#i guess we know for sure autumn is finally here

[misiahasahardname]

i love my classical studies teacher... bro bought chainmail armour for no reason, let us hold it to see how heavy it is, put it on, and then got stuck in it and had to leave the class to get another teacher to help him take it off 😭

[cherrysinner]

─── YOU'VE GOT MAIL .ᐟ

...or reader going to a football game.

★ pairing.ᐟ frat!rafe x nerd!reader

★ summary.ᐟ rafe cameron is the golden boy of kildare university; certified frat boy, captain of the football team, relentless party animal with lines of girls to sleep with.

reader couldn't be more different; while she has the best grades in the whole school, she suffers from social anxiety disorder, and her social life is limited to her three best friends and the cat she secretly snuck into her dorm room.

both of them decide to join the anonymous chatroom for their campus, and start talking to one another, a friendship starting to form between the two; but neither of them know how different the other is.

★ author's note.ᐟ and we’re back!! hi hi hi. sorry for no new part last week, i was busy as hell. ANYWAY we’re finally meeting reader’s friends !! also guess who managed to finish three different fics today… whew.

YOU'VE GOT MAIL!

for the next two weeks, not a day went by that you didn't talk to MalachiConstant; the screen time on your phone almost having doubled. most of the time it was just surface-level stuff; talking about your days, about your interests... but at night, it... changed. it became genuine. real. like you were sitting under the stars together, talking about things that actually mattered.

MalachiConstant: y'know MalachiConstant: sometimes i kinda worry that i'm disappointing everyone around me

YOU: how come?

MalachiConstant: idk MalachiConstant: i feel like i'm fucking shit up all the time MalachiConstant: like i'm a screw up and disappoint everyone

YOU: well, i don't know if it helps, but.. YOU: you haven't disappointed me :).

MalachiConstant: knocking on wood

now, you were sitting with your friends at lunch, occasionally glancing down at your phone screen as if beckoning for the stranger to message you, your lips pursed in thought as the group around you kept chatting, wondering why the boy hadn't texted you all day.

"hey, everything okay?" one of your friends, zainab, asked, looking at you with widened eyes, startling you out of your little reverie. you turned to the girl sitting next to you, feigning a small smile, "yeah, everything's okay."

"she's being ghoooosteed." vivian teased you, causing you to roll your eyes.

"ghosted? by who?" emilia asked with excitement, vivian's statement clearly having piqued both her and zainab's interest.

"it's no one."

"she's lying." vivian grinned, drinking some of her iced latte, "she met someone on that website i recommended. kildareuchats. she told me they've been talking for a few weeks now."

"viv, i told you not to say anything." you groaned, hiding your face in your hand, feeling your cheeks warming up, your next words coming out in an awkward mutter, "only reason i told you was because you saw me text him in the first place..."

"whatever. the important thing is," vivian grinned widely, "our friend here thinks that he's a member of the football team."

"how do you figure that?" zainab asked, and you threw your hands up in slight frustration, "well, i don't know it for sure!" you said, "but he keeps talking about how he has practice, and... he does know a lot about football."

"hot. you're e-dating a football player. who would've thought?" emilia snorted, making you throw a singular fry her way. "i'm pretty sure they have a game tonight."

"oooh, we should go support your boyfriend." zainab squeezed your shoulder and you could feel your face turn warm with embarrassment, "we're not going. and he's not my boyfriend..."

"i can't believe i let you three talk me into this..." you grumbled under your breath, pulling your coat closer to your body, feeling the chilly autumn air in your bones as you sat on the bleachers, watching the game you understood nothing about; when you were younger, your father tried to get you into sports, but most of the time you simply snuck in a book so you wouldn't actually have to focus on it.

"don't try to play pretend." vivian nudged your shoulder and drank out of her slushie, "we all know you're dying to see your cyber-boyfriend."

"again, he's not my boyfriend."

"but you wish he was. bet you've already made him in the sims, and you two have a brood of pixel-kids."

"i don't even know what he looks like."

"well, if it is someone from the football team, he's gotta be at least semi-attractive. have you seen their group picture?" emilia snorted, "everyone is somewhere between seven and ten."

"it's definitely not thornton." vivian snorted, "dude has the emotional capacity of a slinky."

"viv, you do know that that's a dig on yourself?" you raised your brows, "don't think any of us forgot what happened between you two."

"jokes on you." the pink-haired girl stuck her tongue out at you, "i've already forgotten all about it."

"that's what happens when you spike your slushie with vodka."

"don't act like you could focus on this shit sober. besides, this is not about who i've slept with. this is about who you're dying to sleep with." vivian winked and took another sip of her slushie.

"well," you pursed your lips in thought, "he's in a fraternity."'

"that does narrow it a little bit..." zainab mumbled, "maybe maybank? i mean, you did have a crush on him for like, the entirety of freshman year."

"it wasn't a crush!" you held your hands up, "it was... a mere fascination. he had nice hair."

"ah, yes. you were having wet dreams about his hair." vivian snorted, and you smacked her forearm, pursing your lips into a pout as you looked at the field, "how about... mason? he's got that whole broody, mysterious smart guy vibe going for him. he definitely reads vonnegut."

"dodge is a pretty valid option. though, i don't know if chatrooms are his style." emilia tsked, "what about the captain? cameron?"

that suggestion caused vivian to snort and smack the other girl's shoulder, "rafe cameron? yeah, he definitely isn't the type to do that. i think his longest relationship was when a girl accidentally fell asleep in his bed after they hooked up, and he was too drunk to kick her out."

your eyes went to number 9, the name 'cameron' written above his number, making you shake your head and look away before you spoke quietly, "this is stupid. i don't need to know who he is. i don't want to know who he is." vivian wrapped her arm around your shoulder, tugging you close in a comforting gesture; you knew there was truth to your words, but you also knew that the reason you didn't want to know the identity of MalachiConstant was that you knew he'd be disappointed to know who you truly are. to know, that the girl he'd called witty and funny several times actually couldn't tell a joke without stuttering.

after the football game ended with your team winning, the four of you were making your way away from the field, only to hear someone calling out behind you

"viv! vivian, wait up!"

you turned your head to look at who was so eager to talk to your friend, a small snort leaving your lips, nudging vivian's side, "viv, it's your slinky." your friend looked at you with furrowed brows, following your line of sight to topper, the girl letting out an exasperated groan, "is it too late to hide?"

"hey, viv." topper gave the girl a lopsided grin that he surely thought was charming, his face slightly red from the game, "you came."

"most of the school came." vivian gave the boy a narrow, feigned smile before taking another slurp out of her slushie, "whatcha want, thornton?"

"well," the blonde scratched the back of his head while emilia, zainab and you grinned at one another, a strange contrast to the unamused expression on the pink-haired girl's face, "we're having a party, at our frat house. you should come if you feel like it."

"i'll think about it."

"you can bring your friends." topper glanced at the three of you briefly before his focus was fully on vivian once again, "hope to see you there."

"maybe." vivian said, turning around and continuing to walk away, the three of you following behind her, trying your best to control your laughter, "don't say a thing." she warned.

"come on, you've gotta come with me." vivian pouted, spinning around in your office chair, "i can't go alone, z doesn't do parties and em has an essay to finish."

"you know i don't do parties either." you mumbled, absentmindedly stroking angel's soft fur while shopping online for a birthday gift for vivian, "i think i'd suffer a stroke if i even tried to go to a frat party, of all things."

"please! i can't go alone, because then i'll end up hooking up with topper again."

"then just don't go."

"but then i'll have fomo! you know i love parties, i live for-"

YOU HAVE RECEIVED A MESSAGE ON KILDAREUCHATS FROM MalachiConstant. CLICK HERE TO OPEN.

you tuned out everything vivian was saying, instantly clicking the pop-up.

MalachiConstant: whatcha up to?

YOU: nothing much. YOU: trying to stop this annoying wasp from buzzing in my ear

MalachiConstant: a... wasp?

YOU: my friend. YOU: she's trying to get me to go to a party with her. YOU: it's essentially a babysitting gig, though.

MalachiConstant: one party won't hurt you MalachiConstant: wallflower

YOU: how do you know? YOU: what if i have a stroke the moment i step foot into that place?

MalachiConstant: c'mon MalachiConstant: what do you have to lose?

YOU: my dignity.

MalachiConstant: ah, yes. the dignified grandma. MalachiConstant: hey, if the party sucks you can just stand in some corner and send me messages MalachiConstant: might not answer immediately cause i also have a party

YOU: oooh, another frat party?

MalachiConstant: you know me so well MalachiConstant: i dare you to go, poe girl

YOU: this isn't elementary school.

MalachiConstant: i triple-dog dare you

you pursed your lips in thought, looking to vivian and narrowing your eyes at the girl, a pleading look on her face. you groaned, shaking your head in defeat and rolling your eyes, "fine, i'll come with you. but i have nothing to wear."

"don't worry." vivian jumped up from her seat with a victorious smile, ruffling your hair, "you're lucky i'm your fairy slut-mother. with piles and piles of slutty dresses and skirts. i'll go get us something to wear!"

you watched as the girl made her way out of your dorm, her long hair bouncing along with her "nothing too slutty!" you called out after her, before turning back to your computer.

YOU: if i die, i'm blaming you.

TAGLIST: @yktayy9669 @tinythebunni @dywho @melalsworld @akobx @samwinchesterisawhore @st8rkey @jjasmiineee @ltristessedureratoujours @a-lovers-card @uselessnewt @lunaleah @letstryagaintomorrow @cinnamqnnlatte @papapoy @kay133sposts @wtfisastiles @butterfly1c @emmiesummers @melodyyybubbles @toomanywhitelies @littl3loveydovey @scne-vampire @alwaysmaybank @mysticbby2009 @luna443 @drewstarkeyswife-7 @flowerluvr

[theonottsbxtch]

hey! please could you write a 🔥 charles leclerc

7 MINUTES | CL16

an: this celeb really has me writing for people i've never written for but here you go! rushed and not proof read lol i wanna go to bed

summary: 7 minutes in heaven, max's sister, what could possibly go wrong?

warnings: heavy make out session

wc: 3k

You were sitting on the edge of the couch, legs tucked under you, watching as the last of the sunlight fades beyond the horizon. The air still smells like autumn — damp leaves, bonfires, that kind of thing — and you can hear the muffled voices of the boys from the kitchen. They’d been drinking for hours, celebrating the end of the season. Your brother, Max , the life of every gathering, was at the centre of it all, recounting the race from last weekend like a war story for those who had missed his and Lando’s close race.

Inside the living room, the atmosphere was cosy but charged, the kind of energy that only came when the season was over and there was nothing left to lose. Someone had opened a second bottle of whiskey, and you were pretty sure it was Charles. He was sprawled out on the recliner, arm dangling over the side, his laugh loud and carefree. Across from him, Lando and Daniel were huddled together on the floor, passing around a bowl of chips like they were planning something.

Then it happened. Daniel’s eyes lit up, his smirk growing wider as he sat up straighter. "You know what we haven’t done in ages?" he said, voice slick with mischief. "Seven minutes in heaven."

You laughed, and so did a few others, but there was  that undeniable flicker of curiosity that ran through the group of you that were in the room. This was a game you used to play in secondary school, maybe year nine if you were brave, but you’d all grown up since then. Still, the alcohol had loosened everyone’s reservations, and you could see the suggestion hanging in the air, waiting to catch fire.

“Oh, come on, we’re not twelve,” Max groaned, walking in at the perfect time but even you could see a spark in his eyes that said he was not really protesting.

Daniel shrugged, still grinning. "Exactly, we’re not twelve. So why not make it interesting?"

You could feel a ripple of unease and excitement in your chest as you glanced around the room. People were starting to perk up now, their curiosity mirroring yours. And before you knew it, Carlos’ empty beer bottle was in the middle of the floor, everyone forming a loose circle around it like it was an unspoken agreement.

Your close friend Lu, had chosen to go first, the bottle spun lazily, catching the dim light from the string of bulbs hanging above the living room. The room felt smaller now, more intimate, as if everyone’s breath was synchronised, waiting for fate to land on someone. Your stomach twisted, a mix of nerves and excitement, and you wonder if anyone else felt the same fluttering tension.

It slowed, dragging the moment out. The neck wobbled a few times, then finally came to rest, pointing directly at Lando.

She grinned, all too pleased with the outcome. “Guess I’m first,” she said, pushing herself up from the floor with the grace of someone who was not nearly as drunk as the rest of them. She casted a sideways glance at Lando, who just smirked and shrugged, ready for whatever came next.

You felt Max’s eyes on you from across the circle, and you shot him a quick look — the kind that said, This is ridiculous, right? But he just smirked, raising his beer in mock salute, clearly enjoying the chaos that was about to unfold.

“Okay, Lando,” Lu teaseed, leaning toward him with a playful tilt of her head. “I think you’re my lucky partner.”

Lando let out a fake groan, but there was a spark in his eyes as he got up. “You sure? I mean, I could take a rain check…”

Everyone laughed, the tension breaking slightly as Lando and Lu disappeared into the hallway, heading for the coat closet like this is still some high school party. But the tension crept right back in as the door closed behind them.

It had only been thirty seconds, but it felt like the room was holding its breath. You sat there, heart racing even though it was not your turn, and wondered what happened next. You’d known these people for years — grown up alongside a few of them, watched your brother and his friends live out their reckless racing dreams — but now the whole vibe had shifted. It was almost like you were all teetering on the edge of something new, something dangerous.

The minutes dragged on. The muffled laughter from behind the door made everyone exchange knowing looks, but no one said anything. Then Lu’d voice called out, “Time’s up!” and the door swung open.

Lu stepped out first, her hair slightly tousled, a grin on her face like she’d gotten away with something. Lando followed, looking slightly flushed but otherwise composed. “Well,” he said, glancing around the room, “that was... enlightening.”

Everyone laughed again, a little louder this time, but you could feel the anticipation growing. Lu took her seat, and Daniel leaned forward, reaching for the bottle with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Your turn, mini Verstappen,” he said, and suddenly all eyes were on you. When Daniel had offered this game, you briefly had the idea that he was trying to pester Max, making him watch his little sister go into a small room with one of the guys of the paddock. In a room where he couldn’t do anything to stop anyone. So when Daniel passed you the bottle, you knew exactly that was his intention.

You froze for half a second, trying to brush off the nervous thrill that shot through you. “Oh no, not me,” you started to protest, but you knew it was too late. The game had a life of its own now.

The bottle clinked as you gave it a half arsed spin, and you swore it felt like the world slowed down again. The air was thick with curiosity, everyone waiting to see who fate would pick this time.

And then it stopped. Right on Charles.

You glanced up, locking eyes with him. Charles Leclerc, your brother’s biggest rival, the one who you definitely should never get with, the one who’s always wound up your brother, who knew more than he let on. His brow quirked up, just slightly, and his lips curled into a soft, unreadable smile.

For a moment, the world felt too small, the air too warm. Daniel chuckled, almost as if he had planned it. “Well, this should be interesting.”

Charles stood up, and before you even realised it, you were on your feet too, heart pounding in your throat. You forced a laugh, trying to play it cool, but you could feel the weight of every gaze on your back as you followed him toward the hallway.

Then Max shot up, “She can’t go in there with him, come on mate.” He said looking at Charles then at the rest of the group whose eyes were too locked on you and Charles. “That’s my little sister.” 

As you opened your mouth to reply, Lando stood up and looked at Max. “The rules are the rules, and unfortunately for you the rules mean your sister needs to go into that closet with Charles.” Lando then towards Max and pushed him back down onto the floor where he was previously sat. A small laugh went through the group as they looked back at you and reminded you to go towards the closet.

The door was barely closed when the silence hit. Charles leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his green eyes scanning your face. "So," he said softly, his voice cutting through the stillness, making sure no one could hear, "seven minutes."

You swallowed, leaning against the opposite wall, unsure of what to say. It felt like the world outside had faded, the only sound was the steady thrum of your pulse in your ears. There was something unspoken hanging in the air between you, a tension that had been there for longer than you’d like to admit, but neither of you had ever dared to acknowledge it. Until now.

“Well,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper, “what do we do with them?”

The air inside the closet felt thicker than it should, the dim light from the hallway casting just enough of a glow under the door to catch the intensity in Charles’ eyes. Your back pressed against the wall, and you could hear your own breath coming a little too fast, the silence between you loaded with all the things neither of you had said until now.

Charles took a slow step forward, closing the distance, his presence filling the small space. He was not touching you yet, but it felt like he was everywhere, the heat radiating from him making your pulse race. His eyes flickered over your face, searching for any sign of hesitation, but you didn’t give him one. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the game, or maybe it was something you’d been pretending not to feel for a long time.

His hand came up, brushing lightly against your arm, sending a shiver through you. Then, in a sudden, fluid motion, he cupped your face, pulling you toward him. His lips crashed against yours, firm but not forceful, and it was like every thought in your head vanished, replaced by the sheer intensity of the moment.

You responded immediately, fingers threading through his hair as you kissed him back, your whole body pressing against his as if you were trying to make up for lost time. The world outside the closet didn’t exist anymore — it was just the two of you, tangled up in each other. His lips are soft but urgent, like he’d been holding this back for far too long.

He pulled back just enough for a sharp breath, his forehead resting against yours. His voice was rough, low, like he’d barely be able to keep it together. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that, mon ange” he murmured, his lips brushing yours again, making your heart skip a beat.

You smiled against his mouth, your voice barely a whisper. “Then why didn’t you?”

His hands slid down your waist, pulling you even closer, and you could feel the warmth of his breath against your neck as he leant in again, his lips tracing a path along your jaw. “Didn’t think it was a good idea,” he admitted softly between kisses, his mouth now teasing the skin just beneath your ear, sending a jolt of heat down your spine. “Still don’t,” he added with a soft chuckle, but there was no trace of hesitation in the way he was kissing you now.

“Why?” you whispered, trying to suppress a moan as you tugged him closer, lost in the moment, your mind spinning, body pressed tight against his. The feel of his hands, the taste of whiskey on his lips, the way your bodies fit together in this impossibly small space—it was all overwhelming, intoxicating. Every kiss was hungrier than the last, his fingers gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d slip away, but neither of you were going anywhere.

“Because now I’ve had you once, I’m going to want you forever.” He replied in a raspy voice.

The sound of footsteps passing in the hallway broke through the haze for just a moment, but Charles didn’t stop, his kisses trailing down your neck as his hands tightened their hold on you, and you realised how badly you’d wanted this too.

The footsteps faded, but the sound barely registered. All you could focus on was Charles — the way his lips moved against your skin, the heat of his hands gripping your waist like he’d been starving for this. Each kiss felt more urgent, more desperate, and you let yourself fall into it, the thrill of finally crossing a line you didn’t know you’d been tiptoeing around for so long.

Your fingers slid under his shirt, grazing the smooth skin of his back, feeling the tension in his muscles as his breath hitched. That small reaction sent a surge of confidence through you, and you pulled him even closer, wanting more, needing more. He groaned softly, his hands travelling up your sides, fingers digging in as if he was trying to ground himself in the reality of this moment.

“I didn’t think you—” His words were cut off by another kiss, deeper this time, his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you in. You weren’t sure what he was going to say, but it didn't matter. The way his body was pressed against yours told you everything.

It was electric — the feeling of his lips parting against yours, his breath mixing with yours as the kiss deepened, growing more intense, more heated. You lost track of time in the tangle of it all, your bodies moving together like they’d been waiting for this, like this is what they were meant for. Every second felt like it was teetering on the edge of control, the space between you disappearing as if it had never existed in the first place.

