on Aleheather's part- they don't want the one person on the jet (besides each other) they actually care about to risk his reputation, but they also know that it's a strategically sound idea. There's a conflict of interest between their desire to win the competition by any means necessary, and the budding sense of empathy they've both began to develop as a result of their situationship.

Of course, they eventually agree to his plan, and then the whole Cheating Arc plays out as it's been explored previously.

Which means Noah's actual elimination ceremony is a very tense affair.

He's intentionally playing himself up as kind of a scumbag during it, since he wants both Heather and Alejandro to appear as sympathetic as possible to the remaining competitors, so the three of them stage an altercation during that day's challenge where Noah's caught out in his "cheating", and consequently "admits" that he's been playing the two of them and it's all ingenuine on his part, to direct the majority vote against him. It'd kill two birds with one stone that way; Noah gets himself eliminated without having to do much out of the ordinary, since he's already kind of an asshole so all he really has to do is play up that aspect of himself a little and lie about manipulating his partners, meanwhile Heather and Alejandro can reap the benefits of whatever brownie points they gain from being his "victims" by using their own manipulative prowess to adopt the role of the ex-villains, redeemed by their shared heartbreak. Or something equally melodramatic.

Noah doesn't really care about the specifics of it, he'll be long gone before his partners can start playing up their "betrayal and heartbreak", and then soon enough one of them will win the competition. And spoil him rotten with their money.

So, during the actual ceremony, Noah becomes persona non grata. No one wants to sit anywhere near him on the benches, and the remaining cast members form a protective wall between him and a distraught Heather, who sniffles back quiet tears every time her eyes wander too close to the cynic's slouching, impassive frame, and Alejandro who's sat eerily still and taut with disgraced fury, who's fiery green eyes haven't strayed from the burning glare he's shooting towards the bookworm.

Not that Noah's a stranger to receiving glares; the rest of the cast are also shooting him some downright murderous looks. Though he is impressed by his partners' acting abilities. He's also physically biting back pearls of laughter- the gritting of his teeth only serves to make him look unapologetically indignant, and thus more irredeemable in the eyes of their company- because every time Alejandro knows that no one's focus is on him, he sends his cerebral partner a cheeky wink and a smirk. The smug bastard.

Unsurprisingly, the vote is fairly unanimous. Chris doesn't even bother trying to raise suspense or tension by counting the votes, since the result is inevitable. That, and the atmosphere is already so tense and dramatic, the host is revelling in it. Chris even goes so far as complimenting Noah for outshining Duncan's cheating fiasco, showing the audience "what real relationship drama looks like", and maybe even congratulating Noah on almost being as heartless as he is.

He's escorted to the Drop of Shame, parachute backpack in tow, but before he can take the plunge he glances back at his audience. A raging sea of hostility greets him, but within the depths of animosity two shining beacons of light greet him. Alejandro and Heather shoot him a fleeting wave, the ghosts of smiles flickering across their features before they continue their flawless acts, but it's enough to reassure Noah that everything will be fine.

(Spoiler alert, things don't end up being fine for Noah.)

Of course this is all just an idea I'm spewing out. Nothing in this AU is set in concrete and it's always open to peer review or change. That's the beauty of public AUs; you can do whatever you want with them!

[our-happygirl500-fan]

Leo has an amazing strategic mind which was fully shown when he was able to outmanoeuvre Big Mamma but other thing that shows him strategically minded is how excited he gets whenever he witnesses a double cross

“CLASSIC BROTHER BETRAYAL! My brothers do that all the time!”

“BETRAL! I feel like we should have seen that coming”

“Oh man! A double betrayal! Did not see that coming!”

“Triple betrayal! Everybody’s on fire tonight!”

He always sounds so excited when witnessing a double cross & it’s because of his strategic mind. He loves strategy, watching a betrayal can be like seeing someone reference your favourite show. He’s strategically minded so betrayals & double crosses are things he can understand.

Everyone else’s response to a betrayal is to go “HOW COULD YOU DO THIS!?” But for Leo the response is to go “oh I see what you did there! Nicely done!”

Leo’s strategic mind is probably why he likes stage magic so much since it involves tricking and pulling one over on the audience in order to make the magic trick work correctly. 

