#i need to draw more things so i can write more things

[zodiac-blood]

Like as someone who would definitely fall under the category of "is asexual with no sexual attraction but still does it anyway" I completely understand the notion of "hey it's nice to understand that not all ace people are sex repulsed" but also as someone who also considers themself gay (in a mlm way) (in a tertiary attraction kinda way) and has a girlfriend its like. But I've never seen anyone say any of the gay men in media I relate to can also date women without feeling attracted to them. Its like.... So??? Give me a reason aroaces are the only time there are exceptions that are respected that ISN'T just the the amatonormative idea of ""dating & sex is just natural"" and that allowing this exception means people can still center their stories around dating and sex.

This probably is because allo queers, even if being queer, can still abide by the amatonormative idea of "everyone needs to want/pursue a relationship and (romantic&sexual) love is the most important feeling", so even if yes, a gay man is not abiding by the cishet standards of attraction he can still have a "normal" love story of falling in love and pursuing that interest. Also additionally that aroaces fall outside of the "sexuality binary" (the weird idea that the only sexualities are "exclusive attraction to men" and "exclusive attraction to women" and that anything outside of that is not valid) A romance & sex repulsed Aroace cannot fufil any part of the amatonormative expectation and so exceptions are only allowed in the case that it makes the most important thing about their life still center around romance and sexuality. (Of course- exceptions aren't normally allowed like the fact no one gets I can be gay and have a girlfriend but that exceptions not accepted because it doesn't fit the sexuality binary)

Cause like. Most Allos can understand/relate to the concept of not feeling attracted to a certain gender (like het men don't feel attracted to men but can understand the concept of a gay man not feeling attracted to women under the basis of "its like me but reversed") but they don't have any point of easy reference to relate to no attraction at all so they don't really even try. If they can't relate to it then they don't feel the need to change their worldview to allow it.

Anyway as I said; I would fall under the category of "aroace that is in a relationship" (and not even because of the tertiary attraction) so I totally understand there are people who are like me. And yes I think having that sort of relationship is valid- I mean I'm literally living in one- but its very telling that every aroace character always has this same exact debate but you don't see ANY discussion about biromantic homosexuals or any form of split attraction and dating without attraction in allo characters.

Unfortunately I don't know that many canonically aroace characters- other than Percy (canon ace and Jello said she may also be aro) & Howie (aroace) from Epithet Erased and Lilith (aroace) from the Owl House. Didn't get into toh fan spaces so idk about that but I know I definitely have seen posts about shipping Howie and Percy (sometimes together bc of their rivalry - but other ships are more common.) And yeah Percy is only stated to be ace and "potentially aro" and not explicitly aroace- still definitely have seen many a Percy x Howie or explicitly sexual Ramsey x Percy / Zora x Percy going around so :v

Even if I am in a relationship the way I go about my relationship is a lot different than what allos go through- yet every time in fiction an aroace character is in a relationship its written exactly how allo relationships are. (Though I tend to be romance repulsed so I don't read much of that anyway lol). I do love that other aros who are more romance favourable than me like to write/draw relationships that fit how they live- but when allos write/draw it a lot of time they don't take care in actually considering how that would absolutely affect the dynamic or that there are some characters that just don't want any sort of romantic or sexual relationship at all.

I'm probably going to end up writing my own post abt this further so I don't derail but; also the whole idea of "split attraction and the ability to be not sexually attracted but not sex repulsed in a relationship is only an asexual thing" and not just like. A broad attraction thing that anyone can experience. Definitely is also aided by &/ partially the cause of these exceptions only being applied to aroace folk.

-Toby (they/them) & Bias (he/they)

the way fandoms are desperate to make all aroace characters romance and sex positive but then dont do anything remotely similar to any other identity is astounding. hmm i wonder why

PLEASE dont derail this about shipping characters of other identities please let this one post be about an aroace struggle

[redwinelew]

knee socks | lewis hamilton

summary | singer!y/n released a song which exposes lewis' lack of attention toward her in their relationship and he isn't too pleased with it.

warnings | 18+. smut. oral (f receiving), orgasm denial, vaginal sex, dirty talk, lewis being a little mean, english is not my first language, pls lmk what else i missed

author's note | i have nothing to post rn and this has been sitting in my drafts so weeks so here you go. lmk if u guys enjoy this and if u want me to write more written fics.

lewis is a private man, he made that clear all throughout his life, since the first world championship trophy was handed to him, the moments everybody's eyes in the world started to set on him, following his every move, to this day. he doesn't like channeling his personal matters to the public. sure there are a lot of people who'd be interested to know, journalists who would sell their souls for an exclusive interview with him, but nothing can make him give up his peace anymore. he had his moments when he was younger. everything was open to interpretation for the media and fans. but as he gets older, things changed. private life should stay private.

you are a musician. and it's risky, dating a musician. he's seen it. he's been with one, and he is one. he thought he already knew, he thought he understood what he was getting himself back into. you are different from his ex. you make your own music, write your own songs, not afraid to be vulnerable through your art, never care however fans and media are going to interpret them. they'll never know the truth. it's none of their business anyway. he doesn't regret dating you, though. nothing could make him regret being with you. he wouldn't trade it even for his 8th championship.

but deep down, lewis knows this day will come. where a little inconvenience happens in your relationship was enough to set you off completely. the day where you stopped listening to the logical part of your brain and follow your heart instead. the day you pissed off enough to finally say fuck it.

in your defense, you were so caught up in your feelings. part of you also honestly didn't care. you are a singer, a musician, as much as he is. this is how you express yourself. he should have known that by now. if he didn't want the whole world to know how fucking busy he is with the race season to the point where he never spent time with you anymore, he should have pay more attention to you.

you would have argued with that if only you could form a single coherent sentence right now. but all you could say was—

"please...."

do not ask how long has this been going on. he could lie and say hours and you'll believe it. he could ask you to do anything and you'll obey. it's not like you have a choice. if it pleases him, if it will somehow get you the release you have been desperately craving, fucking hell, you'll do it. that's how it is right now. you, half naked on the bed. pants discarded somewhere on the carpeted bedroom floor. panties gone to fuck knows where. his old band t-shirt that you're wearing is pushed up, exposing your belly and almost your chest.

him? in between your legs. inked hands holding your thighs open for his tongue to explore your folds in every way he knows, drawing all kinds of sounds out of you, pushing you to the edge again and again but not quite giving you the release you've been desperately needing. not after what you said about him in the song, no.

a whine escapes your lips yet again when he pulls himself off of you just as you're about to reach another peak. he looks up, a smirk decorating his face as his tongue licks your arousal from his thick lips.

bastard.

"i didn't ask you to beg." he replies calmly, caressing your inner thigh all the way up to your knee, making you almost jerk up at the slightest of his touch.

of course he is calm. he's enjoying this. torturing you. driving you insane. god how you wish the tables are turn right now. how you wish that you have the energy to flip the two of you and get your revenge on him, showing him how it feels to be in your shoes. he'd be worse than you are right now. you can say that confidently because you've seen it. some rare moments where he handed over the control to you, letting you take charge in bed and do whatever you wanted to him. easiest way to say, he was a mess.

"you're not being fair—" was instead all you could say in such a pathetic tone that even you did not recognize yourself.

"i wasn't planning to be."

your pussy clenches around nothing at the casualness of his reply. your mind is pissed at him for ruining your orgasms but your body couldn't help but craving for his touch. you've seen the dominance side of him almost every night and yet the calmness that he's radiating right now even though you know how angry he is at you and your song is enough to send shivers down your spine.

there's something about lewis being angry and yet not completely showing it.

it turns you on even more.

"tell me what i want to hear first." he demands, his thick digits rubbing your bundle of nerves. your back arches into his touch. your eyelids flutter, broken moans fall from your lips.

the pleasure didn't last long. a soft, frustrated sigh leaves you as do his fingers from your clit. just when you were going to try catching your breath, he plunges two fingers inside without warning.

"fuck— oh my god—"

he hovers above you, eyes never leaving your face, watching your every reaction, the way your jaw hangs low. the thickness of his digits makes you feel so full already, you couldn't form neither words nor sounds.

"fuck, fuck—" and when he moves his fingers, you already saw heaven. the wet squelching sound from your arousal is so sinful it almost made you feel embarrassed at how wet you still are even after having your pleasure punished by him. your hand reaches up to his free arm near your head, clinging to him for support. your nails dig deep into his inked skin, drawing a silent hiss from him.

"come on," he says again. "tell me what i want to hear."

this might be it. he's fingering you with passion, hitting that sweet spot over and over again, making your legs tremble. he never half-assed anything in his life, especially when it comes to your pleasure but something tells you that maybe this is when he thinks that you have had your lesson and it's time you give you that release. he just loves you that much. and you always get what you want.

"n-no." you stutter in defiance.

he smirks again. your denial only makes this more fun for him, which is apparent in the way his fingers move rougher and faster right now. and you notice how his other digits are avoiding your clit, making it a little harder for you to reach another peak.

"four orgasms denied and you still wanna be stubborn?"

only four? it felt like hundreds, you manage to think to yourself despite how hazy your mind feels right now.

"please...." you croak out, and that's how far you'll beg for his forgiveness.

but he's not satisfied. he pulls out his fingers, and you would have groaned if you could even speak right now.

"no...."

"don't worry, sweetie," he cuts you off surprisingly, sitting up straight again. you prop yourself up on your elbows and watch as he lines up the tip of his cock against your entrance, teasing your folds slightly. you feel as if air has been knocked out of your lungs. you didn't even think that this was a possibility tonight, to be fucked by him. to feel his thick cock inside you. genuinely you thought he would leave you high and dry, though it's very unlikely for him. but still. he could truly be that cruel when he wants to.

"i'll make you come if that's what you wanted so badly. but only on my cock. and i'll make you come again and again until i finally get my apology."

you swallow thickly.

that is certainly a promise.

[beloveds-embrace]

DukeDom Poly!141

So, in one of the things (Simon and pleasure), you mentioned boudoir paintings…

OMFG I CAN JUST IMAGINE HIM MAKING ALL OF THEM DO ONE, I bet you he hangs them in his room. OH OH OH! also, I bet Simon can draw skjsudisndh 😭😩! HED SIT DOWN WHILE ONE OF THE OTHERS IS GOING AT IT WITH THEIR DUCHESS AND JUST DRAWS IN HIS CHAIR ON THE SIDE 😩😩. Reader laying on her back or ass up in the air, all sweaty and glowing while one of the boys goes at her in bliss and Simon just drawing her from the side lines… 😫🤭😩

Also, can I be 🪭 anon?

Dukedom 141 masterlist

God, Simon painting them himself? Absolutely yes.

He’d do sooo many paintings of you, it’d be concerning if you could actually think past the pleasure that clouds your mind. He has you in so many different lingeries, things that make you turn warmer than a furnace and your men’s eyes darken with want; silks and laces that snag around your soft skin, garter belts that frame the length of your thighs, custom panties with nothing more than a neat, glowy string of pearls to line your cunt with a matching jewelry set.

Simon dresses you himself, and none of the men say anything against it; he is in his element, drawing the stockings up your legs and kissing your ankles along the way, big hands carressing your calves. He takes his time lacing up your corsets and bras, kissing up your spine, cupping your tits in his big, warm hands and kneading and groping until your nipples are stiff enough for his liking, for what he needs to do his painting, and you have that lovely, desperate and needy expression on your face.

Simon may do the painting, but to him, the scene itself is art: you, you, you. Face down and ass up, bared to his gaze and brushes while Kyle keeps your hips up with a hand under your belly and three fingers pumping in and out of you, your noises, sweet moans and cries, a background melody with Kyle whispering praises into you ear until Simon can see how well you cream around those thick fingers.

Art, that’s what you truly are. No painting will ever truly capture your beauty, but still, Simon tries-

And that means he also has you in so many different poses. Another day, another lingerie sets, teeth marks indented over your body, your ankles and calves, while Johnny keeps you pinned and spread with his body. Simon focuses on your straining muscles, your pretty painted nails raking down Johnny’s back and leaving behind angry red lines that don’t compare to the way he pistons into you, your pretty cunt stretched around him and your combined cum drenching the bed. Your legs, adorned in heels Simon specifically got for you, shake and tremble, your pleasure visible and audible to all.

And John… Simon doesn’t think he’s ever seen a better seat for you than his face. You look perfect, twitching and whining, your hair and makeup a mess of a canvas, John’s hands around your hips like unbending snakes. He’s made you cum so many times, your nub swollen and sensitive under his heavy tongue, you’ve soaked his beard, his face, his neck- and yet he doesn’t stop. A queen has no reason to leave her seat, no? And yet it’s your expression that has Simon fixated, the way you look around, look at him as if you want to beg him to save you or join you. Maybe both.

Simon paints each and every one. Moments frozen in his paintings, never comperable to the real thing, and yet adored all the same.

(And you stare at the finished paintings with awe, in spite of your blush. The way he’s drawn you… you never knew you were seen so beloved.

You turn back to Simon, bejeweled fingers wrapping around his cravat, and pull him close to kiss the corner of her lips. Your men continue to admire the paintings, but you are focused on the painter.

“I want one of you and I, Simon my love.”)

First time writing smut (if this can even be considered that 💀😭)

[five-rivers]

Contingency Chapter 1

AO3

“... And, anyway, that's what happened,” said Danny, nervously fiddling with the end of his ghostly tail.  “It was all very…”  He swallowed.  “Bad.”

From her throne, Pandora’s regard was heavy, the size difference between them accentuated.  He could have floated up to talk to her, so that they had the same eye level, but he felt that, with this kind of news, this kind of request, he should be more… respectful.  So he was down near the ground, barely higher up than he would have been if he was standing on his legs.  

“I just thought that you should know, so that if I, um, if I went bad, you’d be able to stop me.”

Pandora touched one hand to her chin, thoughtfully.  “This is something that troubles you,” she said, looking down at him.  “It troubles you greatly.”

“Yes,” admitted Danny.  “Shouldn’t it?”

She inclined her head very slightly.  “Have you spoken to anyone else about this?”

“Well, my friends and Clockwork,” said Danny.  “And my sister.  But that’s because they were there.  They were involved.”

“And you have come to me, because you know what I already keep contained.”

Danny nodded.  “And I’m sure that Clockwork would do something, but I don’t really know, um, how real those other timelines are.  So, it’s better if someone else knows.”  He paused, apprehensive.  “Can you help me?”

He wouldn’t be entirely surprised if she attacked him here and now.  He’d be disappointed, sure, and he would fight back, but he wouldn’t be surprised.  After what he’d told her, and after what he’d seen his future self do, he didn’t think he’d even be mad.  It was even what he was asking her to do, more or less.  And even if he didn’t think it was necessary right now…  Well, other people were allowed to have other opinions.  

Pandora leaned back with a sigh, cutting most of the tension.  “I can help you.”  She stood.  “This is a great burden you have taken upon yourself.”

“It’s my own fault,” said Danny shrugging.

“Is it?”

“It isn’t anyone else’s,” said Danny.  

Pandora looked like she wanted to say something, but she simply walked down the steps away from her throne.  “Come.  What we need is elsewhere.”

Danny followed her out of the palace and to a nearby temple.  Ghosts greeted them and bowed to Pandora as they passed by.  In the back of the temple, surprisingly, was something like a warehouse, full of vase-like pots taller than Danny.  

“It was like this in Greece that was, as well,” said Pandora.  “The temples always also served as a place to store offerings and wealth.”

They passed through the rows and rows of pots to a room far at the back.  Within were… more pots.  But these seemed… finer, somehow.  Higher quality, more shapely.  They also looked raw, unfired.

“I use my box for weaker things,” said Pandora, using one of her lower hands to steer him towards a particular pot.  “But for more powerful evils, I use my pithoi.”  

“Pithoi?”

“These jars,” she said.  She picked up a paintbrush and palette, handing them to Danny.  They were oversized in his hands, but not overly heavy.  “Write your name - your full, complete name, as true as you can make it - on the neck of the pithos.  Written by your own hand, when the pithos is fired and complete, it will create a draw that you cannot escape from.”

“Like the ‘reclaim’ setting on your box?”

“Quite so.”

“And that will work?”

“Did you know, I helped make the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep?” asked Pandora, clearly amused.  “And, then, I did not have the benefit of his own true name in his own hand.  It will work.”

Danny nodded and swiped the paintbrush through the black paint.  He flew up to the rim of the pithos, then hesitated.  What was his ‘true’ name?  His legal name?  The name he felt most comfortable with?  He went by nicknames and aliases so often…

“Do what feels right,” said Pandora.  

“Right,” said Danny, “okay.”

He bit his lower lip and, as carefully as possible, painted ‘Daniel ‘Danny’ Janus James Vladimir Fenton-Phantom.’  Then, he sighed.  Why did he have so many middle names?  It was ridiculous.  

“Very good,” said Pandora, taking back the palette.  

“Is that it?”

“That's it,” said Pandora.  

