#or does he just hang around at camp

[blackjackkent]

All right. Let's go see if we can rescue Volo and then go get Halsin.

I was reminded by a brief dialogue with Shadowheart that this goblin prison is, in fact, a (highly desecrated) temple of Selune, which really only adds to Hector's extremely upset mood at the moment.

I don't think this is what Selune's temples normally look like.

Shadowheart, I respect you being true to yourself, but you are REALLY pushing your luck here right now.

Lovely.

Hector and Co are basically just moseying along as casually as possible, looking like the awkward tourist group at the Evil Sistine Chapel, and trying not to watch as one hapless prisoner gets shoved into this pit to fight a monster.

The place is a bit of a maze, and in the course of trying to find Volo's cell, we run across a drow lady who appears to be helping run the show back here.

We're avoiding getting her attention for now but this does sort of make it feel like things are on a time limit. There's a lot of ambient discussion about the True Souls, the drow woman's plans of attack, and just a general sense that all these people are itching to shed more blood. And the unnerving thing is it's not pure brutality, as might have been expected from those outside. This is calculated, and these are fanatics preparing something much bigger than simple raiding.

Eventually I did manage to find Volo's cell, off in a corner in one of the fetid-looking side rooms, where they are keeping him in a makeshift cage.

The guard, unsurprisingly, was not happy with Hector messing with her prisoner.

"Don't go botherin' my pigeon! He's mine!"

"So I see. Do you have plans for this 'pigeon'?"

"Keep him safe. Listen to him coo. Til I gets hungry or somesuch. What's it to ya?"

Hector, scrabbling for a useful response, comes up with, "I was admiring him. I'd like one of my own." Which I have to imagine elicits a a bit of muted laughter from someone in the group, probably Gale.

"Then *catch* one on your own," the goblin says irritably.

Hector sighs. What does one use to convince a goblin. Money? Do they even care about money? Like so many things, this isn't a situation the monastery prepped him for. "I've taken a shine to this one," he says as casually as possible. "How much do you want for him?"

"More'n you've got, mate. I likes him." A pause - he can see greed warring with stubbornness in her mind. "But erm. How much *do* ya got?"

In point of fact he has about 350 gold. The dialogue options allow us to offer 20, 100, 250, and 500. Gold hasn't seemed particularly hard to come by lately, and Hector sets little store by it himself, and wants to rescue this guy. So he's not necessarily averse to putting out some coin for the purpose, although the others might not like it.

He offers 100.

"Pigeon's worth more than that, times a bagoolion!"

[sigh] All right, how about 250?

"Oh! I could buy twelve pigeons with that much. Here's the key. He's all yours."

Victory!

Volo, I hope you're going to be properly appreciative of how much money we just spent on you.

"Haha! Look at this! I'm quite saved! I guarantee the story of your daring rescue of my person will live on for aeons!"

"I'm not looking for that sort of attention."

"I'll write an anonymous account of your heroism, then! None will know your name, yet your doings will live on! Volothamp Geddarm, realm-renowned author, auteur, and tastemaker, at your service. We mustn't tarry, but I'd hate for our friendship to end here. Please - won't you meet me, once we've both slipped the goblin yoke?"

"Go to my camp. We'll talk there, once we're both safe."

"Smashing! Soon, my friend - soon we can share a flagon of something liquid and a tale of derring-do! I'll slip away when the coast is clear. See you soon, my friend! I simply can't wait to pick your brain!"

[cator99]

I always get detained at da border because PROFUNC never ended but basically I'm like if a targeted individual didn't even care

[crickwater]

I don't know if this is a hot take but halsin is hands down the worst companion and that could be easily solved by having him join you at the beginning of act 2 and giving him literally anything to do in act 3 except hit on you

[futuremrscameron]

no but kiara and jj being siblings would make mike and anna trying to keep them apart and calling jj a bad influence hurt 10x more

[impossible-rat-babies]

first OC thought of 2024 is brought to you by HW we love to see it !

[gallusrostromegalus]

I was raised agnostic and tend to remain ambiguous on theological matters.

-but my house has a porch on the second story that affords me a terrific view of my neighborhood and the Colorado Front Range and I was partaking of some peace before the 4th Of July Finger-Loss Festivities begin, and I have had a

~*Spiritual Experience*~

I just watched my neighbor try to unload an actual wooden pallet that had to have been forklifted into the back of his insecurity pickup worth of fireworks.

Except that he does not have a forklift in his garage.

He does have so much sports memorabilia and cardboard boxes of unsold MLM Merchandise and patriotically themed camping gear and posters of women in bikinis and flags of suspect political organizations in his garage that there is only BARELY enough space for the fireworks and certainly none for his truck.

So he had to unload the individual boxes of recreational explosives from the back of his truck and stack them in the minimal space he had cleared by hand. This is a tedious and time-consuming process as this neighbor has purchased a wide variety of recreational and locally illegal explosives instead of many of just a few types, so the individual boxes are rather small.

He begins, and this is crucial to what happens next, by cutting apart the industrial-grade saran wrap his explosives dealer had so carefully wrapped his merchandise in, and discarded it unsecured on his lawn.

Where Outdoor Conditions sometimes happen.

His process for unloading the fireworks is to 1. Climb up through the gate into the bed of his pickup truck (a feat made unusually difficult due to the slope of his driveway, and this man's fascinating decision to wear the world's Siffest and least Flexible Denim Overalls. 2. Once in the pickup bed, he selects ONE (1) box from the pile He is apparently from a niche religious institution that doesn't believe in stacking things. 3. Carries it awkwardly around the palette that barely fits in the truck bed 4. His wife yells "Be careful!" when he nearly falls out of the pickup. 5. He Yells "SHADDUP!" back at her. 6. The Large German Shepherd barks from inside the house. 7. He yells "SHADDUP!" back at her too. 8. He sets the (1) box down on the gate 9. Slowly and awkwardly climbs out of the pickup bed 10. picks the box back up, and carries it into the garage.

Question: Aren't you going to help this poor man? Answer: Absolutely Not.

There's four military veterans, MANY dogs, and several people with dementia in this neighborhood, all of whom are terrified by this chicanery every year and many neighbors have repeatedly asked him to maybe do the fireworks somewhere else. (This is the Eighth Year Running he's held a major demolition event in his driveway, and for those of you who can do math, you may be able to guess the precipitating incident to this little ritual) Additionally, I live in Colorado, a state marginally less prone to spontaneous and catastrophic conflagrations than a rotting grain silo, but only marginally. Our recreational explosives laws are written accordingly.

I am in fact calling the Non Emergency line to report Fireworks violations, and reading off the brand labels to someone named Dorothy, who is gleefully totaling up a SPECTACULAR fine for my oblivious neighbor.

However, while I'm on the phone with Dorothy, I notice the wind begin to pick up. and by "Notice" I mean "The Industrial Saran Wrap he left on his Lawn earlier is suddenly swept up about 100 feet into the air by an updraft intense enough to make my ears pop" And by "Pick Up" I mean "I look up to see the sky has turned a fun and exciting shade of glass green, and the bottoms of the clouds are bumpy and rounded, and the overall effect is not unlike looking up through the bottom of the cup at God's Matcha Boba Tea."

For those of you who do not live in places with Inclement Weather, these conditions mean "You have about 30 seconds before a Major Meteorological Event Occurs."

I move under the eaves. "Hang on Dorothy." I say, nose filling with Petrichor. "The show is about to be cancelled." "Oh, that doesn't matter!" Dorothy cheerfully informs me. "It's illegal for him just to possess those, no matter if he actually gets to set them off or not." "Terrific, because he's gotten maybe five boxes out of a hundred inside."

Sometimes, the weather gods are Merciful and give you a verbal warning, typically in the kind of thunderclap that makes your ears ring.

The Gods were not merciful today.

It's not often that I am in the time, place, correct angle or in a properly observational frame of mind to see this, But I got to see it today. Huh. I thought. I've never seen a cloud just DIVE for the ground before. Oh. I realized as it got closer. That's RAIN.

Sometimes, a thunderstorm will form in such a way that the rain that would normally be distributed over an area of say, five to tent square miles, is instead concentrated into an area of say, my neighborhood exactly.

So today, I was granted the rare privilege of being able to actually see the literal wall of water descend from On High and DIRECTLY onto my porch, my street, and my neighbor's truck, and his pile of unwrapped fireworks.

The sheer impact force of the downpour immediately scatters the teetering pile of fireworks boxes in the back of the truck, like the wrath of God striking down the tower of Babel. Boxes tumble, then are washed out of the bed of the truck by the deluge. Smaller Boxes are carried down the road in a little line by the stream forming in the gutter, like little impotent explosive ducklings.

My neighbor was definitely yelling something, but I could not hear what over the DEAFENING noise several million gallons of water makes upon high-speed contact with the earth's surface, but there was a lot of arm-waving and faces turning red as he went looking for the saran wrap that had probably blown to Nebraska by now, while his wife started disassembling the complex three-dimensional puzzle of interlocking material goods in search of a tarp. They do not have a tarp. They have one of those wretched Thin Blue Line flags though, and my neighbor jogs out in a futile effort to cover what's left in the truck.

Which is when the hail begins.

"HELLO?" Yelled Dorothy. "HI!" I shouted. "WE'RE HAVING SOME WEATHER!" "OH GOOD!" she shouts back. "WE NEED THE MOISTURE!"

I watch for a minute longer, but the loss was immediate and catastrophic- the hail is the size of marbles and dense and cares not for your pitiful cardboard and cellophane, ripping the boxes asunder and punching holes in the few things covered in plastic. The colors on the Thin Blue Line Flag are seeping all over the remains of that it was supposed to protect in a particularly apt visual metaphor. Not even the few boxes that made it into the garage are spared, as the German Shepherd escapes from indoors, and in an attempt to assist her humans, jumps directly into the small stack of not-yet-ruined boxes, scattering them into the driveway and deluge. She even picks one up so her humans will chase her around the yard, before dropping it in the gutter to be swept away.

So. I was raised Agnostic -but even I can recognize when God slaps someone upside the head and shouts "NO!" at them.

---

(If you laughed, please consider supporting my Ko-fi or preordering my book of Strange Stories on Patreon)

[solxamber]

Could I request Diasomnia with a partner who's a smithy? Besides weapons, they can also craft tools, kitchenware, tableware, jewelry, armour, and anything else made of metal.

thank you for waiting this long <3

Diasomnia with a Blacksmith! Reader

Malleus Draconia – The Dragon Prince’s Personal Artisan

The first time he visits your forge, he’s utterly enchanted—not by the flames, but by you. Watching you work, hammering molten metal with such skill, is far more mesmerizing than any spellwork.

He commissions you to craft him a custom weapon, but it turns into a long-standing habit. Now, you’ve made him jewelry, ornate goblets, and a ridiculously expensive teapot set because he wanted to see how you’d do it.

Gets lowkey jealous of the things you make. “You spend so much time crafting weapons for others. Shouldn’t your finest work belong to me?”

Definitely flexes your work in his hoard. Will absolutely hoard you too if given the chance.

If you try to gift him something small and personal—like a pendant or a signet ring—he gets unreasonably soft about it. You just handed this ancient dragon prince a trinket, and now it’s his most prized possession.

Lilia Vanrouge – Chaos Gremlin Patron

"Ah, metalwork! I was quite the smith in my youth!" he says, as he spectacularly fails to make a dent in a copper sheet.

He is the most annoying client because he commissions the weirdest things. Once asked you to make him a sword with a detachable spoon. He used it to eat soup at a war camp.

Always hanging upside down in your forge, asking too many questions. “What does this do? Can I touch it? Oh? Why are you looking at me like that?”

You make him a personalized dagger with his name etched in glowing runes, thinking he’d use it in battle. He instead uses it to cut vegetables while cooking. (It’s the only reason the vegetables survive his cooking.)

But when it comes down to it, Lilia deeply respects your craft. If he ever gifts you anything, it’s always materials from far-off lands, rare ores, and enchanted metals that sing under your hammer.

Absolutely goes feral if anyone tries to disrespect your work. You won’t even know what happened. One moment, someone is criticizing your craftsmanship—next moment, they’re pale, shaking, and handing you money while Lilia smiles behind them.

Silver Vanrouge – The Knight Who Always Falls Asleep Near Your Forge

He respects your work immensely but has terrible luck visiting you. He always falls asleep while waiting.

You once found him passed out against your anvil. You almost clocked him with a hammer thinking he was a burglar.

But the best part? He sleeps like an absolute angel in the most inconvenient spots. On your workbench? Yup. Leaning against a suit of armor? Done. Balanced on a pile of metal ingots? How??

When he’s awake, though, he’s very earnest about learning. He wants to understand how to take care of his weapons, so he often asks you to teach him maintenance techniques.

You sharpen his sword once, and he treats it like you personally saved his life. He insists that your work makes him faster and sharper in battle.

If he ever sees you working late, he’ll gently put a cloak over you and tell you to rest. But if you refuse? Fine. He’ll sit next to you and fall asleep while pretending to keep you company.

Sebek Zigvolt – Loudest Supporter, Most Aggressive Customer

"HUH?! YOU FORGE METAL?! INCREDIBLE! ASTOUNDING! I SHALL ONLY COMMISSION FROM YOU!!!” (You are now his personal smith. You had no say in this.)