Charles broke away, panting, his forehead pressed against yours again. His voice is ragged, low and strained with want. “You... really have no idea how hard it’s been, pretending like this wasn’t... exactly what I’ve wanted.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt the heat rise in your chest as his words sank in. You reached up, tracing the edge of his jaw with your thumb, heart pounding in your ears. “Then stop pretending.”

Something shifted in his gaze, something raw and powerful. His lips crashed back against yours with renewed intensity, a fire now blazing between you, the last of any hesitation burned away. His hands roamed freely now, gripping, pulling, like he was making up for all the times he’d held back. Your back pressed harder into the wall, but you didn’t care. You were lost in the feel of him, in the way his lips trailed down to your collarbone, in the sound of his breath ragged against your skin.

Your name left his lips in a whisper, like a prayer, like it had been waiting there for years, and hearing it sent a thrill through you. You pulled him closer, fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt, wanting to feel every inch of him. His hands slipped under your shirt, his touch scorching as his fingers trail up your back, sending sparks down your spine as he played with your bra.

“You are heavenly,” he breathed against your neck, and you could feel the heat of his words, the truth of them, in every kiss, every touch. “Utterly heavenly.”

He’d said you hadn’t known how long he’d needed this but you did. Because now that you were here, with him, you realise you’d been wanting it too — maybe even longer than he had.

Just as his lips found yours again, there was a sharp knock on the closet door, startling you both. Daniel’s voice, muffled but unmistakable, cut through the haze. “Time’s up, lovebirds. Don’t make me open this door.”

You froze, breath caught, the spell broken for a split second. Charles chuckled softly, his forehead resting against yours again, his breathing still heavy. “Guess we’ll have to hit pause.”

Your heart raced as you untangled yourselves, but before you could step back, he pulled you in for one last lingering kiss, softer this time, like a promise.

“Don’t think this is over, mon ange,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours. “Not even close.”

You grinned, your pulse still pounding as you tried to pull yourself together. “I’m counting on it.”

Charles let out a soft chuckle, his voice low and husky. "You should probably go first."

You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”

His eyes flickered down to himself, and he smirks, a little sheepishly. "Because if I walk out there like this..." He gestured toward his jeans, and you couldn’t help but notice the tension brewing once more. "Let’s just say it’s gonna be obvious what we were doing in here, and Max might not be too happy."

Heat flooded to your cheeks, and you bit back a smile. “Right.”

Charles stepped forward again, fingers brushing lightly against your arm, his gaze locked on yours. "Give me a minute, and I’ll meet you out there."

You nodded, still feeling the lingering heat between you, but you straightened your shirt and smoothed your hair as best you can, trying to act like you weren’t just tangled up with him in the small, dark closet. When you felt composed enough, you opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

Immediately, all eyes were on you. Lando was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a grin on his face. “Well, well, look who’s back from heaven,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he took in your slightly dishevelled appearance. His eyes narrowed as he studied you, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You look... flustered, mini Verstappen.”

Your face burned, and you weren't too sure if it was from the kiss or from the fact that your brother’s friends could read you way too well. “Shut up, Lando,” you muttered, pushing past him, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck.

Just as you make it to the edge of the living room, Max’s voice cuts through, louder than anyone else in the room, as if he was just realising something. "Wait a minute. Where’s Charles? Why are you coming out first?"

You froze, and everyone turned to look toward the hallway. As if on cue, Charles stepped out a beat later, looking a little too composed compared to you, though he quickly raked a hand through his hair as if to play it off. His shirt was untucked at the back, and there was a slight flush to his face, but he managed to pull himself together.

Max narrowed his eyes suspiciously, looking between the two of you, arms still crossed. "You two weren’t... actually doing anything, were you?" He tilted his head, trying to sound casual but clearly fishing for answers.

Charles shot you a quick glance, his lips twitching like he was holding back a grin. "Don’t worry, man," he said, walking past your brother and clapping him on the shoulder. "We were just... getting to know each other better."

the end.

[buckymorelikefuckme]

what a wicked thing to do

vampire wanda maximoff x fem reader

words: 4.2k

warnings & tags: **18+ ONLY** lesbian vampires yes GAWD, fantasy au, inaccurate historical au, smut, fingering, implied soulmates (?? kinda i guess), biting 👀, mention of blood, does this count as hurt/comfort? we shall see!! and uhhh it's kinda spooky ooky vibes but it's not really dark? i think. pls let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: listen..... i've already got spooky season in the brain and i really wanted to reshare this fic. i've edited it a little but i've also left the link to where i orphaned it on ao3 in the title if you prefer reading there~ any and all mistakes are my own! feedback is greatly appreciated and heavily encouraged pls and thank ♡ xoxo

wanda maximoff masterlist || main masterlist

It’s that time of year in between autumn and winter where it’s only getting colder and colder, no reprieve even during the sun’s highest point of the day. Part of you worries it’s a mistake to wander through the woods like this, especially so close to sunset.

But then you remember the briefest moment when you saw her, when your eyes met hers; it happened so quickly, but also felt as if time stopped. Something flashed in her gaze before she looked away and disappeared in the busy crowds of the village.

That moment, as brief as it was, leads you here. You hug your arms tighter to your torso, cursing the bitter wind whipping around you. Your dress had been a bright idea when you’d first thought of it. Now, you’re wondering why you thought such a plunging neckline would be smart, considering the seasonable chill in the air.

Although, you think with a flutter in your stomach, that’s not exactly true. You know exactly why you chose this dress.

There’s hardly any light left in the sky by now. You’re kicking yourself for getting lost in the woods, wondering if anyone would notice, or care, whether or not you return to the village. You have no family, no money, nothing tying you to anyone or anything. You work odd jobs to be able to make ends meet. The people knew of you, but you are sure they hardly concerned themselves with your well-being.

But then, when your gaze had met her own, you’d felt seen for the first time in ages. It was like she could see everything inside your mind, every ounce of longing and every bit of loneliness, even in the split second she held your stare. You haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since then. Nearly two weeks have passed, and you’d finally decided to find out if the stories that follow her hold any truth. They are quite colorful, full of fantasy and myth, surely decorated to sound more elaborate as the years go on. Fantasy and myth, perhaps, but one particular piece of information continues to remain the same.

She hasn’t seemed to age in the fifteen years she’s spent living near your village. Not one line or wrinkle to be seen on her pale skin. Not one gray hair on her head. Some of the elders even swear they'd seen her when they were children.

Her home is a mystery, one that stays that way out of fear. There is something about her eyes, some say, something off, not quite right. Because of this, no one has felt compelled enough to try finding her home.

At least, not until you.

You’re beginning to think you are truly lost, feeling hopeless, when you finally spot something in the distance. But just as relief washes through you, the rain starts. Each drop feels like sharp, stabbing pieces of ice landing on your exposed flesh, soaking into the thin fabric of your dress. It takes mere minutes for you to become drenched. Your dress is now clinging to your body uncomfortably, the cold even more biting than it already had been.

It comes into view, what you’d spotted several meters back, easier to make out. A looming castle breaks through the trees, windows lit with candles.

Your arms and feet are going numb, but you push through, stumbling your way to a cobblestone path that leads to tall, wooden doors. With a trembling hand, you raise the door knocker and bang it against the door as loud as you can manage, praying whoever is inside will hear.

Your wait is short lived, thankfully. The door creaks open loudly to reveal the very woman you’d been searching for. If she’s shocked to see you, she hides it well. She looks as regal as ever. A black dress hugs her lithe body, her hair perfectly brushed and styled. This close to her, you can see what the people mean. She looks ageless.

“E-excuse me, madam,” you begin, trying your best to keep your teeth from chattering. “I-I’m terribly lost and I d-don’t think I can find my w-way back to the village.”

The woman lets her eyes roam your shivering frame, lingering on your glistening chest for a second, then meets your pleading gaze.

“Of course. Please, do come in. I’m sure you’re cold.”

“Th-thank you,” you reply earnestly.

She steps aside, leaving just enough space for you to squeeze by.

“Think nothing of it,” she assures you. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need, at least until the storm passes.”

As the door closes behind her, you take in as much of the space as possible. With it being nighttime, the candles can only do so much. For a castle, it is rather large, but it’s not quite as foreboding as you would have imagined. Though, you surmise, you hadn’t really known what to expect at all.

“Would you like something dry to change into?”

You whirl around, almost tripping over your feet as her voice registers, so close to your ear.

She smiles, amusement tickling the corners of her mouth. “Perhaps a cup of tea?”

Swallowing roughly, you nod, offering a smile of thanks in return.

“Very good. You should go sit by the fire to warm up while I get everything sorted.”

She points toward a room where you can see flickering light dancing off the walls. You nod again, letting your tired feet follow the promise of warmth. The closer you get to the large fireplace, the harder you shiver, goosebumps rising along your skin. You stand as close as you deem safe, hands held out to thaw them. For the second time, she sneaks up behind you.

“This is all I could manage to find.”

You gasp as you turn to face her. She’s still smiling as she holds up the proffered item of dry clothing.

“You frightened me,” you state dumbly, huffing a quiet laugh.

“I did not mean to,” she replies.

“It’s okay.” You glance at the clothes in her hand, a frown forming on your face. “A… dressing gown?”

She makes a sympathetic face. “It was all I could find,” she repeats.

Her eyes dip down to your chest again. They flash, just like in the village, but you’re sure it could have just been the fire reflecting in them. You look down to see what she’s staring at and heat rushes up your neck. Your nipples are clearly outlined against the wet fabric of your dress.

“Oh,” you murmur as you lift your arms to cover yourself.

She clears her throat delicately. “Take this. You’ll get sick if you keep your wet clothes on.” She pointedly holds the dressing gown out to you again until you gingerly take it. “I’ll go get the kettle started while you change.”

“Thank you,” you return quietly.

When you’re sure she’s gone, you undress as quickly as you can, more shivers wracking your frame as you stand naked in her drawing room for a few seconds before pulling on the silk dressing gown, tying it securely around your waist.

While you wait you decide to get a better look of the room. A few paintings hang on the dark walls, but mostly they’re covered with floor to ceiling shelves and stuffed to the brim with books. You take notice of a few spots where the dust hasn’t seemed to settle in front of them, figuring those must be her favorites. A plush chaise sits in the center of the room with two chairs on either side, atop an ornate rug that rests on most of the floor. There are a couple small tables between the chaise and chairs with candelabras on them, and a wide, lower table in front of them. You spot a desk by the only window in the room.

There’s nothing particularly personal about the space. It almost feels as if she’s newly moved in. But you know that can’t be true, especially since so many people in the village have seen her visit town for years now.

A piece of parchment on the desk catches your eye. You debate over whether or not you should let your curiosity get the better of you, your feet slowly carrying you over to where the paper lay. There’s writing on the top piece, and you get as far as the addressed “Brother,” but then hear her round the corner and quickly back away.

“I wasn’t sure if you took cream and sugar, so I brought them just in case,” she tells you, setting a silver tray on the low-lying table that held the teapot and teacups.

You walk over as she pours the tea into both cups. You pick one up and carefully drop two lumps of sugar into yours, stirring it with your teaspoon until you’re satisfied it’s melted. A careful sip as you sit down and you hum happily.

“Better?” she asks, smiling and taking a sip of her own tea, sitting beside you.

It occurs to you suddenly that you hadn’t asked for introductions. You scold yourself internally, knowing you had better etiquette than that.

“I must apologize, I seem to have forgotten my manners. I never introduced myself,” you say, then offer your name. “And what is yours, madam?”

“You may call me Wanda,” she replies.

“Well, I owe you a great deal for helping me, Wanda. I cannot thank you enough.”

She waves a dismissive hand. “Please, there is no need. I’m glad I was here and that you aren’t in danger of freezing to death.”

“As am I,” you respond, laughing lightly.

Silence settles between you. Your mind whirls with hundreds of questions, but you don��t know where to begin. Your plan to find her only consisted of just that— finding her. Now that you’re here, you aren’t quite sure what to do. Or say, for that matter.

You can feel her eyes observing you like a caress. You struggle not to squirm or shiver, though you are no longer cold. No, there is no chill clinging to your bones anymore. Her stare alone provides enough heat. You chance a glimpse of her from the corner of your eye, but she catches it. She purses her lips to keep from smiling in amusement.

“So,” you blurt, cheeks pinking, “have you lived here long?”

You bite the inside of your cheek as soon as the words leave your mouth. Stupid, stupid girl.

Thankfully, Wanda laughs.

“Quite,” she says teasingly, like she’s letting you in on a joke.

You nod. “I see. Is it a family home?”

She tilts her head consideringly. “Of a sort.”

What is that supposed to mean? Miraculously, you don’t ask that question aloud.

“Do you… Do you live alone?”

You’re not sure why you ask. Perhaps it’s that you haven’t heard any other movement throughout the castle that indicated a waiting staff of some sort. Afterall, she was the one to fetch the tea.

“I do,” she says.

You don’t want to examine it too closely, but you’re positive you note a hint of longing in her tone.

“S’a lot of space for one person,” you muse in acknowledgment.

She nods. “Indeed. However, I’m sure I’ll find the right companion soon.”

You take another sip of your tea to avoid replying, but are not able to avoid meeting her gaze. The look in her eyes is something you’ve never seen directed at you. You’re hesitant to think it could be want, open desire. Not from a woman like her.

—

Wanda still cannot believe that you’d shown up at her door.

She’s spent months watching you from a distance, never allowing herself to be seen by you—not until she felt it was time. From the very first moment she caught sight of you, she knew. You are hers. Her mouth watered when the wind brought your scent to her. There was not a doubt in her mind about whether she would have you; she simply would.

She had waited, ever so patiently, watching you as you roamed the streets of the village. You didn’t seem to have very many acquaintances, if any at all, and you were always alone. Wanda quickly figured out that you were without a family as well.

Selfishly, she’d been happy about these facts.

Finally, Wanda allowed herself to meet your gaze. It was quick, but she knew her eyes flashed, knew that she piqued your curiosity. It would only be a matter of time.

After nearly two weeks had gone by, however, she had started to think it hadn’t worked. She’d planned on returning to town to purposefully cross your path again, but as luck would have it, you came to her. As soon as she heard the knock on her door, she smiled.

Now, as she sits next to you on the chaise, your skin glowing in the firelight, she finds it harder to maintain her control. This close, your scent is even more intoxicating. Wanda can tell that you’re curious about her. The questions you want to ask are swirling behind your eyes. And now that you’re here, she decides she’ll answer whatever you ask, give you anything you want.

You’ve gone quiet, though, so she does some prodding of her own.

“What were you doing out in the woods?” Dressed like that, blessedly, goes unsaid.

You shyly glance down at your lap. “I, uh, I like to take walks,” you mutter into your teacup as you go to take another sip.

Wanda hums. A plausible excuse, indeed. You carefully lean forward to set your cup and saucer on the table and when you sit back you move your hair over to one shoulder. Wanda’s eyes zero in on the pulsepoint of your neck. If she focuses hard enough, she can see your heartbeat throbbing beneath your skin. It makes her teeth itch, makes her control waver even more.

When she drags her gaze away from your neck, she finds you already observing her. Her desire is clearly reflected in your eyes and the feeling is heady.

—

“Are you warm now?” she wonders.

“Yes,” you whisper, your breathing picking up, making your breasts heave alluringly.

You’d go as far as saying you are overheating. The dressing gown, where you’d been unsure and embarrassed of being nude underneath it before, is now a blessing. Your body feels alight with an unseen, growing fire. Shifting on the chaise, you don’t notice the sleeve slip down your shoulder, only registering the air skimming across your collarbones. You let out a surprised gasp when you feel something cold on your bare arm.

Peering down reveals it to be Wanda’s hand carefully sliding the sleeve back up into place. Your brows pull together in a frown.

“Your hand…” you mumble, trailing off.

She lets it linger on your shoulder for a moment, then slowly traces down your arm, her thumb grazing the side of your breast. Your nipples tighten, thighs clenching together as you watch her fingers stop at your wrist. Though her touch is cold, it feels like a relief against the searing heat of your flesh. You peek at her through your lashes and find her expression to be one of complete hunger.

Feeling emboldened, you hold her stare as you shift to pull the sleeve down again.

Her lips lift on one side, her teeth glinting dangerously. “Are you sure of what you’re doing?” she asks.

You blink, faux innocence shifting behind your eyes. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

Wanda takes a deep, steadying breath, though it only helps in inhaling your scent more. She says your name. “Why do you think you are here?” The question catches you off guard. Wanda shifts even closer to you, watching your throat bob as you swallow. “We both know it isn’t because you accidentally got lost in the woods. You were out there with a purpose. What was it?”

You lick your lips, noticing her gaze immediately drop to them. It makes your heart pound in your chest.

“I don’t know,” you reply, unsure.

She leans in, her nose nearly touching yours. “You do,” she whispers, without doubt. “Why are you here?”

Your eyes flutter closed, head tilting back without you being aware of it, exposing your neck. You feel her presence mere centimeters away from you, her breath puffing out along the column of your throat.

“I… I felt drawn here. It feels like I was meant to be here,” you say, quiet, almost hoping she doesn’t hear you.

It feels ridiculous to say it out loud. It’s one thing to have that thought sit in the back of your mind where you could pretend it didn’t exist, but to admit it aloud is entirely different.

“With me?”

You shiver at her words, her lips having softly dragged across your skin. Helplessly, you nod.

“Are you afraid?”

That makes you frown, but you adamantly reply, “No.”

“Open your eyes,” she pleads.

You follow her instruction, wary, but gasp at what you see. Sharp fangs peek out from Wanda’s lips, her eyes so pale they’re almost white now. Though your heart continues to race, it’s not out of fear. It should scare you, it should send you running, but you find your hand slowly rising to carefully trace a finger down one of her fangs, amazed that she even lets you.

“You’re…” You start, meeting her patient gaze once more. “Beautiful,” you finish in a whisper, because she is. You go to reach for her face to stroke her cheek, but she lurches backward. In a blink, Wanda’s on the other side of the chaise. Disbelief paints her features.

“You think I’m… beautiful?”

“Of course,” you state plainly, brows furrowing. Wanda continues staring at you in wonder. “You said I was here for a reason.” Ironically, she’s now wary of you as you shuffle closer to her. “I know what that reason is now.”

“Which is?” she asks apprehensively.

“You,” you murmur, cupping her cheek. “I’m here for you.”

Wanda looks as if she’s scared to accept this, to hope for it to be real. You steal away those worries by leaning in to place a soft kiss to her lips. She inhales sharply, eyes squeezing shut, her cold hands gripping your wrist almost painfully. You give her a moment, kissing her forehead as she gathers her emotions, keeping her gaze down.

“Are you sure?”

Her voice cracks softly, but her grip on your wrist loosens as you move it. You lift her chin so she’s looking at you.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

She stares at your lips for a few seconds, and then, as your words sink in, they seem to send her into action. She surges forward and captures your lips, more sure, more eager than before. You respond in kind, pulling her as close as possible, sighing into her mouth.

You quickly find yourself on your back on the chaise, Wanda above you, bodies slotting perfectly into each other like lost puzzle pieces. You feel her hand slide down from where it was in your hair to graze along your sternum. Then her hand cups your breast, thumb swiping across your nipple, and you gasp. It’s the perfect opportunity to deepen the kiss and Wanda takes it.

Her tongue slides against yours and you whine, clutching at her like she’s the only thing tethering you to this earth. It becomes so easy to let her settle between your thighs, to arch into her touch and slide your tongue in her mouth, delicately tracing over her fangs. Wanda shudders, grunting inelegantly before wrenching herself away, panting heavily into the space between you. You blindly chase after her, opening your eyes in confusion.

Wanda’s gaze is intent on your neck, full of desire. The weight of the moment hits you, then. What exactly it would mean if you give in to her. So, with full faith in your decision, you tilt your head ever so slightly and she goes perfectly still.