She led him back out of the warehouse.  It was good, because he couldn't remember the way out at all.

“You are still worried,” observed Pandora.  

“Yeah, I mean, it’s just that– I know about this.  What if I just, before anyone knows I’ve gone bad, what if I come here and break all of these?”

“I can hide it.  That was my intention, regardless.”

Danny nodded, still not entirely soothed.  “That’s good.”

“There is one more thing that we could do,” said Pandora.  “But it will not ease your cares.”

“It isn’t about me,” said Danny.  “It’s about who else might get hurt.  What can we do?”

Pandora gave him another slight nod.  “There is a river that runs through my lands, called the Lethe.  A drop of its waters can make a ghost forget their whole life.  Passed through several filters and diluted, a drop can instead make one forget the last hour or so.”

“So, I wouldn’t remember coming here or doing this?”

“That is so,” said Pandora.  

Danny licked his lips, then nodded.  “Okay,” he said.  “I might ask you for help again, though, if I don’t remember.”

“And I will do my best to reassure you, although what you have already done is the best step you can take.”

She clapped her hands, and a servant - not the Box Ghost, but a ghost Danny didn't know - scurried up.  Pandora spoke to them for a while, and then they ran off.  

“I have sent them to fetch the potion,” she explained.  “Let us sit together until he returns.”  She directed him to a bench they could both sit on.  

“Did they have these in Ancient Greece, too?” he asked, a bit nervous about erasing part of his memory, even if it was only a very small amount.  

“Something you must know,” said Pandora, “is that people have always been people.”

Danny nodded, taking that for what it was.

The servant came back with a small clay jar, the top sealed with wax.  They handed off to Danny with a bow and then scurried away again.  

Danny looked up at Pandora.  She nodded encouragingly at him.  He took a deep breath to steady himself and broke the seal.  Before he could double-guess himself, he threw the potion back, and he… 

He…

“Pandora?” he said, noticing the ghost next to him.  “What am I…?  When did I get here?”

“You had just finished telling me about your encounter with Clockwork and your future self.”

“Oh,” said Danny.  “Right.  Can– Can you help me?”

Pandora nodded solemnly.  “I will do my best.”

[delopsia]

the kind that money can't buy (calico creek) | rhett abbott x reader

Word Count: 12,200 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, friends to lovers, size kink, general awkwardness due to a love confession gone wrong. Cunnilingus, creampies, multiple orgasms, hand jobs, grinding, usage of the 'snowed-in' trope, slightly implied inexperienced reader. Reader generally being overwhelmed at times. Notes are subject to be updated because I feel like I'm forgetting something... My almost-late entry for @lewmagoo's holiday celebration!

Brief Summary: Sometimes, all love needs is a botched love confession, broken bridges, a tiny cabin out on Calico Creek, and an inconceivable amount of snow. Inspired by the Stephen Wilson Jr. song, Calico Creek.

"And what's the plan if we die on this mission?" 

"There ain't one," Rhett chuckles, his eyes flickering between the bridge and the rearview mirror. Whatever he sees isn't enough, has to twist in his seat to look out the back window. "Might as well write your will and send it via carrier pigeon." 

He's gonna die with the left side of his neck, and the lower portions of his jaw smeared in cheap paint, and he doesn't even know it. Hell, there might be some in his hair now that you look at it.

You don't know how he can manage to do this. You can hardly look away from the window for more than a second, staring down at the edge of the bridge. Nothing but rushing waters and wood laid decades before you were born, no guardrail to prevent you from plummeting a hundred-something feet to your rocky, hypothermic demise. 

The turn onto this old-fashioned safety hazard is almost too tight for the trailer, one of the tires briefly hanging midair as it crawls onto the bridge. Something creaks below, low and grumpy, an ancient spirit disturbed from its eternal slumber. 

"I still think it's cracking beneath us." That sounds like wood cracking. Does he not hear it? Why is he not putting it in reverse yet? 

"Well, we don't seem to be fallin' yet." The idiot seems to have left his intelligence back at the rodeo. 

You must have forgotten yours, too, because you're the one who stupidly agreed to this whole venture, knowing full well you would have to cross this godforsaken bridge. This thing has been ready to collapse since the day you were born and has threatened to take you down the countless times you've ventured over it. But, like clockwork, the truck crawls out the other side, emerging onto safe, solid ground. 

"Oh, I forgot all about this," you don't mean to say it out loud, but it slips past your defenses, a breath that you can only hold back for so long. 

Snow-covered trees decorate the sides of the beaten gravel road, arching overhead, their baren branches seeming to kiss the silver sky itself. Icicles hang from some of them, twinkling in the light. Stunning in its own right, but nowhere near as gorgeous as Calico Creek herself, still just as wild and alive as she has always been. 

It's a wonder the Tillerson's haven't tried stealing this out from under the Abbotts, too. There's no way they haven't heard the stories about this place, and there's no way they have never wondered about where the water beneath the bridge on Warm Creek Road leads.

"The cabin is still standing?" It looks the same, too. Time itself must stop every time someone leaves this place.

"For some reason," Rhett's nails tap against the steering wheel. "Mom comes out here to pull weeds every other month in the summer."

"Still?"

"Old habits die hard."

And that...fuck, what do you say? Nothing? That was an invitation for a follow-up.

...no, maybe it wasn't. Why are you making it weird? Come on, think.What is it that you usually say when Cecelia comes up in conversation? Oh! You should ask about...no, he already said that she's spent all day cooking a roast. 

The tires slip beneath the truck. Rhett reaches for the gear shifter. His paint-mottled hand spins across the wheel, drawing the vehicle off the ice as quickly as it crawled onto it. Focused entirely on the road and nothing else.

Rodeo lights flicker through your mind. Old dirt flies through the air again, a neverending plume of dust that still makes your nose burn. Your stomach is twisting around, working itself into a knot it'll never get out of.

"Hello?" A gloved hand waves in front of your face. "Y' in there?"

"Huh?" 

The truck has long since stopped. Crudely parked in front of the cabin with no regard for how it may look to anyone else. It's been stopped for a while, too; you can already feel the cooler air creeping through the vents. How a cowboy like him can put up with a truck that only blows heat when it's moving is beyond you. You would have sold this thing years ago. 

"I was askin' if you're ready," Rhett's brow furrows, and for a moment, you're worried that he can see straight through you. "Are you sure you slept last night?" 

"Yeah." Lie. 

The corner of his mouth wobbles up and down, lips parting with the beginnings of a sentence. Then, flattening into a line. Your eyes meet. You don't know what to say. Neither does he. Your face feels hot all of a sudden. 

It's too damn quiet in this truck.

Your saving grace comes in the form of a squealing door hinge. Shrill. Screaming at the top of its lungs as Rhett shoves it open. Yeah. Okay. You'll get out, too, then.

If life were a comic, then the rush of frozen air would have steam rising from your heated cheeks. Fortunately, no such thing happens; it's just your burning skin and the vicious bite of single-digit temperatures eating away at what little moisture you have left, not satisfied until your skin has been left raw and chapped.

Snow crunches beneath your boots, soft at first but growing firm as it compacts under your weight. Every step feels just as unsteady as the last, and with each one, you're nearly certain that this time, you will find uneven ground and go tumbling head-first into this pristine, wintery hell that has encased the entire state of Wyoming. And yet, you continue to find solid footing.

"Remind me again why we're looking for a...?" Your words die in your throat, lost to the howling wind. Did he ever mention what you were looking for out here?

A moment passes. Rhett turns his head to you. Gives you a few more seconds to conjure up the words you're looking for. "Horse-drawn grain drill?" Finishing your thought. "Mom saw a post on Facebook and thinks she can turn it into decor."

You don't know what a horse-drawn grain drill is, but you've got a feeling that it's the old jumble of rusted metal that has been decaying against a cedar tree since you were in kindergarten. Somewhere behind the cabin, beyond the tree line. "Is this another one of those projects that she starts and you have to finish?"

"What makes ya guess that?" The corner of his eye crinkles with his smile; now that you've got something to compare it to, the snow doesn't seem so bright anymore.

"Well, last I checked, she was the one repainting the walls downstairs," the ground shifts beneath your foot. Sends you stumbling. "But half of your jaw is a nice shade of Beacon Gray."

"Shit." His hands rise, blindly pawing at his face with the backs of his gloved hands, digging at it the best that he can manage. "Why didn't ya tell me I had this shit all over my face?" Flecks of gray rain down like snowflakes, scattering across the front of his jacket. 

He pauses, those expectant blue eyes landing on your shivering frame. Hopeful, even. Poor thing hasn't the slightest clue that his neck is stained with the imprint of his own hand right now. 

You shake your head. "I think you're gonna have to shave to get it all off." 

His whine echoes through the empty trees. "But I just got it to the right length again!"

As if it would get to last past the weekend, you can already hear Cecelia fussing at him to shave and tidy himself up for Christmas Service. She'll probably try squeezing him into that old suit she had tailored for him after he graduated high school, too. So tiny and narrow that the fabric visibly struggles to contain those broad shoulders...

You've gotta think of something else before you start drooling and a damn icicle forms. 

"What, you don't think it adds character?" Rhett leans over, knocking his arm against yours. If he hears your heart lurch in your chest, he doesn't comment on it. 

Looking at him is the worst thing you could possibly do. He's just so close, and he's waited until this very moment to tilt his head down and ease that old cowboy hat on, the felt one with the chipped brim. Rugged, just like his four-day-old scruff and the unruly hair that curls behind his ear and hasn't been cut since spring began. 

"It adds...something," you don't know what your conclusion is supposed to mean. Fortunately, he doesn't ask any further; just rolls his eyes and keeps walking. 

Against all odds, that old bench Royal built for you is still sitting and facing the creek. The piles of snow almost entirely obscure its frame, but it's the bench nonetheless. Two wooden pallets crudely cut and nailed together, Abbott engineering at its finest. 

"Do you remember the tire swings?" You vaguely remember them, hung from trees that once occupied the space the bench now occupies. But they weren't ordinary tire swings. No, they were fashioned to look like horses, with old recycled bridles and name tags. Isabela and Flash. 

Rhett shakes his head, chuckling at a memory. "I remember jumpin' off of 'em a lot."

"And breaking your arm because you overshot and landed in the creek?" You can still hear Cecelia screaming at the top of her lungs. "No wonder why you turned out to be a bull rider. You're still chasing the high of nearly breaking your neck in Calico Creek." 

All he can do is laugh; there's no defending himself from this one. 

Fortunately for him, the conversation dies at the sight of that old hunk of metal. It still lies in the same spot it's always been, somewhat sunken into the soil and leaving behind an indent in the tree it rests against. The thing has all the right in the world to stubbornly cling to its resting place, but Rhett doesn't even seem to struggle when he pulls on it.

It's reasonably light, all things considered. 

...or maybe it just feels light because Rhett is doing most of the pulling. 

But the metal is frozen in a thin sheet of ice, and by the time you get it within distance of the trailer, it's melted and seeped into your gloves. Frozen water gnawing at your already cold fingers, eating through flesh and straight down into the bone. Solidifying in your joints for extra measure.

You've got no choice but to drag it along for no reason other than you can't let go. Trudging through the snow, audibly crunching with every step, every inch of your exposed skin burning in a frozen fire. And it must freeze your memory, too, because the next thing you remember is the rear trailer gate falling open, clattering against the ground. It creates a ramp of sorts. 

"I can pull it up from here," Rhett, ever the gentleman.

You'd love to let him take it, but...well, you're trying, but your fingers are hardly budging. Frozen in place, another piece of the machine. You don't remember when they went numb, but you can hardly feel them anymore; they may have even detached from your body entirely. But, slowly, they pry themselves open, stiff muscles fighting against your effort to pull your hand back to your chest.

Rhett tilts his head. "'s your hand frozen?" 

"My glove got soaked," pausing to blow air onto it. The heat of your breath is nice...until it fades and leaves you even more aware of the difference in temperature. "It's fine, just a little cold."

"'Cold' my ass," muttering under his breath. He reaches out, his big hand practically engulfing yours as he pulls it toward him, plucking the soaked glove off before you've even realized what he's doing. "I ain't havin' ya get frostbit."

His other hand dives into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief that's been wrapped around something. You can feel the heat radiating off of it before he's even placed it in your frozen palm. A hand warmer.

The wind nips at your frosty skin, but the handkerchief is big enough that you can wrap the fabric around your hand entirely. A thin shield to block off at least some of the cold. 

Truly, you don't think Rhett even needed you to come along in the first place because he gets the old piece of equipment onto the trailer without the slightest hint of a struggle. It's so easy that you almost catch yourself looking back to see if there's a bigger piece to haul up. Why did he ask you to help with something so simple?

And why did you agree to it?

It's something you're still wondering when you heave yourself back up into the truck, squeezing into the corner of the old cloth seat like it'll somehow save you from the burst of frigid air that races out of the vents. God, why were you wishing for snow last week? This is hell.

"How do you put up with this every winter?" You're fighting to keep your teeth from chattering, not even going to make an attempt at straightening yourself out to put the seat belt on. Curling into a ball sounds like a much better option than that; safety be damned. 

"Layers 'n a dash of self-hatred." The truck rumbles as Rhett's foot presses on the gas pedal, the beaten tires frantically searching for traction on the slick ground. They find it. Lurching forward. "I shoulda become an accountant or somethin'."

"You as an accountant?" Snickering. 

Somewhere, in the effort to almost entirely spin the truck around, Rhett finds the chance to lean over and knock his elbow against yours. "Hey, y' don't see none of them office folk freezin' for a livin', now do ya?" 

"I'd love to see you crammed in a little cubicle," you laugh, and all he can do is roll his eyes, shaking his head all the while. 

A beam of light bounces off the creek waters. You know it's merely the change in angle that caused it, but the little voice in your head quietly wonders if old Calico Creek is laughing with you. She keeps doing it, too. Light-reflecting in little sparks, bouncing off chunks of broken ice and the rushing silver water itself, following you all the way up to the bridge.

You don't remember the bridge groaning like this last time. Maybe more towards the middle, but certainly not this early. Though, even as you untwist from your huddle and peer out the window, you can't see anything crumbling. 

"Rhett?" 

"I hear it."

Still, he eases the truck forward, but you can hear the whir of the window as he rolls it down. You would do the same and stick your head out, too, if you weren't just now regaining sensation in your nose. 

It sounds like popcorn beneath you. Soft little popping noises that you can feel when you press your feet against the floorboard. 

Rhett jumps for the shifter. 

Wood snaps.

The truck dips forward.

Something roars. You're going backward. The earth spins. White and silver and brown blurs into one big mess. Metal and tires scream. Your head bounces against the back of the seat.

And everything is still.

You're facing the river. The cabin is on your right, and the bridge is...the bridge is...

"Did it...?"

"Yeah..." Rhett whispers, his eyes as equally glued to the sight as yours are. "it did." 

The bridge is gone. 

"I have good news and bad news." Rhett's voice bounces off every wall in the cabin, almost makes it hard for you to figure out which of the two rooms he's walking out of. As if you didn't watch him disappear into one the moment that his phone started ringing.

"What's the good news?" You ask, squeezing the hand warmer just a little tighter. But there's no longer any heat radiating from it, reduced to nothing but a dull, rapidly fading warmth. 

"The bad news is," it seems he's completely ignoring what you just said. "The roads are shit 'n Perry doesn't think he can plow out the upper path 'till at least tomorrow afternoon." 

And then he's gone. Vanishing back into the room he just moseyed out of. 

"The good news?" You know he can hear you, but you don't get a reply. Nothing but a load of underwhelming silence. "Rhett?" 

Something thunks against the floor. Heavy. Solid. 

"Remember that time we snuck out and went over to Idaho for that rodeo mom didn't want me goin' to?" The echo is so bad that it takes a moment to catch up to what he's just said.

A memory stirs to mind. "I remember you getting drunk and busting your lip falling out of the truck."

Rhett's head pokes around the corner, his pale nose wrinkled with what you can only identify as disgust. Maybe a hint of embarrassment. Not his favorite memory, you suppose. 

"I don't know if y' remember it, but Dad was so furious that he made me come out here 'n chop every downed tree he could find for weeks." He disappears for another moment. Then, steps back into the room, lifting a chunk of split wood into the air. "Come to find out, all of it's still here." 

"Suddenly, I'm considering forgiving you for the grilling your mom gave us after that." You can't resist your smile. For once, your teenage antics pay off, even if it was all his idea. 

"It's inappropriate for you two to be alone together like that!" Mocking in the shrillest voice he can manage as he steps over to the fireplace, bending down to load the wood inside. "Don't know why she always thought that we..." His Adam's apple bobs. Glancing at you.

You look away. 

...yeah. 

Your lower belly twists, inexplicably filling with butterflies who have blades for wings. Or maybe they're moths, eating through you like old laundry. Whatever they are, they worsen when you peek at him through the corner of your eye, the momentary flicker of a memory nearly making you nauseous.