[holdmytesseract]

moodboard by @chennqingg <3

Rules To Break

Jotun!Prince!Loki Laufeyson x fem!Æsir!Princess!Reader

Summary: Prince Loki of Jotunheim - son of King Laufey and heir to the throne is assigned to train a bunch of Asgardian men, in order to turn them into warriors. What happens when Odin's daughter, Princess Y/N crosses his paths in ways he would've never expected? While the Prince is completely unaware, the Princess struggles to keep up her several masquerades...

Warnings for this Chapter: warrior things? weapons, fighting, etc, nudity, medieval rituals/topics? mentions of virginity/loss of vitginity (no, nope, it's not smut, just has to do something with the medieval things), some spicy, very steamy things, light smut/suggestive smut, Loki is quite a bit naughty and cheeky here...

Word Count: 2,2k

a/n: The next chapter is here! 😁 And this one is probably my favourite... 🤔 Hope you guys like it! ☺️

Divider by the lovely @fictive-sl0th 💚

Tagging: (y'all in the comments again, 'cause Tumblr hates me sometimes 😅)

Ice Flower Masterlist ❄ Masterlist

Chapter Two / Chapter Four

Chapter Three

Days flew by, turned into weeks. The straight and clear message Loki delivered the other day made an impact. Training worked better from day to day and the men improved noticeable. He was successful. Proudness was flooding Loki's veins - and a feeling he hadn't felt truly in years... Happiness. Sure, he always had been content with his life as a prince, but true happiness? No. Until now... Perhaps it was caused by the mysterious woman he met a few weeks ago and almost saw daily now? He shook his head and continued to stow away the training swords. No. Impossible.

You couldn't deny that you felt the same; looking forward every day to meet Loki at the lake again. All you did was talk, but the talking was like balm for both your souls. You two got closer and the chemistry between you and Loki was stunning. Within a few weeks, he had turned from being an arrogant asshole into your personal Prince Charming. You wouldn't admit that out loud, though.

As for your male self, Váli Ákison, training was going very well. Speaking of... How you made it to maintain your cover all along was honestly a mystery to you. You were just glad it worked. You had learned a lot in the past few weeks and became slowly but surely a very good, way more improved fighter. Alright, and maybe you tried to impress Loki, but that was a whole other story, was it?

The sun was about to set, as you sneaked - like so often - out of your tent and out into the woods to the lake. By now you were not leading a double life, but already a triple life. The princess, a warrior and the mysterious woman. What a precarious situation.

Usually, you were the first one at the lake. Well, not today. Loki was already there, leaning against the stone, arms spread and eyes closed. He looked so... peaceful. You smiled and took a few steps closer - but a twig snapped underneath your bare feet, causing the prince to rip open his eyes. His ruby orbs were almost glowing in the dark, as they fell upon you. They looked dangerous, but also utterly beautiful. A shiver ran down your spine. "S-Sorry! I didn't mean to scare you." Loki chuckled, shaking his head. "You didn't scare me. I can't be scared. Surprised - but not scared." That man always found the right words, didn't he? "Are you going to join me?" You blinked, before you started to nod. It was a bit strange, wasn't it? You met up with a man almost every night at an abandoned lake to bathe and talk. Well, maybe this was just a strange friendship - or whatever this was. "Um, s-sure, but... um, could you... could you close your eyes?" You stammered out, referring to the few clothes you wore. Loki raised an eyebrow. "We bathe in a lake together, naked and you want me to close my eyes when you get undressed?" Your eyes widened. "That's different, Loki! I'm covered by the water! Now, I'm not!" The prince chuckled, but closed his eyes. "As you wish, milady." You checked twice, if he had his eyes really closed, before you turned around and started to get undressed. "No peeking!" Loki, who reopened his eyes again within a few seconds, wore a mischievous smirk and enjoyed the show. "Of course not, darling." Though, before you could notice it, he closed them again when you turned around and made your way into the water.