He demands the strongest, most unbreakable weapons. You make him a sword once, and he treats it like it's a divine relic.

Tries to act like he’s too dignified to be impressed, but the first time he sees you pull molten metal from the forge, his jaw drops.

You gift him a custom sword with his family crest, and he is red in the face. "W-WHAT?! THIS IS—HOW DID—FOR ME?!?!” You swear you saw sparkles around his head.

Complains about you “wasting time” making non-weaponry, but secretly loves everything you make. Once, you gave him a metal drinking flask for travel, and he now refuses to use anything else.

Will loudly threaten anyone who disrespects your craft, even if they didn’t say anything. Someone casually mentions a blacksmith in another town? Sebek immediately starts yelling: "THEY CANNOT POSSIBLY MATCH MY CRAFTSMAN!!!”

He also secretly admires your patience and dedication. Late at night, when you’re working under the dim glow of the forge, he just watches in quiet awe. Sometimes, he forgets to yell.

Masterlist

[crushedcoffeecups]

okay but imagine being a student of Saiki Kusuo's class. how fuckin weird would it be?

there's this guy, Saiki, that you don't know very well, but seems to be completely average in EVERY way. like, concerning average. you genuinely know nothing that he likes or dislikes or is particularly good or bad at. the only thing that sticks out about him is his weird hair clips and his tinted glasses. oh, and all the people that surround him

the weird, big, loud guy that no one really likes is his best friend. he basically follows Saiki around. one time Saiki made a completely to scale statue of him for a class fair.

the kid with a hero complex that is constantly going on about some shadow organisation and fantasy world is also his friend. the one that rips all of his clothes and always wears bright red bandages over his arms. he also follows Saiki around like they've been best friends since childhood. sometimes he talks about the both of them being soldiers in some army.

one day a psychic medium who can see ghosts and guardian spirits transfers to your school. the next day you see him hanging off of Saiki. what is it about this guy that attracts all these people? he doesn't even seem to talk to them. he's apparently the vice president of the medium's occult club.

the perfect dream girl of your class that everyone loves is weirdly obsessed with him. constantly trying to pair up with him in class. they've been seen on multiple dates together and members of the kokomins seem hate him. you're pretty sure they tried to kidnap him one time. he doesn't even seem to like the girl.

the over-enthusiastic class president that everyone respects is also his friend. you're pretty sure Saiki doesn't play any sports, but apparently he joined him on a tennis camp over the holidays. you heard that he hit a tennis ball so hard he sunk a boat.

an ex-delinquent joins the school, and immediately tried to be friends with Saiki. within a week he has joined the large group that follows Saiki around. one of your friends apparently saw the two of them taking motorcycle lessons.

the poor girl in class, the one with a dozen jobs who's constantly searching for food? yeah, she's friends with him too. one time you walk past a cafe she works at and see him inside, talking to the owner. what does he have to do with the cafe? and why was she wearing a maid dress? there's rumours in the school that the both of them took shady clinical trials over the holidays.

also, the girl who has a new crush every week gets weirdly into him for a while. you see her try a bunch of classic cliches to try to win him over. none of it works, but she still hangs around him for some reason.

a super rich guy shows up to your school and demands to date the beloved perfect girl. no idea why, but Saiki seems to some part to play in the weird love triangle. later on, you see Saiki and his friends visit the rich guys house.

a fortune telling gyaru joins your school, insisting that Saiki is her soulmate. the two are polar opposites, yet seem attached at the hip, along with that spiritual medium for some reason.

another new transfer (why does your school get so many transfers?) who never seems to shut up insists on following Saiki around. apparently they're childhood friends? they don't seem very friendly.

that famous actor, the one who is in everything on tv? you see him yelling at Saiki one day. something about a sister? you don't have any idea how they even crossed paths in the first place

on a random school day you overhear some of Saiki's friends talking about their trip to Britain together. did they really travel that far for just a weekend?

one day you see Saiki walking around with a young man with a weird headband. he looks familiar somehow. you could've sworn you've seen him on some science program or something.

you've seen Saiki walking around plenty of times. he walks everywhere it seems, and gets to places at a pace that is logically impossible. doesn't he have a motorcycle license?

his parents seemed perfectly ordinary when you met them, if a little too lovey-dovey. how is their son so different?

the dude never seems to change his clothes. obviously he does, seeing how they never get dirty or damaged. you guess he just wears the same thing on repeat.

you see him out and about with a little boy. probably babysitting. the kid keeps calling him by the name of some superhero.

the school brings in a magician one day. he greets Saiki like an old friend and calls him 'master'. you had no idea they knew each other, or that Saiki liked magic.

you've only known of this guy for a year, yet it seems like so much longer. it feels like too much has happened for the school year to have not ended yet. when did all those people transfer again?

feel free to add to the idea!

[wqlfstqr]

◟𖥻 cabin confessions : percy jackson

▰▰ pairing: percy jackson x fem!reader

y/n loves gushing about Percy to her siblings, Percy accidentally finds out about this and he's absolutely obsessed with it.

author: i'll never get tired of cabin ten reader x percy, probs will write more abt them because ugh i just love them, also mentions of marriage!!

She sits on her bed, a brush in her hand as she gently runs it through the little girl's hair, her touch tender and soothing, pouring care into each stroke through the knots.

Her siblings sit in a circle around her on the floor, listening to her and hanging onto her every word as she recalls the time she was just friends with Percy.

"How come you two started dating?" Lacy asks, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

They already know how the story goes, they have heard about it at least twice now, but every time they look as interested on it as if it was their first time hearing about it.

"We were friends for a long time. I always thought that's all we would ever be." She starts, settling down the brush. "Percy was just... you know, Percy. All charming and brave and, well— completely clueless about my crush on him."

One of them giggles. "You had a crush on him first? wasn't he the one that asked you out?"

"Yes, he was, but it took him long enough to do it." she replies, smiling fondly at the memory as she starts to braid her sister's hair. "We kissed first, can you believe it? and even after that, Percy was still a nervous wreck when he asked me out. It was like he had forgotten how to talk and kept stumbling over his words, I honestly thought he was choking at some point."

The group erupts into laughter.

"And did you say yes right away?" Another sister pipes up, leaning forward with anticipation.

"I don't think he would've survived if I didn’t." She grins, her fingers working on the braid. "He was so sweet, he took me out for a picnic by the lake and he was honestly... just so perfect. I couldn't say no to him."

One of her brothers smirks, leaning back. "I would've made him work harder for it."

"He's worth it. He's always worth it." a chorus of 'awws' fill the room just as she's finished with her Lily's braid. "Okay, who's next?"

Lily grins at her and goes to sit down with the rest of the siblings, happy with her new braid, and the next sister in line takes her place on the bed while y/n grabs the brush again.

She knows they're not done with their questions. "And how did you two kiss for the first time?"

Beaming at the question, she tells the whole story again and again, going through the details while keeping everyone's hair knotless and braided.

Percy has always been amused by y/n's relationship with her siblings. Besides Tyson, he doesn't have anyone else to share a cabin with, so he doesn’t really get too many bonding opportunities as she does. She always tells him about the endless afternoons of talking, the movie nights, the blanket forts, and he can't help but feel just the tiniest bit of envy as he listens.

Right now, Tyson isn't even around because he's too busy to come back to camp this summer. So even if Percy's trying hard to respect his girlfriend's quality time with her siblings this afternoon, he ends up missing her too much.

Which leads him here, finally giving up on spending time by himself, he heads towards cabin 10, hoping y/n will let him crash her sleepover because he just needs to see her.

However, just when he's about to knock on the wooden door, he notices it's slightly cracked open. Laughter spills out, and he can even pick up her laugh among the others.

He doesn’t mean to pry, really, but it's not his fault that just when he's about to announce himself, he hears one of her little sisters asking. "And do you think you'll marry him?"

Percy stops right on his track, something just tells him they're talking about him. His suspicions only get confirmed when y/n is the one replying to the question. "Well, we're still young. But I can't picture myself marrying anyone else, you know?"

Gasps and excited chatter fill the room. Some of them beg for her to be flower girls at the wedding, while she tries, and fails, to get them to quiet down.

Percy's frozen in his spot. His heart skips a beat or two at her words. He leans against the doorframe, unable to stop the smile creeping across his face.

"Do you think he wants to marry you, too?" another one asks when the room finally falls silent again.

He does. Percy wants to make his presence known just to answer the question himself.

y/n chuckles softly "Well that's something that you'd have to ask him. But I sure hope so."

"You should propose to him instead." one suggests, they all break into a fit of giggles.

"Maybe I should. Do you reckon he'd like that?" She asks playfully.

Another sibling chimes in "He'd probably faint right on the spot."

Percy can't help himself anymore. Before he can think it through, his knuckles softly knock on the door. Everyone immediately falls silent, turning to look at the doorway, where he's shyly standing.

y/n's smile grows bigger once she looks up and finds him there. "Percy!"

"hope i'm not interrupting anything." he steps in, trying to keep his cool even though his heart is racing.

The Aphrodite kids exchange mischievous looks, some covering their mouths to hide their giggles. Lacy's the one to pipe up. "We were just talking about you!"

"Oh, really?" Percy has to act as if he didn’t know that already, raising his eyebrows as he glances at y/n, her cheeks are already tinted a pretty shade of pink. "Good things, I hope?"

"Of course" she recovers quickly, making some space for him to sit beside her on the bed. "What are you doing here?"

Percy carefully steps around the circle of Aphrodite kids on the floor and plops down beside her. "Just missed you." He replies simply, already reaching for her hand.

Her siblings immediately protest. "Don't distract her! it's her turn to braid."

She laughs, setting the brush down and instead taking Percy's hand, her delicate fingers lacing with his. "Don't worry, I'll still braid everyone's hair. Percy's just here to join the fun."

He chuckles, playfully shrugging. "I've always wanted to learn how to braid, I guess"

Her siblings break into laughter, and y/n rolls her eyes affectionately. That's how Percy ends up being instructed by a bunch of Aphrodite children on how to make a perfect braid while he listens to their chatter, laughing as they share stories with him.

Every now and then, y/n sneaks a glance at him, her eyes soft with affection and he remembers what he overheard. He will never forget it. But everytime she looks at him, he knows she wasn't lying just by the love he's able to see in her eyes.

Later, when everyone is happy with their braids and every story they could think about has been told, they start to drift away to their different sides of the cabin and Percy finds his perfect opportunity to mention what he overheard. He can't keep it to himself any longer.

"For the record." He starts, tugging her closer to him. "I can't picture myself marrying anyone else either."

Her breath catches and her face turns crimson. She immediately hides her face against his chest. "You weren't supposed to hear that!"

Percy laughs, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a soft kiss against her temple. "Just let me take care of the proposal, yeah?"

She's utterly embarrased, but she finally laughs, swatting his chest lightly as she mumbles. "Deal"

They settle back into each other’s arms, the warmth of the moment lingering between them as they think about how lucky they are to have each other. Next time, when her siblings gather around her bed asking questions, she’ll have some news to share with them.

[evilminji]

You think the Zone has its version of Comic Con?

Like? Think about it. You have literally all of time to work on it, your Magnum Opus, your life's work. That DREAM comic. All the supplies you could ever wish for. Endless paper. Endless ink. You can practice and practice for CENTURIES until it's JUST right.

Wouldn't you want to share it?

There are definitely Ghosts who have Obsessions that make them collect.

And two people meeting would lead to a group. Lead to a bigger group. Lead to a large group. A gathering. A crowd even. Eventually you need a Lair to meet IN. It becomes An Event.

People hear about it.

Want to bring other art mediums. Food stalls. Report on it. It grows. Shoot offs start happening. Niche meet ups.

But like?

Unlike comic con? It's all FREE. Sure, you might have fork over the ecto to make your copy. And yeah, weaker ghosts can only do that so many times. Will have to prioritize. But? They can come back after leaving for a nap. Ask a buddy to come with. There ARE work arounds.

Just? Imagine the unbelievable HIPE? Danny would feel? But be unable to TELL anyone about? Zone Con happens several times a year! Cause so many people wanna come. The Zone being infinite, after all.

Problem 1? They're using THEIR standard of a "year". Which is actual 5 earth years. So it's only happens every year and a half for him. And Problem 2? He can't even TALK about how excited he is about Z Con with anyone (outside his friends and family) because they haven't heard of it and might Ask Questions.

It's ALSO held in a part of the Zone that's like? Three days of flying away from the portal. And no amount of begging is gonna get any of his loved ones to camp in the Speeder for around six-ish days just to go to a Con.

So you can imagine his DELIGHT. His utter JOY and *Target Spotted* "!!!" Noise, when? In the crowd? He spots A HUMAN! Hi fellow human!!! Omg, wanna be Con Besties? *doesn't even wait for an answer*

So now? This sad, blonde, deeply lost and kinda alarmed, trench coat dude? Is Danny's new Z Con Going Bestie! You got a map yet, bestie? No? That's cool, he has one. By the way, he has human food in the Speeder if you nee-

YES!