“Go ahead,” you encourage.

She shakes her head. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

You huff. “I do. I want you to do this.” You know she won’t look at you just yet, so you lace both your and her fingers together and squeeze hers as you continue. “I need you to do this.”

“If I do,” she starts, swallowing thickly, “I won’t be able to stop. You’ll end up like me.”

You duck your head to catch her stare. “And what’s wrong with that?”

She closes her eyes and falls silent for a moment. The weight of your words fall over the two of you like a winter blanket.

“I’ve waited so long,” she confesses, voice quiet, shaking and timid.

“For me?” you ask. She nods. “I’ve been looking for something, or someone, to make me feel whole all my life.” You use your free hand to stroke her cheek. Even with her eyes closed, she leans into you. “I’ve waited for you, too.”

When she finally looks at you, you know there’s no going back for either of you.

“It’s going to hurt,” she warns.

“That’s okay. It will only be temporary.”

She smiles then, slow and teasing. “I can ease the pain, you know.”

Her free hand tugs lightly on the ties holding your dressing gown closed, raising her eyebrows in silent question. You bite your lip and nod, shivering in anticipation. She undoes the careful bow you’d tied, easing it open and exposing your body to her hungry gaze.

If you felt heated before, you’re an inferno now. Her hands reverently map out every curve of your body. She leans down and plants a kiss above your belly button. It makes your stomach clench in want, but you make yourself lie there and take whatever she plans on giving you. Her kisses lead up your torso, until she’s eye level with your breasts, and before you can comprehend her movement, she’s taking one of your nipples into her mouth.

“God,” you whimper, head thrown back as you push your chest into her face.

“No,” Wanda giggles, “just me.”

You try to laugh, but it turns into a gasping moan when she pinches your other nipple between cold fingers. Your thighs attempt to close around her, yet it’s futile. Her free hand begins its descent down to the warm heat between your legs. Your hips buck into her touch, crying out when her fingers make contact with your clit.

“I’m going to do everything I can to make this feel good, okay? Let me take care of you.”

You nod quickly, your mouth going dry. When a single finger enters you, you forget how to breathe for a second, but then she’s sliding it out and back in, setting a steady rhythm, and you’re back to panting and whining. Only a few minutes later, though, you’re wriggling around, begging for more. She adds another finger and picks up the pace.

“Oh,” you gasp, your legs falling open wider.

Wanda buries her face in your neck, inhaling loudly, groaning. She licks across the skin there, nipping at you.

“Wanda,” you whimper.

“I know, my love,” she rasps. “You’re so close.”

Your hands have drifted above you, clutching at the pillows on the chaise, your hips moving in tandem with her fingers. Her thumb meets your clit, adding to the building warmth in your belly. It swells and swells, until finally, it has nowhere else to go and explodes within you.

You feel her teeth sink into your neck at the very same moment, and you can only yell brokenly into the air. Pain and pleasure war inside you, both white hot and searing, marrying themselves into a delicious and lethal combination. You can feel blood trickle down your throat, the same way you can still feel her fingers thrusting into you. It seems to never end and you grow limp beneath her, unable to handle the sensations flowing through you.

She finally slows, removing her teeth and licking over the wound. As her fingers slide free, she brushes your sweaty hair off your forehead with her clean hand.

“Sleep now,” she instructs, kissing you softly.

You can’t even attempt to argue, your body listening to her and promptly sending you into a deep slumber.

—

When you wake, before you even open your eyes, you’re aware of a few things.

To start, you’re no longer on the chaise. You’re on a luxurious bed, which is presumably Wanda’s. Your hearing is significantly better, as is your sense of smell. There’s a low thrum of energy coursing through your veins, like you’re on edge but don’t know why. But the more important thing you’re aware of is the feeling of eyes on you.

“I know you’re awake now.”

You crack open one eye and see Wanda smirking at you from the other end of the bed. You smile and sigh happily.

“How do you feel?” she asks.

You carefully sit up and stretch. You notice her ogling your still naked body and give her a smirk of your own. Shifting onto your knees, you crawl over the bed until you reach her and straddle her lap.

“Hungry,” you answer before grasping her face in your hands and attaching your mouth to hers.

With a force she hadn’t used before, she tosses you backward and is on top of you in a flash, a devilish smile on her tragically beautiful face.

“Good.”

[cherryblossompink303]

Patience: ~Covering the famous host club!~

➼ pairing: Kyoya Ootori x Reader ➼ summary: Tamaki finds himself with his heart set on helping save the newspaper club. ➼ what to expect:  "For the first time in your life it was you and him, not just you." ➼ warnings: none ➼ Part Thirteen | Part Fifteen

You had to admit that the times that the host club was held outside that you actually do find a sense of calm during club hours, there was notably less chaos on days like these.

"Wow, I've never notice that the courtyard had such a lovely stream"

"It's called a yarimizu channel, it is said that during the Heian era, people would better experiance the seasons by watching the petals or autumn leaves that drifted along the water. I had it specially made for all of you, hoping it would express my desire to spend all four seasons with you. so then what do you say ladies? This fall, there's an autumn leaves tea party with alimited number of invitations"

"Oh! Sign me up!"

You roll your eyes through a laugh from nearby, it always catches you offguard when Kyoya lays it on thick for the sake of a sail but you had to admit that the times that he does it is certainly entertaining.

The next thing you know Tamaki comes tumbling through the garden, tackling Haruhi to get her out of the way of a ball flying in her direction, resulting in an argument with the twins. "You think so? Well check this out! Starlight kick!"

The ball disappears it gets launched so far "Take care of yourself! Bye!" however when the ball comes back down it barrels through a window"

"Oh god" you sigh, so much for peace.

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Covering the famous host club!

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"Really. We're terribly sorry about that" you had all found yourselves in the office of the newspaper club after it turned out the ball had hit the president in the head. "Don't worry, it's no big deal. Could've happened to anyone, right? Just a ball flying through a window and hitting me upside the head"

"Please accept our apology"

"Well this works out perfectly, I was just thinking about approaching the Host Club about a cover story I don't suppose you'd be interested?"

"I didn't know we had a newspaper club"

"It's more gossip rag than newspaper"

"Like a trashy tabloid, it's filled with stories about scandalous love affairs, family power struggles and junk like that"

"It's just a lame hossip rag that specialises in stirring up scandal. And everyone knows its all lies, so nobody reads it anymore"

It is then that you realise where you recognise the president from "It's Komatsuzawa isn't it?" The question leaves your lips before you really get the chance to stop yourself, drawing attention to where you had been stood in the corner of the room.

"yes, sorry have we met"

"A long time ago in passing, my father is l/n"

It was slowly starting to become a bit awkward when you realise that Komatsuzawa was the son of your fathers old business partner...one that he betrayed to build up a media empire.

He grits his teeth "I see, I didn't realise that you went here, last we met was out of the country"

You shrug "I transferred, surely with all your fathers experience he would have taught you journalistic integrity?"

"You know I guess we have kind of lost sight of the truth because we've been so worried about drawing in more readers. It's a shame we're just now realising our error, now that the paper's at risk. We've finally realised what we should have been reporting to the students of ouran" He stands up.

"Help us please, for the last paper of the semester, we'd like to do an up-close special edition, revealing the charms of ouran's host clubb members. I'm begging you, without your help, our club will close"

"You can count on us" Tamaki assures.

You and Kyoya exchange eyecontact, silently communicating through shaking your heads.

"On behalf of the host club i accept-" "we have to decline" Kyoya shoves Tamaki out the way.

"But Kyoya he got hurt because of me, what's the big deal?"

"Sorry, we have a policy prohibiting us from sharing any personal information with anyone other than our guests. But we'd be more than happy to pay any medical expenses related to your injury"

"And another thing, what makes you think we'd want to help you spread rumors and gossip? We've got a reputation to uphold and you'd just ruin it"

"Besides you guys cause a lot of trouble for other people, and who would want to get mixed up with that"

"I understand, well, I guess you really can't erase the sins of the past, can you?" The president makes direct eye contact with you. "People won't even give you the opportunity to try and redeem yourself Ow! my head is killing me"

"President!"

"I'm ok, don't worry you two, oh no i'm getting dizzy again" you were starting to think that his acting skills are as bad as his journalism. "I guess all we can do at this point is disband with grace"

"No you don't have to" Tamaki doubles down "You can always make a fresh start. we'll help, we will rally the power of the host club, and we can re-establish the Newspaper club together!"

"Well count us out"

"You're way too trusting boss we can't just go along with everything you do forever" "yeah we've had enough"

Kyoya places a hand on your shoulder, guiding you towards the door "We're leaving too Tamaki, we're holding an evaluation meeting, mostly about you"

"Hold it! How can you be so heartless? These men are about to lose their club. Don't you feel sorry for them? Their family's breaking up! As your president I demand you help them and that is a direct order"

"We're not going to do it"

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Tamaki has been sat sulking in the corner for who knows how long, to the point of concern as the rest of you look on "well it's obvious he's upset with us"

"Yeah, he hasn't even changed clothes"

"I hate it when he ignores us when we're right in front of him. He's such a child"

"Nah, Tama-chan's just a lonely guy, you know?"

"I hate to give in, but would it really be that bad to help them out with their newspaper?" Haruhi asks, grabbing everyones attention. "What?"

"Hey, since when are you taking his side?"

"Since never, just listen okay? I know any moment now, he's gonna look over here with those puppy-dog eyes he always uses when he wants something, and none of us will be able to say no, and so he'll win"

"Let me guess, you're speaking from experience, aren't you?"

"Besides maybe I'm wrong but isn't this the kinda thing you guys usually go for?"

"Well no, this seems like more trouble than it's worth" The twins shrug. "What about you Honey-senpai?"

"Count me out, I have this cake to eat and Takashi sticks with me, right?" Honey wolfed down a strawberry cake.

"Y/n?"

"After Renge's film we leave any and all PR to internal affairs, but also I'd like to point out that this club does have secrets that the newspaper club would go for. If they are sniffing around us all it takes one slip up and it's 'favoured host club member secretly a girl?' or 'Host club member secretly engaged' we would be giving them exactly what they want"

You all look over to tamaki, who pulls out said puppy dog eyes mentioned earlier "those are the eyes"

"Puppy dog eyes"

Kyoya sighs "There will be some conditions"

"The outline for their article will be submitted by us. Interviews are strictly prohibited, it is vital that our client's identities be kept confidential, and no one is to reference Haruhi's identity and y/n's ties to the club beyond professional."

"Do we agree?"

"Well, if you it's cool, Kyoya-senpai" "Then we do too"

"I'll do it since Kyo-chan says it's okay"

"Kyoya, a word please?"

The two of you step away from the main group out into the hallway "I don't have a good feeling about this" you are straight up with him once the door closes behind you two. "Relax y/n i've got this handled"

"But-" "Seriously, relax, trust me, it will be handled"

Suddenly the words from that bizarre dream you had recently echoed in your head

"perhaps the reason you think you can't depend on others is that you reject it"

You know that it is strange to take advice of a strange dream version of Tamaki of all people but maybe he is right.

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"Of course! If you'll allow us to cover you, we promise to observe your conditions"

"Well then, you may start tomorrow"

"Excellent"

"So how is that bump on your forehead feeling?"

"Oh, that? It's no big deal, I hardly feel it anymore. I owe a lot to this bump because without it, we'd never have come together for this article"

"That's true, but we're still very sorry it happened" Kyoya slides a first aid kit over the presidents desk "I brought you a little something as an apology of sorts. This is a first aid kit, made by my family's company"

"That you I appreciate it"

"No problem, please excuse me" Kyoya turns to leave "Oh, it just dawned on me, your family runs the Ootori group right? They manufacture medical equipment don't they?"

Kyoya avoids the urge to roll his eyes "We mostly deal with hospital management"

"I am so glad that we'll be working together, my father is a president as well, of the Komatsuzawa publishing firm"

"Yes, I am well aware of that, so being president of the newspaper club is your way of preparing to take over your family's company?"

"Well yes to an extent but I have this younger brother. He's a bright young man, and my father's very proud of him you seeso now my father has decided to turn future management of the company over tgo my younger brother. And thereby passing over me, the eldest son, first born. However, if I'm able to finish my third year at Ouran Academy as the president of a succesdul newspaper club I think he may reconsider my candidacy as his successor. Do you understand? I cannot allow this club to fall apart no matter what"

"Please excuse me" Kyoya leaves, closing the door behind him.

"Mr president are we to assume you were trying to win over Kyoya Ootori?"

"But of course, you see my plans have expanded now, I can knock out two birds with one stone, not only now do I have the opportunity to bring down Tamaki Suoh but if I create enough scandal surrounding y/n then it will reflect badly on the l/n group and will certainly gain favour from my father"

"But how would befriending Kyoya Ootori help with that?"

"Well isn't obvious? the two of them are always together not to mention their fathers are very good friends, I can use him to get to her" he stands up, looking out the window. "As for Tamaki Suoh he clearly flaunts his power and standing to sucker all those poor girls into that host club. I will dig until I find scandal in all of them"

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It was actually entertaining watching the host club play red light green light out in the gardens, purely for how much Tamaki gets into it as opposed to the rest of the club, you aren't partaking in it, trying to put some distance between you and them, also to keep an wyw on the newspaper club stood nearby.

"President, what on earth are we witnessing?"

"Could it be some kind of new religion?"

"Why are you asking me? How should I know?"

"You know, I can't blame you for being shocked, I was nunfamiliar with it myself, but it's a commoner's game. They have a wide variety , and none of them require spending any money. All you need is a few friends to play with" Tamaki prances over to explain,

"Mhm, and what does this have to do with our coverage of the host club?"

"You need to learn friendliness!" tamaki is very dramatic with his demanding "If you want to clear the negative reputation of the newspaper club, and attempt to capture the hearts of your readers, you must try to be more down to earth. I can just imagine the headlines now 'The handsome boys of the host club enjoy commoner's games' wioth pictures of us frolicking in the scenery of early summer. It would be the perfect face life of your front pag. And it gives you the chance to show that a certain commoner is happier now reliving his childhood here with us!"

Tamaki pulls the host club into another game, running back to the rest of the club, the Newspaper club approaching Haruhi for an interview, you watching on noting that they had agreed to no interviews and they are already breaking that however they did not seem to be inferring anything about Haurhi's identity. Still you shut it down quickly when it starts to go longer than needed.

During a game of kick the can, or kankeri the newspaper club wander off while the others hide and Kyoya starts counting until he hits 6, dropping the facade of playing the game and standing up once he realises they are gone, you raise an eyebrow "I didn't think you would cheat at anything as small as a playground game kyoya" you say, assuming hes going to jump to searching for them early.

"I'm not cheating, there's something I need to do" he says, wandering off to follow the newspaper club "Wait!" you call after him, running behind."

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"That's it i'm writing the article" Komatsuzawa seeths, marching down the hallway "But president, you have no evidence, gossiping about suoh or l/n is dangerous"

"I don't need evidence, I'll make evidence if I have to, I can think of all kinds of scandals surrounding them. Everyone will see it, once I'm finished with them they'll both have to flee back to europe"

They slam open the doors to the newspaper club to find the twins waiting for them. "So we were right all along"

"You two"

"well, I guess it was pretty obvious"

"The boss and Y/n are the only ones who haven't caught on yet, well, she'll know soon enough, both of them are quite oblivious when it pertains to anything about themselves"

"I should warn you, if you threaten either of them, there will be concequences" "Are you ready to have the Hitachiins and every other club members' family as your enemy?"

"I knew it, you're nothing but Suoh's lackeys! Tamaki's holding his parents' power over you"

"That's not true, we don't hang out with tama-chan because of his parents. We love him. We all like being around him, and that's why we choose to be here."

"He may be a hopeless idiot but even so" Kyoya appears against the wall the door is on, hand on your shoulder.

"Well what will you do?"

"Please leave Tama-chan alone, okay?"

"I'll get you all! It's not just about him anymore! I'll write an article that will ruin all of you"

The president squints at you and Kyoya, assessing his body language and the interactions he had in the past couple of days. "Oh I see now, it's so obvious I can't believe I didn't see it sooner. Your family's have paired you two haven't they?"

You and Kyoya fall silent, you had to admit that you had underestimated him enough to assume he wouldn't put it together. "That's why you came to Japan of all places, why you're always together, they want to combine the forces of the Ootori and l/n groups"

You note how Kyoya's grip tightens at the words. "How perfect, I can both expose your engagement to drive away host club guests and write an article that will tear the deal apart"

"Go ahead, be my guest" your jaw drops at Kyoya's words as he wanders over to the first aidkit he had gifted them. "Although..." he presses a panel at the bottom of the box, ejecting a disk.

"What should we do about this little disk? You see it's been here since yesterday, and it recorded everything. It would only take y/n one phone call and it would be all over the country. How do you think your father would react to that?"

"President just give up already" He falls to his knees.

"Let me explain it to you in terms you can understand. You would do well to remember that the ootori group and the hitachiin family alone have enough stock to remove your father from his position as president of the Komatsuzawa publishing firm. However, we would never do something like that. We are not like you. What we strive for is fundamentally different."

The president is still on his knees as you go to leave the room "You're just as twisted as your father" you pause at the words. Leaving only him, you and kyoya in the room. You shake your head.

"No i am nothing like my father, I don't betray the people I trust, I am sorry for what he did to your father. But you don't think I'm twisted because I am similar to him, you just don't want to admit that you have started to become like him"

You leave, kyoya following behind.

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Eventually you found where Tamaki and Haruhi disappeared to within the hedge maze, now on the way out for cake. "Why didn't you tell me about planting the bug in the Newspaper club?" You ask Kyoya, the rest of the club ahead. "i didn't know how you'd react, I knew it would be the best way to ensure that no harmful articles came out, I had a feeling komatsuzawa would pull something like this once you mention how you two know each other"

you pause, realising exactly how many times Kyoya has gone out of his way to protect you despite him not needing to.

'You love him, don't you? is that romantic love or something else?'

Mori's voice rang around your head, almost taunting you.

pressure seized itself in your chest as you realise a few things.

You had let Kyoya in. For the first time in your life it was you and him, not just you.

"Come on y/n! We don't want to lose you" Tamaki called from further ahead.

Next time on patience 'A refreshing battle in Karuizawa!'

Tag list (reply to be added): @skottch @cgmajor @rebirthbunbun @bbybubbles @blueberry19000 @katgirl05 @smellslikelovinglies @veras-fanfic-reblogs @sadprimrose @mirtalikesdr @sleeplesssskeleton @ritzes28 @crackpeole @rory-cakes @renjunniex @II-kita-san-II @angelicwillows @missbrebre1012 @sleep-7372 @strawberrbitch @reticent-writer @eternal-dokja @meme848 @mistyhydrangeagarden

[miraculouslyfine]

the power of giving gifts

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

★★★

Sometimes giving a guy a Spider-Man scarf and a beanie makes him want to kiss you or something

(fluff, 2k-ish words)

Peter's schedule was always packed and pretty standard; between his Spider-Man duties, his internship and school there wasn't much time for him to explore his own interests or try out new things. Balancing his civilian and vigilante life was already hard enough without adding other stuff to the mix.

That wasn't the case for Y/n who seemed to pick up a new hobby every other month.

It was always fun for the group when she hopped on to a new thing, as she'd get hyperfixated on it and gift-give like crazy. Baking? She has done that. Photography? Of course. Scrapbooking? How could she not?

And she'd always make sure to make something for all of her friends, no matter how time consuming the activity was. This month wasn't any different.

—————

“GUYS! Y/n comes bearing gifts!”

