#you all want good things to happen to this man

[okwonyo]

TOO CLOSE ⠀⭑ 𝗂’𝗆 𝗌𝗈 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐕 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆, 𝖽𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖺 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌

𝟏𝟎𝟏𝟎𝒾──── enhypen 𝗑 f!rea ✿ fluff 𓂋 kissing skinship ❞ 𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆 ｡

rbs ！ ✶ 𝗔 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦

HEESEUNG cradles your face when you kiss, as if you are the most precious thing in existence. he knows, from the moment you put your hands above his, what is going to happen— he dislikes the sole idea of it. he wishes he could kiss you forever, never ever stop, the alarm in his head goes off when you try to pull away. he groans when your lips are not on his anymore, his eyes flutter open at the same time as yours. “are you okay, baby?” he questions the grimace on your face. you don’t answer, turning your head to the side before sneezing. he can’t help but laugh at the lovely sight, “you’re so fucking cute,” he says, diving back in.

JAY hates when it happens. he despises it. how he is so focused on your m outh, on pressing his lips against yours so eagerly yet gently. he doesn’t like when he feels so good, so free, so relieved kissing his beautiful girl. he loves to taste your fruit colored lipstick. his phone rings: one, two, three times. alas for whoever is calling, he doesn’t care— he wants to kiss you for as long as he can, until he can’t break anymore. “jay,” you say against his mouth, soon cut by another kiss from him, “jay—you—” he doesn’t even let you talk. it’s a miracle when you finally pull away, “you need to answer this, no?” too focused on your lips, he barely hears you. he leans in again, “they can wait.”

JAKE gets sad so easily, gets pouty so fast. he is always into it, into you— he drowns in the pleasure of your lips on his. his entire body shivers at the sole contact of your fingers in his hair, he stares when your mouths touch, he loves to kiss you. especially when your lips are so pretty. covered in your brand new lip combo. one kiss gets him in such a daze, he can’t stop but leans more and more. you smile despite the kiss when he follows your lips as you try to pull away. the whine that leaves his mouth makes your pulse rise up, “please.” when you open your eyes, his own are still closed, eyebrows furrowed and lips pouting. “you are ruining my makeup,” you laugh. jake groans, hiding his face in your neck.

SUNGHOON is a very passionate kisser. his mind goes completely blank when you lips touch. he forgets all his senses if it’s not touch or taste. he lets his instinct control his entire body, only thinking of you and your body pressed against his. more often than not, his body decides to make his deepest wishes come true— like making you climb on his lap or lifting you off the floor or, in this specific situation, biting your lower lip with his sharpened fangs. the funniest thing is that he is confused when you pull away, “sunghoon,” you laugh quietly. his eyes open and his lips are still puckered, “did you just bite me?” the tall man seems to regain consciousness at the exact moment, “uh,” a smirks creeps on his face, the tip of his tongue touch one of his fangs, “yeah, can i do it again?”

SUNOO knew that the movie wasn't going to be watched anyway. although, you both spent thirty minutes looking for one both of you would like. he knew that he would spend the first minutes doing nothing but thinking of the right time to kiss you. he knew that his only mission was to kiss you— he aimed for his goal and hit. in less than ten minutes you were sitting on his lap, kissing the soul out of him. everything was perfect; the movie long forgotten and the sound of your wet kisses filling his ears. perfect. until you decided that it’s a good idea to break the kiss. “hey,” his voice is hoarse, eyelids locked and lips swallowed, “come back here.” you only giggle and he guesses you are turning off the tv, that it won’t take long but he is already growing impatient. “so eager,” you whisper, leaning back in. he hums in your mouth as the kiss starts.

JUNGWON misses you all the time. even when he is the one who needs to go abroad, even when he isn’t gone yet; the fact that he is going to be far away from you breaks his heart. perhaps, it could be for a short period of tile, but it will feel like a lifetime. he wa supposed to leave over twenty minutes ago now, but he runs back to you the moment he was too close to the door for his own liking. you let him jail him with his embrace with a huge smile,on your face— if you could choose, you’ll never let him leave. but you have to, even if he is a very goo kisser and the way he lifts you up makes your entire body burn with need, he has to take his plane. “won,” you whisper his name between kisses. he hums, inviting you to continue, “you’ll miss your plane.” he kisses you even harder, as if he took your comment as a challenge: “i don’t care, i want you.”