Cause, see, here's the THING. John? Lost to the Realms Infinte. Or Infinte Realms. Translation was iffy... and on fire... like the rest of the building. It was him or the kids those psychos had kidnapped, for what fucked "ritual" the voices in their heads, that THEY thought were demons but frankly he's pretty sure was just feedback from-

Look, doesn't matter, he had to choose. He always knew someday he'd have too. That even twisting Luck and talking fast wouldn't quite be enough. And he had to decide, in that moment, which outcome mattered more to him. They get out safe, or he does.

Wasn't much of a question, was it?

So, there he is. Staring down oblivion and all those debts unpaid. 'Bout to see who's gonna come for him this time, and take what left of wretched soul. When? He bleeds on the FUCKIN two-bit crap circle they squiggled in God only knows what. Remembers that "oh YEAH, set dressings!" Sometimes when you focus too hard on insuring a Good Outcome?

You weird weird as shit byproducts happening on the side to balance it all out.

Or BAD ones.

He wakes up someone fucking green and crowded. For the life of him can't tell you which one it is. And THAT was of course, bout two days ago.

Biggest and most immediate problem? He... does NOT recognize what flavor of magical fuckery this is. Doesn't seem Fae. And doesn't smell like Hell. There are... there are honest to God BOOTH BABES hanging around. Hunks too. The view is LOVELY.

And nerdy.

Very, very nerdy.

But he isn't THAT out of touch. So he should recognize SOMETHING. Or at least the languages. But nope! It's like aliens and magic had a nerd baby and dipped it in GREEN. And the worst thing? Is there is food everywhere, but it all glows and John's not stupid enough to eat it.

Then? Sweet merciful fuck. Salvation! Some teeny bopper Barely No Longer Teen fresh faced INFANT of a Hero kid. With a SHIP. Who has FOOD and a clear idea of where they are. Hello~ John's new BEST FRIEND. Yes. Absolutely. Con Buddies, whatever.

Just feed me, kid.

Only? Once he inhales like 5 "Fenton rations"? He only gets half way through introducing himself before getting interrupted. Kid hears "magic" and "occult Detective" and just? Goes "oh! So you wanna check out the magic Ally with me? Sam wanted me to pick up some witchy stuff!"

..............how magic?

(In Which? Constantine becomes Danny's interdimensional Con buddy)

@the-witchhunter @hypewinter @hdgnj @mutable-manifestation @lolottes @nerdpoe

[nylqnder]

DOES YOUR MOTHER KNOW? WILL SMITH

pairing: will smith x fem!reader

summary: to will, age is just a number. so he prays you don't care that his is a few notches lower than yours.

warnings: older!reader (i don't specify the exact age gap in this but i was picturing something like 4-5 years), underage drinking technically, appearances from macklin + fabian

wc: 4.74k

notes: sort of but not really based on 'does your mother know?' by ABBA. thanks to mack, we all know will has a thing for older girls so i thought i'd play into that in this fic!

The bar was packed, buzzing with the easy energy of a Friday night crowd. Neon signs flickered against the brick walls, and the air carried the scent of spilled drinks, cheap cologne, and warm laughter. The Sharks had taken over a corner of the place, their voices loud and unfiltered as they reveled in a night out together.

These types of outings, where they could get the full team out together, were rare. The elder Sharks, the ones who carried a bit more of a reputation in the city, had sweet-talked the bouncer into letting the underage players (which began and ended with Macklin and Will) into the bar.

And it’s not that Will didn’t like hanging out with the guys — team bonding was important, after all — but he would much rather be getting dinner or playing a friendly game of poker at someone’s house than sitting in a sterile, impersonal bar, surrounded by strangers whispering about the athletes who had taken over the space.

Nevertheless, he didn’t want to be that guy who turned down a team outing, which is why Will was shifting on his feet, half-listening as Macklin and Fabian argued over something to do with the teams' fantasy basketball league. His fingers tapped the side of the glass, slow beads of condensation dripping to his feet. Will’s gaze drifted over the crowded bar, the neon glow casting a hazy shimmer across the patrons.

Then, over Fabian’s shoulder, he saw you.

You were standing in the middle of the room, chatting with a friend, your fingers wrapped around a drink that glowed under the neon lights. It wasn’t just that you were beautiful — though, Jesus, were you. It was the way you carried yourself. The way you were effortless and composed told him you weren’t just some college kid sneaking in with a fake ID. You belonged here. Older, confident, and gorgeous in a way that made Will’s stomach tighten.

Will felt his fingers tighten around his drink. The ice clinked. He wasn’t sure if it was the way your lips curled slightly in amusement at something your friend said or the way your jewelry caught the light, but suddenly, he couldn’t look away.

“You good, bud?” Fabian asked, his voice cutting through Will’s daze. Will blinked, forcing himself to look away from you, unaware of the way he had completely tuned out of the conversation, but it was too late. Macklin turned and followed his gaze, grinning when he spotted the reason for Will’s sudden distraction.

“Ohhh no,” Macklin laughed. “Not again. You and older girls, man.”

Fabian breathed out a laugh, his brows knitting together in confusion. “Wait, what do you mean ‘again’?”

Macklin snorted, leaning in like he was about to let Fabian in on the best inside joke of all time. “Smitty’s got a thing for older ladies. It’s like, a pattern at this point.”

Will’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “Mack—”

But Macklin was already in full storyteller mode. “No, seriously. It’s actually impressive. During training camp, he spent an entire charity event chatting with some reporter — what was her name? Megan? Melissa?”

“Madeline,” Will corrected before he could stop himself.

Macklin grinned like he’d won something. “Right, Madeline. She was like, pushing thirty, and our boy here was in love.”

“No way. You’ve got mommy issues?” he teased, leaning his weight against the bar with a smug expression.

Will scowled at the Swedish player. “I do not have mommy issues,” he shot back, his voice firm, though the way Fabian and Macklin exchanged glances only made their amusement grow.

“Dude, you might,” Fabian said, barely holding back his laughter. “It’s okay. Happens to the best of us.”

Macklin hummed in agreement. “Freud would have a field day with you.”

Will exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Can you both shut up?” He wasn’t even looking at them anymore, his attention already drifting back to where you stood. You had leaned in to say something to your friend, your laughter light and easy, and he could swear he felt it in his chest. You swerved through the crowd, moving to the other end of the bar from where Will, Macklin, and Fabian had set up camp.

Fabian, catching the way Will’s focus had shifted again, grinned. “Oh, he’s gone,” he said, nudging Macklin. “You thinking about making a move, lover boy?”

Will didn’t answer immediately. He knew they were waiting for some sheepish denial, some excuse, but the truth was, he was thinking about it.

He could already hear the chirps that would come if he got rejected, but what if he didn’t? What if you looked at him with the same quiet intrigue he felt pulling him toward you?

“Maybe,” he said finally, rolling his shoulders back like he was prepping for a faceoff.

Macklin made a sound of mock surprise. “No way. Is Will Smith — shy?”

Fabian smirked. “Nah, he’s just trying to figure out how to tell her he still has a bedtime.”

Will shot them both a glare before setting his drink down with a decisive clink. “You guys are the worst,” he muttered before stepping away.

Fabian and Macklin barely held in their laughter as they watched him go.

“Ten bucks says he fumbles,” Fabian said.

Macklin grinned. “You’re on.”

Will wove his way through the crowd, his pulse quickening with every step closer. He wasn’t nervous. Not really. He’d done harder things than this — skated in front of thousands, taken hits from guys twice his size, gone head-to-head with some of the best players in the league. And yet, somehow, walking up to you felt like a whole different kind of challenge.

By the time he reached your side of the bar, he still didn’t have a plan. Solid. Great start.

You noticed him before he could figure out what to say. Your eyes flicked to him, curious, like you were waiting to see if he was just passing by or if he had something to say.

Now or never.

“Hey,” he started, voice steady despite the way his brain scrambled for something smooth to follow up with.

Your lips curled slightly, amusement flickering across your face. “Hey,” you echoed, tipping your head.

You raised an eyebrow, waiting. The bar hummed around you, neon lights painting the scene in electric blues and reds, but for Will, everything had narrowed to just you and the expectant tilt of your head.

He needed to say something. Preferably something that didn’t make him sound like a complete idiot.

“I, uh—” He scratched the back of his neck, already mentally cringing. Good start. “I saw you from over there, and I just—”

Your lips twitched. “And you just?”

Will’s mind scrambled, trying to steer the conversation away from the cliff he was about to drive it off. “And I just thought…” He let out a breath, regaining just enough composure to push forward. “I just thought it would be a shame if I didn’t come over and introduce myself.”

Your lips quirked, amused. “Oh? And who exactly am I being introduced to?”

“Will,” he said, his name falling a little too quickly from his lips, like he was trying to get ahead of himself before he could mess it up. “Will Smith.”

“Like the actor?”

Will exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. Exactly like the actor.”

Your grin widened, and he caught the glint of your teeth under the neon glow. “That must be a pain.”

“You have no idea.”

You considered him for a moment, the neon glow catching the sharp angles of his face. Up close, he was undeniably good-looking — boyish, but not in a bad way.

There was something almost endearing about him, the way his features still carried that lingering trace of youth, all bright eyes and easy grins. He had the kind of face that wouldn’t look out of place on a college campus, fresh-faced and full of promise, but almost too young to be leaning against the bar like he belonged there.

Your gaze flickered over him, noting the way his jawline was sharp but not quite settled, like he was still growing into it. His confidence wavered just slightly, a split-second hesitation in his stance that made you wonder if he’d been carded at the door or if he’d just slipped past on sheer luck.

Still, there was a charm to him, an energy that made it hard to look away.

“I swear I had something good to say to you, but then you smiled at me, and now I can’t remember a single word. So… hi. That’s all I got.”

Your lips curved. He was trying, at least. But he didn’t have that seasoned ease of someone who truly belonged here. No, he had the slight stiffness of someone who was conscious of their presence, like he was waiting for someone to tap him on the shoulder and ask to see his ID again.

“Are you trying to flirt with me, Will?” you asked, feigning curiosity.

You watched it land, the way his mouth opened slightly before he shut it again, his brain catching up with his reaction. He blinked, then let out a breath that sounded dangerously close to a laugh. “That depends,” he said, leaning in slightly, his confidence rebounding just enough to take the bait. “Is it working?”

You smirked. Oh, this was going to be fun.

Instead of answering, you let your gaze sweep over him again, slow and deliberate, before lifting your glass to your lips. You took a sip, savoring the way he followed the movement, eyes tracking you like he was bracing for your verdict.

You set your drink down, tilting your head slightly. “How old are you, Will?”

His response came fast. Too fast. “Twenty-one.”

It was rushed, a little too eager, and there was a telltale flicker of something in his eyes — uncertainty? Guilt? The kind of panic that came with trying a little too hard to sell a lie. The words wavered just enough to make you suspicious.

Your gaze flickered over him, taking in the baby face, the patchy facial hair, the way his shoulders squared like he was bracing himself.

“Hmm,” you murmured, pretending to consider it, but the smirk pulling at the corner of your lips betrayed you.

“You don’t believe me?” Will asked, his chest puffing out slightly as if that was what would convince you of his age.

You let the silence stretch just long enough to make him squirm, enjoying the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Then, finally, you shrugged, lips curving. “I don’t know. You just seem very…” You trailed off, letting your gaze drag over him again. “…eager.”

He scoffed, recovering quickly. “What, and that’s a bad thing?”

“Not necessarily.” You tilted your head. “Just makes me wonder what else you might be exaggerating.”

Will’s grin turned a little sharper, a little more playful. “Oh, I see how it is. You think I’m all talk.”

“I think you’re trying very hard to impress me.”

He leaned in slightly, eyes glinting with challenge. “Is it working?”

And there it was — that boyish confidence that made you want to test him, just a little.

Instead of answering, you took a slow sip of your drink, letting him watch the movement, letting the anticipation build. When you finally set your glass down, you gave him an almost lazy smile. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Alright… well hypothetically, if it was working… what would happen next?"

Your lips curved, amused by his persistence. “Hypothetically?”

“Yeah.” His gaze flickered to your lips for just a second before snapping back up to meet your eyes, and damn if that didn’t send a little thrill through you.

You pretended to consider it. “Well, I suppose I’d let you buy me a drink.”

Will’s smile widened. “I like where this is going.”

“And maybe, if you were really charming, I’d let you keep talking to me.”

“Oh, I can be really charming,” he assured you, leaning against the bar like he had all the time in the world. He raised a hand to flag down the bartender, doing it with such confidence that, for a moment, you almost believed he’d done this before. Almost enough to convince you of his age. Almost.

“What’re you having?” Will asked as the bartender made her way over to the two of you.

You leaned in just slightly, close enough to catch the faintest whiff of his cologne — clean, fresh, like something effortlessly expensive. “Surprise me.”

His lips quirked. “Dangerous game. What if I get you something awful?”

You shrugged, fingers tracing the rim of your glass. “Then I’ll know you have terrible taste.”

Will let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Alright. No pressure.”

The bartender approached, and Will ordered with smooth confidence. A cheer from the other side of the bar muted his words, so the drink would be a surprise to you. You watched the way he carried himself, the way he leaned just enough to show he was comfortable but not overly cocky. He was trying. Not in an over-rehearsed way, but in a way that suggested he actually cared if you enjoyed his company.