“Why would you assume I have gifts-”

“Why else would your bag look like that? Basically stealing Santa's brand but okay-”

“And it's the end of the month meaning you're about to get “TikTok influenced” and blindly follow in on another trend-”

“Okay, yeah, I got it. Thanks for the input, MJ”, she rolled her eyes playfully as she sat down by her friends at the gym's bleachers trying to ignore the slight flush of her face when her thigh just barely brushed against Peter's.

“So whatchu got in there this time, Y/n/n?”, Peter asked with a soft smile, causing her to grin in return as she unzipped her school bag.

She took out another bag, now searching through the stuff in that one. She took out –surprise- another bag, handing it to MJ, who eyed it suspiciously before her eyes softened and a small appreciative smile made its way to her face.

The bag was a knitted book bag, woven from soft, sturdy yarn. Its surface was a landscape of intricate stitches. The color—a warm, earthy tone—hinted at quiet autumn mornings or the golden glow of sunlight.

The bag was fairly big, with enough room for three or four books to fit comfortably and perhaps a notebook for her musings. The handles, thick and secure, prompting her to carry it everywhere—just in case inspiration strikes. A single wooden button fastens the top offering a playful touch of whimsy.

“You made me a bag?”

“No, I made you a book bag.”, she corrected her teasingly.

“It's a bag-”

“For books, yes. So, y'know, you won't have to carry around your books in your hands all the time”

A moment of silence passed before MJ spoke up again.

“It's a cool bag”, she said with a small shrug. She wasn't fooling anyone; it was evident she loved the bag, especially as the days passed and she wouldn't leave the house without it

“Ned's next!”, she said excitedly as she fished out a set of two knitted figures, before handing them to him.

He gently took them in his hands, like he was handling a newborn baby. Each figurine has a distinct shape. Their forms were rounded and slightly plush, lending them a playful look. He noticed the tiny details like stitched eyes, embroidered smiles, and carefully added accessories give each figurine a unique personality, like a bandolier/ ammo belt and a blaster.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod- is that Chewbacca and... Han Solo? Thankyouthankyouthankyou- I LOVE Star Wars. How did you even know-”

The rest of the group shared a look, shaking their heads in response.

“Lucky guess”, she said eventually with a snort before finally turning to Peter.

“Um....here”

Her voice was soft, a hint of nervousness evident in her tone as she passed the bag to the boy sitting next to her.

N: “Hey! Why does he get to keep the bag-”

“I don't know. He's the last one to get something, I gave him the bag, no big deal-”

N: “Uh-uh, it is a big deal. You're clearly playing favorites. This is a classic case of favoritism and I won't stand for it!”

MJ: “Why would you even want a paper bag?”

N: “I don't know, we never have bags at home- Why does Peter need it-”

“Jeez, Ned, you can have the bag, no one cares about the bag-”

N: “That's the thing, I care about the bag-”

MJ: “Oh for fu- Peter, just give him the bag so he can shut up-”

N: "That's not a very kind thing to say, Michelle-"

MJ: “I will end you-”

“Kids, play nice”

MJ: “Yes, mom”

N: “Wait, does that make Peter our dad?

This little comment caught both Y/n and Peter off guard, making Peter blush furiously while she let out a dry, startled cough as they both avoided each other eyes like the plague, causing MJ to roll her eyes knowingly and Ned to smirk. Peter cleared his throat and shook his head before throwing a warning glare Ned's way.

“Can you like...be normal for a second?”, he muttered not taking his eyes off the bag in his hands.

He forced himself to look at the girl in front of him, giving her a small appreciative smile before he even saw the actual contents of the bag. He knew he would love whatever it was she gave him, he always did.

He gently reached into the bag, his fingers brushing over the soft, textured surface of something hidden within. A smile tugged at his lips even before he saw it—a glimpse of yarn peeking through like a whisper of winter warmth.

He reached in and pulled out the scarf first, its knitted rows of a deep, scarlet tones cascading from his hands. The weight of it felt reassuring, the stitches a delicate symphony of loops and care. He held it up, letting the soft fibers graze his fingers as he noticed the web-like pattern. The scarf's primary color was red, with a black web motif running its length, creating a striking visual contrast. The edges are outlined with a clean white trim, adding a subtle frame to the design. At the bottom, vibrant blue tassels hang neatly, adding a dynamic and colorful finishing touch.

Nestled beneath was a beanie, its rounded shape perfectly snug in his palm. He turned it over, admiring the way the yarn gathered neatly at the crown. The colors didn't really match the scarf's - instead, the beanie had a knitted design with a winter theme. It had a black base with a decorative pattern in white and red, giving it a far more subtle look.

“You made these?”, he murmured, his voice soft, almost disbelieving.

His fingers lingered over the tiny imperfections; the kind that made the gift feel more alive, more personal—more loved.

She noticed him examining it and immediately felt the need to explain herself.

“It's uhm... it's not much...I just thought...y'know... New York winter is no joke, heh...and you're out a lot. It probably gets cold swinging around and um...I don't want you to get sick or anything.”, she swallowed nervously before shrugging her shoulders attempting to play it off.

“I tried matching the colors to your suit but I couldn't find the exact shades so they're a bit off”

He shook his head and smiled softly at her, his voice coming a bit choked up as he felt deeply touched by her thoughtfulness.

“No”, he cleared his throat, a bit embarrassed from how emotional he sounded a second there, “No, it's perfect. I love y- it /yeet?seriously?/. I love it. Thank you”

She gently took the scarf, with its delicate pattern and vibrant colors, from his hands, hesitating for a moment as her fingers grazed the soft fabric. She scooted a bit closer to Peter, her breath soft as she gently draped the scarf over his shoulders, fingers brushing lightly against the skin of his neck.

Peter looked at her face, meeting her eyes for a brief, tender moment. There was something unspoken in the way their eyes locked — the quiet weight of a thousand feelings not yet expressed. She adjusted the scarf, making sure it rested just perfectly, the action both intimate and thoughtful.

The warmth of the scarf feels like a promise, a comfort, yet there’s something deeper in the gesture — an acknowledgment of all that has been left unsaid between them, a subtle confession wrapped in the threads of affection. Peter, still for a moment, tilted his head slightly, as if savoring the closeness, the softness of the gesture, and the way it feels to have someone care for him like this.

Neither of them said a word, but the silence held something electric, a quiet understanding that perhaps, just maybe, there’s more to this bond than either has dared to admit. The air between them hummed with the possibility of feelings waiting to be named.

But of course, their moment was soon over-

“cough cough are you guys about to kiss? Are we interrupting something-”

Thanks, Ned

Both of them flushed in embarrassment, what was it with Ned and his commentary today? But neither of them moved away, choosing to offer each other a small apologetic smile instead.

“Ouch! Did you just kick me-” Thank you, MJ.

“I have no idea what you're talking about”

This little scene made both of them laugh softly, amused by their friends’ antics.

“And um... the beanie's for your...less superhero-y appearances. I think you look good in blue- I mean, you look good in anything really- heh, that's really not the point I was trying to make.”, she shook her head. “It's for the cold. Obviously. Gotta protect those ears, right? Not that they're big or anything-”, Jesus Christ, just shut up already-

Peter raised an eyebrow at her words, an amused smile tugging at his lips. He could tell she was nervous -heck, a blind bat could probably tell she was nervous- and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying this even just a little bit. It was a good indicator he affected her as much as she affected him, and he enjoyed the fact. A lot. A whole lot.

“I should put that one on, too. See if it fits and all”, he said casually with a playful smile, passing her back the beanie.

She stared at it for a moment, not understanding why he was giving it to her before her eyes widened slightly in realization as she took it from his hands.

“Yeah, right, right-”, she chuckled softly and moved a bit closer to him.

She gently slid the beanie over Peter’s head, adjusting it with exaggerated care —her fingers definitely lingering on his face a moment too long as she tucked stray strands of hair beneath the edge, straightening the fold of the brim.

“It looks good on you,” she said quieter this time, the words carrying more weight than she intended.

Peter tilted his head, his playful grin fading into something softer. “Yeah? Must be the craftsmanship.” Something about having her this close made him a lot more confident.

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Maybe it's just your face”

“My face? First you had something to say about my ears, now my face too?”

She groaned, a small laugh escaping her lips. “Shut up. You know I didn't mean it like that”

“How did you mean it then, huh?”

“It was a compliment-”

“Oh, so you like my face? Is that what you're trying to say?”, he teased, his voice light and playful, though his heart was pounding in his chest.

She blushed a bit but didn't look away. "I guess I am," she admitted, the words escaping softly, almost as if she was surprised by her own admission.

There's a pause, both of them caught in the stillness of the moment, the years of friendship now feeling like a foundation, something unshakable, yet ripe for change. Slowly, almost instinctively, they lean in a little closer. Their breaths mingle, and the world outside seems to fade, leaving only the sound of their heartbeats and the weight of unspoken feelings between them.

And then, without another word, they close the space between them, lips meeting in a first kiss that is gentle, unsure at first, but quickly deepening as if it had been waiting to happen for years. The kiss is both a revelation and a quiet promise, one that speaks of all they've shared and everything that might come next.

“Okay, we're definitely interrupting something now-”

"Ned!"

[finelinemia]

THE COLLEGE CAFETERIA - PART 2

^ Part 2! I'm so glad you liked the first part <3, I don't know how many parts I'm planning on making, not too many (maybe 4 or 5), I hope you like it a lot 🩷

SUMMARY: You're reading a book in the university cafeteria when a guy you've never seen on campus approaches you. (part 2)

Word Count: 1.5k

[uni!harry]

You quickly enter the college cafeteria to escape the cold. After all, it's autumn, almost winter, and we already know what England is like.

You approach the counter and order your usual, a latte with almond milk. The cafe owner, who already knows you because you're there every Tuesday morning from eight to nine to avoid the class of the teacher you're almost 100% sure hates you, nods and starts making your coffee.

Your body turns toward the tables as you rummage through your tote bag for the book you're reading this week, this time a fantasy one, because even though it doesn't seem like it, the boy's comments from last week have affected you a little, even though you don't want to admit it completely.

When you finally manage to get the book out, you raise your head to locate your usual table, but there's someone else sitting there, who smiles at you when your eyes come into contact with his.

"So, from what I see, you only come here on Tuesdays, at eight," he observes. "So I'm assuming... you're only missing one class, on Tuesdays, from eight to nine. And now the question is: Why?"

You frown a little "How do you know I only come on Tuesdays and not any other day of the week?"

"Because I've come here every morning this week for my cappuccino, and you haven't been there even once." That answer is quite surprising, has he really come every day of the week to see if you were here? Or maybe he just comes every morning to get his coffee, don't think you're that important.

He leans on the table. "Now are you going to answer my question?"

"As I told you last week, it's none of your business." That makes him laugh. "What are you doing at my table, anyway? Don't you have a workout in twenty minutes?"

"Your table? I didn't know it had an owner... And yes, I have training in 20 minutes, very observant you are, but I came to get my morning coffee and chat a little with my best friend. I told you I was going to get be your type…” Oh, he has come to play. “You can sit here if you want."

Although you didn't want to admit it either. You still wanted to play hard to get.

"No, thank you." You say as you take a seat at the table next to him and place the book on this one, opening it where you had left off the night before.

“Ouch.” he says, pretending that a bullet has hit his heart. "You know how to hurt a man's feelings, and I came all the way here to see you..."

"You say that to every girl?"

"Only the ones I like," he says, winking.

You weren't sure exactly why you were being so rude to him. Probably because of the comments he made to you last week. But things hadn't ended so badly, had they? In the end you were messing around a bit and ended up finding out your names, and at least he's trying to start a conversation.

"New book?" he asks, moving to the chair next to you. Having him so close made you nervous, but not in a bad way, rather in a butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of way.

You nod, still staring at the page, even though you weren't reading anything because you were more attentive to his movements. "Fantasy."

"Oh, look at you, switching from romcoms to fantasy books, you're evolving," he says, smiling, trying to get on your nerves again. "What's this about?" He slightly lifts the book from your hands to read the title on the cover. "'The Cruel Prince'... let me guess, it's about a cruel prince?"

"My God, you're so funny. Haven't they signed you for the circus yet?" you ask, finally looking up from your book and at him.

He laughs. "Oh, come on, I'm just trying to make conversation." He tilts his head, a good-boy gesture. "So… if you don’t want to talk about the book, tell me why you're only missing that class. It must be something serious for you not to even think of showing up there." You could see from his face that he was genuinely interested in what you had to say, as if you could see a hint of concern in his eyes.

But it was a story that made you feel uncomfortable; you don't like talking about it, especially with a stranger. It's a topic you haven't even talked about with your friends or family, so talking about it with a guy on campus you just met didn't seem like the best idea.

"It's about a mortal girl who, along with her twin sister and her older sister, are taken to a magical world against their will and grow up there... and at school she meets a prince who basically bullies her until they end up falling in love." You tell him rather reluctantly, trying to avoid the topic of why you don't go to that class.

"Another enemies to lovers? Who hurt you so much?" he says, frowning.

"How do you even know what enemies to lovers is?" you say, looking up from your book at him.

"It's not that difficult to interpret..." There are a few seconds of silence. "I have a sister, she also likes to read, she's constantly talking about that… But you've again avoided the topic of the class you always miss on Tuesdays.”

My God, this guy is not going to take no for an answer.

"I just don't like the teacher. I don't feel comfortable in his class," you finally say looking back at your book, praying he won't ask any more questions about it.

He must get the hint that you're uncomfortable talking about that, because he quickly changes the subject.

"What do you study by the way? Please, pleeeease tell me literature, that would be the biggest cliché in the world." he asks, narrowing his eyes, waiting to see if he's guessed your career.

That makes you laugh a little; it really would have been a cliché. "No, I study psychology." You look up at him again. "And you?" You surprise yourself by trying to strike up a conversation with the mysterious boy.

"Wow, I didn't expect you to ask," he says, more surprised than you'd imagine. "I study art history."

That is a surprise.

"Wow, that is... really?" you ask, and he laughs a little.

"Is it so strange to believe?" He leans back and crosses his arms.

"I mean... it's just that... well, it’s a bit strange, you play soccer and stuff and you don't look like..." You're not sure whether to keep talking because you're afraid of screwing up.

"That's very stereotypical of you," he says, smiling.

"I owed you one for last week," you remind him.

“Touché.” He laughs, and you can't help but notice the dimples forming on his cheeks. He's really attractive, not just a cute college boy, he was beyond that. "So, psychology... have you already psychoanalyzed me?" he asks, leaning on the table, tilting his head slightly.

"Yes, and I can say with certainty, I'm very sorry, you are indeed an idiot." You say, feigning sadness as you place a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

"Oh my God." He puts a hand to his chest and looks worried. "Is it serious? Can it be fixed? Tell me it is."

You have to try really hard not to burst out laughing. It felt good to joke around like this; it's been a while since you've done that.

"You're in luck, we can fix it. You just have to keep seeing me on Tuesdays at eight. We'll take care of it." It had been very brave of you to come out with that answer.

On one hand, you thought, what the hell, if he has come every morning to the cafeteria to see if you were here, that means something. But another part of you said you were an idiot for thinking a guy on the football team was even the slightest bit interested in you.

But then he smiled, and all the bad thoughts fled with that smile. "Sounds good to me, all for my sanity, right?"

"Of course," you nod, "anything for your mental health."

"Cappuccino for Harry," the owner announces, placing the to-go coffee on the counter.

Harry stands up and picks up the coffee from the counter, taking a sip and turning to me, just like he did last Tuesday.

"Nice to see you again, [Y/N]." He picks up his training backpack from the floor. "See you at my appointment next Tuesday, Doctor." That makes you smile more than you should. You watch as he heads for the door and turns back when he reaches it. "By the way, the book is upside down."

It can't be. You quickly look down at the book, and sure enough, It's upside down. You hear him laugh one last time before the cafeteria door closes.

You let out a laugh, it's been upside down this whole time and you didn't even notice because you were more busy looking at him than at the book. Damn.

"Latte for [Y/N]." the owner announces again and you offer her a small smile before taking the cup in your hands and taking a long sip.

.

.

.

Thanks for reading! 🩷 If you liked it, you can leave me a heart and repost it so it reaches more people.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

Ooh can I ask for a witch reader who makes a love potion (or like love potion spiked cookies/brownies/muffins) for someone? Im feeling the fall vibes

a/n: i went with rafe because he’s been on my mind lately, also set it in a college au just for those dark academia vibes

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

| next part |

masterlist | join my taglist

A guy like Rafe Cameron would never fall for someone like you, a girl nowhere near the air-headed sorority chick that he usually went for. But then it was a good thing that you had the ability to help him along with that little error… all it took was a night of baking and an innocent little decomposition incantation on his lunch.

“Hey,” you cut off his cursing as he tossed his food in the garbage as if it were on fire, “are you okay?” 

As he twisted around, it might have been the first time he’d ever truly looked at you. 

“I–, what?” he blinked back at you, “no, I’m not okay. My lunch is apparently fucking rotten and I don’t have time before my next class to go to the cafeteria.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. That really sucks.”

“Yep,” he sighed and his feet began to shift again, his shoulder brushing against your frame as he moved past your form. 

“You can have some of mine!” you called out, “we can split it, if you want.” 

As he stopped in his tracks, it took him a moment to accept your apparent kindness, “okay, yeah, sure.”

“Great!” you smiled and pulled out your lunchbox. Sitting down on the nearby bench nuzzled beneath one of the campus’s grand trees, “let’s see…” you murmured as you pretended to go through the options, “I have a muffin,” you plucked it up and held it out for him to grasp.

Huffing out a breath, “I guess that’ll have to do,” he snatched it from your grasp and harshly began to unwrap the paper cup away from one of the sides.

Your eyes were big as you stared at him in anticipation, your simple smile growing to an all-consuming grin as you watched him sink his teeth into the enchanted treat. 

As Rafe swallowed the first bite, his face first went completely blank, staring out into nothing as the spell took effect, but then as he blinked once again, a twinkle appeared in his eyes as they landed on you.

“What did you say your name was again?” he suddenly asked, all of the underlying anger melted from his voice. 

“It’s Y/n,” a swarm of butterflies soared in your stomach as he finally looked at you the way you’d so fiercely dreamed of. 

“Y/n,” he took a seat beside you on the bench, “I’m Rafe.” 

“Yeah, I know who you are,” your fingers floated up to tug the strand of hair behind your ear that the brisk autumn wind had caught. 

“Have we met before?” his head tilted slightly. 

“Kinda. I sit two rows behind you in Callahan’s class.” 

“Right,” he breathed, a slight smile tugging on his lips as he stared back at you as if he was about to get down on one knee, “that’s you…” 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[delopsia]

ride the lightning | rhett abbott x reader

Word Count: 7,200 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, slice of life, Rhett's shoulder injury, showering together, outdoor sex, unprotected sex, food, absolutely zero plot to this one. Brief Summary: What's more fun than a post-rodeo party? Running off and having your own personal rodeo right before the storm hits.  

"You've got to quit eyeing those cowboys," Autumn's already chiding you, her words distorted by the glass resting against her bottom lip. 

Hesitant, your gaze drifts back to her. Weren't quite done scanning the room, but if you don't stop now, then you'll lose the luxury of feigning stupidity. "What do you mean?" 

"You're not slick!" She pauses, taking a sip of the liquid gold that fills her cup, the taste so bitter that her nose wrinkles. "I see you looking over there." 

"Because I'm looking for someone," you chirp, your nail tapping against the table as you begin to look around again. 

There was no way that wasn't his truck out in the parking lot. You'd know that aftermarket lightbar anywhere. But you don't see him. Not by the jukebox or the pool table. Hell, he's not even with his buddy Archie over there beside the empty water trough. 