"Do you need help?" You don't know why you're asking when you're already reaching out, ready to take the next chunk of wood from him. It'll be easier for you to put it in; you're already down here on the floor.

"No, it's—it's fine," he freezes mid-crouch. Your fingers brush against the back of his hand. "I've got it. You should..." 

Life...stops.

For a split second, you fear that your fingertips have melted and become one with him, stuck together for the rest of eternity. But the blaze of the fire burns before you can reach melting point, jerking away as if burned. Rhett looks away. You do, too. 

You're right back at the rodeo again. 

Dusty Sunday night air spirals around you. A dry earthy scent burns at your nose, disguising the already vague tinge of sweat and what you can only describe as animal that clings to him. Dirt clings to his glistening jaw, smeared all the way down his neck and the left side of his jeans. 

If you didn't know any better, you would think they replaced Rhett with that of a wild-eyed mustang, icy blues damn near about to swallow you whole. It hardly matches his stuttered whispers, so damn shy in comparison to what lurks at the surface. 

"I...I uhm..." his boot kicks at the ground, stirring up another plume of dirt. "I know ain't good at this sort of thing, but I—" His tongue hitches, lips still moving, but not a damn thing comes out. 

Broad shoulders shiver. Caving in on themselves. And he drops his head, the brim of his hat concealing everything but his mouth from view. Hiding in plain sight. This doesn't nearly match the excitement that the shiny new championship buckle in his hand should warrant, but now it's been reduced to nothing but a toy for him to fidget with. Twisting it round and round in his wavering palm. 

"Rhett...?" Hooking your finger under the very edge of his hat, lifting it until you catch sight of red cheeks and impossibly wide baby blues. A deer caught in the headlights. 

"I love you."

It's there and gone with the breeze. So swift that if not for the sight of his lips shaping around those three little words, you would think you made it up entirely. 

But it was there, still clear as day in your memory; if you try hard enough, you can almost convince yourself that you can step through time. Re-enter your starstruck body and kiss him before the sheriff can cut in and shoo you away to ask questions about another spat between his family and the Tillersons.

But time travel doesn't exist, and that confession still hangs in the air, its rusty hinges squealing every time you think you've finally forgotten about it. What do you even say now? 'Hey, I'm sorry that in the span of a few weeks, I couldn't conjure up a better way to revive the topic, but I love you too. Hope you haven't taken my silence as rejection and moved on already!' What if he didn't even mean it as a love confession? 

Rhett hasn't said anything about it.

Neither have you.

The crackle of the fire is the only thing present to fill the silence. Occasionally broken apart by the pops of Rhett's joints every time he goes to fetch another piece of wood, ancient floorboards groaning in tandem with the thump of his boots. Even his jingling spurs are a welcome sound, shrill as they might be.

Nightfall is either your greatest blessing or the biggest curse known to mankind. The darkest corners of the cabin are lost to the shadows in a matter of hours. God knows if anything is lurking in there, ready to pounce at any given moment, but with it, Rhett's solemn face disappears, too. Reduced to glistening eyes and flashes of skin in the firelight. 

"Do you remember when we used to beg your mom to let us spend the night up here?" The sound of your voice is borderline shocking. A smidge too loud for the heavy silence that covers the room like a thick winter blanket. 

Rhett's hum dissolves into a chuckle. "Guess we really should have listened when she told us to watch what we wish for." 

He peeks at you through the corner of his eye, a strand of brown hair falling out from behind his ear and into his face. You catch his gaze, locking for a lingering moment. His mouth rises into a weary smile.

"We should have wished for endless snacks and a million-dollar lottery ticket while we were at it," you can only imagine what other things you two have begged poor Cecelia for. "And maybe a spare blanket."

Rhett blinks. Staring into the fire. His eyes widen, lighting up with a realization. "I got some in the truck."

"Lottery tickets?"

"Blankets," he's trying his best to sound annoyed, but his own grin betrays him. 

Something in his knee pops as he stands up, audibly protesting, but he's already on his feet. There go those spurs again, chiming away with every step, glinting in the light, and...

"What is that?" You ask, with a tilt of your head. It doesn't help you see any better, but the effort is there. 

Rhett freezes. "Huh?"

"Come here," beckoning him closer. "You've got something on the back of your boot."

"Those are called spurs, sweetheart," but Rhett comes back to you anyway.

He...meant that as a joke. Yeah. That's what it was. 

...right?

"No, it's..." There's something silver just above the spur on his left heel, so sharp that it pierces straight through the leather. Something long and gray hangs from it. Feels like plastic. It looks like...a rubber fish?

"'s that a damn Rapala?" Rhett's voice rises in pitch. Confused. 

"I didn't know fishing lures could catch cowboys," giggling, you pinch the hook, tugging it from the hole it's created in his shoe. The thing is ancient. Its once brilliant silver scales now a muted yellow, the singular remaining hook mangled and warped into an unrecognizable mess. 

He reaches down, opening that big hand of his. The little lure practically shrinks when you place it in his palm, suddenly nothing but a minuscule hunk of plastic and metal. "I knew they were in the creek but I didn't expect them to be all the way up here, too." 

You think that you can still hear Cecelia calling out, warning you two to watch where you step and to be careful in the shallow creek waters. It's a wonder how neither of you ever got a hook in your foot. You've lost track of how many summer Sunday afternoons you've spent in Calico Creek. You don't think you even liked visiting their church; you only ever tagged along because of what came after the service ended. 

Thump_

"What was that?" You're pretty sure it came from outside, but you're not about to dismiss the potential of someone lurking in the shadows of the room. 

"Dunno," but he's about to find out, slinking toward the door like a stray cat. You don't know how he does it, but his boots are suddenly quiet. The spurs on his heels don't even sing. All holding their breath as he opens the door. 

It's snowing so hard that you can see the shape of the wind when it bursts through the gap, cloaked like a ghost in a white sheet. Swirling around the room, all too eager to eat away at the warmth of the fire. Circling closer and closer with all the ferocity of a pack of hungry wolves. A shiver races up your spine.

"Hang on."

The door slams shut, and—

"Rhett?" You squeak. Where did he...did he go outside? He must have. You only looked away for a moment, and you would have heard it if he had rushed into the backroom. 

In his place lingers, what you can only describe as a sentient winter wind, rushing through the thick fabric of your clothes as you stand and make your way to the door. It doesn't matter how long you've been huddled by the fire. By the time your hand finds the ice-cold door knob, you're shivering again. 

Snow bursts through the gap once more, splattering across your face. Clinging to your eyelashes, wiggling down through the collar of your jacket. 

"Rhett?" But the midnight air swallows your voice like a sponge. It doesn't even echo. You can't see a thing. Not the truck, not Calico Creek, not a damn thing. "Rhett!"

No such reply. It's as if he was never even here in the first place, but you can vaguely see his footprints in the snow. They don't go far. 

Or rather, you can't see them go very far out. You could be floating through space right now, and you would be none the wiser about it. It's all just...black. Even as you step through the door, your unsteady frame slammed by a bigger, angrier gust of wind.

"Rhett!" Your voice should be able to get louder than this, but no such thing happens. Maxed out. "Rhett!"

You still don't see him. What the hell did he go looking for? Shit, what if it was someone lurking outside that grabbed him? And now you've just made it known to the whole forest that you're out here by yourself! 

A shape moves in the distance. 

You jump back, snow-caked boots sliding across the floor. Your grip on the door handle is the only reason you don't fall.

It's getting closer. You think you can see two legs. Walking closer and closer, and—

"Rhett!" Your voice breaks this time.

But it's him. Shoulders coated in a dusting of snow. Hair blowing into his windburnt face. Some kind of thick fabric bundled up into his arms. Blankets, you think. The wind blows harder, and he disappears into the sea of white once again, the waves trying to suck him back into the abyss.

Snow tumbles into the front door as he steps inside. He's carried half of tonight's snowfall into the damn cabin. But you can't think about that right now.

"Blankets?" You don't know if your voice is shaking from the cold or if you're just mad. "You run out into a blizzard and scare me half to death for fucking blankets?" 

Rhett Abbott has had his soul replaced with that of a newborn deer because he looks like one caught in the headlights. Wide blue eyes staring back at you, can't possibly fathom what has got you so mad. As if he's not the one who just inexplicably ran off into the night with no regard for his own safety. 

Those snow-dusted eyelashes flutter. "You said you wanted one." Innocent as can be. 

And you...you did ask for those, but. "You could have said something before you just up and walked out." 

"Were you worried about me?" His head tilts to the side. 

"Maybe I was," muttering, you turn back to the fire. There's a chair sitting in the back corner. Wooden. Didn't look all that inviting until just now, swallowed up by one of the many shadows cast by the fire. The chilly air has collected over here, clustering into its own little storm, but you can't feel it. Not with how hot your face has gotten all of a sudden. 

The chair creaks beneath your weight. It breaking is the last thing you need right now, but fortunately, it seems to hold. You lean forward, face falling into your hands. Of course. Of course, he went to get the blankets that you asked for. And here you are yelling at him like a damsel in distress as if he wasn't born and raised in conditions worse than this. 

Something drapes across your shoulders. Fuzzy. Smells like the bonfire the Abbott's had a few weeks back, burning away the brush collected from the most recent storm. Another one wedges itself into your lap, Rhett stubbornly pushing it onto you as if you're the one covered in snow and not him. 

"What are you doing?" Peeking through the gaps in your fingers.

"Buildin' you a cocoon and hangin' ya from the ceilin'," he hums, and if you didn't know him any better, you might have thought he was dead serious. "Wanna see if you'll come out with wings like one of them butterflies."

You're putting on your best frown. 

Or at least, you think you are. You can't really feel your face. "This implies that I look like a caterpillar." 

"Hey, caterpillars are cute," says Rhett Abbott, the man who yelped when he saw a bright green caterpillar inching up his pant leg last summer."Y' remember that book we used to have where the little dude kept eatin' everything?"

"The one you took a bite out of?" Yeah, you remember that. 

"The caterpillar did that." Still just as defensive as he was when Cecelia started asking questions about what happened to the book. "Not me."

"Uhuh." Sure.

The last of the snowflakes scatter from his eyelashes, cascading down onto his bright red cheeks and melting into minuscule little droplets of water that seem to dance in the firelight. A tiny galaxy that is wiped out by a singular stroke of your thumb. 

...you're touching his face.

You don't recall when your hand left your side, but it's resting against his jaw, your thumb still damp with the evidence of your crime. He's noticed it. There's no way he hasn't noticed it, but he's not telling you to stop. And...well...you're already here. 

Properly curling your hand around his cheek is the easiest thing you've done in a lifetime, his soft scruff tickling your palm. Rhett still doesn't say anything. Hell, it's so quiet that you can hear the minuscule sound of him breathing through his nose. His lashes flutter again. Thinking about something.

He tilts his head, leaning into your touch. 

"You're frozen." You noticed that a long time ago, but if you don't break the silence, you're gonna combust.

"Yeah, that kinda..." his mouth hangs open, tongue visibly faltering for a good moment or three, "happens when...you snow."

Your giggle is so loud that it echoes, but you hardly notice it. "When you snow, huh?" 

He's running from you. 

You can't believe it. He's squirming up to his feet and turning around, his hands rising to cover his face in a fashion identical to what you did mere minutes ago. Mutters something, but it's so muffled that you can't understand a word he's said. You don't necessarily care to figure it out, either. A little bit distracted by the sound of puzzle pieces clicking into place. 

You think you get it now. 

The floorboard squeals as you stand, the sharp sound eating away every bit of the certainty that you just built up, but your momentum still carries you forward. Feet falling one after the other as if caught in a trance. 

Rhett turns to look at you, then back to the door. 

He tries to, at least. 

It happens on reflex. You grabbing ahold of his jacket collar, pulling so hard that you both stumble. He gasps. So do you. Chest to chest in this tiny old cabin, nothing but the flickering fire to guide your eyes as you drink in his face. The same old, big blue eyes you've always known. Pouty lips wobbling, torn between a lopsided smile and trying to come up with something to say. 

If this were a dream, it would be perfect. Seamlessly falling into place like trained actors.

But this is real, and you're both moving at the same time, and your noses clash at the same time your mouths do. You stumble. His arm cinches around you. Pulls you closer. Teeth clatter. It's everything that a Hallmark first-kiss scene isn't, and it's incredible. All those movies, and they still couldn't quite capture the dream of kissing your best friend in—

Best friend.

"Shit, I..." Jerking away. Eyes wide. Breath caught in your throat. "I shouldn't have..." Shouldn't have what? Kissed him without asking? 

Oh, but he's grinning at you like a damn fool. Wobbly smile and sparkling gaze, flickering back and forth between your lips and eyes. You don't feel the hand resting on the small of your back until it's pulling you back in, lips crashing once more. 

A faint twinge of mint and chocolate still lingers on his lips, the only remaining evidence for his crime of raiding his momma's jar of Christmas chocolates. Or maybe cowboys just taste like that. Rough as stone, carved and broken into jagged edges by the test of time, but sweet as can be on your lips. 

He steps forward at the same time you do, already can't stand the minuscule gap between your bodies. But your foot slips between his, and the side of his spur catches on the toe of your shoe, and you're falling. 

Your elbow slams into the wooden floor. Chin bouncing off his too-firm chest. It's a damn miracle that he's the one who fell backward. You may not have survived if your positions were reversed, solid as he is. 

"Guess I fell for you," Rhett wheezes, groaning low in his throat. 

"Idiot," giggling.

Figuring out where your legs have landed is a task of its own, your frozen joints protesting any further movement for fear of another catastrophic fall. Rhett doesn't make much of an attempt to move. Content to part his legs and let your body fit between them, knees resting against your hips. 

His palm finds your cheek, calloused fingertips stroking the soft skin there. You're melting into it before you can realize what you're doing, drowning in the sensation of how big his hand is. You think it could cover half of your face without even trying.

"'n here I thought I'd fucked this all up," his hum vibrates through his chest and right into yours; kind of feels like distant thunder. 

"I didn't know how to bring it back up after Joy left." It's easy again. Talking to him, confessing exactly what's on your mind without fear of further fracturing things. "Then you didn't say anything either, and I...figured I'd read into it the wrong way." 

His thumb finds the corner of your mouth, gently tugging it up into a squished smile. "Oops." 

You can't help but reach for him, too, your hand finding his cheek once more, just for the hell of it. In the shadows of the fire, you can see the small chunk of skin permanently missing from his nose. An old scar from a kitchen fight with Perry a while back, courtesy of Perry's wedding ring and an argument that you don't remember the context of. Something about a remark Perry made on an already tense night. 

Should you?

Rhett blinks.

Yeah, you should.

"Watcha doin'?" He asks, scrunching his nose as you lean in, pressing your lips to that little scar. 

"Something I've thought about doing ever since you barged through my front door with blood pouring down your face," pressing another to the tip of his nose. 

"Funny, I recall y' wantin' to hit me at first." 

"Because you scared the hell out of me." 

"'s that why y' tripped me just now?" There's that light tone in his voice. Taunting. "Revenge?"

"Shut up." You know where this is going.

So does he. "Make me—" 

Kissing him quiet. Another thing off your bucket list. Maybe it was on his, too, because he laughs into your mouth like he's been waiting on this his whole damn life. Hell, you know you have. 

Your skin prickles beneath your layers of clothing, burning from head to toe, and you can only peel your winter coat off so fast. Pulling away from him might be the hardest thing you've ever done, but in the time it takes you to shrug it off, Rhett has gotten his off, too. That old black undershirt hugs his frame a little bit too well; you almost stop and stare.

Almost. 

Rhett's arm loops over your shoulders as you come back to him, hand curling around your bicep, lazily hanging on. Those jackets must have been a mile-thick because you don't recall being this close last time, his chest against yours, heart beating so heavy that you can feel it. 

But you're a little bit too far down, an ache blooming in the back of your neck at the strain to reach him. You don't want to move, but now that you've noticed it, the pain is the only thing that you can think about. Gives you no real choice but to dig your knees into the hard floor and scoot up—

"Mmh—!" 

You don't remember breaking away from Rhett, but you must have because you're blinking down at him, and he's found time to clamp a hand over his mouth. Eyes the size of dinner plates. Red in the ears.

"Did I...?" Suddenly aware of where your thigh is resting right now. 

"Just a little bit," he doesn't seem to have any interest in making you move, either, using the arm around your shoulders to pull you back down once more. 

You don't know how you've survived so long without this. 

The pressure of his lips, the stubble on his jaw, the awkward bump of noses that haven't learned where to go quite yet. It's all so new, and yet you can already feel the embers of an addiction burning to life, roaring as hot as the fire, and you might need him more than you need to breathe. Heaven is a place on earth, and its name is Rhett Abbott. 

Your forearms brace themselves on either side of his head, steadying yourself before you can become inconceivably lost. And again, your thigh unintentionally presses into him, and he's groaning low in his throat, lithe hips bucking up into it. You can't help yourself this time, intentionally grinding into the growing tent in his jeans, feeling his knees flutter around you. 