As the bartender slid the drinks across the counter, Will pushed the faintly pink drink toward you with a flick of his fingers. “Moment of truth.”

You took a slow sip, letting the moment stretch, knowing he was watching you closely. The drink was smooth, well-balanced, with just the right amount of kick.

You hummed, setting it down. “Not bad. Maybe you do have taste.”

Will pressed a hand to his chest like you’d just granted him the highest honor. “High praise.”

You smirked, watching him. He was settling in now, shoulders looser, his easy confidence creeping back in full force. He thought he had you. You could see it in the way his grin turned a little sharper, in the way he tilted his head just so, like he was already picturing how this night would play out.

Poor thing.

You lifted your drink again, letting your gaze flick just past his shoulder for the briefest moment. And there they were.

Two blonds looking straight back at you.

It was almost comical how badly they were trying — and failing — to be subtle. The darker blond had taken the bold approach, openly staring, not even pretending to hide his amusement. The lighter blond, at least, had the decency to make it look like he was half-engaged in another conversation, but the sharp interest in his eyes gave him away.

You let the corner of your mouth tug upward before shifting your attention back to Will, who still had no idea.

“You’ve got fans,” you mused, taking another sip.

Will frowned slightly, clearly thrown off by the comment. “What?”

You tilted your chin, motioning subtly behind him. “Over your shoulder.”

His brows knitted together before he turned, just enough to catch sight of Fabian and Macklin. They made no effort to look away. Macklin had the audacity to raise his glass in a lazy toast, while Fabian mouthed something that looked like ‘you’re fumbling’.

Will exhaled sharply, turning back to you, shaking his head. “Of course.”

You rested your elbow on the bar, chin propped in your hand. “They always this invested in your love life?”

Will let out a dry laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “Only when they think they can embarrass me.”

“So… always?”

“Pretty much.”

You laughed, the sound light and easy, and maybe that was what did it. The way you looked at him right then, all playful mischief and effortless charm — it had Will reeling, like he wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten here but wasn’t about to complain.

You watched the moment Will made a choice.

The hesitation he’d shown earlier — just a flicker, just enough to amuse you — was gone. Whatever uncertainty had been there had been swallowed up by something steadier, something that almost made you forget why you’d doubted him in the first place.

He leaned in slightly, elbows on the bar, that easy smirk settling on his lips like it belonged there. “So, now that my charming personality has been thoroughly vetted,” he drawled, “are you gonna tell me what you think?”

You arched a brow. “About?”

He tilted his head, as if to say, Don’t play dumb. “Me.”

Confident. Bold. Maybe even a little cocky.

And, for the first time all night, you saw what he was really made of. The kid act was gone. This was Will choosing to stand his ground, to prove to you — to himself — that he belonged here.

You could’ve dragged this out longer, drawn out the game until it lost its shine. But you weren’t cruel, and the truth was, he’d earned a little honesty.

You let out a soft hum, tipping your glass toward him before taking a sip. Then you set it down and met his gaze, letting your smirk soften just slightly.  “How old are you really?”

Will’s brows furrowed, leaning back a little bit. “21, I told you.”

You cocked your head, dropping your voice just enough to make him sweat. “Uh-huh. So, if I asked to see your ID right now, it wouldn't say… what? Nineteen?”

Will hesitated. He knew exactly what you would find if he handed you his ID, which would be proof that Will was nineteen. It was barely a flicker — just the smallest hitch in his breath, the briefest shift in his expression — but you caught it. That hesitation was answer enough.

You leaned back and gave Will a soft smile. “Sorry, Will. You’re cute but I’m not about to get caught up with a kid.”

You slip off the stool, softly placing your hand on his shoulder — his undeniably solid shoulder — and give it a soft squeeze. You go to slip by Will, to head back to your friends, but you can feel the insistent blond hot on your heels. His hand — warm, insistent — curls around your wrist, not forcefully, but with just enough desperation to make your heart stutter.

You could have shaken him off. Could have pulled your wrist free with little more than a glance, but something in his grip — earnest, not forceful — made you pause. You turned back, brows lifted in question, and found Will staring at you with an intensity that almost made you reconsider walking away.

“I swear I’m not some dumb kid,” he says, his voice quiet but no less urgent. “I’m mature for my age.”

You can’t help but chuckle slightly. “That’s exactly what someone too young would say.” 

This doesn’t deter him. “C’mon. Give me… a game of pool,” he says, motioning to the green tables in the corner of the room. “Give me a game to show you I’m not a kid. That I’m worth your time.”

You sigh, letting your eyes flicker over him one more time. Will's confidence is unwavering, but there’s something else there too—a challenge, maybe even a plea. And damn it, you’ve always had a soft spot for reckless confidence.

“Fine,” you say, shaking your head. “One game. But if I win, you have to stop following me around like a lost puppy.”

A grin spreads across Will’s face, a little lopsided, a little cocky. “And if I win?”

You arch a brow. “You won’t.”

His grin only widens. “Guess we’ll see.”

He releases your wrist as you step toward the pool table, watching carefully as Will rolls up his sleeves,  revealing the veins that snake across his forearms. He moves to grab a cue, but you stop him with a teasing hum.

“Nuh-uh. Rack ‘em up first, kid.”

He groans, dragging a hand through his tousled blond hair. “You’re not gonna let that name go, are you?”

“Not a chance.” You pick out a cue stick, giving it a testing spin in your hand as Will racks the balls. “You play a lot?”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he says, sending you a glance from beneath his lashes. “But I guess you’ll have to find that out yourself.”

You snort, lining up for the break. “You really don’t quit, do you?”

“Not when I see something I want.”

You break the rack with a sharp crack, watching as the balls scatter. Two stripes drop into pockets. You straighten, catching Will’s eyes. “Looks like I get to keep shooting.”

His gaze flicks from the table to you, amusement dancing in his expression. “Guess I’m gonna have to distract you, then.”

You tilt your head, giving him a slow, assessing once-over. “Oh? And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”

Will steps closer, invading your space just enough to make your breath hitch. He leans against the table, his voice dropping into something smoother, softer. “I could start by telling you how good you look in that blue top.”

You shake your head with a smirk, considering your options on the table. “Flattery won’t change the score, Will.”

“No,” he murmurs, watching you line up your next shot. “But it might make you miss.”

Damn it. You sink the next stripe but nearly scratch in the process. Will chuckles, clearly pleased with himself, and moves around the table as you reluctantly hand over the cue ball.

“You’re trouble,” you mutter.

He smirks, bending to take his shot, his voice low and teasing. “And yet, you’re still here.”

You roll your eyes but don’t deny it. The game continues, and so does the banter — Will making playful jabs, you tossing them right back. He’s good, better than you expected, and when he finally sinks the eight ball with a triumphant grin, he straightens, twirling the cue between his fingers.

“Well?” he asks, stepping closer again, his blue eyes bright with mischief. “What do I win?”

You purse your lips, pretending to think before tapping a finger against his chest lightly. “You get to buy me a drink and maybe I’ll give you my time for a few more minutes.”

Will grins, pushing past the way your choice of words wasn’t completely giving in to him. He gestures toward the bar, his voice casual, but there’s an edge to it that wasn’t there before. “You know, I’m starting to think you might actually enjoy hanging out with me, despite my 'kid' status.”

You raise an eyebrow as you follow him back toward the bar, where the neon lights cast a colorful glow across the wood surface. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Will. One game doesn’t change much.”

He laughs, low and amused, as he orders another round. You take the drink, swirling it lightly in your hand, watching the liquid catch the light. Will’s sincerity catches you off guard. He’s easy to dismiss at first glance — young, confident, and a bit cocky — but there’s more to him. You lean against the bar, giving him a sidelong glance.

The conversation takes on a different tone after that. You start asking more questions, genuinely curious about his life—his plans, his passions, the things that keep him up at night. And with each answer, you find yourself drawn in, surprised by how much you’re actually enjoying the conversation. His intelligence is sharp, his humor subtle but quick, and his determination is something you can’t help but respect.

Meanwhile, back at the pool tables where they had set up earlier to eavesdrop, Macklin and Fabian exchange looks, baffled by how long you’ve been gone and how animated your conversation with Will seems.

“You think she’s actually into him?” Fabian asks, incredulity in his voice.

Macklin shrugs, glancing back at you and Will. “Or he is way better than we think.”

The night carries on, and as the conversation with Will deepens, you find yourself captivated in ways you didn't expect. He's no longer just a cocky kid in a bar; there’s a subtle confidence in the way he speaks, a maturity beneath the surface that keeps you intrigued. The more he opens up, the more you realize there’s a depth to him, a sincerity that makes you hesitate at the thought of cutting things short.

“So,” you start, leaning in just enough to close the gap between the two of you, your tone soft but probing. “What do you really want, Will? I mean, you’ve been pretty persistent tonight.”

He doesn't hesitate, his smile morphing into something more genuine, less teasing. “I want to prove I’m not a joke. I want you to see that I’m not just some... kid with a crush.” His voice is steady, serious even, and it makes you pause for a moment. The playful edge he’s been hiding all night fades, replaced by something much more earnest.

You arch a brow, intrigued despite yourself. “So you’re not just here to win a bet or get me to give you my number?”

“No,” he answers without a hint of doubt. “I’m not playing some game. I’m serious.”

The honesty in his words makes your breath catch. You set your glass down with a soft clink, suddenly aware of how much closer you’re standing to him, the buzz of the bar fading into the background. Maybe it’s the way his breath is almost mingling with yours, or the drinks were starting to take their full effect, but you decide the night had reached its end.

“I think this is my cue.”

Will’s smile falters, but only just. “Y’don’t have to go just yet.”

You sigh, stepping back slightly. “It’s getting late. I’m sure it’s well past your bedtime anyways.”

He smirks, shaking his head, but his eyes stay locked on yours, warm and insistent. “Can I at least get your number then?”

You hesitate. Your mind races, trying to remind yourself why this is a bad idea. The age difference. The fact that he’s so damn persistent. But something in the way he looks at you, something in his voice that softens with the request, makes you give in.

You pass him your phone, feeling a strange sense of anticipation build in your chest. Will’s fingers brush yours as he takes it, and he types in his number with careful precision. He hands it back to you with a grin. “There. Now we can talk when you’re not busy pretending I’m a child.”

You snort, pocketing the phone as you turn to head for the door. Will insists on walking you outside and waiting with you for your Uber. The night air is cool, and as you wait, your conversation continues. 

Will keeps stealing glances at you, his eyes flickering down to your lips like he’s already picturing what it would be like to kiss you. You notice, of course you do, but you pretend not to, keeping your expression unreadable even as amusement dances behind your gaze.

The silence stretches between you, charged and heavy, until Will finally gives in with a low chuckle. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

You bite back a smile, exhaling softly before shaking your head. “You’re sweet, Will,” you say, voice warm but firm. “But I think we both know that’s not the best idea.”

His lips part slightly, like he wants to argue, but then he stops himself, nodding once. He doesn’t push, doesn’t whine or beg. Instead, he steps back just a fraction, his smirk returning — though this time, there’s something softer underneath. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

Your Uber pulls up, headlights cutting through the dim glow of the streetlights. You reach for the door, pausing just long enough to give Will one last look. “Goodnight, Will.”

He stuffs his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “Goodnight. For now.”

You shake your head, unable to hide your grin as you slip into the car. The moment the door shuts, you release a quiet breath, letting yourself relax against the seat. Your phone buzzes just as the car pulls away, and when you glance down, Will’s name lights up your screen.

Will: you know, if you ever get tired of being old, i’m happy to make you feel young again ;)

You snorted, shaking your head as you typed back.

You: bold for a baby. goodnight, will.

As you shut your phone off, you couldn't help but smile. You can’t deny it — there’s something about him that keeps pulling you back in. Despite the age gap, despite everything. You just hope you’re not making a mistake.

[magnolia-among-the-stars]

twin sized mattress (rafe cameron)

summary: What happens when one moment you’re coming home to change for a secret date, and the next you’re being dragged away to a "wilderness therapy camp" with no warning, no goodbye.

Kitty Hawk isn’t a camp. It’s a prison disguised as a lesson, a place designed to break people like me. No contact. No escape. Just rules, isolation, and the constant reminder that this is my fault.

I don’t know how long it’s been since I last saw Rafe Cameron. Maybe he moved on. Maybe he doesn’t even know I’m gone.

But if he does? If he finds out where they sent me? Then I don’t know who should be more afraid—me… or the people keeping me here. based on this request

word count: 6590

trigger warnings: forced disciplinary camp, isolation, emotional manipulation, toxic positivity, gaslighting, coercion, PTSD-like symptoms, mentions of forced labor, exhaustion, restricted food, physical abuse (in the altercations with the security team)

A/N: i take this topic so seriously because I know that even though Kitty Hawk is a fictional location, there are real camps out here that are doing this. there's a few real impactful documentaries on netflix (among so many others) that talk through the horrors of these programs. Please take care of yourself in reading this - I'm really proud of it but it is a much heavier topic.