"It's that bull rider from the rodeo, ain't it." Autumn's hit the nail on the head, and she knows it. Swirling the ice in her glass, grin growing wider with every second that passes. "You sure have a type."

It's not as if you could ever defend yourself from that accusation, but you're leaning forward, voice low as you whisper. "Yeah, like you don't have a thing for blue-eyed blondes."

"Blue-eyed blondes with money." She tips her glass at you as if to further her correction. It's not until after she's downed another greedy gulp of beer that she opens her mouth again.  "At least we have the eye thing in common."

All the men in the world, and here you two have picked men that happen to be neighbors. Arch enemies at that. Classic, century-old feud stuff. At this point, they don't hate each other for a reason; they do it for tradition.

You reckon a family hobby would be healthier, but that's not your dog, and it's certainly not your fight.

...not yet, at least. 

"At what point are we obligated to hate each other?" Dipping a finger into your drink as you speak, mindlessly swirling the ice until it forms its own little whirlpool. It's pretty to look at. Blue in color, with a little cherry and framed in a dainty glass, but whoever mixed this gave you all tequila and no juice. 

She hums, looking at something behind your head. "Whenever someone coughs up a half-mil."

Your finger stops, feeling the alcohol keep spinning past your finger. The cherry stem scrapes your skin. "Our friendship is only worth half a million to you?" 

"No," her eyes finally dart back to you, glinting in the light, "but that's how much is in Luke's checking account."

You don't even want to know how or why someone would have that much money ready to spend at a moment's notice. Or, better yet, where the hell that money came from.

Whatever is behind you, Autumn seems pretty interested in it, and you've got a good enough guess that it's the face of a man you're not interested in seeing. If you make eye contact, he'll take that as an invitation. 

Music sparks to life, blaring from a pair of cheap speakers somewhere on your left. You vaguely recognize the start of the song, but you're too busy scanning the crowd to pay attention to the lyrics. There are so many cowboy hats that you can't even cling to your usual method of finding him. Fuck, and hardly anyone has taken off their rodeo chaps. How are you supposed to—

There he is, beside the coolers. Red solo cup in hand, full of what you can only assume is more cheap beer. 

He's already looking at you, the corner of his lip lifting as you meet his gaze. 

"Speaking of," Autumn's already beginning to get up, the plastic table jolting as her hip bumps into it. "I just found who I was looking for."

"Have fun," pausing to glance at who she's so focused on. You're not sure why you expected it to be anyone other than Luke. "Try not to show up on the Abbott ranch with another hangover."

"No promises!" And just like that, she's left you. 

If history is anything to go off of, she'll charm him into driving her around in one of those fancy sports cars again. You've got a feeling that she's gonna be up in Jackson before sunrise, nestled in a fancy hotel for the weekend. 

"'s this seat taken?" 

You recognize that voice.

You've got to tilt your head to see him. Towering over you like some kind of giant, all broad shoulders and scruffy as can be, rodeo dirt still decorating his unshaven jaw. He hasn't even bothered to change out of his flannel, the ripped upper sleeve falling open to reveal the thick bicep lurking underneath. The left one sits a little awkwardly. Higher. An old injury aggravated by tonight's ride.

You want to climb him like a damn tree. 

"Maybe it is." Coy.

"Oh really?" His head cocks off to the side, hair falling into his face. "Who's it for?"

You've already got an answer brewing, but you hold it on your tongue for a moment, feigning thought. "His name is Rhett."

He hums. "Never heard of him." 

Silence. 

And then—

Rhett's laugh twists through the air like a melody, the plastic chair squeaking as he all but falls into the poor thing. One of these days, he's gonna do that, and it'll snap in two, but today doesn't seem to be that day. 

His hand motions toward the lone drink resting on the table, with its obnoxious blue color and lone cherry still swirling from when you toyed with it. "What's that?"

"Something terrible," you're already lifting the glass, holding it out for him to take. 

It's strange seeing him sipping from a dainty cocktail glass. Looks so much smaller when it's in his hand. You're not even sure if he notices the severe lack of juice, entirely unphased by the tequila that greets him. The cherry slips between his parted lips, the stem catching between them. 

"I thought you didn't like cherries?" Your head tilts to the side, curious. 

"I don't." His brow furrows, all too focused on something that you can't see. "But I like doin' this." Before you can begin to process what he's just said, his mouth opens, a tied cherry stem resting on top of his tongue. 

And here you thought you'd seen it all from him. "Is this your new party trick?" 

"Somethin' like that," the stem falls, landing somewhere that you don't see. Maybe you would know if you weren't too busy watching him lean forward, eyes sparkling with something he has yet to share. "Hey, do y' wanna get outta here?" 

"Not having fun?" Your answer is yes, but you're not sharing that yet. 

"I am, but..." then, lowering his voice, as if there's a risk of someone hearing him over the booming music, "'s more fun when it's just us."

You don't know where he's planning to go after this, but you're sold.

"I still can't believe you!" The squeal of the passenger door nearly drowns out your giggles, plastic grocery bags rustling as you climb out of the truck. 

You haven't the slightest clue which bag has the popcorn and which contains the chips, but the weight of the drinks is painfully obvious, the plastic handles rubbing uncomfortably against your arms. Curse the cashier for cramming all the bottles into one bag.

"Yeah, like you ain't never distracted me so you could pay for somethin'." Rhett's still laughing, that big cocky grin plastered across his face.

"But I never pretended I lost my keys!" Raising your voice for added effect, rounding the back of the truck. 

He's already beaten you here, opening the beaten tailgate. "Maybe ya should've." Wink.

Your eyes roll so hard that it hurts. "I'll remember that for the next time we get snacks."

Rhett's shoulder nudges yours, pushing just hard enough to make you sway. "You'll forget." 

"I'll forget." Immediate acceptance. You've sung this tune so many times that even you know that you never follow through in the end. 

The back of his truck is a damn mess; square bales of hay, two empty gas cans, the shredded remnants of a flannel, a handsaw, and you think that's a bag of chicken feed over there in the back corner. The tailgate is the only open space for you to set the bags on, and it's only now that you realize how many snacks you've actually gotten.

"We probably should have gotten dinner at Odessa's instead," you find yourself saying as you poke through one of the bags. Where in the world are those candies you got?

He reaches past you, plucking a stray screwdriver out of the mess that is his truck bed. Something tells you that he's been looking for that. "What makes ya say that?" 

"Look at all the junk we got!" Opening up one of the bags for him to see, as if he wasn't there when you both picked out and bought these things. 

But Rhett just shrugs, "Don't see nothin' wrong with it."  

Hypothetically, it shouldn't take you that long to find your candy. There are only five bags, but even as you poke through them all, you don't see that brightly colored packaging anywhere. But you know they were rung up. They're on the damn receipt! So where the hell...did you miss them somehow?

By the time you find them sitting in the front seat, nestled up against Rhett's lost bag of sunflower seeds, he's already set up the blankets. Thick, old things layered on top of each other as a makeshift cushion, protecting you from the rocky ground lurking beneath the grass. One of the downsides of choosing a pasture to lounge in, you suppose. 

He's already sitting on the corner of his makeshift blanket nest, half-lidded eyes drinking you in as you settle down next to him, your knee clumsily knocking into his thigh. You'd pay attention to him if you weren't too focused on this box of candy, pushing your thumb under the thin cardboard edge, forcing it open. 

Weight appears on your shoulder. 

Those Western romances always talk about the allure of a stoic, gunslinging cowboy, weathered by the elements and the human definition of fearless. They always fail to mention the cowboys who blink up at you like a puppy, too shy to verbally beg for a piece of your snack. 

"Do you want something?" Dipping your fingers into the box, pulling out one of the candies.

Rhett hums. Not quite a yes, but not quite a no, either. It's one of those sounds that you've heard enough times to know what it means, already lifting the first piece of candy to his lips. The scruff of his chin tickles your skin when he takes it.

Blind, your hand feels along his face, stealing away the overwhelming warmth residing there, drinking in the soft drag of his facial hair, finally at that perfect length where it no longer feels like sandpaper but has yet to begin looking like the beginnings of a beard. His tongue presses on the soft inside of his cheek, pushing against your fingers.

"Quit that!" You squeal, yanking your hand back.

"'s it really feel that weird?" His head tilts, and you don't need to look to know that he's peeking up at you.

"Yes!" And there might be more to add to that, but you're pushing one of the candies into your mouth, the sweetness effectively shutting you up. Remaining quiet even as he tilts his head to press a prickly kiss to the side of your neck, such a simple gesture that should not have your lower belly twisting with something familiar.

You've got to think about something else. Something that doesn't involve jumping on and biting him like a flea. Sucking hard on that little piece of candy, eyes scurrying for something to look at. But all you're finding is darkness and more darkness.

No lampposts or porch lights or flickering campfires, just the pale glow of the moon and the speckling of stars hanging in the sky. There are so many of them up there. Almost looks as if someone has dumped a bottle of glitter atop a roll of never-ending black velvet fabric, twinkling proudly against their backdrop of nothingness. 

The weight on your shoulder disappears. Leaves behind an absurd sense of coldness as he gets up to fetch something from the truck. Odd, how you never seem to realize how warm he is until after he's gone. 

Even the poor lighting can't hinder you from taking him in. The rodeo spurs clinging to his muddied boots. The leather chaps that hang low on his hips, with the thin little buckles in the back that squeeze the thick meat of his thighs. You know there's a reason for them to be there, but the irrational part of your brain reckons they exist solely to make you dizzy. 

"Are you ever going to take those chaps off?" You find yourself asking, after a moment, dragging your gaze away from his ass. 

Rhett freezes, his hand still wedged in the plastic bag as he looks down at his own two legs. "Eventually," he pauses, cracking open one of the cans. You haven't a doubt in your mind that it's one of those spiked lemonades he's recently discovered. "Whenever my shoulder loosens up enough t' let me mess with it."

"Need help?" Words firing off your tongue before you can process what they mean.

The black and yellow can lifts to his mouth, poorly concealing the upward turn of his lips. "I ain't never said no to you undressin' me, doll."

One little sentence, and you've forgotten about your candy entirely, letting it fall onto the blankets without any care for whether or not it spills. You've hardly got to move; settling onto your knees is more than enough. He steps forward, standing right on the edge of the blanket, that oversized buckle glimmering in the moonlight. Your fingertips brush over the edge of it, dented from the hoof of last week's bull.

"I thought the clasp broke on this?" Audibly tapping a nail against it as you make your way to the much smaller buckle hanging underneath. Not thin or frail by any means, but the contrasting sizes isn't doing it any favors. 

Your fingers hook beneath the belt, tugging on the tiny strip of leather until he gets the hint.

He grunts, boots shuffling as you drag him forward. "Nothin' a little weldin' couldn't fix." 

It's easier to see the awkward hang of his left shoulder from down here, tense and lifted higher than the right one, like someone's wound the muscle too tight. Maybe that dislocation would have healed correctly if he agreed to that hospital visit. But...here you are.

All you've got to do is pull the leather strap backward, and the prong pops out of the hole. For such tough-looking chaps, they sure come off easily. One weak tug is all it takes to have them falling down his legs, falling as quickly as you'll let them, hands gliding down the sides of his thighs and past his bony knees, eating up as much time as you can.

It's a shame that you don't need to undo the buckles around his thighs, too; you wouldn't mind the tedious process of helping him buckle them back up, either. But it's too late for that. You've already gotten the leather past one of his boots, working it over the other just as quickly. 

Even as you set those old chaps to the side, Rhett doesn't make much of an effort to move, standing idle as you fold them. Eyes locked with yours, transfixed by the simple image of you on your knees, right in front of him. You know what he's thinking. You're thinking it, too. Memories so prominent in your mind that you're already beginning to act on them.

Something booms in the distance. A deep noise that rolls through the pasture like a warning of something more to come. You think that's lightning, you see, flickering in the corner of your eye, but you're not paying attention. You can't. Not when your hands are moving on their own whims, gliding up the sides of his thighs. 

Rhett's hum echoes into his half-empty can. Seems to carry for miles. "Didn't realize we were gettin' another storm."

His breath hitches. Eyelashes fluttering. 

Your hand drifts across the tent in his jeans once more. Warm. Growing heavier with every passing second. "Think we have time?" You ask as if you don't already know the answer. As if there isn't a sudden heat flushing between your legs, the voice in your head impatiently demanding that you hurry up and pinch open his belt.

"'n here y' say I'm the one with a problem," but just like that, he's sinking to his knees. Face to face, all too quickly. 

"It's not my fault that you look like...that!"  Floundering for an escape from the situation you've created all by yourself. 

One side of his mouth quirks upward, that lopsided smile so bright that it ought to put the sun to shame. Wind rips past, nudging his hair out from behind his ear and into his face, but it does nothing to hide his pretty face. Scruffy as it may be.

It must be the breeze that nudges you forward because you don't feel yourself moving. But you're leaning forward, mouth blindly clashing with his. A little too far to the right at first, and then his hair is in the way, and...

oh.

You've missed this. 

It's hardly been a few hours since the last time, but your heart argues that it's been a lifetime and a half. One little chaste peck, and then another, and another, and another, until you cease to part ways altogether. Those big arms wind around you, his palm pressing into the small of your spine, drawing you up against him.

And you're melting into him like ice cream in the summer sun, any semblance of control vanishing alongside it. Hands roaming up the broad expanse of his chest, tickling against his neck, curling around his prickly jaw, tangling in the curls resting at his nape. Your touch is nothing special, and yet he groans into your kiss anyhow. 

Callouses catch on the soft skin of your lower back, his hands shamelessly wandering beneath your shirt. Pulling it off is tempting, but Rhett's lemonade-flavoured tongue is licking into your mouth, and the wind whispers that you don't have the time for that kind of luxury. Not if you don't want to get rained on by another one of Wabangs popup storms. 

But you do have time to reach for his flannel, dragging your finger through the buttons, audibly snapping apart at record speeds. He needs to wear pearl snap flannels more often.

"Shit," he's gasping against your lips, breaking apart for the slightest of seconds, "'s a lil cold."

The world spins around you. Back hitting the ground with all the grace and ease of a newborn deer. A bolt of lightning tears across the sky, set off by the burning hands that appear on your hips, tugging at your waistband. Your body lifts, and they're gone. You're not even sure what has become of your shoes. Don't recall feeling them come off, but your socked feet are sliding against the blanket, fighting for purchase. 

Rhett's eyes snap shut, squeezing so tight that his forehead wrinkles with the effort. 

"What hurts?" You already know that look. Already have a vague idea of what could be bugging him. 

"Shoulder," speaking through gritted teeth, not bothering to ease up, as if relaxing his jaw could bring on another wave of pain. "moved it too fast." Slower this time, he leans forward, hands falling onto either side of you, and—

"Shit." He's hissing under his breath. Sounds more like a snake than a man. There's no way that he's going to be able to put weight on that left arm, not with his shoulder visibly twitching, sent into an angry spasm. 

"This isn't gonna work," you whisper, chasing the dwindling hope that your words will reach his ears but not his already sore ego. 

Rhett hasn't even opened his eyes, but he's already shaking his head. Stubborn to the end. You know what he's going to say before it even leaves his mouth. "Hold on, if you give me a second..."

You've already got an idea. "Lay on your back." Your hands find his chest, gently pressing until he gets the message, limbs awkwardly tangling as you exchange positions. Straddling his plush thighs, settled a little bit lower than you'd intended.

It's not quite what you originally had in mind, but you've never been one to complain about riding a cowboy, already beginning to reach for his belt buckle. You don't know how you found this difficult when you first got together; all it takes is the slightest motion, and it pops open. Then comes his belt and the crooked zipper that struggles to run down the tracks.

His hips jerk, thighs smacking into your ass. "Not that I'm complainin', darlin'," there's a weakness to his voice that wasn't there a moment ago. Like he's run a marathon in the time it took you to blink. "'s there somethin' rilin' you up?"

"No." Then, smiling, "Just you."

Blue eyes dart away. Looking off to the side. "Oh."

If it were lighter outside, you think you'd catch a whisper of a blush coloring his cheeks, but your vision has been reduced to dark blobs of color. Can't even tell what color his boxers are, even when your hand dips through the front of them, blindly reaching until—

Rhett sucks in a breath. 

It's hardly been a few minutes, and yet he's already so damn heavy. Thick in your grasp, a bead of precum running down the underside of his tip. Your thumb swipes across it, dragging it back up to his plush cock head.

"You're already so wet, cowboy," you muse, lazily tracing circles around his slit. There's so much of it. Dripping like a damn faucet, so much precum that you can see the glisten of it in the darkness. 

Thunder rumbles to your left. Closer now. But you just can't help yourself. 

Your mouth finds the underside of his cock. Pressing kisses onto the vein that runs along there, working your way up from his base. Tongue lazily poking out to swirl around his head, so used to the saltiness of his precum that you hardly even notice it. One of those advantages that comes with knowing him like the back of your hand. 

Like how you know that the delicate scrape of your teeth will make him—

"Ah!" Sharp. Pitchy. The closest thing you'll get to a squeal, the kind of sound that has your thighs trying to squeeze together, suddenly warm. 

Something in your jaw pops as you take him into your mouth. Sucking lazily, like you're savoring a piece of candy, not even making an effort to stop the drool from slipping past your lips. The wetter the better. Because you're pretty sure you know the answer to the question you're about to ask.

"Condom?" Pulling off of him with a soft 'pop.' 

Rhett's head tilts toward the truck, brow furrowing, visibly thinking for a moment. Then, his lips flatten into a line. "'s in my jeans at home."

Thunder rumbles once more, urging your already racing thoughts to scramble even faster. Pulling out could be an option if not for the fact that it's never worked out for you in the past, always seeming to forget in your final moments. Riding in that bouncy passenger seat with his cum leaking out of you has never been the most comfortable thing. Cleaning up is the worst, but...

Fuck, you really can't seem to make yourself care about any of that.

Rhett's belly flexes with the effort to sit up, his right elbow bracing his weight. A familiar blob of black peeks out from beneath his open flannel, that old bucking bull tattoo. Under the thin veil of darkness, it's easy to convince yourself that it's brand new. That the poor-quality ink hasn't caused it to fade quicker than it should have. 

A kiss presses to your cheek. "What're ya thinkin'?" 

"A little mess never hurt anyone," you don't know if you're talking to him or yourself. Maybe both. 

You don't realize how close you are until your noses clash, knocking together as you squirm up to settle in his lap. His left hand finds its way to your hip, burning against your chilly skin. Doesn't do anything more than rest there, touching you for the sake of touching you. 

It's a bit crude, reaching down to pull your underwear to the side rather than pulling them off entirely. But then you're guiding him up, and his dripping tip is dragging through your folds, and you can't think about anything else. 

"You're just as bad as I am," Rhett's laugh is so much bigger than any of that distant thunder, rumbling through you in delicate waves. 

"Like this hasn't been a known fact for years," and for that statement of his alone, you're stringing this out even longer. Bringing him back up before he can begin to sink into you, selfishly rubbing him against your clit, sensitive from lack of attention.

Lightning flickers. Rhett's hips shift, slipping back down your cunt, stubbornly nudging against your entrance. Manages to lift himself enough to create a blooming pressure there, the very tip of him slipping inside. 

Fuck, you're still aching from the bit of fun you had before the rodeo. Tangled up on the couch, too wrapped up in each other to pay attention to the rapidly ticking clock. Or maybe the discomfort is from the severe lack of lube. Nothing but spit, precum, and your own wetness to soothe the drag of him as you begin to sink down on him.

"Mmph," Rhett's head tilts back, pale throat exposed. "How're you so—shit. How're you still so damn tight?"