"Now you can look." Loki opened his eyes again, smiling. If only you'd know... "Were you afraid that I wouldn't like what I see?" You blushed. Why was he like that? He never failed to put you off your stride. "N-No, I just..." "You're just what?" You huffed. Damn him. "I just... You're a man a-and..." Once again, the prince raised an eyebrow, before he looked down himself. "Yes, that's correct. I am." Now it really got frustrating. "A strange man, Loki." He cocked his head. "A strange man? Darling, I am wounded. We know each other for almost a month now. Other women I got to know in my past, where all over me after mere hours." Ugh… "I don't want to know how fast you can bed a woman!" Loki just shrugged his shoulders and lifted his hands in awe. "I'm just saying. You are quite different." You took a deep breath, trying to keep your anger at bay. But... Was it really anger? "Could you please stop that?!" "Stop what?" "Being so... so..." You stumbled over your own words. Frustrated eyes meeting his fiery ones. He was staring at you.

What he did next, though, was something you didn't see coming. Not at all. Within seconds, he moved through the water and was now threateningly close to you. You could almost feel his cool breath on your hot skin. "So what?" It was too much for you. How close he was. How he literally towered over you with his tall and bulky frame - in all his wet and naked glory. How his ruby eyes literally burned a hole in your soul. How his chest heaved with every breath he took. How utterly intimidating he looked and yet so devastatingly sexy. You felt small. Your body buried in the water, except for your head and shoulders. It was just too much - and Loki decided to make it even worse. He lifted one hand to cup your chin with his thumb and forefinger. His touch was cool and yet it felt like your body was burning up. "So. What?" The prince asked again, his voice now more demanding and even deeper. You wanted to answer. You really did; but the words were dying in your throat. The only sound which left your lips was an almost pathetic whine.

Loki frowned, cocking his head once again. "Are... Are you afraid of me or... Do you like this? Me, being this close to you? I can't quite tell..." He looked at you for a second, before he tightened his grip on your chin and pulled you forwards with a soft yank. Your legs had turned to jelly already a long time ago and the water wasn't much of a barrier anyway. You literally crashed against Loki's torso; palms smacking against his abs. Your eyes widened, hands trembling - but not in fear. And Loki knew it. He saw it in your eyes. "Ah, I see... You like it." He smirked and lowered himself more into the water. "Good for you, my dear, that I like you this close to me as well." Before you could even blink, let alone react were his cool lips suddenly on yours. You froze at first; didn't expect him to kiss you, but once his sinful lips started to move deliciously against yours, you were putty in his hands.

Within seconds, the kiss had turned into anything but innocence. His cool tongue slipped passed your lips; asking yours for a dance. It was a prickling sensation. Hot and cold; fire and ice crashing together - battling for dominance.

In the end, Loki was stronger. Big hands landed on your bare hips, pulling your naked body against his. A soft moan left your lips, which Loki swallowed entirely with his mouth. You couldn't help yourself but to wrap your arms around his strong neck; feeling his cool skin on yours. You couldn't resist. His touch and kiss were magnetizing. A low chuckle left his mouth; causing you to feel the vibrations on your lips, before he retreated from the kiss. You looked up, eyes meeting once again. "I thought you didn't want me to see you naked?" He was referring to your bare upper body, of course, which was now on full display for him to see. "Shut up and keep on doing whatever this is you're doing with those magical lips." The prince chuckled again, brushing softly a wet strand of hair out of your face. "Your wish is my command, milady." He reeled you in once again, seducing you with those passionate kisses he bestowed upon your lips.

It was all kisses and wandering hands at first, but at some point you found yourself splayed out on one of the big, flat stones by the shore. Loki lifted you up - as if you weighed nothing. Your bare back hit the still pleasantly warm surface of the stone with a soft thud. Loki placed both his palms firmly beside your head, nudging your legs open with his. He was now towering above you; all the while entangling your lips with his in one sinful dance after another. It caused your head to become dizzy. You almost felt like in a trance and therefore not realised what was going on - until you felt his crotch grinding against yours; hips clashing together. This awoke you from the hazy state you were in. Your eyes widened; hands coming up to push against the hard muscles of his chest. "L-Loki, s-stop, please," you panted, completely out of breath. "Why?" The prince asked, licking his kiss swollen lips. "Do you not... enjoy yourself?"

There was some kind of fear and vulnerability swinging in his voice. Something Loki was very surprised with himself. Why did he feel like that? He never failed to satisfy the women (and men) he was bedding. Why was he afraid to fail you now? After all, you weren't any different, were you? Just another addition to his long list of lovers. Just another claimed prize. "I-I do, i-it's just..." Your soft, sweet, almost angelic voice ripped him out of his thoughts.