"I'm sorry, I..." clarity strikes like lightning.  "I'm rushing things, aren't I?"

"Naw, I'm..." he looks off to the side. Sheepish. "Kind of into it." 

Even now, he's still Rhett. Bold one moment and shy the next, his impulses always a moment quicker than everything else. You don't need to ask if he's mortified about saying that out loud; the big dummy is already showing it. Gulping so hard that you can see the muscles in his neck flex with the effort, his cheeks three shades redder. 

You throw one of your legs over his, straddling it, the silence broken by the sound of your knee hitting the floor a little too hard. And again, he covers his mouth when your thigh grinds into him, but he fails to conceal the slight roll of his eyes. Breathing hard through his nose, impulsively twitching up into your touch.

"You're something else, cowboy," you can't help but find your way to his jaw, pressing kisses into the soft outline of bone. His legs flutter around your thigh, clinging onto it as you work it against him. The arm around your shoulders tightens; you fear you might be anchored here. 

It's on the side of his neck that you can feel the faint rumble of a moan, so quiet that it fails to make its way past his hand, but it's there. You suppose you shouldn't be surprised about it, but your daydreams never involved getting around this obstacle. There's no way you're prying his hand away, not with how he uses the same damn hand to cling onto the back of a thousand-pound bull every Sunday night. 

Your lips make their way to the space below his ear, sucking lightly at an old scar that lingers there. He jumps. Hand coming off his mouth just long enough to audibly suck in a breath, cutting off the beginnings of a whine. His back rises off the ground, grinding into you the best he can. But it's not enough. He's still chasing you like he wants more, and you still can't hear him.

You're so quick to replace your thigh with your hand that you can almost deceive yourself into believing you've done this before. Palm pressing firm against his bulge, gently massaging the heel of it into him, and he jerks again. Impulsively reaching for your wrist, head tipping back, lips parted. 

"That...you...I..." he can't talk. Words broken apart by surprisingly ragged breaths. Worked up over so fucking little. It has no right to make you clench around his thigh; desperation is a hellishly contagious virus. 

You might be drooling. 

Lazy, you fall into the space next to him, your leg splayed over his, hyper-aware of the way you've just tucked yourself under his arm and how perfectly you fit. That rodeo buckle falls open at the slightest pressure, button popping open just as eagerly. He shouldn't get anything out of the sensation of you tugging on his zipper, but his hips rise as if he can feel every bit of it. 

The moment your hand wraps around his cock, his head thunks against yours. Not hard enough for it to hurt, but the impact still makes you wince.

"Ow."

"I'm sorr—" his teeth sink into his bottom lip. Biting back a noise as your thumb blindly traces the underside of his tip. "Sorry. Shit." 

If only you could go back in time and tell yourself to do this sooner. You don't know how you can ever expect to go back from this. Lying with your head propped on the side of his chest, gingerly drawing him through the opening of his jeans, the head of his cock so wet that it glistens in the firelight, a bead of precum spilling over, barely caught by your thumb. 

Rhett's scruffy cheek presses against your forehead, blindly nuzzling into you as your hand wanders, gradually working down his length. It's such a simple motion, but his hips rise to chase you on your way back up, a stifled noise rumbling out of his chest. The tip of your index finger glides over his tip, rubbing past his slit and—

"Mmh!" Jumping like a live wire. Still muffled, but louder than last time. 

You can't help but repeat it, using your thumb to draw loose circles against his weeping tip. Those hips jump again, slipping from your grasp. But it doesn't take more than a second to get ahold of him again, a sharp little sound slipping out of him as you pick up right where you left off. Swirling around and around and around. 

"Who taught you how to..." He sucks in a breath. "Who taught..." But he can't finish that thought, trailing off into nothingness once more. 

You haven't the slightest clue where your voice has gone. Lost somewhere in your throat, stolen by the same thing that took Rhett's ability to speak. 

All of a sudden, he's moving. Rolling onto his side, blindly guiding himself with his nose until he can properly find your lips, stealing them away before you can find a way to talk. You don't know if you could have come up with words even if you wanted to. Not when he whines into your mouth like that.

Whatever you were trying to do before this is lost to the abyss. Too wrapped up in the feeling of his lips melting against yours and the tiny noises he's making to realize that you're properly stroking him now. Working up and down his cock as if you're already familiar with it, wrist lazily twisting on every upward glide.

"Shit, I'm—" His voice is raspy all of a sudden. "I..."

He doesn't finish that thought, either. Mouth hanging open with a silent moan, his hand reaching to cling to the side of your shoulder. Something to hang onto. He might crumble into a million tiny pieces if he doesn't. And he's panting into your mouth like a dog in the blistering heat; it's hardly even a kiss anymore, but neither of you is making any move to pull away. 

His breath audibly catches in his throat. Cock twitching, cumming with a whine. Painting your still-moving hand white, spreading over his length, makes this sickeningly loud squelching sound that ought to make your head swim. Fuck there's so much of it, rope after rope of white, making a damn mess that you haven't the slightest hope of cleaning up. 

"Sens—ah!" His big hand dwarfs your wrist as he grabs it. Forcing it still. 

"Too much?" 

"Too much." 

It's quiet. 

At least, it is for a moment or two. The wind squeals outside the fragile window, ripping around the edges of the cabin, frantically searching for a crack in the foundation to squeeze through, desperate to steal the heat of the fire out from under you. But the flames still dance, the wood crackling as it burns. 

The squeal of the wooden floor is your only indication that Rhett is moving, rolling over top of you in the blink of an eye. His mouth finds the side of your neck, the scruff clinging to his chin brushing against the skin there, as if the heat of his lips alone wasn't enough to make you gasp.

"I thought..." Words. Where the hell are your words? What were you even about to ask him?

"Never said I was done," his voice vibrates up your spine, rattling the thoughts swirling around your head. 

His body slips between your knees like it's something you've been doing for your entire lives. And maybe he did wind up there once a few months ago when you snatched the hat off his head and tried to flee the scene, but you don't remember it feeling quite like this. 

You don't get to linger on that thought for too long. Not when he's pepering kisses across your sensitive neck, his tongue boldly darting out to trace the outline of a vein. Heat flushes across your body. The tiny, invisible embers of a fire sparking to life, the smoke already beginning to cloud your head.

"Rhett," gasping. Now it's your turn to squeeze your legs around him, vaguely aware of how you can feel his hip bones pressing against you. Firm, nothing but muscle trained from a lifetime of ranch work, rippling under your touch. You can't help yourself, grabbing hold of a bicep with your only clean hand. 

And you can just barely catch how he pauses, peering up at you through thick lashes, like something has just occurred to him. Doesn't make any move to voice it, but his smile is enough of a hint. 

"Is this," smooching at the collar of your shirt, the flimsiest barrier that you wish wasn't there, "alright?"

On their own, your legs squeeze around him, forcing him closer. "More than alright." Because telling him that you never want him to stop might be a little too much too soon.

Big hands dip beneath your shirt, tracing with his nails as they glide up your sides. Your back arches up off the ground. Not sure if you're chasing the sensation or running away from it. The bottom of your shirt catches on his wrists, sliding up until he's pushed the fabric over your chest. 

"So fuckin' pretty," downright marveling at you, his eyes shimmering like he's just found a pot of gold. There's a whole night ahead of you, but he doesn't give himself time to linger. There's a whole lifetime of kisses to catch up on, and he's already getting started, peppering his way down your chest. 

You've waited all this time, only to have one available hand to use, forced to let go of his bicep and curl into his hair instead, fingers twirling in the loose curls that rest at his nape. Can't do both. Not without making a bigger mess out of your cum stained hand, and it might just be the worst thing that's ever happened to you. 

Because here he is. Real and warm and alive and kissing at the underside of your breast, those big blue eyes flickering up to drink in your expression, and you can't touch him how you want to. You feel like you're gonna float away. One more kiss, and you're gone. Out the window. Never to be seen or heard from again. One with the snow. 

Rhett laughs against your belly, almost sends you straight through the roof instead. "'m I takin' too long?"

"Huh?" Blinking.

"You're squintin' at me like you're mad 'bout somethin'," and now that he says that, you can feel your face begin to relax. 

"I'm not mad." Have your internal thoughts always been that obvious?

"Your little nose is scrunched up," kissing closer to the start of your sweats, poking his tongue out to lick his way down. "You're mad."

"I'm not mad," holding up your sticky palm, "I'm just frustrated that I can't use my hand." 

He was just in the process of curling his fingers beneath your waistband, but he pauses, fishing for something in his back pocket. That red handkerchief again. Passes it off to you before returning to the task at hand, but you're already one step ahead, lifting your hips until he's gotten the fabric over the swell of your ass. 

You don't realize he's stolen your underwear until the breeze hits you, thighs shyly squeezing together. Don't really know what for; it's not as if you weren't anticipating this, but now that you're in the moment...

Rhett tilts his head, looks kind of like a confused puppy sitting at your heels, those gears visibly twisting and turning in his head. His eyes widen with a thought, and before you know it, he's reaching for his own waistband, shoving them past his legs and over his ankles. 

Now you're both naked from the waist down. 

He reaches for your ankle, delicately lifting your leg until he can kiss at the inside of it. Not satisfied until he's marked every square inch of you. But your knees still remain defiantly glued together. Timid, as if you haven't thought about this more times than you'd like to admit. 

His hands dip beneath your naked thighs. Raking his nails down the sensitive skin there. And for a fleeting moment, the concept of worry has flown straight out the window, your legs falling open with a shiver. 

Fuck just the feeling of him kissing your inner thigh is enough to make you whine. A little spark of heat darting up your core is the tiniest thing, and yet it's the most overwhelming thing you've felt in your life. Because it's Rhett. It's Rhett fucking Abbott sucking a mark into your skin, right where it'll poke out from beneath your pajama shorts and tell everyone who sees it what you've been up to. 

"'s this too much?" He hums. He fucking hums. Sends you jumping.

"Yes." That's not what you wanted to say. "Maybe? No? I don't know." Your head thunks against the floor, can't give a damn about if it hurts or not.

Rhett pauses. "Want me to stop?"

"No!" Too loud. You said that way too loud. "No... I—I want you to keep going. It's just...new?" 

There go those hands again, massaging the fat of your thighs, stealing away whatever tension was lingering there. His mouth burns against them, working another mark into your skin, just in case the first one disappears too quickly. 

"You just tell me when it's too much, a'ight?" He murmurs, peering up at you, and it's all you can do to nod and utter a fragile 'yes.' 

There's a rising chance that he'll be bringing you home in a sack and spend the next week gluing you back together because you might fall apart at any given moment. Nerves alight with a newfound anxiousness. You don't know what for. This is Rhett you're talking about here. Same old cowboy that you've known for as long as you can remember. 

Lips find the thin skin where your thigh joins with the rest of your body. Jumping out of your skin is suddenly a very possible task. 

"Y've no idea how long I've been wantin' to do this." And that's the last thing you hear before his mouth is on you.

You might pass away on the spot. Off to heaven, hell, or whatever the fuck is out there. 

But all that comes of it is a hitched breath, a shudder racing through your body as his burning hot tongue licks a long strip up your cunt. Experimental. Does it again when your hips rise up off the floor; he's just started, and you're already impatiently chasing him. 

"Hang on, hang on. 'm takin' care of ya," you can hear the smile in his voice as he forces you back onto the floor. "Don't gotta chase me for it." 

It's a promise he's already making good on. 

Lazily mouthing at your clit, nothing but fleeting barely-there touches that have you squirming and biting into your fist. Oh, shit shit shit, he's twirling his tongue around it now, directly targeting that poor little bud for nothing but a few seconds.

Your whine is too damn loud for this little cabin; his folks probably heard you from ten miles up the road. But all Rhett does is curl his arms around your thighs, dragging you closer. One of your legs wind up over his shoulder, and you don't know when you started reaching down, but you're pawing at his forehead. Helpless as he prods his tongue at your entrance, pushing inside if only to feel you clench around him for a moment or two.

"Rhett," you don't know what you're babbling about. Didn't know you were talking until your ears catch the familiar tone of your own voice.

The bastard fucking hums, vibrating up your lower belly and through your spine, and again you're jumping. But you're not getting anywhere. Not with those arms around your thighs, holding you perfectly still as his tongue glides up through your folds, drawing a little figure eight around your clit. 

His lips wrap around it again, gently sucking on it as he flicks the tip of his tongue over it and—

"Too much!" Your hands are in his hair. Yanking him away. "Too much."

You don't know what the hell you'll do with the sight of Rhett's chin glistening in the light, thin lips stretched around a big ol' grin as he climbs back up your body. 

"Cute thing," he chuckles; you pretend you don't feel how wet his mouth is when he kisses your cheek.

He's already hard again. Cock so heavy that it can't even stand, resting against a pale, freckled thigh. It's so damn close to where you want him. Can only imagine what it would be like to feel him push into you for the first time, but there's an item critically missing here. 

Rhett's nose bumps against yours. "Y' look mad again."

"Because I just realized that we don't have lube," you grumble. 

...or maybe you do because he's on the move all of a sudden. Grabbing the pant leg of his discarded jeans and dragging them over, rustling through the pockets until he finds what he's looking for. 

Lube packets.

"Were you planning on this, or do you just keep lube on you at all times?" You can't help but ask, can't really believe what you're looking at right now.

"Believe it or not, I use it when that fuckin' barn door gets jammed," he pauses, tearing at the corner of a packet with his teeth, "but I'd rather it be you than a rusty hinge."

Eyeroll. "How romantic."

Even his oversized hand isn't enough to make his cock look any less intimidating; you thought it would dwarf in comparison, but it's almost as if the complete opposite has happened. Daunting, even as he strokes a generous amount of lube over himself. The voice in your head suggests that you might have bitten off more than you can chew, but there's only one way to find out for sure.

The calloused tip of his middle finger glides between your folds. Has you jumping a little bit. A slight pressure blooms, slowly pushing into you, his gaze fixated on the sight. It certainly feels bigger than it looked, if that is even remotely possible, blindly feeling around for a particular little spot.

The asshole knows he's found it before you even do. Pushing a second, dripping finger into you, deliberately crooking them to rub up into it. Heat sparks between your thighs. Pretty sure that's just the lube, but you're convinced that you can feel yourself getting wetter, already hopelessly desperate. 

"Rhett," mewling in a tone so unlike you that it's almost insulting. 

"What?" Tilting his head.

You didn't really think that far. Aren't particularly sure of what it is you want or why you're saying his name, but your arms lift themselves into the air, hands opening and closing in a vague grabbing motion. You still don't know what you initially wanted, but you sure would like to have him closer.

And he gives it to you. 

Carefully settles into your waiting arms without a fuss, his lips wrangled up into another one of those wild grins that you can never seem to get enough of. A strand of hair falls out from behind his ear, just long enough for the ends of it to tickle your cheek, drawing a giggle out of you. And for reasons unbeknownst to you, he giggles, too. 

His length rudely bumps against your thigh, demanding attention from both of you. Damn thing is so heavy that he has no choice but to reach down and guide himself, dragging the fat tip through your folds just for the hell of it. A slight pressure appears at your entrance. Then, disappears. Slipping upward and gliding past your clit instead. 

But then the pressure appears again, and this time he's not intentionally screwing up to mess with you. Air jams in your throat. 

"Gonna have to relax for me, sweetheart," he whispers; there's that pet name again. God, you might legally change your name to sweetheart just so he'll call you that every day for the rest of your life. Something in your lower belly unwinds. "There y' go." 

The fat tip slips into you without any further warning, simultaneously puts a shiver in your bones, and steals away the little bit of clarity that you had left. You don't even know what you're shaking for. The fire is still crackling next to you, albeit dimmer than it was before. The room is far from cold, but you can't seem to keep still, quivering like an autumn leaf in the breeze.

Rhett appears like a fucking daydream. Cradling your face in his hands, a sudden presence that you've somehow managed to forget about, murmuring something against your lips that sounds like your name. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. You don't care to find out, too eager to steal him away in a kiss instead. 

Your arms wind around his shoulders, nails biting into the muscle that you find there, clinging to him for dear life as his cock gradually pushes into you. Inch after devastating inch, your chest progressively becoming tighter and tighter, as if you're running out of space to give. 

This can't be right. There's no way that you're really doing this. Lying here in the deserted cabin out on Calico Creek, nothing but a fire and Rhett's burning body to keep you warm, thighs squeezing his sharp hips as he sinks into you. It's a scene plucked right out of your own wild imagination. You should be waking up right now. Alone, in bed, like you have every other time this has happened.

But the scruffy chin that your hand has found its way to feels so real. The kiss breaks. Rhett leans back just far enough for you to catch sight of that stupid old grin, and holy shit, you've got Rhett fucking Abbott's cock in you right now. 

"Just a little more," he's murmuring so nonchalantly, and you really, truly, have no idea if that 'little more' is gonna fit or not. 