On its own, something in your lower belly loosens, almost as if it didn't realize it was doing it in the first place. Allows you the fleeting courtesy of a breath of air before his tip fully slips into you. Heat jumps up your spine, swirling around in the back of your head. 

"I should ask you the same thing," your voice comes out weaker than what you anticipated, "why are you so damn big?"

And all that's done is make him laugh again. Nose nudging your cheek as he leans in to press another kiss to your lips, his smile too big for it to be anything more than a peck. But you want more, chasing after him as he tries to lean away, helpless to do anything but fall forward. 

Gravity quickens the glide of your body, his cock sinking further into you. The curve of him rubs into a set of nerves, never has taken very long for him to find them, thick length incessantly dragging against it. 

A heavy fist strikes the land to the west, the resounding boom washing over the surprised grunt that wrangles its way out of Rhett's throat. The only reason you catch note of it is from the way it rumbles against your bottom lip, pulling the corners of your mouth up into a giddy smile. 

All too quickly, you're fully seated in his lap, fitting against him like a puzzle piece. Bodies carved to fit seamlessly against one another, lost in the blending of limbs, tangling until you can no longer tell where one of you begins and the other ends. A shiver races up your spine, pussy involuntarily spasming around his thick cock. 

"Didn't think I was gonna be the one gettin' ridden tonight," there's no reason for Rhett to be grinning up at you like this, with that healing split in his lip and those glistening eyes. Mesermized. As if he's taking in the sight of a precious painting lost for centuries. 

If you didn't know any better, you would think he was looking at the stars behind your head.

But he's only looking at you. 

It's got you lifting yourself a little too quickly; haven't even begun to adjust to his size yet. "You'd better hope it lasts longer than eight seconds."

Something sharp digs into your knee as you lift yourself, but it's impossible to pay attention to. So fucking full of him that your every racing thought has wrapped itself around the shape of his name. Oh, and it's not helped by the burning drag of his cock; a little too big for you to be riding him without lube. 

You're sinking back down when his hips lips, snapping up into you midway. Fuck, you're burning alive out here. Growing wetter from that little motion alone, that tingling heat climbing your spine and settling into your cheeks. 

"Impatient," you're huffing, lacking any bit of the conviction you'd hoped you would have.

"Them bulls buck, y'know," that smug grin of his falters as your hips swivel, readjusting yourself, "'m just playin' my part."

So annoying. 

So, so annoying.

Something about the change in an angle has him rubbing up against something he hadn't before, air catching in your throat as he presses directly into it. Shit, it's too early for your thighs to be shivering like they are, and it's all you can do to flatten your palms against his chest, forcing yourself to remain upright. 

"Keep—mmh keep doin' that." Stupid cowboys and their stupidly pretty whines. Has no right to be squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head back and forth like he's trying to shake the feel of you out of his head.

And he just keeps rubbing against those little nerves, over and over and over. Stars sparkle across your vision, so many of them that you can no longer tell which hang high in the sky and which stem from your own imagination. Whether or not that's thunder or the hammer of your own heart, you're not even remotely sure. 

A stray hand meanders up your back, his touch so feather-light and ticklish that it's got you arching away from it. Unintentionally angling him into those soft little spots even more, your pussy clenching around him so tightly that you nearly freeze in place. 

You hardly feel yourself reaching for his wrists. Only recognize the feel of them in your grasp, thick and strong from years of manual labor, yet so willing to be pinned over his head. Falling into place like they always longed to be there.

"Fuck," Rhett's teeth sink into his bottom lip, stifling a noise that you wish you could have caught, "so fuckin' pretty on top of me." 

"And here I thought you were marveling at the storm," panting into the open air like a damn dog, breathless all too quickly. As if the slow rise and fall of your hips is simply too much for you to handle. 

Rhett's biceps flex, muscle visibly rippling as the thunder crackles. "Nah," grunting, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, "could watch y' ride me all fuckin' day." 

God, what is it about sex that makes him so fucking talkative?

Your hand darts out to the side. Blindly patting the blankets until you find one of the candies that spilled out of the container, shoving it past his parted lips before he can utter another word.

His mouth wobbles. Torn between a smile and something he wants to say. Neither manages to win the upper hand, instead beaten by a secret third thing. Because now he's sitting up, wearily bracing himself on that good arm, eyes falling shut midway as he leans in to kiss you. Knocking into each other so abruptly that your teeth audibly clatter.

But the wind is twirling past you with a kind of ferocity that wasn't there before, and in the back of your mind you're convinced that you've inadvertently caused it to happen. Distant storm falling into a rage as you tumble forward, forearms resting on either side of his head, hands in his hair, drowning yourself in the lemonade and candy that paints his tongue. 

Something sparks behind your eyes. "Rhett..."

He doesn't respond. Doesn't need to. The lift of his hips is more than enough of a reply, so sudden that it rips a sharp noise out of your throat. A decade of bull riding has made him too fucking strong for his own good, pushing up into you with devastating ease. 

This...thisis something. His breath tickling your skin. Your chest against his, nails scraping at his scalp. Helpless to do nothing but whine as he brushes against those little spots once more. Long, heaving motions that jostle you with every thrust, your eyes already struggling to remain open. 

"Rhett," repeating yourself like a broken record, panting into his ear like you're getting paid to do it.

The ground shakes. Lightning strikes somewhere in the distance, volting through the soil, up through your knees, and into your belly. Or maybe it's not lightning at all, simply the dizzying sensation of his cock driving up into you with a sickeningly wet noise. You can't help the way your legs squeeze impossibly tight around him. Can't stop the familiar tingle from settling into your core, spreading down into your thighs. 

You don't remember when the babbling started, but you can hear the sound of your name twisting through the air, chanting beneath his breath like a melody. His prickly cheek rubs against yours, and you just know that it's going to leave your skin raw, but you can't bring yourself to pull away. 

"'m gonna..." the rasp of his voice has you clamping tighter around him. A whimper slips off his tongue. "I—"

He doesn't need to finish that sentence. One look is all you need. 

You are, too. 

There's no need for you to reach down and touch yourself. His cock alone is enough to have you crumbling like a house of cards, burying your head into the crook of his neck, unable to muffle every little noise he punches out of you. Downright merciless as he rubs into those sensitive little nerves over and over and over and—

A ghost of wind is enough to push you over the edge. Tumbling over the edge and into the abyss, the world around you going quiet as you cum around his cock. Not a sound breaking past your lips, head swirling round and round until you can no longer tell which way is up. 

You're only distantly aware of the sudden stalling of Rhett's hips, pushing up into you so hard that he lifts you up. Can't miss the sensation of his cock twitching, his cum spilling into your pussy, rope after rope of it, so much that you think you can feel it pooling inside of you.

A drop of rain hits your shoulder. Cold. Biting into your skin with its sharp little teeth. 

The storm is so much closer now, thick clouds hanging overhead, blocking out the stars entirely. Electricity arcs across the sky as you begin to lift yourself up before your body is even ready to move. 

Rhett's cock slips out of you with an awkward noise, slapping audibly against his belly. Shit, you can already feel it beginning to spill out, don't know how you plan to get home without making a mess of your clothes. 

A groan sounds from below you. "So fuckin' full of it," the soft tip of his cock presses back into you, and you don't need to look to know that Rhett's eyes are fixated on the obscene sight of his cum leaking out of you. "God damn."

"Well, don't...mmh, don't keep pushing it in," but your complaint is futile, and you're making no effort to try and stop him. No point in it, you suppose; it's not as if you can clean yourself up out here. 

He chuckles at that. You think the stars have secretly gathered in his eyes, sparkling in those deep blues. "Can't do nothin' 'bout it now."

"Hold on!" Your giggles echo through the kitchen, wet feet stumbling across the tile. "I can't move that fast!" 

But Rhett's hand keeps tugging you along, sliding around the corner and into the hallway. Water pours from his hair and shoulders, speckling across the floor, leaving a trail in his wake. A mess that you'd complain about if not for your own soaked clothes, so cold that you've gone entirely numb. 

Lights flicker overhead, power fading in and out as the storm rages on. Rain striking the windows so hard that you can hear it, even as you fumble down the hallway. Wet socks slide against the tile as you try to turn, your shoulder bumping into Rhett's. His hip smacks into the door frame. Your feet tangle. 

"We ain't never doin' that again," he's stumbling toward the shower, reaching for the knobs. Twists until he can't crank the hot water up any hotter. Something, anything to melt away the ice that's about to freeze over your skin.

You reach for the hem of your shirt, the fabric clinging to you like a second skin. "I thought you liked having sex outside."

"I do," he pauses, pulling the material over your head. It audibly hits the floor, the beginnings of yet another mess. "I don't like downpours 'n hail!" 

The red mark on his forehead is only just beginning to bloom, sure to darken as the night rages on. It's a little too high up to be blamed on a bar fight, but you're sure he'll find a way to play it off when his momma asks about what happened. 

Your pants are on the floor before he can finish getting his flannel off, not a care in the world for where they land. Your mind only has enough room for one thought at a time: hot water. A cloud of steam greets you as you step into the shower. The water has yet to hit your skin, and yet you can already feel yourself melting, the heat eating away at the invisible frost that has long since settled upon you. 

It's almost too hot, the spray seeming to burn little holes straight through your chest, and your toes sting. Such a sharp contrast compared to the heat that you wonder if it'll eat you alive.

A firm chest presses against your naked back, familiar arms settling loosely around your waist. "Y' jus' gonna leave me behind like that?" His attempt at sounding irritated doesn't miss your ears, but it dies before he can finish the sentence. Isn't helped by the kisses that appear on your shoulder.  

"If you can ride bulls, then you can climb into the shower by yourself," leaning back into him, your eyes fall closed. It might be the first time you've blinked since the rain began to fall, starting the moment you'd begun gathering the blankets into your arms. Mother Nature's punishment for not taking her warnings seriously.

Rhett hums, the vibration tickling the side of your neck. "Then." Kiss. "I should probably." Kiss. "Tell you." Kiss. "That we didn't bring any clean clothes..." Kiss. "Or towels."

...the towels. 

Your groan bounces off the tile walls and out into the hallway, probably even ventures past the closet and out into the living room. Why did it never occur to you to grab towels and clothes before you climbed in here?

"We'll rock paper scissors it after we rinse off," it's the same solution he uses for every conflict, but you find yourself agreeing with the idea anyway. 

He loses. Never deviates from playing rock, even when he knows full well that you will forever play paper. You're not sure if he's waiting for the day that you crack and play scissors or if he's intentionally losing, but you've got the sneaking suspicion it's the latter. He's way too content to dart into the hallway for towels, returning with more than either of you could possibly need.

"Did you grab every towel in the closet?" You laugh as you pull one of them around your shoulders, hugging it to yourself like a blanket. It's too damn cold in this house.

"No," then, grinning, "I left one behind."

He's gone before you've finished drying off, comes back one more time with your favorite pajamas in his hand, then disappears into the darkness of the house. Where he's gone, you're not sure; it's hard to tell when he never turns any of the lights on, navigating based on muscle memory alone. 

But you can hear the television turning on, your forgotten movie picking up right where it left off. 

"Rhett?" Calling out as you mosey out of the bathroom.

Damp carpet squishes beneath your feet, frigid and not at all what you expected to find yourself standing on. Only seems to get worse as you make your way down the hall, hopelessly soaked with rainwater. The old fan is already out, cool air blowing across the worst of it, licking at your heels when you step past.

Rhett's pale shoulders stick out like a sore thumb in the living room. All too visible as he moves around, hands audibly patting something down on the couch. Blankets. The ones off the bed, out of the closet, hell, he's grabbed the decorative one off the rocking chair. All to build an oversized nest, high around the edges, like he's trying to keep something out. So focused on the task at hand that he doesn't notice you until it's too late.

"Jesus!" His naked back jumps away from you as if burned by your kiss.

"Watcha buildin'?" Your speech mimicking his just a little more than usual, already leaning in to press a second kiss in between the knobs of his spine. Rhett twists in your arms before you can land a third, the swell of his chest mere inches from your lips now.

You'll smooch him here, too. 

"Our last line of defense," his giggle rides on the coattails of another roll of thunder. "Jus' in case that storm knocks out the power 'n steals our heat."

You don't realize his arms are around you until he's falling toward the couch, taking you right along with him, landing in a messy heap on top of the blankets. A box of candy rattles behind your back. Someone bumps into the remote, the movie pausing on the television screen. 

A piece of the candy bounces off your chin, narrowly misses landing back in Rhett's hand. You find it squished between your chests, pushing it between his parted lips. 

"Y' gonna keep force feedin' me candy?" He asks, that little candy rolling across his tongue as he speaks. Wonder if you'll be able to taste it if you kiss him. 

You lean in, nuzzling your noses together. "It's my new party trick."

His eyes roll so hard that you hope they'll get stuck. 

[spectorgram]

rooftop

dick grayson x f! reader content: nsfw implications but not actual nsfw word count: 1.0k

The brisk autumn breeze feels good against your skin as you climb up onto the rooftop of the Gotham Museum of Art, necklace in hand. You peer down at it, the ruby and sapphires winking back at you in the moonlight. It’s beautiful and you’re sure Selina will be able to raise its price even higher.

You stretch your arms up, enjoying the pull in your back, and you’re about to make your egress when your ears prick up. The sound of footsteps makes you smile; how considerate of him to announce his arrival. “Lovely night we’re having,” Nightwing says from behind you.

“Perfect for a nighttime stroll, no?” you reply.

“Looks like you’re here for a little more than that, Pantheress,” he says. 

You finally turn to face him, shamelessly drinking him in. The black and blue suit clings to him like a second skin and you bite the corner of your lip, meeting his eyes with a cheeky grin. “You’re more than welcome to join me on my walk,” you tell him.

Nightwing smiles back at you. “Sure thing,” he says. “I’ll just need to take that, though.” He motions to the jewelry in hand. 

“If that’s your condition, I guess we’ll have to take a rain check.” 

“I still can’t let you leave.”

“Aww, you like me that much, birdy?”

He gives you an exasperated look. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

You hum, pretending to think as you stalk toward him. His eyes follow your moves and he doesn’t move, even as your chest brushes against him. You glance at him. What color are his eyes under that mask, you wonder. You imagine that they’re electric blue, just as pretty as the rest of him. “How about this?” You move your arm behind your back, tightening your grip on the necklace. “We do this my way.”

And in a flash, you take off. You leap from building to building, Nightwing not too far off. You slow just a little bit to glance back when the sound of footsteps disappear behind you. You smirk to yourself, but as you jump for another rooftop, a body intercepts you. 

Nightwing twists his body to take the brunt of the force and you tumble on top of him. You hastily try to regain footing but he flips, pinning you beneath him. You realized belatedly that the necklace is no longer in your hand, your head lifting to look around. Then, you see his Nightwing’s hand. You make one, quick grab at it but he’s faster, jerking his arm away, prompting you to sigh, “Thought we were having fun, Wing.”

“There’s nothing fun about theft, Pantheress.”

“You and I both know that rich assholes won’t be hurting too much from the loss,” you hiss at him.

“Stealing isn’t right,” he says firmly, “no matter what.” 

You roll your eyes. “But I don’t see you locking up any millionaires who are pushing people out of their neighborhoods and building luxury properties on top of them.”

“That’s because it’s within the confines of the law, and even if I don’t agree with it, it’s still legal.”

You scowl and swipe at him, the retractable claws in your gloves unsheathing. He dodges but the way he shifts his weight gives you just enough time to shove him off you and put some distance between the two of you. 

“You never go down without a fight,” he says, pocketing the necklace — you’re not even sure how it’s possible in that skin-tight suit — and reaching for the two escrima sticks strapped to his back. 

“I thought that’s what you like about me.” 

He lunges for your first and you leap away, bobbing and weaving underneath the swing of his escrima sticks. You claws graze the fabric of his suit, tearing a hole in the sleeve. You aim a kick at his chest but he drops one of his batons, using his free hand to grab your ankle and spin you off balance. Before you fall, you manage to grab him, pulling him down with you. You land on your chest, a strangled grunt leaving your lips as Nightwing lands on top of you. “We need to stop meeting like this,” you pant.

He snorts in amusement on top of you, sitting up. You scoff when you hear the clink of handcuffs. “Is that really necessary?”

“You know theft is a crime. I have to take you in.” As he tries to fasten one cuff around your left wrist, you start squirming, hoping your movements would throw him off guard. Instead, he holds a firm's hand on the center of your back. “Stop moving,” he hisses. It takes you a beat to realize there’s something hardening against your back.

You snicker, “Guess you really are happy to see me, birdy.”

For once, there’s no clever quip to come out of his mouth. You squirm more, delighting in the way he struggles to deal with you and stopping any sound from escaping. Then, Nightwing’s weight is thrown off you suddenly and the sounds of a small scuffle reach your ears. You take the chance to see Selina standing behind you. She tilts her head at you, smirking. “I’ve never had to bail you out like this, kitten.”

“My hero.” You peer over his shoulder. “Is the Bat following you?”

“Should be here shortly,” she says. “So we should take our leave.”

Before Nightwing has a chance to stop you again, Selina ushers you to the edge of the building and you two leap, disappearing into the night. 

Dick curses as he watches you fade into the darkness below. Bruce lands beside him, and Dick resheaths his escrima sticks. “They got away,” Bruce says, though he doesn’t sound too unhappy. 

“Yeah,” Dick replies. Next time, he’ll catch you. The thought excites him, makes him antsy for the next encounter. “At least we got the necklace back.” When he reaches into his pocket, he finds empty space. “Shit.”

a/n: i don’t think this is my finest work and it’s a bit rushed but i really wanted to write for one of my favorite and most beloved characters so i hope you enjoyed

[mozawesterburg]

the light and hope had died in his eyes

And then he bunked it. Just like Edward used to.

(Edward, who had been so good at swallowing his hurt and being considerate to everyone... until he'd finally found the limit of his endurance… 

The light and the hope had died in his eyes, that first day she rolled onto the turntable. Thomas had been right there. He had seen it.)

" — call her her name," he finished, lamely. Gift for @mean-scarlet-deceiver 

Too much emotion and nowhere to dump it, so to tumblr we go! I got inspired (the idea, and the basic understanding of how to format something like this, haha) after looking back at THIS lovely art from Ed and Tom’s scene from Ch. 2. Seriously late to react to both the fic and this fanart, but... amazing. Props to @edwards-exploit

Let me (over)explain:

Oliver was tricky. No 11.’s  got a lot of little details going on for an engine that hahaha doesn’t exist. o.o

It might be apparent the last two panels are where I dumped most of the effort, lol. It’s important that Edward's eyes start with the top of her funnel, because there’s an envy-able amount of smoke coming from it. (edit: only after drawing this do I learn that apparently smoke from the funnel may be more of a US thing, which I guess is why the funnels never really give off a significant amount of smoke in the show. ahh shit well...)

Edward, seeing this new, young engine, pretty, shiny, steaming and smoking with a fire, while he sits dirty, mangled, old and with a firebox that hasn’t been lit in years. Among too many other things this AU plays with, it's fascinating to think of a timeline where a character, (one of the Steam Team no less) would become a rival just by circumstance of her being there. It’s not said whether or not Edward knew a new engine was coming at all, but it’s more potent to think that seeing her was the point at which he realized he’s fucked.