"W-We can't, Loki. I just... Can't." You would've loved to. Of course you would. Losing your innocence to such a wonderful man? To Loki Laufeyson, prince of Jotunheim? But exactly that was the problem. You weren't supposed to lose your innocence through a fling. A mere affair. It belonged to your future husband. That was tradition. The rules - and you had to play by the rules. Your mother told you more than often enough. So, you had no other choice than deny Loki his pleasure.

He frowned; confused but gentle rubies looking down at you. "You... can't?" You nodded hesitatingly, almost frightened, before one shaky hand reached up to tuck a few lose strands of his wild, wet raven curls back behind his ear. "I-I'm so sorry." "Why, sweetling? Is it because of me? I-I now I'm not like the men you are used to, but-" "Prince Loki!" Another, slightly higher voice cut through the air. "Prince Loki!" You had heard the voice before. It belonged, without a doubt to one of the guards. "By the Norns," Loki cursed under his breath, as he maneuvered his body off yours, sliding back inside the water. "Come." He said, offering his hand to you. You took it and he helped you back inside the water, before he guided you towards the earthy shore. The prince stepped out first, causing for you to unwillingly get a glimpse of his nether regions, where his arousal was clearly visible. You felt how the blood rushed into your cheeks, as you quickly avoided your eyes. "No need to be embarrassed." His soft, gentle voice urged to your ears again. He had caught you looking. Of course, he did. "It just shows my desire for you. Now take my hand, sweetness." Smiling bashfully, you turned your head to face him once again. The familiar white towel was slung around his hips now, but nevertheless failing to hide his excitement. You blushed even more - if that was possible, but took his hand again. The prince helped you out of the water and then quickly handing over your clothes. "You have to go. Odin won't be pleased if he gets to know that one of his guards caught me naked with a woman; neglecting my duties." Pure relief flooded your veins at his words. Thank the Norns, you thought. Loki was right. Odin wouldn't be pleased. Especially if it turns out you were the woman. Hel would break loose over Asgard. You were sure of it.

You quickly nodded and turned to leave, as Loki's voice held you back. "Do I get the pleasure to see you again, milady?" You squeezed your eyes shut, thinking for a moment. Would it be a good idea to meet him again after what just happened between you? Probably not. You couldn't risk it. "I-I don't know." With those words you vanished into the woods, sneaking back to the camp.

"Prince Loki!" The guard had reached the lake in the meantime, slightly out of breath. Loki rolled his eyes and turned around with a growl. "What?!" He snapped, clearly mad that he got interrupted while being with you. The guard definitely saw in Loki's eyes that he wasn't amused and swallowed hard. "A-Apologies, your highness, b-but there was an incident in the camp..." Another eye roll. "I'm coming." Bunch of idiots.

[wwereaderinserts]

hi i love your work so so much! i was hoping to request a fic for dean x reader, where after a much-needed breakup, the two reunite perhaps a year later after spotting eachother across the venue of a ppv. they have a heart to heart and admit how much they miss one another and they get back together?? big emphasis on the eye contact where dean can’t look away from reader and she get shy and he follows her out the arena etc etc. thank u!!!!!

Thank you so much, hope you enjoy!!

Title: Miss You Much Pairing: Dean Ambrose x Reader Word Count: 1,093

At first, you’re sure your eyes are deceiving you from where you stand backstage, but after a double, maybe even a triple take, it’s evident that who and what you’re seeing is very real. Dean, your ex, stands just opposite you in the backstage corridor where you’re also waiting for your friend to return from the bathroom, and you already feel the butterflies beginning to flutter their wings in your stomach while a flush begins to creep its way up your neck.

It’s been a whole year since Dean ended things with you, and while time has truly been the best healer for you, it’s as though a wave of feelings you thought you’d repressed and buried come flooding right back to you when his eyes eventually meet yours from across the way backstage.

You can pinpoint the exact moment that the shock and awe sets in for Dean just as much as it had for you in the first place. He stands frozen in place at first while he allows reality the chance to sink in, and even though he’s inwardly screaming at himself to tear his eyes away from you, he can’t.

Hesitantly, Dean gives you a small wave before he begins to stride his way across to you like you’re magnetic to him, and he’s still clad in his gear from his match earlier tonight. Panic hits you like a freight train, and you know you have nowhere to go, so instead you brace yourself for an interaction you couldn’t have predicted would be happening right now.