It either fits, or you pass away in the process of trying. The jury is still out for that one. One way or another, though, he's bottoming out, body flush with yours, not a centimeter left to take, and you think you've stopped breathing. Rhett has, too, for that matter. Completely and utterly quiet as he leans back, lashes fluttering at what he finds. 

"'m almost too big for your poor little pussy, shit." He's not staring; he's marveling at you.  "You're sure I ain't hurtin' ya?" The pad of his thumb traces where you're stretched around him, hopelessly bound together with no hope of ever untangling from each other.

Experimental, his hips roll, drawing a little noise past your lips. It's so much. So, so much. Helplessly curling your legs around his waist, heels digging into the swell of his ass, as if that can possibly save you. 

Rhett's not doing much better. Dropping his head into the crook of your neck, timidly drawing back by an inch before pushing back in just as slowly as he did the first time. His labored breath burns through your skin, grumbling something incoherent below his breath. But he's doing it again, and now, now...

"Fuck, Rhett,"  whimpering, clinging to his shoulders. 

The fire could go out at this very moment, and you would never feel even a wisp of the cold, not with how he's already finding a lazy rhythm. Hardly pulling out, rocking your body beneath him. His weight is the only thing keeping you from scooting up the floor, little puffs of air knocked out of you with every thrust. 

He's got it just as bad as you do. Panting into your mouth like a dog, the softest noises resting in the back of his mouth. Still sensitive from already cumming once. 

All of a sudden, he draws back, and for a fleeting moment, you're horrified that he's already pulling out of you. But he's pushing back into you a little quicker now and, and, and...

"'s that feel good?" He's grunting, already peeling back to do that again. The length of his cock grazes against a familiar bundle of nerves. Stars sparkle behind your vision.

"Uhuh," all that you can come up with.

Now that he's found it, he's not letting up. Moving a little quicker now. A wet little noise punctuating the snap of his hips, your poor pussy helplessly fluttering around him, so fucking full of him that it almost aches. Writhing beneath him, torn between wriggling away from the sensation and pushing into it, as if you have any choice when you're pinned beneath him like this.

"Can feel ya clenchin' round my cock, sweetheart," he's grinning as he says it, cocky in the worst way imaginable. 

Your face is so hot that you're gonna catch on fire. "Please quit talking."

To his credit, he does exactly as you ask, but that does nothing to wipe the stupid fucking grin off his face. You can't escape it. Not when he's leaning back onto his haunches, just far enough to gaze down at where his thick cock disappears into you, and suddenly you can see it. Such a wide fucking stretch that you feel bite-sized beneath him.

The weeping head of his cock strikes those little nerves. Knocks a cry right out of you. And it's the worst possible thing you could have done because he's doing it again. Tilting his hips, working just a little quicker now, drilling into that same fucking spot. 

"'s that the spot?" He coos, breathless, his hands finding your hips, dragging you into. Every. Single. Thrust. "Fuck, I don't know how I even fit in ya."

You don't even know how to talk anymore, never mind put up with his senseless mutterings. Voice caught in your throat, your cries completely and utterly silent. Blindly pawing at his forearms. Squeezing. Clawing. You manage to get ahold of one, dragging it up to your chest like you're trying to hug the damn thing. 

"Rhett," your voice wavers, "Rhett, I want—" Closer. You want him closer. But all you can manage to do is pull on his arm.

Those pretty eyes widen. The next thing you know, he's coming back to you. Using his only forearm to brace his weight beside your head, his chest snug against yours once again. You only let go of his arm in exchange for his shoulders, practically pulling him into a hug. 

Rhett nuzzles his nose into the side of your cheek, his hot breath tickling your ear. "Don't want me too far away?"

"No," grumbling. 

You've got just enough leverage to crane your neck up, mouthing at the sweaty underside of his neck. You're not trying to leave marks. Not when you know that you'll have no choice but to face his family after this; it's only a matter of time before Perry puts two and two together, but you can't help yourself. Lips finding a space just beneath his ear, mindlessly sucking on the skin there, uncaring of what evidence you leave behind.

Rhett whines. Loud in your ear, sends your lower belly twisting with something inexplicably warm, pussy clamping down around him, drawing a second sound out of him. His arms shiver. Fighting to keep his weight up. Hardly has the strength to pull away from your mouth, his hips stuttering.

"Look how well you're takin' me," he's peeled back just far enough for you to get a glimpse, mouth hanging open, can't seem to shut himself up.

"It's mortifying." 

"It's hot." 

You'd argue. You want to argue, but fuck, you can't. Not when he's got you pinned to the floor like this, fat cock bullying into your poor pussy, panting into each other's mouths like it's the only thing you're good for. A lewd smack of skin on skin defiling every innocent memory you've ever had here. 

There's a familiar coil in your lower belly, your cunt clenching down around him, legs locking around him. Your vision blurs. Chest tight. "I'm..." 

"Yeah," he's agreeing before you've even finished your thought. 

It's the mistake of looking down that does you in. The obscene sight of his wet cock disappearing into you, those strong hips stuttering as you clench around him again, punctuated by that stupid breathy moan that falls off his tongue. 

Your back arches off the floor, burying your face into the crook of his neck as it hits you. Heart hammering against your chest. Ears ringing. Cumming around his cock with nothing but a choked wail. Helplessly clinging to him, squeezing him so tight that your arms ache from it.

The fire might as well jump out and engulf you in flames; everything is burning. Distantly aware of how your legs have begun to tremble again, locked so tight around him that you can feel him try and fail to pull away from you. Babbling something about how you need to let him go, one of his hands pawing at your thigh. Pushing, trying his best to peel you away.

But it's too late. His hips are seizing up, and your eyes are opening to the sound of his strangled whine, collapsing back into you. The muscles in his back twitch beneath your fingertips as his orgasm washes over him, cock spasming so hard that you can almost convince yourself that you feel his cum flooding you.

Oh.

Oh shit, he's cumming in you. 

You should be more worried about it than you actually are, lazily letting your legs unwind from around him, uncaring about the kind of problems that this is going to cause in a few minutes. Worry is beyond you, on a completely different plane of existence. The only thing your mind has the ability to comprehend is the warmth of Rhett's face nuzzling into the crook of your neck, a final shiver racing up his spine before he becomes dead weight on top of you.

"You..." he tries, breathless. "Was that...too much?"

You don't even know where your voice has gone, wordlessly laughing into his shoulder. "It was perfect," is what you try to say, but your poor tongue can hardly shape around the letters, nothing but a senseless warble leaving you instead. And maybe Rhett's got the same condition because whatever he says next makes no sense, either.

It takes a minute for him to roll off of you, and when he does, you wind up rolling with him, your naked back facing the fire. You don't really mean to, just mindlessly following, can't look away from him for more than a second. The fire isn't nearly as bright as it was when all of this first started, but certainly not any cooler. Heat licking up your sensitive back. Pleasant at first, but the longer it goes on...

"This fire is hot on my ass," your sentence makes sense this time. 

His hand drifts down onto your ass cheek. Your eyes roll. Rhett's face lights up with a giggle, lips twisting up into a smile that you need to kiss off of him. Even if you can't really lift your head, noses crashing, kisses reduced to fleeting pecks. 

"If I woulda known this was gonna happen, I promise I would've brought somethin' to clean you up with," he murmurs, reaching to brush something off of your jaw. You don't want to know what it is.

"If I had known this was going to happen," your momentum is interrupted by a yawn, "we wouldn't have made it out of my bedroom." 

He winks at you. "We can still make that happen."

"Oh my god." Eyeroll. You're gonna walk home. 

Or, you would if he didn't curl an arm around your waist and pull you into him like a teddy bear that he's suddenly decided he wants to snuggle. And you just fit into the space below his chin so perfectly that you can't possibly bring yourself to move. 

The wind wails outside, and the fire desperately needs tending to, but neither of you are moving. If anything, you're making it worse, tangling your legs together, wedging an arm around his torso, and for a moment, you can convince yourself that you can stay like this forever. Wrapped up in your favorite person, out here on Calico Creek, never to be seen or heard from again. Lost to the magic of winter. 

Your stomach growls. 

So does his.

Laughter spins through the air. 

Maybe forever out on this creek would only work if you had electricity and a snack. But you don't mind losing out on forever, so long as Rhett's with you. Just like he always has been, snowstorm or not. 

[sincerelywhistler]

⊹ ₊ ❤︎ VIX ❤︎₊ ⊹

My husband, Fox, received Desire Demon as his Redacted demon quiz type result. So, naturally, we cooked up a DemonSona for him. And by we, I mean he called all the shots and I had the utmost pleasure of drawing this flirt. (We also made Vix and my DemonSona, Wolf-Rayet, smooch. Because we’re gay.)

Vulpecula… Vix… like a vixen… l-like a Fox yeah you get it.

Vix’s Pinterest Board

More about Vix (from Fox himself):

HELLO TUMBLR ITS FOX AND ITS MY TURN ON THE WES ACCOUNT, STRAP IN

• Vix first began writing as a way to better understand human desires on a deeper, personal level through passing on letters with anonymous pen pals

• Through sending these letters back and forth, he found his passion for writing as a whole. He excels in writing romance and poetry.

• After sending his pen pals rough copies of his creative works, they encouraged Vix to publish his books. He decided to publish his books under his full name, Vulpecula

• The general public has been lead to believe that the name Vulpecula is a pseudonym, and that it is a pseudonym that was passed down from anonymous writer to anonymous writer as generations passed. Empowered folk likely know that an immortal race— like a demon or vampire— is the person behind the pen

• He was a voracious reader from the start. Vix’s place on Elegy houses an impressive collection of books of all ages and genres

• Vix primarily feeds on humans’ general attraction towards him rather than from sexual relationships. Think of his dietary situation like something rent-a-boyfriend haha. Need a plus one to a wedding or work party? Don’t want to waste a Friday night by staying home? Want a shopping buddy? Call him up, he likes both the company and the attention.

• Bringing people out of their shells to try new things or go on dates is his favorite thing to do, which is why he wants to study Wolf-Rayet’s reclusive self under a microscope so badly in a gay way

• HOW THEY MET IS SO CUTE BUT I DONT THINK I CAN SUMMARIZE IT ALL LIKE WES WOULD BE ABLE TO SO LOOK AT THE THUMBNAIL OF THEM MEETING INSTEAD

barcode: the pleasure is mine

• …I LIED IM DOING IT ANYWAY. Wolf-Rayet finally got out of the house to visit the quaint mom and pop book shop to pick up some new books to read to his patients. By happenstance, Vix was there, setting up for a book signing when he spotted WR looking lost and awkward in the romance section. He caught Vix’s eye in more ways than one, so of course he had to go fluster the shit out of WR. WR explodes and fucking dies because a McDonald’s sprite would kill that Victorian man, but also because Vix wants to see him again, so he handed WR a copy of one of his spicer books he’s published, and on the back he wrote “we could make such a beautiful library together”. It’s then that Wolf-Rayet learns that he is actually the author of that book signing before bolting out the doors in embarrassment 😭

• He and Wolf-Rayet speak Latin together!! Vix learned it because he’s a sucker for dead languages and WR picked it up because he’s old as fuck medical terminology is heavy with Latin roots

• Vix calls WR “his hound” like from Fox and the Hound

That’s all I will share for now GOODBYE TUMBLR

-FOX

[mischiefmaker615]

Chef's Choice

Over the past time of having tumblr, i have collected my personal favorites- stories that i always get drawn back to when i need inspiration, something to read, and/or something to enjoy with whatever mood or situation that needs tending LOL (not in order and there are so many others i love!!)

Thought it be best to introduce you to some of the greats out there :D

“Seems like the prince of Asgard is seduced by a mortal woman”

By: @fictive-sl0th

(OMG i absolutely LOVE the doctor themed stories with Loki XD ya never know what direction it's gonna end up ;) )

A Coveted Bride

By: @magicbystarlight

(i absolutely LOVE jealous Loki, anything in the realm of dark theme and possessiveness XD we don't judge here. it's an enquired taste and darling, you cooked!!)

Duplicitous *Long Snake Moan*

By: @darkficsyouneveraskedfor

(everything you write, i got to read! truth be told, we didnt ask for but we absolutely needed!!)

Pinned Down

By: @lokisgoodgirl

(come on, just by the titles alone you know it's gonna be good! everything you've written, i've fallen in love with each detail, nothing is rushed and personalities are captured beautifully! i've caught myself gasping out loud in public with some of the stuff you bring us and i absolutely love it!)

Overstimulation Welcome Him Home More Between His Thighs

By: @sarahscribbles

(had me drooling in kinktober!!! just the title alone, i hit favorite so i could read it when i got time and darling, you didn't disappoint! so many stories just draw my attention and every aspect of them is truly perfect!!! i need more!!!)

thirty seconds

By: @muddyorbsblr

(what i would give to be in the readers shoes!! omg i loved this!!! hit all the right feelings and i cant help but reread this far more than thirty times LOL)

The Chambermaid

By: @wheredafandomat

(i want Loki to step on me!!!! i wouldn't mind slave life if it meant serving him LOL gods this was perfect!! i always loved maid x Loki themed stories, keep them coming!!)

Kinktober Day 16

By: @suguru-getos

("we listen and we don't judge" *cough* i love me some CNC! seems like a very hidden kink topic so i got positively excited when i saw this mentioned in your writing and just HAD to read it Lol kinky indeed!!! truly my favorite fic of yours so far!)

Overtime Safehouse

By: @cleo-fox

(I'm pretty sure all of tumblr knows who you are Lol i have enjoyed EVERYTHING you've come out with; your plots, details and character embodiment, Loki is on point!! i cant even fathom where to begin on making storylines this deep with all the bells and whistles. you are truly an incredible writer!!)

"I can do….terrible things to you."

By: @oh-look-at-her

(i can't literally do anything but bow down to you and get up only when given permission LOL truly a damn good time reading your work!!)

Firestarter

By: @delaber

(who doesn't love a good enemies to lovers story Lol can't tell you how many people i've shooed while i was in the middle of reading this XD)

Frozen Stiff Happily Never After

By: @simplyholl

(tbh i struggle finding REALLY good Jotun Loki fics and absolutely fell in love with this one!!! thank you for letting me die in peace now Lol had me giddy and blushing!!)

Have Mercy

By: @mochie85

(you captured his hot and pain in the ass personality so well!!! i LOVED this went through all the emotions on this one!! kinda like an enemies to lovers story Lol why cant it be me!!!)

A Tales of Tangled Desires

By: @angelremnants

(i fell in love with the part one, not expecting for my request to be answered but i got a part two and absolutely have become obsessed!! i love your writing so much and thank you for the prayer being answered! Lol)

And The Gods Made Love

By: @thefairywithboots

(thank you for my request being answered!! anything you publish, i cant get enough of and love the pure art like pace you take to form every inch of your story!!)

[writingwithfolklore]

What Makes a Good Pay Off?

              Novels are full of set ups and pay offs. Every single element you introduce is considered a set up, which means every single one needs to have one or more pay offs. If a character is really good at drawing, that skill needs to come into play during an important moment later or it will feel like a waste of words and reader attention, for example. If there’s a dog in the first chapter, it can’t disappear without providing some use to the plot.

              So how do we write a good pay off? It depends on a few things:

1. The longer the set up, the bigger the pay off

If the pay off is relatively small, place the set up sooner before. The longer it takes to get to the pay off, the more expectations are raised and the greater the moment needs to be. If a dog is introduced at the beginning it would be appropriate for it to play a small part in the plot a couple chapters later. However, if the dog is introduced and then comes up again and again across the plot, it should have a large role in the plot and ultimate ending of the novel.

2. Large pay offs should have at least 3 set ups

If you introduce something at the beginning, you can’t expect readers to remember it all the way to the end without some sort of reminder. That’s why large set ups typically come back up throughout several points of the novel. 3 times is not a hard and fast rule (and depending on the length of your novel and where your pay off is, this number is going to look very different across projects) but it’s a good guideline so that you remember to carry it throughout the novel before the pay off.

3. The last pay off is the biggest

If your set up has multiple pay offs, they should get progressively bigger and more satisfying as they go, leading up to the final that has the largest impact on plot and character.

4. Every POV character will have a set up and pay off

An arc is essentially a large set up and pay off, which means every character should have one. Your inciting incident is the set up for your MC’s arc, but the other POV characters also need their own introductions to their arcs, and eventually, their own resolutions. These can be placed wherever makes the most sense for them, and can be shorter than the main plot (for example, a side-character’s story may be resolved any time between the midpoint and ending, though I wouldn’t go any sooner than your midpoint).