I never thought my parents would do it. Truly. I mean, of course I thought it was possible. Hell, they’d threatened it the entirety of freshman year. That was the year John B’s dad disappeared, the year that Kie went off to Kook Academy. It was a rough year for all of us. So sure, they’d threaten the idea if I kept hanging out with ‘that Maybank kid’, if I kept up my ‘attitude’ or my ‘late night sexcapades’ as my mother called them.

I could still see her face, just last weekend in the kitchen pouring another cup of coffee. The night before, we’d been out at the Boneyard having a few beers. I could still see the pinch in between her brow, could still see the tremble in her upper lip as she scolded me. “Keep this up, see what happens. I swear, if I wake up one more time in the middle of the night to find that you are still not home…if I find out you were partying with those criminals - you are done, do you hear me?” 

We’d always landed somewhere between Pogues and Kooks, having moved here after my dad took a job in the Coast Guard but living on The Cut to save on moving costs. I’d always found myself at peace with the Pogues, surfing during the summer days and boating in the evenings. It was always lighthearted. Work hard, play harder. I should’ve known it would bite me in the ass someday. 

Dripping from the rain and in desperate need of a change of clothes before heading out, I didn’t even have a chance to tug my key from my pocket when the door swung open wide. 

A strange man stood in the doorway, staring down at me menacingly. I raise a brow, try to peer around the behemoth of the man. “Am I at the wrong house?” I mumble, backing up a little bit to get my bearings. My back slams into something dense and I turn, noticing another man with his arms crossed. “What the–,” my heart drops to my ass and bile rises in my throat. 

It’s a blur after that of hands on skin, flip flops displaced on the wet grass, of screaming and promises and begging. Bruises form from kicking against the car door, from punching against the glass. I get a glimpse of my mother sobbing on the porch as I’m driven away in a black SUV, my father wiping his mouth. 

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I have just enough time to stare down at the incoming text message.  I just parked, let me know when you get here?

I try to quickly press out a response, send an SOS but I’m not quick enough. The man sitting to my left snatches it from my grasp and all hope of escape, of stopping the nightmare of some therapeutic wilderness camp for troubled teenage girls. 

______

It feels like too much time passes in the dark of the woods by the time I see the sign, illuminated by solar lighting on the side of the road. Kitty Hawk. The hellscape that Kie’s parents had threatened a few months back. At least Mike and Anna had come to their senses that listening to your child had been the solution to their rebellion instead of a traumatic kidnapping and manual labour. How peachy. 

Bigfoot pushes me from the slick leather and out of the car, wrapping a stiff hand around my bicep and all but drags me up the dirt path to a cabin at the top of the hill in the center of the facility. It’s dark; rows of evergreen cabins line the paths through the trees. It’s too quiet, the only sound coming from any direction were crickets and a quiet echo of shouting. Creepy.

Inside the main office, a woman with a toothy tight smile and tired eyes tells me that this is a chance at redemption. “This is a chance to right your wrongs, to really make something of yourself.”

“I’ll pass,” I tell her, nodding absentmindedly at the cat bobble head that sways on her desk. “I should really be getting home…I’ve got a date.” 

“You do…with your future.” She covers it with her hand, forcing me to look up at her. Her smile tightens, stretching too far. “And I have high hopes for you,” she says. 

“No, like an actual date, it’s important,” I say, blinking a little and frowning. I think of him, sitting out on the beach waiting for my text message. He’s probably looking out at the ocean, watching the storming waves and wondering if I’m blowing him off, if I’ve finally called off whatever it is that we had before things could get serious; before we told anyone anything. Probably wondering if I was coming to my senses. What Pogue would ever want to get into a serious relationship with the Kook Prince anyway? 

“Sweetheart, we need you to work with us here. Alright? We can work together to make things better, okay? Can you trust us?” the woman says, leaning forward like we’re friends. 

I stare at her for a moment, disturbed by the optimism. “I need to atleast make a phone call.” 

She shakes her head, waving to the goof in the corner standing at the ready. “Patients cannot use their phones or have contact with anyone for the first six weeks of the program-,” she continues to rattle off a series of rules. They go in one ear and out the other.

And when Sasquatch finally comes in to drag me off to a cabin, all I want is Rafe’s hands on me instead. And when I lay on the thin mattress on the bottom bunk in the overcrowded girls’ cabin with springs digging into my back, I try to imagine the soft sand underneath me and the scratchings on the plank of wood above the stars. I try not to think about how heartbroken he must be, not knowing that I’d been sent away.

____

Days pass in a daze of survival; of medication trials, gaslighting unqualified therapy and lots of splinters. Between group sessions of talking through our wrongdoings and ruthless workouts to ‘sweat out our sins’, the counselors are convinced that becoming lumberjacks will cure us of whatever illness has caused our disobedience. My hands quickly become calloused from the endless hours of splitting wood with an old axe, my shoulders sore from carrying logs to and from one site to another. There’s no real structure, just ragged breathing and murmurs of toxic positivity quotes that hard work builds character. 

No one talks about the horrors of being taken from their homes and families, of the depression that causes them to act out. I watch a girl, maybe a year younger than me, sway on her feet. She’s holding an axe that’s longer than her arm and I worry she’ll hurt herself. I step forward to steady her, slip the axe from her loose grip. 

Betsy Sue or whatever the fuck her name is steps back with a wide gaze. 

Big Boss Man appears almost out of nowhere and rips the axe from my grasp. He tucks my arm behind my back, like I’m a threat to his stature. 

“Threatening a counselor in your first week,” Betsy Sue says, shaking her head and scribbling something on her stupid clipboard. “That’s two weeks in the Reflection Cabin for you. I hope you’ll take that time to really think about how you want your experience here to go,” she says through clenched teeth. 

“No, no - I wasn’t even threatening you-, no, get off,” I try to shove their hands away like a scared cat. “She was going to pass out, you barely feed us-,” I grunt as I’m shuffled through the woods, kicking and screaming. They close me inside the dim cabin, leaving me to the dust glinting through slips of light from under the sealed windows. They’re cracked open just about two inches, allowing the cool breeze to seep into the room like a crushed straw. I notice the lack of sheets on the thinner mattress and the state of the dirty toilet. Fuck.

—

It's been days since he’s heard from you. Rafe Cameron wasn’t someone who normally got left on read and yet that alone didn’t even cause him to stop thinking about you. He didn’t know how it happened but he knew that your laugh is infectious. He had never pictured himself settling down and yet, he had thought about what size your ring finger was. 

You’d been around Sarah ever since Ward’s death…the first time. One of the annoying Pogues who’d been treasure hunting around Kildare like you were Jack Sparrow and yet, he couldn’t help but search for your face in a crowd. And one late night, long after he and Sarah had agreed to be in each other’s lives, he found you staring up at the stars on the patio. The rest of the Pogues were passed out throughout Tannyhill from a night of partying but you? You were curled up on a covered wicked chair, hair twisted into two lazy braids and hand deep into a bag of cheese puffs.

“The hell are you doin’ out here?” he grunts, looking at the mess your friends had left. 

You just crunched away, unbothered by his tone as your dirty orange fingers pointed up at the sky. “Meteor shower.” You held out the bag for him, “Wanna watch?” 

Rafe didn’t know what he was doing when he settled down below the wicker chair, shoulder bumping yours as he stared at your dirty fingers holding the big bag. “Those are disgusting,” he mumbles, staring at your profile and the way your lips curled up. 

“And?” you said, turning to look at him with a raised brow. 

He felt like he could kiss the smirk off of your face. So he tried. And you tasted like artificial cheese and malibu. He swore he fell in love. And then you stood him up, there on the beach a few nights ago. And then he noticed that you hadn’t been around the house with his sister either, nor at the farmer’s market with Kie and Cleo, not even at the marina with the boys. 

Were you avoiding him? What the hell had he done to deserve the silent treatment and a no show. It wasn’t like he could just straight up ask Sarah where you were hiding. You’d never really gotten to the point of making it official, of sharing with your friends that you’d done the unspeakable. You’d gotten involved with Sarah’s recovering assaholic of a brother. 

It’s not until a few days of stewing later that he decides he can’t take it anymore, that he can’t move on until he’s seen you. That what you guys had felt too real for him to just shrug it off. When he walks into the kitchen though, he’s not expecting the whole clan to be there again. But he counts only six and deflats until he hears their conversation. 

“They said she went on a trip to go visit family out of state,” Pope shares, leaning down and shaking his head. 

“There’s no way she would’ve left without telling someone something,” Sarah shakes her head, leaning on John B. “It’s just not her.”

“You don’t think they could’ve—,” JJ drags a finger across his throat and gets a few groans, a pinch from Kie. 

“JJ, not funny. No, the only thing that they’ve ever threatened her with is–,” Kie looks up at the sound of Rafe’s footsteps, catches his curiosity. “Rafe? What are you doing here?”

“Where is she?” he asks, crossing his arms. Sarah notices the strain of emotion settling into his jaw, his hands tucked into themselves to stop from shaking. She tilts her head in realization, she’s always been too perceptive. 

“We don’t know,” she says. “But from the way you’re shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you have something you’d like to share with the class.” 

Rafe huffs out a sarcastic noise, somewhere between an amused snort and an annoyed laugh. “Cute, real cute. Your little friend was supposed to meet me out on the beach the night of the storm. Never showed. So, because she won’t answer my calls or texts – you can tell her that she can come out of hiding now and tell me to fuck off like an adult.” 

“The night of the–oh my god,” Kie covers her mouth. “Dude, her parents pulled the trigger.” 

“I knew it,” JJ shouts, slapping the countertop in confirmation but Kie shuts him down. 

“No, listen, her parents told her two weeks ago that one more late night and they were sending her away to Kitty Hawk. That’s the day that we were stranded on Figure 8 because someone-,” she looks at JJ, “forgot to put enough gas in the Snapper.” 

Rafe stiffens, guilt washing through him for thinking that you would’ve walked away without a single word. He’s reminded of the soft commentary woven into your conversations; that your parents were absent, harsh.

“You really think her parents would send her away?” John B asks.

“Yes, 100%. My parents got the name of the place from her mom. They’ve been threatening it for a while now. We just laughed it off…” 

“Lets go get her,” Rafe blurts out. The whole group turns in confusion at his outburst, watching as he grabs his wallet and keys from the bowl on the counter. He looks like a man on a mission and they freeze. When he realizes no one is moving, he glares. “What are you all looking at me like that for? Do you want to go rescue your friend or not?” 

They share a look, a six way silent debate and decide that no matter how strange it is – having Rafe Cameron on your team was better than against.

—

I don’t know how much time passes, unable to tell the difference between sunshine through the dirty windows and the beaming lights spotlighting movement through the facilities. I start to get restless after a day of reflection, pacing up and down the rows of empty bunks and reciting all the joyful things waiting for me outside the doors of the cabin, outside the walls of the camp. 

Two days later, one of the fake therapists comes in with another stupid clipboard to chat through my diagnosis. She gives me some mumbo jumbo about defiance and attention-something or other. I’m too distracted by counting the steps it takes to make it around her and through the door. How quickly could I run to the gate and get to the main road…could I flag someone down in time?

I wonder if anyone even realizes I’m gone. Do the Pogues think I’ve just left without a word? Does Rafe? Are they looking for me?  

She asks me a question, calls my name. 

I run for it. I should’ve tightened my shoelaces. 

Stumbling over myself, losing the momentum of surprise, Jack and the Beanstalk easily grasp onto both my arms and shove me back into the cabin. I struggle in their painful grips, swinging wildly to see if I can break free. It’s futile and eventually Beanstock just tosses me harshly to the ground. I lay there longer than expected, stomach aching from my one meal a day. My arms start to bruise from the handling and a hopelessness washes over me. 

“I was really hoping you would’ve made some progress but it looks like you’re still unwilling to let us help you,” the woman clicks her pen and tucks her clipboard snug under her arm. “We’ll try again next week, hmm?” She turns to leave, taking the big brutes with her.

I scramble to my feet, desperate to stop the door from closing. The light is snuffed from the room, the heavy sound of a padlock grinds against the wood and I’m alone again. “No, no, please,” I shout, slamming against the sturdy framework. 

I didn't get a meal for a long time after that. I notice a subtle shift in lighting outside and if I squat near the two inch opening, I hear a buzzing noise that almost seems like a shift in setting. I scratch a notch in the wood of a bunk post when I hear it. The bologna and melted cheese sandwich is not nearly enough to make my stomach stop hurting and my throat is too raw from screaming to be able to enjoy the meal. 

—

The drive to Kitty Hawk is tense and quiet, Rafe’s knuckles turning white at the thought of you being forced from your home. Kie had filled him in on all she’d heard about the program, the mocking website with the sense of community and enthusiasm for growth. It made his stomach churn. 

He checks the rearview mirror, ensuring your loyal and idiotic friends are still behind him in the Twinkie. Sarah watches the stiffness in her brother’s movements, the tension in his limbs. She ponders a little, feeling bold with just the two of them in the car. “So,” she takes a sip of water, “how long have you guys been seeing each other?” 

Rafe’s head snaps toward her, eyes flickering back to the road as he tries to collect himself. “Seeing who?” 

“Rafe, I’m your sister. We may have been at odds for a long time but I know when you’re tucking something away because you don’t want someone to see you vulnerable,” Sarah says. When he says nothing in response, she smirks a little, looks out the window. 