“Hey,” he leads, sounding somewhat awkward and out of his comfort zone, “I, uh…I thought it was you, but I figured I’d come take a closer look just in case my eyes were playing tricks on me.”

The cheeky, subtle grin on his face earns a brief huff of a chuckle from you, and your eyes lock with his once more for a few seconds until you avert them again.

“Funny, I really did think mine were doing just that when I saw you,” your voice trembles slightly, but you recover quickly by clearing your throat and swallowing your nerves down, “Though I don’t really know why I’m so surprised. You were on the card for tonight, so…”

You trail off with a shrug, still unable to bring yourself to truly look at him again. You keep your arms crossed, hugging yourself for comfort while you fight to stop yourself from being overwhelmed by an onslaught of emotions in the moment.

“I…I should find my friend, anyway. Nice seeing you.”

You feed him a weak excuse of a get out of jail card, succumb to the feeling, not even giving Dean a second to reply before you turn in the opposite direction, desperate to leave. You hastily pace the corridor in search of the exit, and as soon as you find it, you practically burst through the doors and deeply inhale the fresh air before you sit down on a nearby curb.

You continue to take deep breaths in a feeble attempt to calm yourself down, remaining under the illusion that you’re completely alone now. Unbeknownst to you, Dean lingers near the door but keeps his distance, not wanting to startle you at first, instead waiting until you look up and catch sight of him.

“Look, I…I get it, I’m probably the last person you wanna see or speak to. But can you hear me out?”

Dean asks, and he doesn’t take a step closer until you agree to hear him out, albeit tentatively. You rest your elbows against your thighs where you sit, rubbing your hands over your face while Dean joins you in sitting on the curb.

“You should’ve just let me go. I didn’t know you were gonna follow me out here.”

“Yeah, well even I didn’t know I was gonna follow you, (Y/N). My feet kinda just carried me before I even knew what I was doing.”

He replies, and he falls silent for a moment while he mulls over his words.

“...I wanted to text you. Call you and tell you all this instead. I just never could bring myself to do it. And now that you’re here, I need you to listen to me.” he sighs before he continues, “I know I hurt you, (Y/N). And I’ve been kicking myself for it for the longest time. I hate that I did that to you, but I thought calling things off was the right thing to do at the time. But the more I thought about it, I…”

Dean pauses, if only to lock eyes with you, no sign of even wanting to look away from you. His expression turns soft, solemn, and you can see the sincerity in his eyes as he speaks and hear the integrity in his every word. You feel yourself melt under his gaze, his words stoking a fire in you as you long for him to say exactly what you’ve been wanting him to say.

“I’m not over you. I miss you. Ending things with you was one of the worst decisions I could’ve made. And I know I probably don’t deserve it, but if you’d have me, I’d really want to give things another shot with you. I don’t want to be without you.”

Your jaw hangs slack while his words sink in, and the butterflies that were initially in your stomach upon seeing him are now running rampant upon hearing the exact words you’ve been holding out on for the past year.

“You hurt me, Dean. Really hurt me.” you begin bluntly, any initial shyness now subsiding, “But…what we had was special. And you can probably already guess, but I’m not over you, either. And I miss you, too. And part of me has always been hoping this would happen at some point down the line.”

A flicker of a smile plays on your lips, and once Dean catches a glimpse of it, he begins to mirror you.

“Then what are we doing? I’m not saying we jump in head first or anything like that and pick up exactly where we left off, but why don’t we take it slow, give this another shot?”

Dean asks, a glimmer of hope in his eyes while he waits on your make or break answer.

“You have some serious making up to do for everything, but…yeah, Dean.” you agree with him, a soft smile on your lips, “We’ll take it slow, try again. I don’t want to be without you, either.”

[heavyhitterheaux]

The triples are in terrible twos and won’t do anything fl or jack ask them too

“Ivy, pick up your toys and put them away. It’s almost time for dinner.” You said while coming into their playroom. Autumn and Axel had already started putting theirs away so she was the only one left.

“No, I don’t want to.” She said in response to you and you looked at her in disbelief.

“Excuse me?” You asked not believing what she had just said.

“I’m not done playing.”