[dietcokegirly12]

heyy can i ask getting caught by jouno while using toys cause u miss him or sum ^w^ ty (not sure if the previous req sent so just in doubt)

stay safe

"Without Me? "

word count: 1.6k

tags: masturbation, degrading, rough sex, mean!jouno, teasing, overstimulation, pussy slapping, mating press, slight mention of oral

a/n: omgomg this is soo ridiculously stupendously late, pls forgive me, but god do i love this req, jouno is one of my faves and he’s so underrated so any time i get reqs for him, js know im smiling and giggling like an idiot pleasee keep them coming so i have an excuse to write for him ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

art creds to pinterest (tell me if you know artists’ :)

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ ⋆˙⟡♡ ꒱┈• ｡ﾟ┈꒰ ⋆˙⟡♡ ꒱┈• ｡ﾟ┈꒰ ⋆˙⟡♡ ꒱

you swallow, staring at the taunting rubbery pink vibrator sitting on your bed, your mind going back and forth.

were you really about to do this?

you loved your boyfriend, and his cock almost just as much. he was so obscenely big that it made the fake dildo across from you look laughable. with the thought of his perfect pink cock reaching past his belly button, curved and beading with pearly pre-cum, it was almost impossible to imagine yourself getting off to that.

and yet. he wasn’t here.

and he hadn’t been for several months now, off on a mission for the hunting dogs, as his job required and took up most of his time, leaving you alone to tend to your own needs.

to his credit, every extra second he had, he would spend with you, but it was never enough.

and you had been feeling so pent-up lately, the needy tingling between your legs almost unbearable as you awaited your boyfriend’s uncertain return.

it could be days. it could be weeks. it could be months.

and you were so unbearably horny, you didn’t think you could last another second.

exhaling quickly, you reach out for it without a second thought, pressing the button that caused a small hum to emit, vibrating slightly and pressing it between your legs over your needy cunt before you can change your mind.

immediately, pleasure courses through you, and you let out a small, relieved gasp as all the pressure that had been building and building inside you is finally eased up.

you press it harder onto your pussy, beginning to move it in small circles and unconsciously bucking your hips against it as you lose yourself completely, moaning and jolting lightly, arousal already coating the rubbery thing in sticky webs.

“o-oohh fuck..” you curse softly, finger coming to turn up the setting higher, the gradual hum increasing into a louder buzz that causes your whole body to twitch and shudder.

your head drops back, mouth open to let out small pants as you begin to fit the tip of it into your sopping entrance, sliding it in slowly as you increase the speed even more, your pussy stretching around the bright pink dick obscenely as your thighs begin to quake.

you can already feel a growing tautness in the pit of your stomach, and you can’t help but marvel for a second at how fast the thing works, turning it up another notch.

by now, the loud buzzing is unmistakable with wet, slick sounds coming from you, making it quite obvious what it is exactly that you're doing, even as you try to stay quiet, chest heaving up and down sporadically.

and then, as you open your legs wider, you hit that one spot, the one that jouno never ceases to hit, the one that makes you cum only after a few thrusts without fail every single time.

and oh, you're so close, you can feel it, practically taste it, your back arching up as the gummy tip of the dildo presses insistently deeper, vibrations making your eyes go blurry, tears pricking at your vision as it drives you to the brink of overstimulation from all of the added sensations combined together.

wanting to prolong your pleasure, and draw out your orgasm just a bit longer however, you hover your finger to turn down the setting, your now sweat-sheened body writhing and gasping softly, shaky as you try to stop the inevitable.

"darl'? where are you baby, i'm finally-"

jouno.

in a panic, you frantically fumble with the vibrator, your fingers shaky and sweaty. in your alarm, your finger slips upward, instantly causing it to go up to the highest setting.

bzzzzzt!

you let out a scream of pleasure as the vibrations become so strong you can't breathe, can't move, can't think, your hips wildly grinding up further, your mind going blank as your vision turns white.

and then you're cumming, thighs splaying wider to display the absolutely lewd sight in between, pussy squeezing around the fake cock as rivulets of your slick course out, absolutely drenching the thing, your helpless whines the only sound you can muster up as your head tosses and turns.

you manage to pull the still thrumming vibrator away, strings of your arousal connecting it to you still as your hand falls with a thump, completely limp and boneless, trying to muster up the energy to move or say something, anything.

in your daze, you feel the bed creak and dip underneath someone's weight, and then a hand finds its way to your chin, tilting it toward himself.

you open your eyes blearily to be met with a still fully-uniformed jouno, expressionless and nose twitching with distaste at the obvious smell of sex that hung in the air.

"hm, what's this? pleasuring yourself while i'm away..?"

your chest heaves up and down as you scramble for an answer. "w-well i... you were gone s'long an'.. i just wanted.."

he tsks softly, hand coming down to swipe over the mess you just made, gathering your essence on his still-gloved fingers, causing a small gasp to leave you. "what a naughty, naughty girl."

you bristle slightly at this, becoming defensive. "hey s'not fair! y-you're never here.."

his head turns, lips twitching up into what can only be described as a sadistic smile, his fingers probing deeper. "aw, missed my cock so much, she took matters into her own hands, huh?"

you whine as he shoves a finger deeper into your awaiting cunt, curling them up slightly to make your breathing hitch and stutter.

"well, guess what, m'here now, so you're gonna get this cock you were so desperate for, yeah? and you're gonna take it alllll.."

you swallow as he shifts, belt buckle clinking as he expertly pulls down his pants enough to expose his familiar, leaking pale length, slapping against his tummy to stand proud past his belly button.

he leans back, an arrogant smirk on his face, as his hands wrap around the undersides of your thighs, pulling you forward until your still-sensitive center meets his pelvis, that ever-present sneer on his face.

"open those legs f'me, doll." he says, taking his cock into hand to pump leisurely, reddish-tipped hair falling into his face as his mouth twitches ever so slightly at the feel of him stroking himself.

you hesitate, lip pulled between your teeth as you watch him. "b-but m'still sensitive.."

he only chuckles lowly, thumbing his tip as he tilts his head mockingly. "aww, shoulda thought about that.." he punctuates his words by tapping the reddish divoted head of himself on your poor, abused cunt. ".. 'fore you decided you were too impatient to wait for dick, greedy little thing."

without waiting longer, he suddenly thrusts himself deep into your velvety walls, which instantly clamp around him in welcome as a low, gargling whine leaves your throat pathetically at the intrusion of his sheer size, and how long it's been since he stretched you out last.

you claw at his back as he pulls you closer, pushing your legs up to fold you into such a mean, mating press, as he shoves the rest of himself into your throbbing entrance.

he doesn't even stutter in his movements, already beginning a relentless pace, only pausing to murmur huskily into the shell of your ear "s' this okay?" to which you give a small weak nod to, your body quivering as you tighten around him further.

and then, you can't think anymore as his hips slam into you ruthlessly, growling roughly in your ear about "how much he missed this slutty pussy" and "how good you take him" and "who needs fake toys when you have the real thing right here."

your head lolls back, a fucked-out expression on your face as you just lay back and take it, even when he throws your legs over his shoulders, and plows into you so bruisingly, the only sound is skin against skin and the slapping of his hefty balls on your ass, as your pliant body simply squirms and arches in his hold.

"s-sai.." you pant heavily, your breaths faltering with every ravaging thrust, your whole body moving with his force, as his tip repeatedly french-kisses your cervix, smearing wads of ribbony pre-cum in your insides. "s-slow down or i'm.."

his chest heaves above you as he wedges himself deeper into your warm walls, clenching so desperately around him, his tone breathy but scoffing. "y-yeah? don't tell me you're done already, sweetheart."

you whimper, as his palm comes down to lightly smack your pulsating clit, your stringiness of arousal sticking to him easily, and stretching between you.

his hips grow faster, more erratic, and less calculated, growing sloppier as the seconds pass, cock ramming into you deeper and deeper until your vision spots, and you don't even realize you're cumming until you hear his groan of surprise as your release gushes out of you, and sprays across his lower abdominals, coating him in your sticky sappy essence.

"baby.. did you jus' squirt?" jouno sounds almost in pain as his hips falter, and then he's cumming too, creamy white ropes spurting into you endlessly, stringy in their entirety as he smears his load into you until you can't even breathe you're so full.

finally, he releases his hold on you, and your sweat-sticky bodies peel away from one another to lie, panting and out of breath on the wrecked bed.

you're so dazed, and out of it, you don't even realize what jouno's doing until his hands are spreading your thighs apart, and his tongue laves over your messy, drooling pussy gently.

you shudder as he whispers into you, "oh and baby? i'm on leave for the next few months. so don't worry, y'er gonna have plentyyy of time with this cock. and m'not wasting a single second."

[catsushinyakajima]

KLANCE FIC RECS FOR THE NEW YEARS RECAP PART ONE

2024 has come to an end! Here are all of my fav fav Voltron fics and authors that I've interacted with throughout the year. I'm trying to make this list as diverse as possible so everyone can find some tropes they like but I PROMISE all these fics are worth a read. Listed in no particular order, we have:

fear no more the heat o' the sun by taromi | 28k | Canon-Divergent

This fic is an ASTOUNDING depiction of Keith's perspective on life and how Lance changes things up. Every scene between them added not only to their dynamic, but also to our vision of Keith. We see how he is and how things unfold so beautifully. The prose is beautiful and the scenes carry both fluff/emotion so well.

Silver Bells by heavily_caffeinated/@heavilycaffeinatedsblog | 86.3k | Christmas AU

I'm not one for much holiday cheer/hallmark-esque tropes, but caf's writing still managed to draw me in so much. I applaud Caf sincerely for their incredible diligence to upload a chapter everyday (totaling to 86k words in 25 days!!), and their enthusiasm to include everyone in it's creation. This fic is a pure show of passion, in both it's story and the creation of the story. I encourage you all to check out their other fics too.

late night talking (can’t get you off my mind) by ShatterinSeconds/@shatterinseconds | 5.8k | Werewolf!Keith

This fic is SO GOOD for touch starved Keith. It's short and sweet and you get both perspectives of their pining and feelings together. It's a really cute one shot, and I had trouble picking between this fic and other fics by the author so check those out too! Also @shatterinseconds is the goat for not only commenting on all my fics, but somehow always being in the comment section of every fic I read.

Hearts Don'/t Break Around Here by klancekorner | 135.5k | Roommates/Childhood Best Friends

This fic is a classic in the KL fandom but I still don't hear it talked about enough!! I don't usually like childhood best friends trope that much but this fic made me LOVE it!!! It also portrays Lance's anxiety and Keith's avoidance so so well and shows them growing up beautifully.

Cores of Diamond by speaks/@speakswords | 25.6k | Friends with Benefits

One time I lost this fic in my bookmarks and spent a whole day trying to find it. It's such a good depiction of the way KL don't always see eye to eye due to a lack of proper communication and bridging that gap between them. Has NSFW scenes!

Where the water meets the sky by speaks/@speakswords | 106.3k | Mer!Keith

I NEEDED to rec another speaks fic, this one is unfinished but it ends on a conclusive note. There's themes of growing up, living with changes, reunions, and also lots and lots of feelings.

got got got it bad by kairiolette | 10.3k | Post-War | Pining Keith

This one is also pretty popular. It's so so funny. And so real. Keith goes through the five stages of grief as he realizes he loves Lance and like. Of course he would do that. Really sweet.

so kiss me (kiss me kiss me kiss me) and tuesday's sweetheart (sunday's lover) by hearttpoem | 10k | roommates AU | getting together

This author writes the BEST modern/roommates AU. I love the way KL lives together in their fics and I love the way you can see different love languages in the fics. I was going back and forth between which fic to rec and I chose both these fics cuz I read them all the time!!

Where the apple falls by europa_report/@jupiters-junipers | 130k+ | post-war | comatose

No fic rec list is complete without this fic. This fic is genuinely one of my favorite KL fics, its not finished but I believe the author will finish it. The prose is beautiful and it is an entire emotional rollercoaster. You guys should definitely check this fic out

I've Said Too Much (You Promise I Can't Ever Say Enough) by negativefouriq | 1.8k | Autistic!Lance | Est Relationship

This fic is short, sweet, and such a good depiction of having so many thoughts and wanting to share them all and the anxieties of it. Keith's perspective and his reactions to Lance are very healing to read.

baby, i'll rock your world by AsterikaMay/ @catsushinyakajima | 9.5k | Christmas AU | Gift giving

I am putting one of my fics here lol because I did enjoy writing this one a lot! I keep writing fics about gift giving and pining...this must say something about me ahahah

Part two here

[rnnsdrms]

THE BOYS WHO ... !!

ᥫ᭡. ── DEAREST READER. renna’s writing nsfw’s debut? wowza. not really a debut since i wrote an nsfw alphabet for mycroft two years ago, lol. i’ve been wanting to write nsfw for a long time now and while there are some on my drafts, i am still not confident with my writing skills. afraid it sounded cringey. but i’ve finished watching blue lock and i need to let some things out. FEATURING: BLUE LOCK, FREE! & HAIKYUU!!

ᥫ᭡. ── CONTENT WARNING. adult content. minors do not interact. characters are aged up (when i wrote this in mind). nothing too explicit.

“—who press their cock between your folds, sliding it up and down but not wanting to slide it in just yet. looking down at you with an almost twisted smirk, they can feel your hips grind against their length, signaling them that you, his precious little doll, so desperate for his dick. with one hand holding their dick in place, the other reaches up to capture your neck in a firm hold—not too rough, just tight enough to loosen your jaw. “look at you, rubbing yourself against my cock. that desperate, huh? come on, use your words, baby, wanna hear you say it,” they tease with a condescending tone, their eyes darkening with every passing second, already consumed by a primal instinct you know all too well.”

BLUE LOCK: ITOSHI SAE, MICHAEL KAISER, KUNIGAMI RENSUKE, barou shouei, mikage reo, karasu tabito, shidou ryuusei, julian loki, aiku oliver, sendou shuuto

FREE!: MATSUOKA RIN, TACHIBANA MAKOTO, KINJOU KAEDE

HAIKYUU!!: SUGAWARA KOUSHI, MATSUKAWA ISSEI, KUROO TETSUROU,

“—tease your nipples until they’re sore, pinching the tender, sensitive buds with deliberate precision. their thumb glides across the taut skin, drawing lewd gasps from your lips as your body arches into their touch, trying to feel more of their large palms. you beg them to stop, looking up at them with eyes half-lidded, yet your pupils clouded with immense pleasure. ‘such a cute liar,’ they think, a smirk forming on their lips. leaning down, they capture your already bruised nipple with their mouth, swirling their tongue and sucking hungrily, each movement sending new wave of shocks through your trembling frame. “can’t believe you’re already this wet, just from my fingers playing with you like this …” they murmur while their face is between your chest, voice thick with satisfaction. the sight of you—a moaning, whimpering mess—fuels their pride, knowing they’re the only one who can unravel you so completely.

BLUE LOCK: CHIGIRI HYOMA, NAGI SEISHIROU, BACHIRA MEGURU, yukimiya kenyu

FREE!: MIKOSHIBA MOMOTAROU, RYUGAZAKI REI, SERIZAWA NAO, hazuki nagisa

HAIKYUU!!: KENMA KOZUME, SEMI EITA, AKAASHI KEIJI, bokuto koutarou

“—falter the moment their cock sinks into your wet hole, any semblance of composure slipping with every inch like the sweat streaming down the side of their head. their brows draw together, bliss carving itself across their face as your soft, warm walls envelop their size so perfectly—like you were shapes to fit only them. “ah, you feel so good, baby, fuck—” they groan, voice trembling as their head falls back. their hands grip your waist, fingers pressing into your skin as if to mark you. “you’re mine.” they mutter. then, they lean down to whisper in your ear. “mine, mine, mine, my pretty little thing—” their words breaking into a possessive rhythm as they begin to move, each thrust sealing the claim.

BLUE LOCK: ITOSHI RIN, ISAGI YOICHI, zantetsu tsurugi, nanase nijiro, noel noa

HAIKYUU!!: KAGEYAMA TOBIO, AZUMANE ASAHI, IWAIZUMI HAJIME, sawamura daichi, ushijima wakatoshi

FREE!: YAMAZAKI SOUSUKE, KIRISHIMA NATSUYA, SHIINA ASAHI, kirishima ikuya, nanase haruka

RNNSDRMS ©. SUPPORT WRITERS BY REBLOGGING THEIR WORK. DO NOT PLAGIARIZE, TRANSLATE, OR POST MY WORKS ON ANY SITE. I WILL POST MY POSTS ON OTHER SOCIAL MEDIA SITES MYSELF AND THAT’S ALL YOU GET.

[thr0wnawayy]

Useless Heroes and Hori's spinelessness with setup.

Salutations! I remembered my password.

(Jk, I've been busy)

It's no secret that Japan's heroes in MHA are extremely incompetent, I've pointed out their general disregard towards human life and surrounding infrastructure.

However what some of you might not know is that a majority of heroes in MHA are completely and utterly useless.

And I'm not just talking from a Doylist perspective either, Heroes in MHA are more of an obstacle than the villains they fight.

Take this panel for example:

Originally I was going to crop this to only include (ugh) Birdman, however on a second read I realized how asinine every single hero (not counting All Might) is.