RIKI gives the kind of kiss that makes your stomach flutter with a dozen butterflies. his lips makes your heart open full bloom, your entire body goes warm as if touched by the summer sun and your emotions are replaced with pure glee. riki does make you nervous, a lot. whether he is doing nothing or the most, he never fails to make you giggle shyly. and, for sure, especially when you are kissing. you starts giggling and he is contaminated by your sweet laugh. you end up being unable to kiss him more, as your cheeks hurt from how hard you are smiling. “i’m sorry,” you laugh, not sorry at all. riki doesn’t seem bothered. he lets you burry your laughing face in his chest.

분지 ܃ well i wrote this for whiny jake ☺️

taglist open 。

[em1i2a3]

Driver

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Fem!Reader!

Summary: Rhett has been having fantasies about you in only his cowboy hat.

Warning: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut smut smut, and fluff, Rhett and reader are in an established relationship

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up cowboys and cowgirls, yeehaaw), Oral Sex (fem receiving!), Teasing, Dirty Talk (with that ol’ southern twang), Praise Kink, Grinding.

Authors Note: RAF (RHETT ABBOTT FRIDAYS!!!) Yall I frickin love Rhett Fucking Abbott, writing for this man is so fun! I enjoy it so much. Love me a doe eyed cowboy 😭 hope yall enjoy! And thank you for the request @totaldystopiannerd It was so frickin fun to write! Oh my lord! (That gif definitely has the hat in question lol)

Word Count: 6,360

Side Note: thank you to @receedingdawn for the fucking banging banner

It was a lazy Friday night at your place.

Rhett didn’t have any rides tonight, thankfully–no rodeo, no arena lights, no crowds, no eight-second countdowns buzzing in his ears. It was just you and the quietness of your trailer. This was the kind of night he never used to have until you showed up in his life and brought him into the peacefulness of yours.

He was stretched out on your bed in an old t-shirt and a pair of plaid pyjama bottoms he kept in the bottom drawer of your dresser–his drawer now. It had happened quietly, somewhere between all the overnights and the morning coffees and the laundry folded with a little too much care. Now, without thinking, he reached for that drawer like it was always his. Like he belonged here, which was the most precious thing you could ask for.

His hair was still damp from the shower you’d made him take when he showed up smelling like sunbaked pasture and motor oil, a smear of dirt on his cheek and a boyish grin on his lips. You could still smell the cedar soap he liked–the one you bought special just for him–lingering warm on his skin. It wrapped around him like a bubble, and radiated off him like a diffuser.

You were across the room, barefoot in your sleep shorts, standing by your record shelf with a glass of red wine balanced in one hand. A loose tank hung from your shoulders, low in the back, swinging gently with every step as you flipped through vinyl sleeves. And every so often–on purpose–you let your hips sway a little more than intended. Just to hear Rhett breathe funny, because you knew he was watching you, it was easy to feel those beautiful blue eyes burning into your backside.

“Somethin’ on your mind, cowboy?” You asked, glancing over your shoulder with a sly grin teasing the corners of your mouth. You didn’t have to see him to feel the way his breath hitched. That subtle ripple of tension that crawled up his chest like he was trying to swallow it down.

Rhett didn’t answer back right away, he just let his head fall back against the wooden headboard with a quiet thud, lips parting, jaw slack. The bedside lamp cast golden shadows over the side of his face–over the curve of his cheekbone, the bridge of his nose, the faint creases near the corners of his eyes. His light brown hair curled damply over his forehead, still messy from the towel-dry you’d done yourself when he leaned into you after his shower to nuzzle into your neck. And his five o’clock shadow had deepened into something darker since dinner–smudging along his jaw like something you wanted to run your tongue across.

He looked too good in this light.

Too warm, too comfortable, too yours.