There he sits in the shadows of the shed (he’s pulled out near the doors when actually he might still be sitting way back in the engine berth. But for the sake of impact, let's pretend his buffers are in line with the doorway). It’s autumn. The leaves are falling. The season of death is rapidly approaching. The sun is setting on another day of limbo for poor Eddie. And with the last glimmer of sunlight sparkling on her brand new livery, here comes IT. All IT can do is offer an awkward smile in regards to ITS move there and no inherent intent to harm, but it won’t matter. They’ve already decided IT is an enemy. A threat to the originals who worked and built the main railway from the ground up. She couldn’t be any more hated if she was the first diesel in a wave of them coming for all their heads.  She is the mushroom cloud in Edward’s eye. BUT, this is all from Thomas’ memory of that moment. He can only read the expressions and interpret what’s going on in Edward’s mind via how well he knows him. I think it’s fair to say he didn’t completely imagine Edward reacting to Emily as the direct threat to himself. But the severity/apparentness of the expression could entirely be exaggerated in Thomas’s memory, based on his own strong feelings on the matter. >OH SHIT I forgot to account for the curvature of Edward’s eyes and Emily’s appearance in the reflection, hence the last minute edit there. >various shading to hide mistakes, as you do. >In order to lead into Thomas stumbling into his reverie I had to include at least Oliver’s line that refers to her as “the replica.” That said, I wasn’t sure how to depict his expression, so I defaulted to an eye roll. That’s not quite a ‘slight’ expression, per the contest around the dialog, but. The characters could have even deeper age lines around the eyes and cheeks considering how old they are, (and how rough they’ve had it in this universe). Had to include the bags under Thomas’s eyes because the LAD IS TIRED. >>which probably contributes to why he dropped into a cinematic sentence-breaking reverie Those who know the fanfic already know how good it is, but if you’re into angst and idea of these characters dropped into a grounded but gritty alt. reality, this fanfic is your fix. Jobey expanded on the universe presented by Future Rust's It's a Splendid Life in heartbreaking detail. Run to that story, then run to this!! (new to tumblr so please forgive/feel free to mention any format errors)

[unclewaynemunson]

It's October when the autumn chill officially dawns over Hawkins. Wayne wakes up to fogged-up windows, and his bones protest loudly when he stretches to get up and make himself some warm coffee. It's too early in the year to turn on the heating; if they start that now, they'll be bankrupt before it's even January. So while the coffee is brewing, he shrugs off the old shirt he uses as a pajama, and puts on as many layers as he'll need to keep himself warm: first an undershirt, then a soft flannel, and then a faded brown sweater that's been sitting uselessly in his closet all through the summer. It's patched up at the elbows to conceal the holes that have fallen into it, but still warm and comfortable, which is all Wayne can really ask for.

'Ed, got coffee for ya!' he calls out when he's changed into his jeans and the coffee is almost ready.

Some muffled noises sounding vaguely like 'lemmesleeeeeep' emerge from the other side of the thin wall.

Wayne chuckles as he turns on the gas, deciding he might as well make scrambled eggs for breakfast; a thinly-veiled excuse to heat up the trailer by using the stove.

'And eggs in a minute!'

Another string of muffled sounds emerges from Eddie's bedroom, 'stoocold' being the only semi-decipherable one.

For a moment, Wayne feels guilty. He knows, deep down, that this is nothing more than his Eddie being dramatic. But that doesn't change his wish that he could simply turn on the heat without giving it a second thought and make Eddie's Sunday morning just slightly more comfortable. He doesn't care about the chill in his own bones, he's had worse. He doesn't care about the condensation on the windows, that is now changing into thick droplets that are gliding down to the windowsill, leaving traces of soot in their wake. He's not even sure if he'd ever want to live in a real, proper house. But the one thing he does want, is to get his nephew through the season warm and comfortable without having to count every penny.

Eddie finally emerges from his bedroom, with only his head peeking out of the blanket he has wrapped himself in, and a sleepy look in his eyes. The phone starts ringing just as Wayne greets him, and Eddie, who's closer to it, shuffles towards it.

Almost immediately after he picks up, his eyes shed their drowsy look and light up in a way that Wayne has come to know all too well, while his mouth curves into a wicked grin.

'No, sir, he's not here,' Eddie says into the phone, his eyes wide and innocent. 'When he didn't come home last night, I assumed he'd be spending the night with you. I guess he must have a secret lover we both don't know about.'

Wayne abruptly turns off the gas and barges towards Eddie, who barks out a laugh while he jumps back as far as the phone cord allows him.

'Just joking, Mr. Clarke, he is here!' he calls out in an annoyingly triumphed tone. 'And he can't wait to talk to you, here he is!'

Wayne playfully shoves Eddie against the wall as he takes the phone from him.

'Sorry for my menace of a nephew, Scott,' he says.

He hears a chuckle on the other side of the line, slightly distorted through the horn. It's as if his hand has a will of its own, clenching around the phone and pressing it almost painfully close to his ear; like he'll be able to catch the sound of Scott's laughter better if he could only press himself tighter to his phone.

'Luckily I'm used to middle schoolers, nothing I can't handle here.'

Wayne snorts and turns towards Eddie, who is now shamelessly staring at him from above his blanket-cocoon a few steps away from him.

'Scott says you should stop behavin' like a damn middle schooler,' he grumbles.

'Yep, that sounds exactly like something sweet Scott Clarke would say,' Eddie remarks, that devilish grin still plastered on his face.

'What can I do for ya, Scott?'

'Well, I just came downstairs for breakfast, and when I looked outside, I realized this is our first proper fall day.'

Wayne directs his gaze to the wet kitchen window. He hadn't even thought to look through the droplets on the glass; but now that he does, he realizes Scott is right. The trees around Forest Hills are definitely showing more yellow and orange than they did yesterday, and some patches of fog are still lingering a few feet above the wilted grass and muddy roads. The skies are a light shade of gray, telling Wayne that even though it'll be cold, it won't likely start raining anytime soon.

'I was wondering if you have any plans for today?' Scott's continues in his ear. 'We could go for a walk in the forest, admire the colors, see if we can find some cool mushrooms... What do you think?'

Wayne wonders whether he's imagining the nervous edge to Scott's voice, merely hearing in there what he wants to hear.

'I'm free all day,' Wayne says. He clamps the phone between his ear and his shoulder, needing both his hands to fumble around in his chest pocket and find a cigarette and a lighter. 'You wanna come over after breakfast? I can make a thermos of coffee and we can head into the woods here, I know a nice path around Lov- around the lake.' He can feel Eddie's gaze burning on him, but he refuses to look at his nephew, instead closing his eyes as he places the cigarette between his lips and lights it.

Scott is kind enough to pretend like he didn't notice Wayne's unfortunate stutter.

'A walk around the lake sounds perfect,' he says instead, his voice still as chipper as ever. 'I'll be at yours in an hour. Enjoy your breakfast with Eddie.'

'Real smooth, Uncle Wayne.' Eddie's amused voice cuts through the silence as soon as Wayne has hung the phone back on the hook.

'Don't be ridiculous now, boy,' Wayne grumbles. 'He's my friend.'

'With whom you're gonna hang out at Lover's Lake. Like friends do.' The sarcasm is dripping from Eddie's voice.

'I liked you better when you were still asleep in your bed,' Wayne remarks.

Eddie laughs loudly. 'You shoulda thought about that before you made me come out of it to freeze to death.'

Wayne crosses his arms and shoots Eddie an unimpressed look. 'Are you gonna do anything today or just spending your whole day makin' fun of me?'

Eddie shrugs – or rather, that's what Wayne supposes is happening underneath the moving blanket. 'I'm gonna take the kids to the pumpkin farm with Steve.' He lowers his voice and leans closer towards Wayne, continuing in an conspiratorial voice, 'We call that a date. Maybe you and Mr. Clarke should stop being cowards and come join us. Make it a double date.'

Wayne doesn't say anything; he simply rolls his eyes and walks back to the stove, lighting the gas underneath the frying pan again so he can direct all his attention to his eggs.

---

An hour later, Eddie has left – with a pit stop at the Mayfields' trailer – to pick up Steve. Wayne has done the dishes, dried the windows and filled a thermos with fresh coffee. By the time Scott parks his car in the spot where Eddie's van had been earlier, most of the fog outside has disappeared. Wayne watches him get out of his car through the kitchen window, but he doesn't come outside just yet, afraid it'll make him seem too eager.

Scott knocks on the door and then lets himself in, like he's done many times over the summer that now lies behind them. He's wearing a woolen coat in a dark gray color, with a simple black scarf around his neck.

Wayne feels his hands twitch with the desire to wrap themselves around Scott's waist, to tug him close and bask in the warmth of his body. Would his scarf feel as soft as it looks? Would he smell like fresh autumn air? Would his touch be as warm as the quilt on his couch?

'Oof, it's chilly in here,' Scott remarks, rubbing his hands together.

'I don't get cold that fast.' It's only partly a lie.

'I like the sweater.'

The easy and earnest compliment catches Wayne off-balance; he doesn't know what to do, where to look, where to keep his hands. He wants to escape Scott's approving gaze and hide away somewhere no one can perceive him.

Instead, he clears his throat and thanks the heavens for the fact that Eddie has already left.

'Ready to go?' he asks.

They head into the woods and Wayne leads the way as they stray further from the trailer park. Their feet easily find a rhythm that feels natural to both of them, avoiding the bigger puddles on the path and stopping every now and then to admire toadstools, dewy cobwebs, and fallen leaves in beautiful colors.

As they make their way around Lover's Lake, Wayne ponders what exactly the difference is between what Eddie would call a hangout, and a date. He doesn't exactly have a lot of friends who he hangs out with. He has his colleagues at the plant, of course, who he'd always kept at a distance, which proved him right when they were all too ready to come for his Eddie last March. He has some neighbors he's friendly with; he helps them with a thing or two around their trailers and in return they share a beer or a smoke with him. But he wouldn't call that real friendship either. He has learned long ago how dangerous it can be to let people come too close. Some people only wanted certain things from him, others would judge him when they'd find out a thing too many about him. And the pain of losing a rare, true friend became all too clear to him back in Vietnam.

After that, he mainly stuck to himself. And then it became him and Eddie against the world. He never needed anyone else. He was good at being alone, after all. There was a certain level of comfort to be found in loneliness.

So this thing with Scott – whatever it is – is not something he can compare to anything else. The only thing he knows is that it's definitely not lonely. And that he doesn't want to mess it up and lose the only true friend he's had in decades.

'What's on your mind?' Scott asks when they sit down on a fallen tree at the edge of the lake to enjoy their coffee. 'You've been quiet.'

'I'm always quiet,' Wayne points out.

It makes Scott chuckle softly before he takes a sip of his coffee.

'Not as quiet as you think,' Scott says. 'Today, you're thinking loudly. I can almost hear your thoughts.'

Wayne carefully places his own mug on the tree, then grabs himself a cigarette and lights it, all to buy himself some time. But even after a long drag and another sip of coffee, he still doesn't quite know how to voice his thoughts.

'Was just admirin' the fall colors,' he decides to say instead, when the silence starts taking too long.

He can practically feel Scott's eyes on his face as he stubbornly stares over the water in front of them.

'It really is the perfect day to do that,' Scott finally says. Apparently he has decided he'll let Wayne get away with it this time. Or maybe it isn't like that. Maybe he decided that he'll allow Wayne the time he needs to sort out his thoughts before he can voice them. Maybe he understands that Wayne sometimes needs a while before he's ready to talk about things. Maybe he decided that he didn't want to intrude. Maybe he decided that he values spending time with Wayne, no matter if they're talking or sitting in silence. And maybe this fall will be a little less cold than the ones Wayne has gotten used to, because when he risks a glance towards his left, he sees Scott wearing a smile that's appreciative of the nature around them. It's a smile that warms Wayne from the inside, in a way that the heater in his trailer has never managed to do.

[minniesmutt]

✧ ━━━ THE SUMMONING ✧ ━━━ CW: WAR, INSOMNIA, TEASING, SNEAKING AROUND ✧ ━━━ WC: 1.6K

Felix barely had much time to do anything, with war prep taking up all his time. He finally had found time to just sit and relax. He didn’t think the war would break out as quickly as it did. He had done everything he could to avoid it. But it became inevitable. He would be leading the Solar army into battle. He was thankful for the support from Changbin and Hyunjin— Duke of Summer and Spring courts respectively. He knew all the courts didn’t fully support the war but the current kings had forced them to choose a side.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when there was a knock on his bedroom door. Chan— his personal advisor and best friend— walked in, letter in hand. “From your princess,” he informed him as he handed the prince the letter.

“I thought Lunar had cut off their mailing except to Autumn and Winter Court?” Felix asked as he opened the letter

“Seungmin knows ways to get around it, I guess.” Chan shrugged

“Meanwhile I probably can’t get anything to her,” Felix sighed, reading the letter.

He could hear her concerned voice as he read her words. Pleading with him to be safe and to try and call off the war as best he could. He knew she was worried about the war and his safety. Even without her there and only a letter to say so, he knew. Knew he had to survive and try to fix the mess their fathers had created.

“We have two weeks left,” Chan reminded him

“I’m aware,” Felix sighed, getting up and putting the note away with the rest of her’s that he kept tucked away from all other eyes.

“Get some sleep while you still can, sir,” Chan told him before he left the room

Sleep. Not that the prince had been able to get any since war was declared. Millions of strategies, late-night meetings, worries. Everything just adding up to insomnia. He just laid back on the bed. Hoping this was a nightmare he would wake from.

Felix knew how to fight. He’d been training since he could walk but it never meant he wanted to. He would choose the peace option every time. Even now he was still trying to convince his father and the court to offer a peace treaty. Going as far as to draft a few himself.

But nothing. Rather he was criticized by his father for wanting peace. Told he should fight for everything he wanted. That he’d been blessed with power and he needed to use it. That’s not how Felix wanted to lead once he took the throne.

He was stuck deep in his thoughts before there was a tap on his window. He looked over, really wondering who was up on his terrace this late and how they got up there. Shocked to see Y/n there.

The prince jumped up from his bed and opened the door as quickly as he could. Pulling her into the room with him and closing the door behind them.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as he pulled her into a tight hug.

“I didn't know if my letter would get to you in time or at all,” Y/n told him as she held him.

“I got it,” Felix told her.

They two held each other for a few more moments before pulling away and looking at each other

“How did you get in the kingdom?” Felix asked

“There’s a gap in the patrol in the forest. I slipped through without issue,” Y/n informed him.

“I’ll make sure the gap remains there,” Felix smiled

“You look tired,” Y/n pointed out

“I haven’t been getting much sleep with the war coming,” Felix sighed as he pulled her over to the bed, sitting back and pulling her between his legs

“I should let you rest then.”

“You just got here.”

“But your health is more important.”

“You’re all I need to keep my health up.”

“Mmm smooth talking your way into making me stay longer.”

“Is it working?”

The two chuckled before Y/n placed her lips on his. Felix relaxed under her as they slowly fell back to the mattress. Limbs tangled together as Felix ran his hands up and down her thigh, the kiss slow but full of love.

“Do you ever wish we could just run away and be together,” Y/n asked her lover as he pulled away and rested his forehead against hers

“All the time but I think it would only further fan the flames of war.”

“You’re right,” Y/n sighed

“Hey,” Felix said, “I won’t die in this war.”

“Just don’t fight with my brother head-on, please.” Y/n begged

“I can’t promise that love.”

“Felix, please. Minho is a dirty fighter. He’ll do whatever he can to best you. I can’t lose you.”

“I will do my best to avoid conflict with him.”

“I’ll accept it. Just don’t die on me.”

“I won’t.” Felix pressed his lips to hers again.

The prince rolled her onto her back and hovered over her. Y/n smiled, bringing her hands up his blouse. Running her hands up his toned abs before bringing them back down to the waistband of his trousers. Felix moved his kiss down to her neck. Her fingers dipped past the waistband and the touch made Felix roll his hips against her and moan against her skin.

“Just love teasing me, huh?” Felix chuckled

“I do,” Y/n replied as she moved her hand down more

Felix smiled, two could play that game. He pushed up the fabric of her dress before dipping a hand between her thighs. Fingers rubbing down where her clothes cunt was. Eliciting a small mewl from her.

“Keep it down, princess.” Felix pushed the fabric of her undergarment to the side before a knock on the door tore them apart.

“It’s me Felix,” Chan’s voice came from the other side.

The two royals fixed themselves before Felix let Chan come in. “Did I interrupt something?” The advisor asked, knowing he did

“It’s fine, Chan. Did something happen?” Felix asked

“Your father wanted to ask you but I let him know you were resting. He asked me what you would think of moving the attack up by a week.”

“A week?!” Both royals practically yelled

“Shhhh. Y/n’s not supposed to be here and Felix, you're supposed to be asleep,” Chan shushed them

“We can’t. We have troops that aren't ready yet and we’re still gathering supplies,” Felix argued

“That’s what I told him. And he said if they died then more supplies for others.”

“Does he not care who dies in this war either?” Y/n asked

“‘Either’?” Both men asked

“My father is ready to attack at any time. Minho is the one holding the attack for the next two weeks,” Y/n explained.

“Is there a way to convince them to call off this war?” Chan asked

“I’ve tried,” Felix sighed

“Minho and I have talked about it but we can’t convince our father otherwise,” Y/n asked

“Prince Minho doesn’t want war?” Chan asked, a little shocked. The Lunar Kingdom prince had a reputation in battle. No one had won against him ever, some saying he served to enjoy battle

“No. He doesn’t see what good it would do for either kingdom. He called it a waste of supplies and resources as well. He doesn’t want it but he will fight it.”

“Just the kings want it then,” Chan sighed

“And they can’t be talked out of it,” Felix sighed

“Both of you should get some rest. Figure something out later,” Chan said before he left the room.

“I should head back home,” Y/n sighed, getting up from the bed

“I’ll help you sneak out,” Felix offered.

“You don’t need to, Felix.”

“No but I want as much time with you before I go to battle and this might be the last time we see each other for a while.”

“Don’t remind me,” Y/n sighed as Felix pulled her into an embrace.

“I’ll figure out something, I promise.”

“In two weeks? Maybe even shorter?”

“I’ll talk to my father and Chan in the morning. I’ll let you know when we get something figured out. Okay?”

“Alright,” Y/n agreed

Felix let the princess through the narrow servant's corridors. His hand clasping hers tightly, scared to let go. Even when they reached the end and it was time for them to separate again.

“Be safe getting back,” Felix said, but made no motion to let her go

“I will…”

Neither of them made a move to leave or let go of the other. Y/n wrapped her arms around him and the prince held her close. The war seemingly threatened them entirely.

“You can't die on me,” Y/n reminded him

“I won’t,” Felix told her

Y/n pulled away from the embrace, pulling her arms back and slipping one of her rings off her fingers. “Here.” She handed him the piece of jewelry to him

“Y/n…”

“Give it back to me when you come home.”

“Okay,” Felix agreed before pulling her back and slipped one of his own rings off and sliding it onto her hand. “Keep it safe till I’m back.”

“I will.”

Y/n kissed him one last time Before leaving the castle. Felix sighed as he watched her disappear, heading to her own castle. He looked down at the dainty ring in his hand before going back to his room. Be slipped the ring onto a chain t and clapped it around his neck. The couples promise to reunite no matter what.

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[gingervitus]

Davrin Week Day Seven: Free Day (SO SO LATE)

hello, friends, so this was originally meant to be my day 7 for Davrin week. I know this is a full week late, but better late than never I guess?

I just had this idea and couldn't get it out in writing until today.

It's mildly NSFW under the cut, but nothing wildly explicit

ANYWAY, here's my Davrin week finale for modern AU sillies a week late.

Ask Me - a Davrook ficlet (2,143 words)

It occurs to Davrin much later than it should that he should have asked Silvia if she needs to stop by her own place before heading back to his.

Why he thinks of it when she's sitting over him, fully nude and straddling his hips, he doesn't know.