First off the "clean up". I shouldn't need to explain what's wrong with this. The crowd posing a security risk, the minimal security. The fucking plastic bags!?

I mean really, what the hell can Backdraft achieve here, or Kanami or Mount Lady. The list goes on.

(That also ignores how these 4 imbeciles are getting paid for what a clean up crew or police force could do easily. Not to mention this whole incident veing their fault)

Anywho... We then see Death Arms and another "hero" yelling at Midoriya, who was also a victim of the Sludge Villain and actually bought All Might time. Whereas Bakugo failed like a panicked animal and worsened the situation.

It is here we see the first plot point: Heroes are hypocritical and biased towards those with flashy quirks.

They automatically downplay Midoriya while also neglecting to get him checked on by a paramedic.

Even Bakugo doesn't benefit as these so called Heroes swarm him like a vulture. Just so they can use him to boost their own popularity.

(and if I'm honestly speaking, if Birdman were somehow a high ranker. Bakugo would have fallen for it hook, line and sinker)

This subtly introduces a second idea: that Heroes are not as pure as they seem. Perhaps they can even be corrupt.

These two ideas, plotpoints, call them what you will. Do a good job at showing us the cracks in the mirage. Cracks that seemed to be widening come the Sports Festival.

So what happend?

I'm sure we're all familiar with the utter disappointment/disaster that was MHA's epilogue.

Regardless if you believe the initial final chapter to be canonical or the more recent 'improvement'. We can all agree that it bombed in regards to doing the above any justice.

The simple answer is that Hori (in my opinion) is a spineless hack, who can draw really good but for the love of god. Keep him out of the Writers room.

Hori seems to whine about how dissatisfied he is with MHA's direction towards darker themes or even complaining about characters he wrote into the story himself (see Tetsutesu x2.)

Hori lacks any guts when it comes to his own writing, preferring to laze-about in what's comfortable. The problem is he didn't write a comfortable story.

Corruption, Eugenics, Peer Abuse, Negligence and Human Trafficking. These are all things that MHA brings up but Hori refuses to touch on. Despite having wrote them into the world (and plot) himself.

Someone once commented under a post of mine that my W.I.P worked as a story because the events fit, rather than simply existing for shock value.

Now I cannot confirm whether or not the above were added to drive up stakes. However with how MHA ended up, I wouldn't be surprised if it was like the Big Three all over again. Hori adding something, nor knowing what to do with it and then desperately trying to smother it while introducing the "next big thing".

Ultimately, I find it humorous that someone so inspired by comic books and Star wars, is such a coward when it comes to pushing boundaries. Instead choosing to fall in line with what's trending, what the polls say, chasing after something that could never be obtained in the first place.

But hey look at the bright side, at least we have fan-works.

[arnaerr]

2024 summary

Each year, I want to write some kind of summary, but each year, I get too overwhelmed with the holidays season to do so. This time, I came prepared, so I wrote this text a bit earlier bc I knew that by now I will be a sleepy shrimp.

2024 was one of the toughest years for me, if not the hardest one so far. Dealing with the lay-off and long term unemployment took a hard toll on me and my mental health, but I'm still here despite it all, and I'm still creating. Really happy that I finally managed to find a job and can finally rest from grinding portfolio work and fighting for my life. Somehow this year turned out to be the most productive too. Something-something, strong emotions (even negative ones) are the best fuel for the inspiration.

This year, I focused more on my brushwork so I can bring my ideas to reality faster and avoid hurting my hand more - and I'm quite satisfied with the results, my hand's pain is almost inexistent at this point. Dance classes, crochet, and playing Elden Ring with the controller also helped to gently strengthen my hands so they are better at handling painting for a longer time now. I also tried to make my works more complex and thought through in general, focused more on the storytelling aspect and more interesting composition decisions. Really liked playing around with this stuff and can't wait to experiment even more. For a long time, I thought that my art has value only if it's being realistic and generic in terms of the game industry style. It took me a long time to acknowledge and accept this, as well as the fact how my painting style is a reflection of myself; I'm quite timid and shy in nature, and it also applied to my painting approach, I was always afraid to do bold brushstrokes, going wild with colours, showing my feelings through my art, expressing myself openly. And I feel like this year, I learned to be not afraid of who I am, not to try to hide my impressionistic approach to the painting behind smooth and "proper" brushwork. I'm not trying to fit into the standard anymore; sure, it would make my life easier in terms of finding an art job quicker and being more popular on social media if I had a more generic art style. But it feels so much better to allow myself to be who I am.

Elden Ring obsession was like the breath of the fresh air. For the several times this year, I was so, so close to having a severe art block, to losing myself in commissions & portfolio work, to losing the wonder the act of creation gives me. Elden Ring made me feel very inspired, gave me the courage to try to draw many things I was afraid to draw before; I really enjoy being a part of this fan community, and I've met so many wonderful and talented people throughout last months that it constantly fuels my inspiration; artists, writers, cosplayers, lore enthusiasts. In the last couple of years, I approach my social media profiles like a personal blog of sorts, not focusing on the painting only. And I really enjoyed sharing different sides of my hobbies with you, writing mini essays with the game analysis, and discussing it all in comments in DMs.

I couldn't survive this year without your support, and I'm forever grateful. Every like, reshare, and comment brightens my day. Special thanks to the people who bought my prints, donated, or joined my Patreon - you literally saved me. The fact that I had to rely on social media as the main source of income for so long did some damage to the ways how I view my own art, sometimes I feel too sensitive about numbers and algorithms and start to view my art as a content that has to be popular - I'm slowly but surely try to go away from this and to reconnect with my art once again; I want my art to be even more personal and detached from the popular needs; I need to get weirder.

Sometimes it feels surreal that so many people are interested in me and what I do.

Hoping for gentler times in 2025. Thank you

[parkitrighthere]

Parkitrighthere wrapped 2024

Big love to @kingofbodyrolls (honestly, how are you so sweet? Teach me your ways) for tagging me!

Okay, so here’s the thing: I literally just started posting fics in October, so I have no business doing a wrap-up. But when have I ever let “having no business” stop me? Exactly. So here we are.

Let’s talk about 2024, aka The Year That Tried to Kill Me. It started all cute and hopeful, and then February said, “Watch this,” and yeeted me straight into the abyss. By March, I was officially doing the crying-in-the-shower Olympics (gold medalist here). Honestly, my mental health decided to host its own reality show, complete with plot twists, backstabbers, and… commercial breaks, apparently?

And don’t even get me started on my birthday. Like, crying on my birthday is practically tradition at this point, but this year? Oh, it was a performance. A symphony of sobs.

But hey, there were good moments too. I made some friends (hi, you lovely weirdos). Lost some too. All in all, I’m just happy this year is over.

2025, please be nice. And if you’re not, at least make it funny.

MOST POPULAR FIC OF 2024

ASHES OF A PROMISE Chapter 1

597 notes – October 16, 2024

(People liked this one, so I’m convinced it was a fluke. But hey, thanks for reading!)

LATEST FIC OF 2024

ASHES OF A PROMISE Chapter 2

388 notes – November 19, 2024

BLACK ORCHID PROJECT Chapter 1

215 notes – December 24, 2024

(This one’s my baby right now. Let’s see if I can keep it alive in 2025.)

FIC RECS OF 2024

Okay, so I didn’t read much this year because, you know, life was lifing. But here are some gems that I did read and absolutely loved:

Wild & Free by @ktownshizzle (this fic owns my soul)

Jenga by @closer-to-jungkook (my serotonin provider)

Esati by @closer-to-jungkook (I mean please write more because I need to read the next part, thank you)

Sprouting Love by @kingofbodyrolls (I will forever scream about this)

Tell Me What to Do by @letsbangts (love love love)

Down and Down by @kkukverse (I’m still spiraling)

Lady’s Honor by @chimcess (I wish to read more fics like this)

Sweet Love by @spideyjimin (this fic hugged me, I swear)

TOP STATS OF 2024

Total notes: 4,678 (which feels illegal?)

Total posts: 112 original / 143 (31 reblogs) (because I’m lazy) [check status here]

Total words written: 94.6k (which sounds fake but okay)

Top muses: Jimin and Jungkook (because duh).

TOP TEN TRACKS OF 2024

1. “Standing Next to You” – Jungkook (he owns my ears)

2. “Filter” – Jimin (it’s Jimin, need I say more?)

3. “Unspoken Words” – mxmtoon (crying into my coffee vibes)

4. “Room for You” – Madison Cunningham (soft and sad and everything)

5. “Moonlight Sunrise” – TWICE

6. “Alone With You” – Ardhito Pramono (chill vibes, 10/10)

7. “Closer to You” – Jungkook

8. “Double Take” – Dhruv (this song is a hug)

9. “Love Like This” – Zayn

10. “Gracie’s Song” – Ben Abraham

GOALS FOR 2025

Don’t die (the bare minimum, I know).

Write more (aka stop procrastinating).

Read more (stop doomscrolling, me).

Actually finish that one story (chill, you don't know).

Draw more (absolutely not stick figures).

Complete my articleship (cries in deadlines).

TAGGING (but no pressure!):

@closer-to-jungkook @livingformintyoongi @ktownshizzle

Here’s to surviving another year, my friends. Let’s hope 2025 doesn’t bully us too much. Cheers!

[nonotnolan]

No Not Nolan's Year in Review

Once again, it's time for the traditional "year in review" post. Since I've also been collecting prior years in these posts: here's 2021, here's 2022, and here's 2023. This year has more than 12 posts, and that's because I posted a few shorter stories to celebrate the release of my eBook.

I'm not planning to abandon this account anytime soon, but I'd be lying if the thought hadn't occurred to me once or twice. Every year I'm not sure how much longer I'll be doing this, but then every year the support and feedback I receive keeps me going. So if you ever wonder if notes and reblogs help-- yes, they do motivate me to keep going. But more than that, I'd encourage you to message the authors directly. I'm not always the best at carrying a conversation, but it really does mean a lot whenever I hear from you all.

17) Side Effects - 71 notes - January 2024 Okay, well... I like this one. If you've already caused a lot of irreversible damage... why stop now?

16) Labor and Materials - 83 notes - December 2023 Sometimes I can just sort of tell the photos aren't what the average people are wanting, but I like the text too much to toss out the idea. Mass commercialization of body swapping isn't a new idea by any means, but I love exploring all of the low stakes uses and scenarios that would appear if that technology existed.

15) Shapeshifter's Night Out - 111 notes - January 2024 Honestly, this one was mostly just an excuse to pull out a few of the weirder photos I'd come across. I think it holds up well enough, though.

14) Fiverr Warlock: Holiday Magic - 183 notes - December 2023 The thing about the Fiverr Warlock series is that a lot of story ideas work better without the added baggage of the lore and narrator. This one holds up pretty well, and the photos do exactly what I need them to do, so I'm quite fond of it.

13) The Ends Justify The Means - 204 notes - February 2024 See, I thought this one was great, especially for the Valentine's Holiday. Sometimes I have no idea what the average reader wants from me, and this is a prime example of that. No regrets, though. I'm never going to apologize for striking more sentimental than erotic.

12) Jock Cock, Part 3 - 219 notes - July 2024 Speaking of which... I can't be too surprised something this sentimental didn't do better. But I still love it, and I don't feel bad about it. (It does, however, make me less inclined to write sequels to other works. My idea about how the story continues vs how people want me to continue the story are seldom in alignment.)

11) Drawing Straws - 235 notes - January 2024 I love trait swapping, and I wish I could get inspired to use it more often. I have to be satisfied with an idea before I'll set it to the page-- it needs to have some amount of characterization and plot outside of "hot guy does a hot thing and it's hot" for me to be happy with it-- so trait swaps don't happen too often for me.

10) Treat Day - 241 notes - January 2024 This is my least favorite of the 5 promo-stories, so naturally it's the one that received the most notes. Revenge swaps are hit or miss for me, but needlessly cruel swaps seldom appeal to me. I like the photos, I like the ending wordplay, but overall it's not one of my favorites.

9) Swap Broker: Social Climbing - 250 notes - October 2024 If there's any story whose low placement on the list hurts to see, it's this one-- I absolutely love this one. Photos, concept, resolution, all of it. Ahh, well. A few people asked me what happened to the original Aiden, which I don't have much interest in writing, but... his father would have given him a one time chunk of hush money, which he would have burned through in a matter of months, at which point he'd probably be forced to start doing hard work for the first time in his life. It's not a happy outcome, which is why it's not a story I'm particularly interested in telling.

8) Jock Cock, Part 2 - 285 notes - June 2024 Like I mentioned for Part 3-- I don't regret writing it, even if I don't quite understand why it wasn't as well received. I'm not sorry for mixing sincere emotions into your casual smut-- it was intentional, and it will happen again. Also I've been doing it for the past 5 years, so presumably you noticed me doing that at least once before? I'm sure it's not a photo issue. Anyway.

7) Spring Break - 313 notes - March 2024 I love it when both parties can get what they want out of a body swap. I've had quite a few stories involving out of touch rich people, now that I think about it-- but then, every idea has already been done before if you simplify it enough.

6) Bodily Betrayal - 319 notes - December 2024 I'm so thrilled to be working with photo-manip artists for future detachable limb stories. You all may not be bothered by my attempts to create suitable pictures, but I definitely am. I mean, look at these pics-- head/body swap? Headless with head in hand? I wouldn't have been able to do that without a lot of practice and training.

5) Trial Period - 351 notes - November 2024 I don't do much with ghosts, and I'm honestly not planning to change that anytime soon. Still, I love the idea of supernatural entities shopping around to choose their next host.

4) This Happens all the Time, It's Detachable - 376 notes - August 2024 This is another one that I absolutely adore, and as a bonus it's a detachable story that requires no photo-manip work whatsoever. Obviously, I had to go with the King Missile reference in the title.

3) Roommate Rehab - 407 notes - April 2024 I still think my photo-manip work is clunky, but it gets the job done, and that's what matters. The interesting thing about writing more detachable works is that I'm really not familiar with any of the tropes. I'm so used to subverting expectations when I write body swap fiction, but it's a lot harder to subvert tropes that I don't know.

2) Rush Week - 512 notes - September 2024 I'm glad this one did well, because it's definitely a lot more vulnerable than what I normally write. It's equal parts sincere and sexy, and I adore it. The thought of what stays with the body and what stays with the mind is one of my favorite concepts to explore with body swapping. On a different tangent, it was a lot harder than I thought it would be to find good photos for a twink model that pass tumblr guidelines.

1) Jock Cock, Part 1 - 732 notes - May 2024 This story came out of nowhere and completely surpassed all of my expectations. I have no idea what it is about this story that appealed to so many people-- probably obvious, given how few notes the other parts pulled. Is it the photos? The idea of using an athlete's body for sex without him knowing? Unfulfilled sex-with-teacher fantasies? I sure as hell don't know. Whatever the reason, I'm flattered.

Above 500 Notes - All Time

1) Jock Cock, Part 1 - 732 notes - May 2024 2) Soulmate Swap - 704 notes - August 2022 3) Gym Merchandise - 654 notes - September 2022 4) Overbearing - 572 notes - May 2022 5) Finals Week - 568 notes - May 2021 6) Group Project - 566 notes - November 2023 6) Revenge, Reversed - 540 notes - August 2020 7) Rookie Mistake - 530 notes - May 2023 8) Rush Week - 512 notes - September 2024 8) Information Overload - 501 notes - August 2021

Well, Jock Cock Part 1 has officially dethroned... uhh, literally everything else. Finals Week, my first piece to break the 500 notes mark, is quickly dropping out of the top 5. And some of these works received random resurgences several months (or years!) later, so that's always fun to see.

Enough time has passed that I have a sort of note rubric to determine success. Anything below 100 notes, I consider flopped. 100-300 is average, and 300-500 is a success. So to have this many stories above 500? It feels pretty good.

Here's hoping next year will see more additions to this list!

Special Mentions

Reunion - 151 notes - February 2024 Once again, @mergeman and I wrote each other stories for Valentine's Day. I do really love the idea of a support group for people affected by body swaps.

I'm always honored whenever I end up tagged in someone's recommended post, and @sanzaibian 's compliment of "someone who writes really sweet love stories ^^" is no exception.

Also, like I said earlier-- I live for compliments and discussion, both given and received. If you've dropped a line or responded to one of my outreach attempts, I appreciate you. If we've talked in the past but it's been a few months since you or I sent the last message-- I'm too ADHD for friendships that follow the constraints of linear time. If we go months between messages, know that I still appreciate you.

Is it too cheesy to end this with a "thanks for viewers like you" sentiment? Maybe, but I'm doing it anyway. I'd be having these ideas with or without an outlet for sharing them, so I really do appreciate the likes and reblogs. Here's to another year!