“It’s been a few months,” he says, clearing his throat and wiping his mouth. He taps his fist against the steering wheel, frustrated with his honesty. Rafe feels like he’s betraying your trust a little, sharing a secret you both hadn’t agreed to share. “We weren’t official…not yet anyways.” 

“But you lo-,” she stops herself, not wanting to scare him off, “you care about her.”

Rafe gives her the side eye, noticing the signage up ahead for the damn camp. “I love her,” he admits, turning into the place. He watches as the twinkie rolls off to the side, leaving just the two of them puttering down the dirt road. He stops for a second, foot hitting the break impulsively. He’d just gotten his sister back in his life, finally getting on good terms with her. Rafe couldn’t lose another person. Not with all that he’d done to make amends. “Are you…are you like, mad?” 

Sarah looks at him with a softness that he still wasn’t used to. He didn’t know where she’d inherited such a look, not having been raised with it himself. “Rafe, she’s been lighter and brighter in the last few months than I’ve ever seen her. I’m going to make the assumption that you have a lot to do with that.”

“Really?” He can’t help the smile that stretches across his face, the burning in his cheeks at the admission. 

“Yes, really,” Sarah laughs, amused at the site of him being bashful. “And you’ve become way less snappy and more tolerable, so I’m happy as long as you’re both happy.” She covers his hand with hers, smiling “Let's go get our girl.”

He nods, squeezing her hand and starting to drive up to the men walking around in front of the gate ahead. 

“So like…do you…have a plan?” Sarah asks, tensing as they wave them to a stop. 

“We’re going to buy the camp,” he says, rolling down the window and looking over at her. He looks over the stern man, feeling a subtle rage underneath the surface of his skin. But Rafe is Ward Cameron’s son after all and he knows how to manipulate his way through a deal. He’s made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t be that person anymore, wouldn’t become his dad. But sometimes, the toolbox comes in handy for the greater good. 

“This is private property,” the man grunts, nodding to the road. “You’ll have to turn around.” 

“We’re here to meet with the director of the camp about an investment deal,” Rafe says, oozing with an authority that Sarah hasn’t witnessed in quite some time. It sends a wave of discomfort over her but she stays quiet, letting him work. “Elliot Calloway?”

“Investment deal? You?” the man says, raising a brow and looking back at the other security. 

“Yeah,” Rafe pulls his business card from his visor, flashing it at the guy without care. “My family is pretty big in the development?”

“Mr. Cameron, give me just a moment,” the man’s tone changes, stepping away to radio someone. He comes back after a few minutes, nodding to the gate. “Central building just beyond the parking lot with the buses. Mr. Calloway will meet you there.” 

—

I sit against the wall under the windowsill, staring absentmindedly at the door frame. I try to listen for the hum of the lights switching, swaying absentmindedly to a tune stuck in my head. My head lifts at a voice dancing through the wind outside. It’s a newer voice, unique from the roulette of voices that I’d gotten used to in the time since arriving at camp. 

The first thought that runs through my head is that the new voice is Rafe. The thought that follows is that I have gone crazy. The voice is gone before I can even stand and try to peer out the window. It would be a waste because I was certain at this point that I was forgotten about, that no one was coming to save me. This was my new reality.

My delusions prove correct because the voice doesn’t come back, doesn’t drift through the window as time passes. What does come back is the hum buzzes and another sandwich – just cheese this time – is slid through the door. The cabin gets chilly as I deconstruct my sandwich on my lap, ripping parts of the bread away and eating slowly to pass the time. 

There’s a commotion outside the door and I glance up from the slice of American cheese when I hear the padlock click open, hear the hinges squeal. There’s a stream of light that hurts my eyes as the door is pushed open but it's gone as quick as it came. My shoulders tense as a figure ducks a little, coming closer in the dark of the cabin. I stay pressed against the wall, deciding that a splinter from the unfinished framing is better than whatever the security guard is up to. 

“Please, I promise not to try to escape,”  I whimper, scrunching my eyes shut in hopes that this is all just a terrible nightmare. 

“Well, that’s a waste I guess.” 

I blink, eyes straining in the dark to look for a sign that I’ve officially lost my mind, that I’ve started to hallucinate in the solitude of isolation. He’s kneeling down a few steps back, dressed in the classic black uniform of a guard. “Rafe?” My throat tightens, the dam breaking as all the feeling rushes back through me. 

“You didn’t think I’d let it slide that you missed our date, did you?” he murmurs, crawling forward to wrap his arms around me, pulling me into his chest. 

“I’m so sorry,” I blurt out, tensing against him. I melt into his warm, finally feeling protected in his caring embrace. He smells like the beach and feels like home. 

Rafe’s hands slide under me as he tugs me forward, pulling me into his lap. I can’t stop the sobs that wrack through me, trying to cover my mouth so that no one will hear how loud I am. It’s scary how much I had convinced myself that I could survive without  softness, without being held in a way that wasn’t aggressive, and wasn't forceful. 

“How many days has it been?” I sniffle a little, shaking. 

Rafe reaches up to wipe away the tears, cradling my cheek as he searches my face. It’s easy to recognize the frustration in his brow, the tension in his jaw. “It’s been a week but we’re breaking you out of here, okay?” He rises to his feet, picking me up with ease. He takes my hand and guides me to the doorway. 

My stomach churns, heart racing as I suck in a breath. Something deep inside panics and I tug at his arm, hesitating in the middle of the cabin. “Wait, wait,” I whisper, staring at him wide-eyed. 

Rafe looks back at me, tugging a little on my hand. “Doll, c’mon, we don’t have much time.” 

The way he tugs at my hand causes my throat to tighten again and I pull back, like his touch burns my flesh. I hold my hand against my chest, curling into myself. “Rafe…I don’t…” I start to say, losing my breath. “I don’t…what if they–”

“Shhh, shhh, hey–hey,” Rafe steps back cautiously back into my personal space, hands up as if he’s trying to show me he means no harm. His blue eyes are flecked with worry as he takes in my state. “What did they do to you?” 

I don’t know how to respond, the nightmare of the apparent week since I’d last seen him dying on my tongue. I open my mouth but nothing escapes me. I look down, feeling so unlike myself.

Rafe steps closer, slowly moving his hands to hold my face again so he can stare down at me. His thumbs smooth over the apples of my cheeks, his skin cool. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here but I promise you, no one comes near you again – okay?” 

“Okay,” I whisper, looking up at him. 

Rafe nods, gives me a little smile and checks his watch. He looks to the door and starts to move with a little more intention. He can peel the black hoodie from his slender torso, checking his watch one more time. “You trust me?” 

I nod without hesitation. “More than anything.” 

He steps forward, pulling the hoodie over my head to cover the stupid Kitty Hawk uniform from view. It’s dark only for a moment before I’m staring up at his face again. I’m swimming in cotton, the clothing big enough that it covers my shorts. Rafe takes care as he brushes his hands along my neckline, freeing my hair from the collar. “Alright, here’s the plan. We’re going to head into the woods down by the water…it seems like no one really goes down there. We’re not gonna run, that’s going to draw attention to us,” he rushes to explain.

I can’t help myself, rising up on my tippy toes and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Thank you for coming to get me,” I whisper, fingers poking out to clutch at his shirt. Before he can respond, before he can react - there’s a loud burst of noise outside in the distance. I gasp out as we’re suddenly engulfed in darkness. “Rafe?”

“That’s our cue,” he says, sliding the hoodie over my head and lacing our hands together. “Once we get outside – don’t stop moving, okay? Head down and don’t let go of my hand, alright?” I nod, trying to ignore the thoughts racing through my mind and how hard my heart beats in my chest. 

Rafe turns to the door and squeezes my hand tightly before pulling it open. It’s pitch black outside but I can hear loud shouting. “Tug that door shut, okay?” he says. 

I pull the handle to shut the door behind us as we take off down the creaky stairs, trying to take slow breaths as I keep my eyes on the ratty sneakers I’ve been issued. Rafe’s grip is firm as he leads me quickly along winding paths and between cabins as if he grew up at the camp. I can almost see the opening in the trees that leads down to the water when he pushes me hastily behind a cabin. 

“What tha’ hell is goin’ on?” he shouts to someone, his voice disguised with a deep drawl.

I worry that they’ll notice he’s not one of them but my shoulders relax a little when whoever he’s talking to sounds like they haven’t stopped moving. “I think a transformer blew, the generator’s old.”

“Where you need me?” Rafe responds, stepping a little out of my view and I have to press against the cabin to stop myself from following him.

“Get the mouthy one from isolation, bring her for count in the mess hall,” the man responds, his voice further away as he leaves the conversation. I taste bile in my throat at his words, breath hitching as Rafe’s ‘assignment’ to get me. There’s a ringing in my ear and I sway, dizzy with fear. I jump a little when his fingertips brush my wrists. 

“Hey, hey, you still with me?” he bends a little so he’s eye level. His voice is soft. “What did I promise you?”

“No…” I swallow. “No one will come near me again.” 

“No one will come near you again,” he repeats, nodding in agreement. “You ready, brave girl?” I nod, feeling a rush of adrenaline as he pulls me back onto the path and we move at an intentional pace toward the treeline. I can see more flashlights, zipping across the area as we step out of the view of the cabins. I stumble a little, tripping on roots as we move closer and closer to the water. The rough and rocky path turns soft, making it hard to keep a quick pace. 

“Rafe, how are we going to get back home? The water is the opposite direction from the main–,” my mouth falls open, seeing the outline of a few small boats beached ashore. 

Rafe turns to me once we are at the shoreline, winking. His hands smooth over my waist to pick me up and into the boat. “Duck down, okay?” 

I slide down against the seat, trying to steady my breathing as he pushes the boat slowly back into the water and jumping in once we’re floating far enough in the middle of the water. I watch the way he reaches down and tugs on the pull-start with purpose. Panic settles in my bones when nothing happens. 

“C’mon,” he says, tugging again. He tries again. Nothing. “Son of a bitch.” 

“Hey, what are you doing?” someone shouts from the beach. Flashlights shining over Rafe and along the boat, shouting as Rafe tries again to start the dinghy. I notice the split second of fear on his face as he struggles to tug the pull-start one more time. Coming back to myself, I stand up and shuffle to his side.

His hands are shaking as he frantically tries to start the boat. “Hey, get back here,” a man shouts, water splashing as they rush into the water to catch up. 

“Let go,” I mutter, pushing his hands out of the way to grab the handle. I give it one swift tug and breathe out in relief when the engine roars to life. Rafe grabs the helm and quickly steers up away from the man, causing him to stumble into the water behind us. As the camp and the security disappear the further we get, the more weight lifted from my shoulder. 

I tuck my face in my hands, feeling shocked that Rafe actually just pulled a near prison break to come get me. My chest rises and falls as I wipe away my tears.

“Hey, are you alright?” Rafe says, fingers stretching over my thigh. 

I can’t respond, hearing a low whistling noise over by the shoreline. My shoulders tense until I see six idiots, jumping and waving in front of the Twinkie and Rafe’s truck pulled over on the side of the road. A laugh escapes me as the boys jump onto the weeds, helping Rafe pull us ashore. JJ ushers me out of the boat and the girls all engulf me in a hug, echoing their relief that we’re safe, that I’m safe. 

I turn around, seeing Rafe biting at his thumb as he speaks with John B in hushed tones. He turns back to us, catches my eye.

“Hey, we should get the move on…that security could be sending someone along the water to find you,” Pope interrupts, pointing toward the road that leads back to the camp. 

“I feel awful leaving everyone else behind,” I admit, still staring at Rafe. “We should call someone.”

“Don’t worry,” JJ says, climbing into the Twinkie, nodding to Rafe. “Your boyfriend has that covered…its a…it’s a good plan – even I can admit.” 

I turn to look at Rafe, feeling the heat rush to my face at the word boyfriend. He just smirks, nodding to the truck. “C’mon, I’ll explain on the way.” I look at Sarah, sitting in the passenger seat in the Twinkie. She scrunches her nose, a wide smile on her face. 

“Go,” she says, “we’ll catch up to you.” 

I turn to his truck where he’s waiting for me with the door open. He helps me up into the seat, standing there as I tug the seatbelt down to buckle in. I’m hyper aware of his frame, so close to me. “Rafe,” I call out his name, pulling him from what looks like a trance. He blinks, big blue eyes looking up at me in a way I hadn’t seen before – in a way that up until a week ago, would’ve scared me. 

He nods, swallowing and closing the door so that he can run around to the driver’s side. He takes off down the road, not even wasting time in pulling his seatbelt on. 

“Seatbelt,” I murmur as we peel off onto the main road. When he doesn’t respond, I say it again a little louder. 

Rafe gives me a look, huffs and begrudgingly yanks it down with one hand. I reach over the bench, taking it from him and pulling it the rest of the way to clip into place. “What a waste this romantic rescue mission would be if you ended up through the windshield in the getaway?” I say, smiling a little as I settle back into the leather seat. 

“It was pretty romantic, huh? Who would’ve thought – me, a romantic,” he says. The tension seems to dissipate a bit, the safety of his truck a veil of relief. Inside, we’re just…us. But things feel different from the last time he’d drive me around, taking me for a late night rendezvous to the beach. Now, he’s the guy that ran toward danger to save me. He’s the guy who set a plan in motion to break me out of an at-risk youth facility. 