“I didn’t ask you if you were done playing, mommy asked you to put your toys away. You can take them back out after dinner.”

“NO!”

“IVY MAY! WHAT DID I SAY?!”

“I SAID NO!”

“THAT’S IT! TIME OUT! GO IN THE CORNER, NOW. BUT FIRST PICK UP YOUR TOYS LIKE I ASKED YOU TO!”

Ivy then let out a huff before finally following directions to pick up her toys and then proceeded to go in the corner, but stomped her little feet the entire way over there. 

Axel and Autumn had finished and you told them to go downstairs where Jack was in the kitchen.

She was now silently crying as she stood in the corner staring at the wall and you then heard Jack’s footsteps behind you. 

“Baby, where’s Ivy? Oh….” He said when he finally saw her and you had your arms crossed.

“What did you do this time, bubs?” He asked as he made his way over to her.

“Mommy is being a meanie. She won’t let me play with my toys.” Ivy said through her tears as Jack tried to wipe them away. 

“Mommy isn’t being mean. She probably just told you that so you could come and eat dinner. I’m sure she would have let you play with them after. Axel and Autumn are already downstairs waiting for you. How much time did mommy give you?”

She simply shrugged as Jack then turned towards you to ask you.

“How much time does she have to do in Harlow baby jail?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Can we make it five?” Jack asked and you then looked at him as if he was crazy.

“No, because she needs to learn how to listen to directions the first time.”

“But babe….”

“Jackman, keep talking and I’ll put you in Harlow baby jail next. And your sentence will be longer than hers.”

Jack then held up his hands in defense and didn’t utter another word. 

When the three of you made your way downstairs, you put Ivy in her chair and placed their plates in front of them.

“Mommy, I don’t like string beans.” Autumn quietly said before looking over at you.

“Since when? You liked them last week when mommy gave them to you. Don’t you remember you telling me you ate them when you called me on facetime?” Jack said while looking at her.

“I don’t want them.”

“Autumn, baby, you have to eat your vegetables.”Jack said, trying to be patient with her, but truth be told ever since they all turned two, they had been running both of you up the wall.

Yes, terrible twos are a real thing. 

“No.”

“Just eat a few, okay? You don’t have to eat all of them.”

“Daddy, I said no. I don’t want them.”

This made Jack do a double take and you turned around from the stove as you were fixing your plate to look at her.

“Autumn Danielle, what did you just say to me?” Jack calmly asked her and you knew that he was at his wits end and that his patience had gone out the window.

She then began to cry and promptly threw her sippy cup on the floor sending apple juice flying everywhere as her response. 

“AUTUMN!” You exclaimed while trying to calm yourself before doing anything else in response to her. 

Jack could tell that you were about to lose it and walked over to you before he went to Autumn who was still screaming her head off and had now pushed her plate of food on the floor.

He looked to see that you had tears in your eyes and you were about ten seconds away from letting them fall.

“Baby, go lay down for a minute. I got it.” He said while leaning down to kiss the top of your head.

“But… I….”

“I know. Just relax for me for a minute. I know that they’ve been really acting out these last few weeks and it didn’t help that I wasn’t here either.”

“I feel like I’m doing such a terrible job being their mother. I never want to yell at them, but today really took the cake. First Axel not wanting to take his bath, Ivy not picking up her toys and now this with Autumn.”

“Don’t you ever think that for a second because you’re doing an amazing job. Just go take a bath and relax. Don’t worry about anything and I’ll be up there later. No need to cry. I know you’re frustrated but we got this and you know that we’re in this together. No one said that this would be easy.”

You nodded in response as the tears were now falling and Jack pulled you into a hug and kissed your temple. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too, mamas.”

Jack had just finished reading a bedtime story to the triplets when Ivy suddenly had a question.

“Daddy?”

“Hmm?”

“Did we make mommy cry?” She quietly asked and he noticed that all three of them were starting to look guilty. 

“Me and mommy only want the best for you three so we do tend to get upset when you tell us no. All we want to do is help you.”

“I didn’t mean to make her sad.” Autumn said and it looked like she was about to cry again.

“Me either.” Axel said while climbing into Jack’s lap.

“Well, what you can do is listen to what we tell you and do it the first time we ask. That’s all we want.”

“We say sorry to her?”

“You three can do it when she wakes up. Let mommy sleep.”