[jeonginslefthand]

A day in your garden 🪴 🌱

Pairing: FlowerShopOwner!ChoiSan x reader Genre: Little Shop of Horrors AU/Fluff Word count: 3.7k+  Plot summary: You decide to see that flower shop owner again and he decides to show you his favorite place.   Warnings: Murder towards the end. That’s it. A/N: This is part two of my Little Shop on 8th Street series! For those who’ve been keeping up so far, thanks for waiting so patiently!! Also, this is technically my last fic for the year so have a happy new year everyone, and here’s to more writing in 2025!! Click here for part 1 of the series! Little Shop on 8th Street masterlist ATEEZ masterlist

~~~

After a long day of running more errands, you swiftly lay down on your bed as tiredness washes over you. You pull out your phone to begin your nightly doom scrolling, but your mind continues to wander off to the flower shop owner San. You replay your interaction with him today over and over thinking of all the things you could’ve said to him, questions you should’ve asked to get to know him better, wondering when you could see him again. Your heart flutters thinking about his visuals, the structure of his beautiful face, the slickness of his hair, the way his shirt perfectly hugged his toned muscles, it’s an image you paint in your mind over and over again. Until you break out of your trance and come back to reality.

Wait, why am I acting like this? You think to yourself. You haven’t felt this way about anyone in a while. You also don’t usually believe in love at first sight, but something about San is different. Maybe you are too focused on his looks, or maybe it’s the way he carries himself. Maybe it’s his passion for what he does. Whatever it is, you want to see where this goes and that hopefully it works out well. 

~~~

A week passes by and you return to the flower shop once more. Only this time, you’re not looking for anything specific, at least regarding plants. This time you’re hoping to see the owner again, who’s been making your heart race every time you think of him for the past week. You walk up to the door only to be met with a disappointing sign posted on the door. 

“Little Shop on 8th Street will be closed today. Come back tomorrow!” The sign read with a cute drawing of a bunny in the corner. 

“Dang…” you say to yourself. A part of you understood. It seemed like he ran the shop by himself. Of course, he’ll need a break now and then. Maybe you can stop by tomorrow. You still have work in the morning, but can always visit in the afternoon.

“We’re not closed for my new favorite customer!” you hear a voice behind you say and you turn around startled. 

You see a smiling San towering over you as he’s carrying lots of gardening supplies and a heavy bag of soil. 

“Jeez this is the second time you scared me like that!” you respond. 

“Sorry, bad habit of mine. Do you want to come inside?” 

You nod in response and wait for San to get the shop keys. You notice him struggle reaching for his keys and you offer to help hold some of his supplies. He eagerly agrees and hands you some plant potting and plant seeds. He then successfully reaches his keys and opens the door to the shop, leading you inside. The shop looks just about the same since the last time you visited, but there’s a feeling of emptiness this time. Maybe it’s the knowledge that no one else will dare enter the shop, but following around San while standing mere inches away from him feels different than the last time the two of you were in the shop alone.  

“I realized I never got your name the last time,” San says breaking the silence. 

“Oh! I-It’s [Y/N]!” you stutter startled by his sudden statement.

“[Y/N]... such a lovely name! A pretty name for a pretty girl like you!” San responds making you blush hearing your name from his mouth. 

San leads you to the back of the store to a storage room and turns on the lights. You’re welcomed with more gardening supplies, plant starters, and flowers growing small buds that aren’t in bloom yet. 

“You can put the gardening supplies over on that shelf,” San says breaking you from your trance.  

“Oh! Okay!” you say eagerly heading over to the supplies. You begin sorting through the supplies, doing your best to figure out where the right places are. You eventually pick up on where things go, but get stuck on the last item realizing it goes on the top shelf. You do your best to reach the shelf but continue to struggle for a while trying to find a way to reach the top. Until you feel a hand graze your wrist and take the supply you were holding, moving it to the top shelf. 

“You know you can ask for help! Nothing wrong with that!” San says behind you. You start to realize how much taller he is than you. And how bigger his body is compared to yours. Add that with the sound of his breathing filling the room and the air of his breath running down your neck is enough to give you goosebumps, making this situation more intimate than anticipated. 

“G-good to know!” you respond holding back how worked up you are right now. “Anyway, that was the last thing I had so I’ll be on my way ou—”

“Wait! I want to show you something.” San interrupts. 

“Yeah?”

San steps away and begins walking out of the storage room as you follow. You both walk around the shop until you reach a staircase and you follow San up. This leads you both to the shop's second floor where you’re now standing in a common area. You look at your surroundings, noticing the kitchen with the sink halfway filled with dishes, the couch mostly clean with some clothes here and there, and another staircase you assume leads to a third floor. San quickly realizes the mess and frantically straightens a few things up. 

“Apologies for the mess. Had I known you would stop by, this would have looked much neater,” San explains as he throws clothes into a laundry area. 

“It’s okay! I’m the one who stupidly stopped by on your day off.” You respond. “And trust me, my place is much worse.”

“I would love to see it sometime! I’m sure it’s lovely messy or clean.”

“Hmm… maybe give me a heads up so you can see it in its fresh clean state!”

“Or maybe I’ll swing by on your day off! Then we’ll be even no?”

“Fair point. Now I’m sure the thing you want to show me is not your living room right?”

“Oh! That’s right! Follow me.”

San walks up the second set of staircases and you follow. The stairs lead to a rooftop patio filled with an assortment of plants. You recognize some you have seen in the store, but plenty of others you haven’t seen. The collection of plants are arranged like a garden. With the carefully crafted color scheme and the combining scents of the flowers filling your nostrils, you feel like you could get lost in this garden forever.

“This is so beautiful…” you say to San in awe.

“Welcome to the Little Shop’s secret garden! I come up here to work on personal plant projects and sometimes to get some fresh air after a long day.” San replies.

“Personal projects? Like what?”

“Well… I like cross-breeding different flowers. It’s so interesting to see what new features come from them. And sometimes I grow the plants I sell here. I have to know how best to take care of the products so I can inform the customer. What better way than to experiment in my own home.”  

“That’s amazing!! And cross-breeding is difficult. Tried it one time and didn’t get far…”

“Takes a lot of practice. Everything that goes into the process is very strategic. Believe me, it took a long time to get my method down.”

San picks up a watering can and starts walking around. You tag along admiring the array of plants bringing life to the patio. As San is watering plants, he stops on a particular flower. You stand next to him, feeling something drawing you to the flower. 

“Seems like you like the lilacs!” San says.

“Had a feeling they were lilacs. They look a bit different though.”

“These are my crossbreed lilacs and they’ve been the most difficult ones. They only crossbreed with other lilac species so it’s been a lot of trial and error, mostly error.”

“The way the colors blend is so pretty, reminds me of a sunset. And the leaves… they’re shaped into tiny hearts.” You go to touch one of the leaves as you’re admiring them. 

“Want to know something? The two breeds that created this can only be cross-breed with each other. I tried other lilac breeds on them but it hasn’t worked out. It’s like the two breeds were made for each other. Like they were waiting for their perfect match.”

“Huh, true love found through plants… who would’ve thought—” You think to yourself. 

San gets closer to the lilacs as he carefully waters them. Something is soothing about the way he waters this specific plant. The way each droplet falls on each leaf perfectly and how he monitors the amount of water going in. Delicately tipping the watering can making sure the water pressure is just right, like the lilacs could break at the slightest miscalculation. 

You follow San around some more as he waters more plants. He even hands you the watering can and lets you water some of the plants. You’re very familiar with this sort of task but you still allow San to help you. And by helping you, putting his hands where your hands are, and guiding them to water the plants with just the right amount of water. 

Following the garden adventure, you stay a little longer in San’s apartment. San pulls out some wine and two glasses and you both begin to loosen up and get comfortable. A little too comfortable. 

“So what’s a handsome man like you really doing in this small town?” You ask in a more sultry tone than usual.

“I already told you, I wanted to get away from the big city. I love the smaller towns anyway. They have so much more to appreciate than the crowded stuffy cities.” San responds. 

“Reallyyy? Are you sure you’re not getting away from other things? Like a dark secret past? Or… a dark secret ex?” You mentally question why you said the last part. Why would you randomly ask about his relationship life when you barely have gotten to know him?

“You’re funny. Unfortunately, there’s no dark past or… crazy ex for me. I had a… pretty uneventful life in the city…”

“Dang. Not even one crazy ex story? I feel everyone has a crazy ex story.”

“Not me, unfortunately. But… what about you? Do you have a crazy ex story?” 

“Oh yeah! This one dude I dated Minho was insane. I don’t know why I even dated him. First, he was so obsessed with his cats which was weird but I didn’t think anything of it. Then he would always get jealous when I hung out with my guy friends, a little too jealous. He even got jealous when I hung out with my brother once and it was super weird. One time, we were on a break from each other and it turned out that he was stalking me and taking pictures of me wherever I went. It was so strange!”

You kept going on and on rambling about Minho as the alcohol fully took over you. In your mind, you wondered why you were even telling all this to San. Being with Minho was not the best moment of your life but here you are joking about it like it was nothing. Part of you wondered if you would have been able to tell all this to San without the alcohol. Perhaps he just has a presence that makes him easy to trust. After all, he did let you into his home so you assume that there is some connection between you two.

“Anyway, I definitely only kept going back to him because he was hot and I was desperate. I mean who wouldn’t keep going back to a beauty like this?” You wrap up by showing San a picture you still had of Minho. “It’s a shame he turned out to be a psycho…” 

San closely examines the photo like he wants his face imprinted in his mind. He chuckles and mumbles “Not as pretty as me though.”

“What was that?” You ask. You heard what he said, you just wanted to hear it again.

“Nothing,” San responds. “Anyway, it’s getting late and you are in no position to drive home. Do you want me to call a cab?”

“It’s fine. I walked here and I can walk back.” 

“Then, let me walk back with you!”

You let San walk you back to your home. The two of you are about to part ways on your porch when San suddenly says “Do you maybe want to hang out again sometime? Maybe we can go somewhere that doesn’t involve flowers.”

You pause, shocked at the sudden proposition. “S-sure I would love that!”

“Great!” San pulls out a notepad and pen from his pocket and starts writing something down. He then tears the paper off, folds it, and hands it to you.

“Here’s my cell number. Text me when you’re available!” 

“Well, guess I’ll be seeing you again soon!” You smile. 

You unlock your door and head inside and you see San start walking back toward the direction of his shop. As you close the door you giggle to yourself feeling like you just scored big time. You open the note and pull out your phone ready to save his number as you read it to yourself:

“3XX-5XX-8XXX! Text me soon dear ;)” it reads with a bunny doodle and some flowers surrounding it. 

~~~

Three days pass without San hearing from you. He worries a little bit that he was too forward, but also assumes that you’re hopefully just busy. He keeps himself distracted by interacting with the other customers in the store remembering he still has to make a living. 

About two hours before closing San decides to clean up around the shop and he hears the front bell jingle. 

“Oh hi! Welcome to the Little Shop!” San cheerfully says looking up toward the door. “Anything I can help you with today?”

“Oh, I’m just looking around for now.” A man with a soft voice says.

“Well let me know if you need any help! You can come find me at the register.” 

San finishes cleaning his area and walks back to the register. He also gets a clearer look at the man who is currently checking out the begonias. In his mind, San feels he looks familiar and he’s searching through his mind where he’s seen his face before. And then the dots start connecting and a lightbulb lights up in San’s mind.

“Oh. My. God. THAT’S Y/N’s ex!” San thinks to himself. Granted he was a little tipsy when he saw the pic of him, but San was sure that was Minho. He looked a little different from the photo, possibly because of his longer hair, but his facial features are an exact carbon copy. 

San wasn’t sure what to do. On one hand, he thinks he should leave him alone and let him shop like a normal customer. On the other hand…

“Audrey keeps pestering me about needing to be fed. And that plant’s not gonna last on my blood much longer. It’s not like I would be killing an innocent person either. He seemed like he caused so much pain in Y/N’s life, despite her hiding it through her jokes. And I can do it discreetly now that I’ve waited long enough to drive out suspicion…” 

“Hey! Flower boy I need some help!” Minho calls out to San.

Snapping out of his thoughts San quickly walks over to Minho, holding two flower pot samples. 

“Which one would be the better option for my girlfriend? It’s our anniversary and I want to get something special.” Minho asks. 

“Well I’m not familiar with your girlfriend’s preferences, but for an anniversary, I would recommend the lilies. They’re in season and will look stunning bundled in a bouquet.” San responds. 

Minho contemplates San’s suggestion and nods in agreement. 

“Alright! Then I’ll take two bouquets! One all black and one all pink.”

“Great! Follow me to the register and I’ll ring you up and get some more information!” San responds, putting on his best customer service voice. 

San leads Minho to the register and starts ringing him up while taking down other important information.

“So I will need time to prepare the arrangement which should take about 1-2 days. I will contact you by phone when the flowers are ready. Would you like to add a personalized note with the bouquet?” San says to Minho.

“Actually yes,” Minho responds clearing his throat. San prepares to write down the message in his notes.

“Awesome! What would you like the note to say?”

“To my kitten… Fate may often separate us, but it will always align for us to be together. Love you dearly my darling Y/N, waiting for fate to bring you back soon.” 

San stopped his writing as soon as he heard your name. Now he can confirm, this dude is psychotic. He also now knows that he’s been lying the entire time. According to your tipsy rant last night, you’re not his girlfriend, at least not anymore. 

“This man is beyond insane he’s delusional… just what is he planning?” San thinks to himself. 

He pretends to write down the part that he missed after your name and seemingly reads it over to himself. 

“Huh… interesting note for an anniversary bouquet. Is your girlfriend traveling right now?” San asks.

“Not really. But um, we haven’t seen each other in a while, and last time we talked she said she wanted to “take a break.” I hope to make up with her on our technical anniversary with these lovely flowers.” Minho responds. 

San pauses to think to himself again. 

“I was hoping this guy had changed and gotten over Y/N but seems like that’s not the case. I can’t let him get close to Y/N. Who knows what he’ll do if I let him go…” 

San returns to reality with Minho.

“Well, if that’s the case… might I recommend one more flower to add to the arrangement?” San says.

“Hmm, depends on what it is,” Minho responds.

San walks across the store to a cabinet. He opens the cabinet that is filled with fresh poppy flowers. He takes one of the yellow ones and walks back over to Minho, holding the flower between the two of them but holding it closer to Minho.

“These are a rare breed of California poppies. I think this would show how much you value and care for your girlfriend. Also, they smell nice and can lift the room's mood. Go on, take a sniff and see for yourself…” San explains. 

Minho gets a good whiff of the flowers and lets out a pleasant sigh.

“Wow… they smell delicious. You know they remind me of—” Minho starts, but cuts himself off as he passes out on the ground in front of San. 

San puts the plant down on the cashier counter and quickly walks to the door, adjusting the front sign from “Open” to “Closed.” He quickly walks back to Minho’s unconscious body and leans over to pick up his legs.

“Oh, one more thing I should’ve mentioned… poppy scents are so intoxicating, they can also be used to render one unconscious. So don’t sniff them for too long.” San says to Minho almost mockingly. “Oops! Guess I should’ve said something sooner.” 

San hums to himself as he drags Minho’s body across the shop floor into the forbidden room where he keeps the now larger plant. He unlocks the door and the plants sprouts up hearing San enter.

“Guess what Audrey? Looks like you’ll be eating a real meal tonight!” San says in his usual happy upbeat tone. He’s also happy that he won’t have to use his blood for the next few days.

“About time flower boy! I’m dying here!” Audrey says in response.

“Yeah, I know. It’s all I’ve been hearing from you for the past few days. ‘Oh I need some food’ ‘Some real human food’ ‘Get me some human food…don’t you love me boy?’ I’m sick of the whining so hopefully this shuts you up.”

“It would if you quit your yapping and gave me the damn food.”

San pulls Minho closer to Audrey and takes a step back.

“He’s all yours!” San says smiling. 

Audrey uses one of its vines to wrap Minho up. The plant brings Minho closer to its mouth getting a taste of the savory meal to come. Minho however, slowly starts to wake up and notices what is going on, and begins to let out a scream. But Audrey uses a smaller vine to cover his mouth. San walks over closer to Minho and leans in toward him.

“Shhh. Not too loud. The lovely baker next door will get suspicious.” San softly says with a sly smile.

Minho angrily mumbles something, but San couldn't care less what he has to say now.

“Well, let’s say I heard a thing or two about you, and now… this is your karma.”

Minho says another muffled line.

“Don’t worry I’ll be sure to deliver the flowers personally to Y/N. On the house!” San says in response. 

Minho struggles to get loose and tries to call out for help. However, San steps backward as the large plant throws Minho into its mouth taking a big chomp. Some blood splatters as Audrey bites down and San closes his eyes as some of the blood accidentally sprays on him and his clothes. 

“I always forget this happens sometimes…” San mutters to himself a little annoyed. 

San walks over to a corner and gets a mop and a towel to start cleaning up Audrey’s mess. As he’s cleaning he feels a buzzing in his pocket and takes out his phone to see what’s going on. He smiles when he sees it’s a message from you. 

“I guess we’re both having good days Audrey. Seems like I got that date with Y/N!”

~~~

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