“I did,” I whisper, looking forward as the words strip me vulnerable. “So, what’s this good plan you’ve come up with?” 

“I tried to buy the camp,” he says, causing me to look over at him in shock. 

“What?” 

Rafe looks over at me, grinning. “You heard me.” 

“You were going to buy my way out?”

“Hey, contrary to popular belief, I do try these days to go the legal route first,” Rafe says, holding his hand up. “But the director was taking too long to agree to the deal so we hitched this plan to break you out as a backup.” 

“So he didn’t take the deal,” I say, turning to look at him. “How much did you offer?”

“Oh no, he took the deal. I gave him a good faith deposit of 250K in a briefcase. The sleazy bastard nearly fainted. I told him I’d–,” 

“Rafe,” I hold a hand up, speechless. “A briefcase?”

He glances over at me and keeps going, not phased by my surprise. “Yeah, I said I’d wire the rest of the money over but it’d take a day or so to confirm with the bank but we could make a gentlemen’s agreement. And in the process, he disclosed all the legal troubles he’s been riddled with in the process of closing the deal. Which was bold considering I,” he reaches into his pocket and pulls a tape recorder out with a grin, “Got this from my dad’s office before we left.” 

He clicks the play button and we listen as the man discloses a few lawsuits and unpaid debts he has lingering, how much of a relief it will be to get the place off his plate. My mouth falls open as Rafe stops the tape, placing it in the console. “So we are,” he glances over at me, triumphantly, “are heading to the air strip to meet Shoupe and give him this evidence. And while Shoupe works with the SBI to dismantle Kitty Hawk, we’ll be under witness protection until the trial…but you wouldn’t have to testify unless you wanted to. I made sure that Shoupe knew that.” 

His words hit me like a ton of bricks. “Witness protection? Where?” 

“Wherever you desire,” he looks over with a cute smile, scrunching his nose. “Sarah’s already made the call. Pilot will be waiting for us on the runway. Shoupe won’t tell your parents until we’re situated.” 

I’m at a loss for words as I try to take in what he tells me. He glances over at me, face falling a little. 

“You…situated,” I stutter out, breathless. I try to process his words, process what he’s done. My pulse races. “Pull over,” I blurt out weakly, palms sweaty as I glance behind us and notice the empty stretch of dark road.

“Are you alright?” he repeats, looking repeatedly between me and the road. 

I click the button to release my seatbelt as Rafe turns the wheel in a haste. “Are you sick?” I don’t answer him, reaching up a hand as we pull onto the shoulder. Dust kicks up around the truck as he pushes the stick into park, watching me wide-eyed. “What the hell is hap–,”

I tug his face toward mine, pressing my mouth to his with a fierceness that I’d never felt before. It’s quick and I pull back, breathless as I search his face. It felt like my nerves were on fire as we kissed, fanning an ember into a flame of desire. 

Rafe’s pupils are blown as he reaches forward and yanks me firmly back toward him. We lock lips. It’s messy and rushed and passionate. His hands find my thighs, scooping me up so I’m flush against him. 

There’s a searing heat and for the first time, it’s clear that it’s not just sexual tension. It’s survival. It’s praise and gratitude. It’s a confirmation that I’m real, and a guarantee of more. We jump a little, pulling apart when the truck horn blares out in the dead of the night – prompted by my ass.

It causes me to giggle, nuzzling into his neck with a snort while sliding from his lap to sit beside him. Rafe combs his fingers through my hair, unable to control his own laughter. I snort again, leaning into his bicep and looking up at him with a loving gaze. “Was it your idea to blow up a transformer?” 

“Well that was really Maybank’s idea…but it did the trick,” he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead and putting the truck back into drive before taking my hand. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

well, i'm in love. if you would like to make a request, i write for all the main characters of obx and you can send them here or let me know what you thought of this story :)

[lunarsworld]

ִֶָ࿐ jealousy, jealousy

warnings: MDNI, smut, unestablished relationship, unprotected p in v, overstim, squirting pairing: percy jackson x f!reader

(smut under the cut)

as one of the best archers in camp, you helped the new kid learn how to shoot a bow and arrow. the poor kid was a clutz and blushing the whole time, but he eventually got the gist of it. when the lesson was over you started walking back to your cabin and percy joined you. you noticed his eyes watching you and the new kid the whole time. a flicker of jealousy hid behind his eyes but you brushed it off, because it wasn’t like he owned you. the thing that bothered you about your whole “thing” with percy was that he never knew the right timing. “so, gonna start hanging out with that kid too?” he says calmly, however you can tell his tone is harsh. you open the door to your cabin and he follows you inside. “well, seaweed brain, it’s not like i’m your girlfriend! not like you claim me, so maybe now that i think about it i might-“ your sentence is cut off by percys grip around your throat. his grip isn’t tight enough to constrict your breathing but its enough to definitely make you shut your mouth. “not mine?” he chuckles. “we’ll see what you say by the end of the day, if you even last that long.”

he pulls the tie on your oversized shorts and they drop down to the floor. “no panties? ha- for all that talk you know what i like, angel.” he whips your body around so your facing the wall. he immediately frees his cock and spits on it. with no warning or prep he slams his cock into your weeping hole. “so fuckin wet for me angel. ah- your pussy fuckin loves me.” he groans. all you can feel is the tip of his cock thrashing at a violent speed into your cervix. “perce- fuck- m’ gonna cum.” you whine. “so who’s pussy is this?” he questions. you don’t reply, so he asks again, “didn’t hear an answer, angel.” you refuse to give into him that easily. “your not cummin’ till you answer baby, so it looks like we’re gonna be here for a long time.”

he grabs your body and throws you onto the bed. at this point it’s felt like hours of his abuse against your cunt. you were beginning to get fed up and just wanted to cum. the build up and let down of the knot in your stomach was becoming too much on your poor body. even percy himself was starting to feel bad (not really, your walls squeezing around him everytime was never a feeling he would get over).

percy had you in a mating press and was rubbing your clit at an almost extreme speed. through all your crying and whimpering from overstimulation, you begin to realize the friction on your bud isn’t just for pleasure, but its spelling something out. “what - ah- does it spell..” you muster out and he chuckles. “even your fucking pussy knows who it belongs to. just tell me baby and ill make you feel soo- ah- fuckin good.” you feel your climax approaching and there’s no way you can hold out anymore. “fuck baby, ‘m cummin. it’s yours, all fucking yours. i belong to you.” you whine out, fully letting go. “atta girl,” he says and smiles quickens his pace. “fuck- all mine baby. that’s right, squirt on my cock like the good girl you are.” the pleasure washes over your body like a tsunami and feel percy’s release immediately after yours. the hot juices of both of you mixing together was like what your body needed this whole time.

his body drops next to yours on the bed and he pulls you into his chest. “i know i was mean but i meant it y/n,” he mutters, kind of hoping you didn’t hear it. “meant what perce?” he turns to look at you. the running mascara under your eyes, the marks he left on your neck, your swollen lips from his jealousy. and so he said it. “you’re mine, always ‘n forever. i love you.” (like his insane jealousy wasn’t letting you know enough).

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Do you know who Yuu is canonically close to? Like who actually considers themselves to be friends or at least close with Yuu and willingly interacts with them. I'm sorry if this sounds rude because I know people have their own yuusonas and headcannons but I'm just curious.

In order to respond to this question, I will primarily be referring to the main story. Voice lines are not going to be considered because a lot of them are primarily aimed at the player and serve as fanservice, which does not accurately reflect the character's relationship with them in the main story canon. Events and vignettes do indicate character relationships, but are not technically "canon" to the main story. However, I will bring up examples from these, as while these may not fit in a coherent main story timeline, the lore presented in them is still very sound. Yuu appears to be canonically close with the first years, although their closest allies among this group are Ace, Deuce, and Grim. The first years are seen partying at the end of Terror is Trending as a group, stake out Mickey Mouse + hang out at Lilia's farewell party in book 7 together, band together to help Ortho determine a club to join in his College Gear vignette, and help Ortho research the concept of "evolution" for Fairy Gala: What If. Yuu is obviously very close with Ace and Deuce, seeing as they share the same homeroom, eat lunch together, and have gone through many dangerous situations with one another (several OB battles being the main one). They think of each other when one of them isn't included, either! For example, in White Rabbit Fest, Deuce invited Ace to join them (but Ace couldn't due to basketball practice). So Deuce decides to buy him a souvenir instead! Ace extends an invitation to Deuce to join him for Playful Land. And do I even need to bring up the end of book 4 where those two bozos take a long and convoluted trip from the Queendom of Roses to Sage's Island DURING WINTER BREAK to check up on Yuu after receiving a SOS text from them??? Or their tearful reunion at the end of book 6??

Grim is also a very important friendship for Yuu. They are, of course, the first person Yuu meets upon their arrival in Twisted Wonderland, as well as one of their roommates. He's almost always with them, for better or for worse. Yuu is shown to be hurt when Grim attacks them at the end of book 5 and worries for his wellbeing. In fact, the very first time Yuu blatantly acts against Crowley's orders (to stay put) is to rescue Grim in book 6 after he was captured by Ferrymen.

I'd also like to add that the Ramshackle Ghosts are also pretty close with Yuu! They not only live together, but also cover for Yuu when they're unable to fulfill the chores Crowley asked them to do over winter break, play magift/spelldrive with Yuu, worry when Yuu goes away for extended periods of time, and make a Halloween costume for Yuu.

Some honorable/"up for debate" mentions go out to:

Crowley - Some fan works like to portray Crowley (or other staff) as a father figure to Yuu. However, Crowley does the bare minimum in canon to act like a parent and is often offloading work onto Yuu. He doesn't really show affection or go out of his way to spend time with them unless he wants something from Yuu.

"The nice guys" (Rook, Kalim, Silver, etc.) - They're nice to everyone, but not particularly close with Yuu specifically; it should be noted that Kalim, Lilia, and Silver all have called Yuu their "friend" in dialogue. Trey and Riddle - I think it could be said that Yuu is closer to Heartslabyul than the other dorms (partly because two of their closest friends are from this dorm), but I don't know if they're actually "friends"? Yes, Yuu does walk around with Riddle and Trey in book 5 to check out the culture fair. Yes, Trey did send sweets over with Adeuce at the start of their training camp. But I never actually see Riddle and Trey going out of their way to casually hang out with Yuu or anything like that. They seem very... "business professional" with Yuu to me. Malleus - I might catch some heat for saying this, but I don't believe Malleus and Yuu are as close as people think they are or want them to be. Do they talk consistently throughout the main story? Sure, but the exchanges are kind of short and usually don't amount to them sharing a lot. Does Malleus help Yuu out? Absolutely, especially in books 3 and 5. It doesn't mean they're necessarily close; every character gets moments where they pitch in. The nickname thing serves as a necessary filler because Malleus refuses to give his real name; it arguably is not a sign of intimacy (especially given that Grim came up with the name, not Yuu). I can see a point being made in Malleus sending a holiday card for Yuu in book 4 and Yuu returning the gesture with a VDC/SDC pass in book 5 (though this could also be viewed as transactional or tit for tat). Think about the main story timeline to put this all into perspective. It's been roughly 6 months since the start of the school year and Malleus and Yuu have only really had brief direct interactions like MAYBE 4 or 5 times total. Yuu doesn’t go over to speak with Malleus upon their return from S.T.Y.X. HQ in book 6; they’re focused solely on their reunion with Adeuce and Grim. They don't have other means of communication (like each others' phone numbers, which Adeuce do have, as seen in book 4) and they don't ever hang out outside of these mandated interactions. Yuu doesn't even learn their name properly until book 5, which is in FEBRUARY. And, unlike Yuu's friendships with Adeuce and Grim, Malleus's friendship relies a lot on self-projection. Whereas it's clear that the friendship between Yuu and the idiot trio is mutual, it feels very one-sided with Malleus. Like, Malleus seems more invested in it than Yuu is. He's the one thinking of them on holiday break; Yuu doesn’t think of him on holiday break. They think of Malleus only in like early book 7 when Ortho asks if they know any fae, and it’s for a personal reason too (helping them find a way home).

Yuu's closeness with Malleus is left vaguely defined so the player can insert whatever their own feelings about him are into the scenario. They speak with him in a casual tone, yet they never go out of their way to actually invite him to functions or ask questions to learn more about him. Yuu doesn’t even seem to be that torn up about going back home and never seeing Malleus again. This is not the case with Adeuce and Grim; Yuu has dialogue options which imply they would miss their company. Yuu feels so… detached from Malleus; he at best feels like an amicable (?) acquaintance, but not a friend.

[red-doll-face]

Getting caught in the rain with Arthur leads to him finding creative ways to warm you up.

(high honor) arthur morgan x fem. reader

I love this trope! prob been done before but I cant resist... 😔Can you believe I wanted this to be a short head canon post?? LMAO it ended up way longer than that. That's why it has a more casual thing going on despite being super long 🥲Happy thanksgiving! This is for the girlies who are stuck with family and need something absolutely filthy to read !!! 💕💕💕💕💕

Warnings: NSFW content, vaginal sex, while honor isn't too relevant, arthur is very sweet and hes kind of a weenie here, in a good way! arthur does not have bad intentions here, he's genuinely a sweet little man...