Her fingers are splayed across his chest. A smirk is perched on her lips. He likes her–no, loves her–anywhere, but if he's to be honest, this may be where he likes her best. All big green eyes peeking through long pale hair. Staring at nothing but him. Wanting nothing but him. Those eyes all glassy and hazy watching him like he's the only goddamn thing in the entire universe. Not just another cog in the greater machine of life. Something bigger. Greater. Worthy of being showered in affection.

Nails trace across his chest. Featherlight with nails just barely grazing his skin. “What are you thinking about?” she asks, voice low and raspy. It was a similar question he had asked as she chewed on the appetizer of pierogies and onions she insisted on ordering when they stopped for dinner. She had been staring at him since they sat down. Even during brief lulls in conversation, she simply watched him. Making sure I’m really here. The words had been soft and filled with a gentle reverence he wasn’t used to. Also thinking about how I’m gonna ride you ‘til you see stars when we get home. That explanation was more on brand for Silvia as was the forkful of food shoveled into her mouth right after she said it.

He opens his mouth to answer but can only let a contented sigh out when she presses her lips just below his ear. The ends of her hair drag over his lips and chin, just under his nose, before falling over his throat. She's been using a different soap. The scent is earthy and bitter. Enticing. Spicy. But it also reminds him of being deep in the woods. Like pine needles in the middle of autumn. Fresh and green. But still sharp with a little sweetness underneath. Whatever it is, he wants to bury his face in her hair and stay there for days.

“Fuck, Silvie.” He can’t stop himself from tangling his fingers in her hair. Silky and smooth. Always down and in the goddamn way, but he loves it anyway. Even if he’s constantly pulling seemingly endless strands of hair off of all of his clothes and needing to snake his shower drain more often. Her lips are trailing down the column of his throat. Teeth nip against the pulse that is pounding in his ears. A wicked grin presses against his skin when he grips her hair tighter. “I’m thinking I fucking missed this.” He disentangles his hand from her hair in order to grasp her hips as they roll down to meet his. Fingers dig into the soft flesh of her ass, wanting nothing more than to pull those hips back down again and again. Distance must make something grow fonder at the very least because he hasn’t even been inside her yet and feels like he could combust. “Jesus Christ.” 

Palms flat against his chest, she pushes herself up to sit over him once more. While the loss of her lips on his neck is a disappointment, he isn’t too upset to run a hand over the curve of her hip and up her stomach. The pad of his thumb brushes over the underside of her breast. A sharp breath is sucked in through her teeth, but that doesn’t stop her lips from curling upwards. “Easy there, big guy,” she tuts, her middle finger running down the center of his chest. “We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

A long night ahead of them and many more ahead of them. Not bound by screens and distance. More nights like this. Physically here with him. Solid and warm under his touch. All the love and adoration that’s been building over the last three months with nowhere to go but a face on a screen has been threatening to overflow. Now that she’s here, he thinks that well will constantly be bubbling over. There aren’t enough hours in the day to express it all. 

He’s not sure he’ll get any sleep at all for weeks while he tries. 

Although, he will gladly spend his days utterly exhausted if his nights include her leaning over him like this. Hair is draped over one shoulder to keep out of his face. The lean muscles in her abdomen stretch with her as she reaches for his bedside table. She is a work of art in the lamplight. An oil painting created with such intent and care. Each brushstroke made with purpose. Each freckle and scar placed perfectly. Impossibly delicate and strong all at once. The very first moment he saw her he thought it and continues to believe it to this very day: she must be an angel.

“What’s this?” she asks playfully. When she returns to sit above him, a condom is held between her index and middle fingers of one hand and she holds a small wooden box in the other. He blinks up at her, a little dazed from the sheer overwhelm he’s been feeling since tumbling into bed half clothed. She grins. “Did you make me something else?” His stomach drops, and suddenly, the air in the room is a little too thick to breathe.

No, he hasn’t made her something else.

The box is reused because he hated the vessel the contents of said box came with. “Hey, put that back,” he scolds, reaching up to snatch the box only to have her shift out of his reach at the last moment. “Silvia, come on.”

Her brows raise, eyes shifting between the box and his face. “What is it?” she questions once more. An amused smile plays along her lips. While he might normally find himself entertained by her shit giving, he’s kicking himself for not moving this box elsewhere before she arrived. He reaches for the box again but she raises her arm just high enough for him to not be able to grab. “You’re being weird.”

No answer is going to be good enough for her to just give him the box back, so instead, he props himself up on an elbow to reach out for the box. She’s too quick, though, and shoves his cheek back down with the palm of her hand and he flops back onto his pillow. “Silvia,” he grumbles, still half mast and pressed up against her slick entrance all while slightly panicking over his nosyass girlfriend. “Give it back.”

“Just tell me what’s in it,” she insists. “Then we’ll get this show on the road.” He loves her so much. He loves that she loves to drive him nuts. He loves that she is always keeping him on his toes. He loves that she’s nosy. He loves so much about her, but this is not the time for those endearing qualities. “Davrin.”

He considers his options. He could tell her what’s inside at the risk of looking like a lunatic. He could tell her that it is, in fact, for her, but it’s meant to be a surprise for a much later date. He could tell her any myriad of things. Talk to her like a normal adult person, but obviously, that is too rational of a course of action. “Silvia,” he mutters. Pushing up on the ball of his hand, he lunges up to attempt to grab the box, which he should know better than to try.

With minimal effort, she dives onto the other side of the bed, box still very much in her hand. “Now, I have to find out,” she laughs, sitting on her knees beside him while she pries open the small box. He has half a mind to reach out one last time. After so many fruitless attempts, though, he resigns himself to what very likely could be the unceremonious end to their night. “I don’t know why…” The words die on her lips with the teasing grin she has been wearing as she stares down at the open box in her hand. “Davrin.”

Defeated, he falls back onto his pillow. This is not how the night is meant to play out. “You weren’t supposed to find that,” he mutters, eyes squeezing shut. “Not yet at least.”

It had been an innocent enough trip when he embarked on it. In all of their video calls, he had been thrilled to see the ring he made her placed on her middle finger. She seemed to wear it daily, which made his heart soar. A quiet confirmation of the commitment they had confirmed before she left. Clearly, it was a gift that she appreciated, but he felt the urge to do a little more. Rather than something homemade, he intended to find a necklace. Maybe a pair of earrings. Nothing crazy. Nothing too grand. Nothing that would leave her sitting naked and speechless in his bed.

But he saw this ring and knew it belonged to her. “I saw it and thought of you,” he explains without opening his eyes. He can picture it perfectly in his mind: an oblong diamond with a halo of smaller stones that gives an illusion of an ethereal sort of flower as well as small stones lining the thin golden band. There was no way he could have left the jeweler without it no matter how crazy it was to do so at this point. “I was planning on hanging onto it for a while.”

Silence doesn’t hang for very long before she responds, “A while?”

He lets out a huff. “Yeah, I don’t know,” he sighs. How long isn’t in his plan. There isn’t really a plan at all. He figures that is something that can come later. Likely closer to when it would be more acceptable to take this sort of jump. “Maybe like next year or something.” Over a nice dinner would be a great option. Sitting by candlelight enjoying something gourmet with a sweet chocolaty dessert. Or as they reach the summit of a hike. Overlooking a beautiful view to enjoy an even more beautiful moment. Or maybe just a normal day at home. Just enjoying each other’s company and taking the plunge during a warm lull in their evening.

Not six months into a relationship that’s been mostly spent apart.

If she wants to leave, he can’t blame her. Making this discovery certainly looks like him jumping the gun, and perhaps he is. He has always gone for the things that he wants. Waiting and biding his time has never made sense to him. When something feels right, he’ll go for it. Ultimately, those instances are mostly related to him and him alone. Packing up and heading off to school hundreds of miles away from home. Hopping on the first environmental related job he finds and hoping it can be a career. Purchasing a tiny house at an auction despite knowing none of the issues it might have internally. Bringing a dog–who is currently sitting sadly at the baby gate propped up in the bedroom doorway–home after meeting the little thing once. Bringing a girl he just met on a blind date back to his house and staying up all night talking to her about everything and nothing.

He has always said he’s willing to take risks to get to what he wants, but now every person who’s called him impulsive is making a lot more sense. 

“Ask me.” 

His eyes snap open, unsure if he heard her correctly or if he’s hallucinating. He looks to her, finding her staring back at him. “What?” he breathes. He knows what she said. It’s clear, but he needs to hear it again to be sure. To confirm that he’s not losing his goddamn mind.

“Ask. Me,” she repeats. The words are firm. Certain. His heart leaps into his throat. “Ask me.”

Three times for good measure. He lifts himself to sit in front of her. She stares at him, large eyes wide and glistening in the light. Sitting in bed buttass naked and semi-hard is not how he anticipates doing this. “Are you sure?” he asks, just needing that last bit of confirmation.

“Just ask me.”

He places his hand over hers beneath the ring box. “Silvia,” he starts. His heart is hammering so hard in his chest he worries she can feel it through his palm. “Will you–”

“Yes.” She leans in, kissing him softly. Unlike the wanton desperate kisses she laid upon him once the front door was closed, this one is gentle. Reserved in a way he isn’t used to seeing in her. “The answer is yes.”

[awkward-walking-potato]

An Easy Fix

It's a cool autumn evening when your car decides to break down in the middle of nowhere. The engine sputters, coughs, and then gives out entirely. You curse under your breath, pulling over to the side of the road. It’s getting dark, and the last thing you want is to be stranded here overnight.

After a few minutes of trying to get the car to start again, you give up. With a sigh, you grab your jacket, step out of the car, and start walking down the road. Not far ahead, you notice a large, looming structure in the distance. As you get closer, you realize it’s an impressive, mansion-like building. There's a sign out front that reads "Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters."

The place seems both welcoming and mysterious, but right now, it’s your best bet. You approach the entrance and ring the bell. After a moment, the door opens, and you’re greeted by a tall, muscular man with red-tinted glasses.

"Can I help you?" he asks, his voice calm but commanding.

"Yeah, my car broke down a little way back," you explain. "I was hoping someone here could help me out. I didn’t know there was a school in the area."

The man nods, considering your situation for a moment before introducing himself. "I'm Scott Summers. I can take a look at your car. Wait here."

A few minutes later, Scott comes out with a toolbox in hand. You lead him to your car, and he gets to work, carefully inspecting the engine. As he does, you find yourself watching him more than anything else. There's something magnetic about him, the way he moves, the quiet confidence in his actions.

"Looks like a simple fix," he finally says, pulling out a few tools. "You should be back on the road in no time."

"Thank you so much," you reply, genuinely grateful. "I wasn’t sure what I was going to do."

"No problem," Scott responds, glancing up at you. "It's what I do."

As he finishes up, the two of you make small talk. You learn a bit about the school, and he explains that it’s a place for students with unique abilities. The more you talk, the more you feel a connection growing between the two of you. There's an intensity in his gaze, even through those red glasses, that makes your heart race a little faster.

Finally, the car is fixed. You thank him again, but as you’re about to get in and drive off, you hesitate. You don’t want to leave just yet. There's something unspoken lingering in the air between you.

"Listen," he says, his voice a little unsteady. "I know this might sound crazy, but… would you want to come back to the school with me? I could show you around, maybe we could… talk some more?"

You pauses, considering his offer. Then nod slowly. "Yeah,I’d like that."

Back at the school, Scott gives you a brief tour, but it’s clear that neither of you is really focused on the history of the building or the curriculum. The tension between you is almost palpable. When you reach a more secluded area of the mansion, Scott stops walking, turning to face you fully.

"There's something about you," he says quietly, his gaze intense. "Something that… draws me in."

You take a step closer to him, your heart pounding in your chest. "I feel the same way."

Before either of you can say anything else, you close the distance between you, pressing your lips against his. The kiss is electric, filled with all the pent-up tension from the evening. Scott wraps his arms around you, pulling you close as the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more desperate.

One thing leads to another, and soon you find yourselves in one of the more private rooms of the mansion. The rest of the world fades away as you lose yourselves in each other, the connection you felt earlier blossoming into something intense, something undeniable.

Afterward, you lie together in the quiet, the only sound your breathing as you both come down from the high of the moment. Scott’s hand gently strokes your hair as you rest against him.

"I guess I owe you more than just a thank you," you murmur, a smile tugging at your lips.

Scott chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. "I think we’re even."

[theolmtales]

Autumn evening (Gender neutral)

Murro X Reader

You're looking for your companion after hearring about a fight.

Rated: Fluff

Warning: Getting partially crush by a boar.

Note: Just for a general understanding since I still haven't made a post about how I view this manor universe. Basically, everyone's canon game happened & they got stuck in the manor outside of time since than (there's a slight mention of canon game, which is why I say that.).

Also @committingcrimes-2047 (also love that name) made a post reminding me of my love for Murro. So I took a break from correcting my next os (which I totally did not start correcting...) to write something small for my man. So to every fellow Murro lover, here's some food. I really hope you guys like it. There will be more. I just don't know when.

If you got ideas for characters who don't have a lot written for, I'm open to hear them out & try to write about them.

The sound of the autumn leaves crunches under your feet. The breeze is getting colder by the days, the warm of summer fading like a distant memory. You make your way to the manor outskirts, heading into the woods and following the trail left by the person you’re looking for.

There had been an umpteenth clash between the survivors today. You hadn’t been there to witness it, but from what your heard, this time it was Mike and Naib. Mike is infamously known for snapping at anyone who brings back his bad memories or speak ill of Murro, his last relative. And with Naib and Murro not being on the friendliest term... You had a pretty good idea of what the fight must have been about.

What a shame… Only two more days and the record of days without any fight would have been surpasses. Guess it will stay at 8 days. Hey, everyone has their way of keeping themselves sane here.

With more than 40 people now stuck in this place, it was getting too crowded for you. You’d much rather be outside, away from all that noise. The sound of the wind among the branches was already making you feel better. Though that was not your main reason to be here this time.

Your eyes finally land on the person you’d been looking for. Leaves and twigs are entangled in his greying brown locks. His back turned to you as he crouches to the level of his companion, scratching him.

‘‘Trying to escape the noise again?’’ He asks you, without even looking back.

‘‘How do you always know it’s me?’’

That is not an understatement. Whatever the place or the number of people around him, he always knows that it’s you. He’ll call you’re name if you come up behind him or turn his head right at you as you walk into the room.

‘‘The way you walk.’’ He looks at you smiling as you crouch down beside him, joining the scratching session to his companion bliss. ‘‘I find the sound of your footsteps easy to recognize.’’

‘‘So that’s your secret. Can you recognize everyone?’’

‘‘Not at all. I usually have a general idea of who it might be, but the ones I can always recognize are you and most of the Hullaballoo’s. Naib’s too, but that’s another story.’’ He says his smile turning a little sour. You wince, knowing what he’s referring to.

‘‘Actually, I came to see if you were alright. I heard that Mike got into an argument or fight with Naib. Knowing you, you probably try to diffuse it, right? Since no one was injured.’’ You say taking a seat on some fallen birch. Murro joins you on your improvised bench, his companion ruffling himself before going to search on the soil for something to eat around here.

‘‘Ah, that…’’ He looks away, his hand scratching the back of his head as he thinks about what happened. You put your hand on top of the one that rest on the fallen tree.

‘‘I take it wasn’t just some bickering?’’

Murro sigh. ‘‘Mike found out that Naib was the one to kill me.’’

‘‘Oh… He didn’t know?’’

‘‘No, I always made sure not to bring it up and made excuses whenever he would ask me why I was so unease with him. I knew it would escalate and the last thing we need is more reasons to fight.’’ He presses his fingers into the wood, while letting you keep your hand on top of his.

‘‘No wonder shit got loose. Mike gets really aggressive whenever it concerns Hullaballoo and its people. Pretty sure he doesn’t like me being around you too much either.’’ You say half joking.

‘‘I’ll talk to him about it. Hullaballoo was his whole life and family. He’s very protective of what is left. But he shouldn’t be like that to you.’’

You put your head on his shoulder and intertwine your fingers together as you continue the conversation. ‘‘Meh it’s ok. What happened in the end? The fight I mean.’’

‘‘Oh, I just had to restrain Mike, Naib just ignored him. As long as people don’t become physical with him, he doesn’t react much.’’ His head comes to rest on top of yours as he squeezes your hand in return. ‘‘It’s getting Mike to calm down and drop it that was hard. I’m worried for the next time they’ll see each other.’’

Sensing the distress of his friend, Murro’s companion comes back and let himself drop on your feet. Pressing himself against your legs and resting his head on Murro’s lap to comfort him.

‘‘Oh boy…’’ You start. ‘‘I think my legs just got crushed into powder.’’

‘‘Wait until he gets overly excited and runs into you.’’ He says laughing.

‘‘Murro… Normally constitute people can die from that… Or at least fatally injured. I’m surprised you can still walk!’’ You say looking up at him with disbelief.

Murro avoids your look, thinking fast as he pets his companion manes. ‘‘He’s the runt of the litter.’’

‘‘That’s still pretty dangerous…’’ You sigh while smiling. ‘‘Oh well, I can’t be mad at you and even less at this cutie.’’ you say to his companion as you scratch his chin with your free hand. The companion seems pretty pleases with your scratches.

Murro looks at the two of you interacting. Warmth flooding in his chest at the sight of the two of you getting along so well. People finding boar cute didn’t run the street. And his boar was an important part of his family.

The two of you stay like that for a while. Taking in the cool breeze and resting on each others’ shoulders with your eyes closed. Thinking about nothing, just taking in the peace. And your legs getting more and more crushed as Murro’s companion was falling asleep.

It doesn’t take long for the dawn air to start settling in, and goosebump coming with it.

‘‘Should we head inside?’’ Murro asks you. Feeling cold too.

‘‘But the noiseeee…’’ You pout.

Murro’s sight. ‘‘You know that the manor is big enough for us to be away from the others? Even in the communal spaces.’’

‘‘Maybe for you, but everyone is so noisy in there. Even their silence is noisy. You’re the only one’s that’s not.’’

‘‘Alright, alright. But once it’s dark we go back inside. We’ll both catch a cold otherwise’’ he says with a sigh. But even with your eyes closed you can feel his smile. He also prefers to be out anyway. Put unlike you, the manor feels claustrophobic for him.

‘‘mmhm!’’ That’s your only answer as you nuzzle more comfortably into his neck.

You break the silence not long after.

‘‘You know, in books they said kissing makes you feel warms~’’

“‘Oh really?’’ He scoffs playfully at your sentence.

‘‘It doesn’t hurt to give it a try.’’

‘‘You know you don’t need to make up excuses to have more kisses. I was out in matches a lot these days. I missed you too.’’

‘‘I have no idea what you’re talking about’’ You answer playfully as he rolls his eyes playfully.

His face comes looking for yours. His lips getting to yours softly, as you lift you head for a better access. The tip of his mustache tickling your skin during your exchange of soft kisses. You nibble at his lips teasingly, your free hand going up to rest on his face. Your fingers intertwine in his wild beard while your thumb caress his cheek.

The air around you two gets warmer and you open your mouth to let him in. His own hand going to your neck as he gets a taste of you. Something he’s been longing for some time now.

Unable to move your legs, the position isn’t the most comfortable, but right now it doesn’t matter. You just feel great with him.

Soon you both part ways to take in some air. You close your eyes as Murro caress the back of your neck with his thumb. Resting your forehead against each other. The sounds of frogs signaling the night fall.

‘‘It’s time to go.’’ He says reluctance in his voice.

‘‘We can’t wake up your companion. That would be so cruel!’’

‘‘We said, at night we go back.’’

‘‘You never specify when during the night~’’

‘‘…’’ He should have seen that one coming.