-

Thinking of begging Arthur to take you away from camp for a while. Maybe you haven't had a bath in a bit or you're sick of hearing Swanson drunkenly parade around camp. But you've decided to ask Arthur, he's always so sweet to you and you know he won't say no. And Arthur and his stupid bleeding heart (the one that bleeds so much more for you) grumbles and pretends he's thinking about it but really he'd probably say yes to anything that came from your lips. He has no regrets when he sees the smile you give him. You're hoisted up onto the back of his horse, holding onto his waist so you don't fall. Arthur is desperately trying to play it cool. 

Then the rain starts coming down, you're soaked through very quickly and Arthur, such a gentleman, sheds his coat to give it to you, except now he is soaked through as well. The both of you are freezing and he tells you that you have to stop until the weather clears. He’s cussing up a storm worse than the one you're in. You nod, just wanting to be warm, wracked by shivers. He comes up on an abandoned shack and guides you inside, shutting the rain out. You're standing in the center of the room, looking like a wet cat after a miserable bath, Arthur is kind enough to take his coat off of you, giving you a ratty old, moth bitten blanket but it doesn't do much of anything for the cold. Trying to get a fire going proves fruitful but it's a small one and the wind blowing in from the flue almost puts it out several times.

Arthur feels so helpless, sitting there watching your teeth start to chatter as you sit in front of the pathetic little fire. He's trying to apologize (Ah, I’m sorry, I didn't know it was gonna come down like that,) but you only tell him it's not his fault. He has to help, all he wants to do is help. Things aren't getting any better and he doesn't want you to come down with something on account of him being an idiot. And then he gets an idea. He’s red all over flushed at the thought but he knows taking your soaking clothes off would help. And he's standing there, awkwardly, one hand rubbing the back of his neck while he tries to hide under his hat. He’s gently clearing his throat, trying to get your attention. 

“Maybe we could try… I…could…” he's nervously stumbling through his words and he's looking at you, sitting on the floor, desperately trying to warm your hands by the fire. You look up to him but he can hardly speak, so enraptured by the look of utter trust, reliance on him. His mouth hangs open but he swallows the lump of spit in his mouth. He tries to shake off these boyish jitters he gets around you. “Uhhh- I mean, it would be better if we weren't sittin’ round in these clothes, I guess, can’t be doin’ you any good...”  

“Really, you think so…?” Your voice is quiet and meek, struggling to say anything past the clicking of your teeth and the shivers. “Well then, turn around, Arthur,” at your obvious attempt to be modest, he nods stiffly and turns towards the wall, listening to you take your dress and your underskirts off, landing in a wet plop on the floor. You whine, peeling yourself out of your undergarments before a quiet ok leaves your lips. He turns and you're desperately covering yourself with that dusty blanket, legs bare, fabric hardly long enough to cover the soft mound between your legs, the fat of your inner thighs squished together. Arthur has a hard time keeping his gaze from locking onto any of the inviting bits of skin you show him. You're embarrassed, biting your lip, squeezing your arms around yourself. 

“Aren't you gonna- Arthur, you're gonna do it too, right?” Arthur has a hesitant nod and a course even though he just now thought he should probably follow along to help make you more comfortable. He’s removing his hat first, nothing to hide under now and he notices that you watch him take his gun belt off, unfastening his suspenders from his pants. You finally look away, his boots and his pants are peeled off and his shirt is unbuttoned. He’s breathing heavily now, naked as the day he was born. But you won't stop shivering. Your hair is still wet. And the fire is struggling to warm you from the bitter cold that clings to the dusty air. There isn't much left to burn for the fire. 

“You want me to hold you?” It's out of his mouth before he can stop it, trying to smack away these thoughts about the glimpses he’s getting of your naked figure underneath the blanket. He swears it's only out of necessity, that you're just not warming up fast enough. “Don’t want you gettin’ sick on me,” He really does only want you comfortable. Unrealistically hoping this won't change what you most likely consider a friendship. You nod, vigorously. 

“I think it would be ok, maybe if you just didn’t- didn’t look. Just- don’t look,” and you're desperate, curling up in his lap in front of the wavering fire. You're unable to look at him, but you still rub into him, enjoying how his body warms up a lot faster than yours. And both of you make some excuse that things would be better without that old blanket between you two. And suddenly you're pressed into him, his arms tight around you while he looks at the ceiling to avoid staring at things he shouldn't. Arthur struggles hard to keep from rubbing upwards into you, trying to keep you from sitting directly between his legs, afraid the way his body reacts to the feel of your body will scare you, scandalize you. But you only seem to want to be there more, getting comfortable with him. His chest hair tickles you, the hair creeps all the way down his torso. You giggle softly as it tickles you. His heart beats fast at the feel of you, so soft compared to the roughness of him.

As if all of the blood hasn't already rushed down to the very center of him, you just have to sit squarely on his lap. He tries to readjust you but it's too late and you've felt him, hard as a rock, pushing at you. He's so embarrassed, stumbling over an apology, “Shit-I-I’m sorry, I-” in that surly voice, all rough and low. you gasp and look over your shoulder. You see how he can hardly stand to look at you with his pretty blue gem-toned eyes. Instead he shows you his profile as he turns away. 

“It's ok”, Arthur has no idea how he's supposed to look at you after this, he can't see himself looking you in the eyes for a long while after you've felt his cock nudging the swell of your ass, unable to deny his own reaction to you. Hopefully he’ll be able to dismiss it as a fluke and not a devastating hope that you’d be interested in him that he's been crushing down for months now. He's trying to will away the burgeoning desire just under his skin, tamping down fires that rage on. And you look up at him again with that look of trust in your eyes, too ashamed to continue touching you, wholeheartedly convinced you don't like him. 

But then you're only closer than you were, looking up at him, so close, he's breathing in your scent, sweet and like fresh summer rain. His eyes search yours for any inclination and all you have to do is put your hand on his prickly cheek for him to lean and kiss you, hands on his broad chest, rushing over the warmth you can feel. How he ends up with you on his lap, tits pressed up against his hairy chest, his big hands squeezing at your hips, he's not too sure. Your arms are over his shoulders, playing with his light brown hair sweetly, rubbing the sore muscles in his back. And the glide of his tongue over yours is heaven, he swears. You whine into his kisses, the heat between the both of you licks over your skin, noses clumsily bumping into each other. 

Then he’s on top of you, tucking you over the blanket. “You gotta tell me you want this, want me,” and all you can do is say “Yes, please, Arthur, please,” features showing your ecstasy, anticipating his hands on you.

His hands are rough; petting down your sides. Any worries he had about being too old, too ugly and too brutish for you are forgotten when you kiss him, spread your legs for him to fit between them. When you push your breasts in his hands when he goes to touch them. Your nipples are hard from the cold but his hands start to warm them up when he gropes at them, squeezing languidly at your breasts, grabbing handfuls.

It's not long before he’s pinning your thighs up with his hands, spreading you and licking eagerly between your legs, so selfless. Letting you moan as loud as you like, telling you how good you taste, the roughened pads of his fingers circling at the sensitive button at the top of your slit. And he's so strong, doesn't put much effort into keeping your legs up. He has dulcet praises for you, “Such a pretty girl, darlin’, jus’ beautiful,” making you soften and ease.

He’s so warm, holding you, like you wanted him to, messy kisses that taste like you. The very tip of him catches on you, dipping softly between your folds. Your nails dig into him, thighs clench tight. He's sweet talking to you, shushing you, rubbing hard at the delicate little nub, getting you as wet as possible. Saying how good you look. How he must be dreaming. That’s my girl is what he says when you soak his fingers with your own arousal, heat rising to the apples of your cheeks. Even more when he's working his cock inside of you, panting, he seems overwhelmed, mumbling and groaning praises to you, his sweet girl, perfect in that slow easy voice of his. You feel him carefully easing you open, hissing at the feel of you wrapped tight on him and leaking down his shaft. You can't say much but his name, begging him not to stop, feeling his fingers almost bruise the tender softness of your hips. 

Arthur pushes so deep, a growl of pleasure leaking from his lips. You didn't think he would feel so big. Telling him how big he is and feels; “You're so big, Arthur,” in a wispy moan, makes him groan. He just wants to hear how much you like him. The rhythm he was trying to keep slow and careful speeds up. And he doesn't last very long, poor thing. It's been a while for him and he's flushed bright red, embarrassed and feeling a tad emasculated. The disappointed son of a bitch he lets out has you petting his hair back tenderly.

But all you have to do is give him a minute, kiss and nip gently, lock your legs around him so he can't pull away, until he's pushing his own seed deeper, mindlessly pinning you under his weight. He loves feeling so close to you, so small underneath him. 

The way you feel clenching down on him, moaning for him, begging him to keep going has him rutting into you, following his instincts, brain feeling like it's melting. He's harder than he has ever been, listening to the sound of your wetness slide on him, the mess he’s left between your thighs sounding dirty and sticky. You don't have to tell him to keep rubbing you, grinding your hips into his so he can press into the perfect spot. 

His thumb is rubbing at the very center of you, that tender bud, so sensitive, has you pushed to the edge and falling over, legs locking up behind him, bucking and moaning much too loud. You sink your fingers into the layer of fat over his broad muscles, arching your back, feeling so complete. Seeing you so relaxed, feeling so good because of him makes him push as deep as he can, making your toes curl, forcing more of his cum even deeper, a sloppy wet mess that drips out of you when he pulls out. But he revels in those few moments where he's catching his breath, still so deep inside of you, feeling you pulse on him. 

Arthur can’t not hold you afterwards, unsure what to say. He thinks it might be too soon for I love you, maybe you’ll be scared away by his raw sentiments and his lovesick words. But you stare into his eyes; his heart jumps when he blurts it out in the silence, too late to shut his damn mouth. But you only smile and say you love him too. You're the farthest thing from cold, tucked into his chest, not even noticing that the rain has stopped.

Thank you for reading! SO sorry this ended up being so long. Excited to write more for high honor arthur, this was more fun than i thought... I love him 😔😳

[xoxochb]

cw: from this request (I couldn’t respond), fingering, jealous/possesive! luke (n he’s mean ☹️), orgasm denial, this is lwk shortttt…

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

only out of the goodness of your heart were you helping a fellow camper. the boy had been fairly new to camp, still learning the general hang of things. you had met him at breakfast one morning, you were both running late and ended up talking for a while. he had explained to you that he was unable to sword fight with other campers because of his inexperienced nature, and you so kindly had offered to help him with this. just a regular camper-helping other camper kind of ordeal— that’s all it was.

unfortunately, your through the eyes of your boyfriend you and the boy had been practically making out shamelessly in the middle of the field! the boy was just ‘all over you,’ and ‘giving you heart eyes’ the whole time, which are both direct quotes straight from the mouth of luke. you denied both and told him you had simply been helping the boy out since he was desperately in need of it. he didn’t believe a word of what you said, and though he knew you were loyal, that didn’t stop him from being any more angry. why would you let that boy openly flirt with you?

good question— he didn’t care. and that was shown solely when his fingers traveled teasingly over your thigh, just only lightly hitting your wet entrance, not daring to do anything further just yet, enjoying the way you’re entirely at his mercy.

“please…” you whine. in response, luke only peppers a kiss to your clavicle. “please.”

“why were you helping him?”

fucking gods.

“I told you,” you swallow thickly. “he- he needed it.”

“does he know you’re mine?”

you nod at a rapid pace, in only hopes he’ll give you what you desire.

“use your words, angel, c’mon.”

“he does- luke, please.”

just this once he allows you to get what you want— next time it isn’t this easy. he inserts one finger, your velvety walls nearly instantly clenching around him. you’re desperate aren’t you? it’s hopeless. the worst part is, he’s barely doing anything, teasing, and you know why, you know exactly why. you quietly murmur pleads for him to pick up the speed and it’s not that he can’t hear you— he can, he’s just choosing to pretend you’re not speaking at all. with one hand, you tug roughly at his curls, fisting then so tightly in your palms.

he gets your memo, he plugs in his middle finger alongside the other. you let a moan slip from your lips, pathetic. you feel your skin heating up, burning. then, he curls your fingers to such a sweet extent, nearly tipping you over an edge. an edge he’ll deny you until you understand that you’re his. your eyes prickle with angry tears.

“please, let me- luke, please-”

“please what?”

you rock your hips into his fingers, in hope for any sort of friction or pleasure you can receive for now.

“y’know… I don’t like when you’re seeing other boys…”

“I don’t-” you can’t breathe, that’s your problem. “don’t like him.”

“you’re mine, got that?”

“yes I- I’m yours!”

“I don’t think you get it, though…” luke’s fingers slow their pace, you let out an involuntarily whimper at this.

“please!” you repeat the word more than you could count, endlessly murmuring it in hopes he’ll simply let you have it (which he doesn’t). “please, luke, I won’t- hm- won’t help other boys, please.”

he doesn’t even respond to this. just progressively and torturously slows the pace of his fingers with every beg escaping your mouth. until, this is, they part from you.

he’s got to be fucking kidding you.

(spoiler warning: he’s not).