And yet there was something unreadable in his face–just enough restraint to tell you he was sitting on something. So you turned fully toward him, wine glass loose between your fingers, and arched a brow.

“Well?” Rhett’s gaze lingered on your bare thighs before he finally spoke.

“I ever tell you ‘bout a dream I had…Week or two ago?” He asked, voice gravel-soft. You took a slow sip of your wine, letting the sweetness linger on your tongue. One droplet slid down the curve of your up, and you licked it away lazily, making sure Rhett’s eyes were on your mouth when you did.

”Mmm…” You swallowed, head tilting playfully, “You’ve told me several, hun. You tell me about every single one, so you’re going to have to be more specific.” He looked flustered now. That rare, almost sweet kind of flustered that only came out when he was too far in his own head–when the words he was holding back were heavier than he wanted to admit.

You weren’t wrong to ask for more detail.

Over the course of your entire relationship–nearly a year to the day–Rhett had made it a habit of telling you his dreams. Always in the mornings. Half-awake, head buried in your chest, voice still raspy from sleep. Sometimes they were abstract and bizarre–running through water, being chased by something without a face. Sometimes they were so vividly sexual they left a flush on his chest all morning.

And he always told you.

Which meant this one? This one had been kept.

Either on purpose…Or because he hadn’t known what to do with it.

You watched him now as his hands raked back through his still-damp hair, messing it up even worse than before. He was blushing a little, too–high along his cheekbones, just under the eyes. Like he was embarrassed for the first time in months.

”Might be seen as stupid…” He muttered, looking off toward the window like maybe the night air could somehow bail him out of this conversation. Your brow arched, slow and sharp.

”Rhett Abbott calling one of his dreams stupid? That was not on my bingo card for tonight.” That pulled a soft laugh out of him–real and low and a little sheepish. The kind of laugh he gave you when he was flustered and trying to hide it behind charm.

God, he was so bad at hiding anything from you.

You set your wine glass down gently on the nightstand. The lamp cast your shadow long across the bed sheets as you walked toward him, slow and teasingly. He didn’t even try to look away.

Your eyes locked as you climbed onto the bed.

The mattress dipped slightly under your weight as you moved to straddle him, knees framing his hips, and the second you settled in his lap, his hands came to rest on your waist like muscle memory. Like he didn’t even think–he just reached for you.

His grip was gentle but possessive. Like you were the thing that steadied him when his mind got too loud. You brushed your fingertips across his chest, feeling the thump of his heartbeat under your palm, and leaned in close.

His eyes met yours. That clear blue–brighter up close. Long lashes. A tiny freckle just under the corner of his left one. His pupils were already wide, already blown a little from watching you all night. But there was something soft in them too. Something unguarded. A quiet vulnerability that had taken you nearly the entire year to fully earn. You tilted your head.

”C’mon now…Enlighten me with this ‘stupid’ dream.” Rhett let out a breath like he’d been holding it the whole damn time. His thumbs stroked slowly along your hips, eyes darting from your mouth to your collarbone and back again, like the memory alone had his body running warm.

“Wasn’t much…” He started, “Not like the usual ones…” You quirked a brow at him.

”The usual ones usually involve you in a barn and me in a sundress with no underwear, so I’d say the bar is high.” That pulled another laugh from him, and it made his whole chest shake beneath your hands. His head tilted forward, resting briefly against your shoulder as he exhaled.

You kissed his temple gently.

When he looked back up at you, his voice dropped–gravel-thick and shy in the way that always hit you deep.

“You were wearin’ my hat.” Your lips parted, but you didn’t interrupt or say anything. His eyes dropped to your mouth, and lingered there.

”You had nothin’ else on.” He rasped, “Just that old brown hat hangin’ by your front door. And you were on top of me…Ridin’ me so slow…” His hands tightened on your hips, voice faltering as he looked at you, like he was picturing it right then and there.

”Like this,” He murmured.

And then–his hands moved.

He pulled your hips forward against his with a slow, deliberate roll, dragging you across the hard line of his erection through the flannel pyjama pants that fit him just right. The friction was deep and unhurried–more suggestion than thrust–but the way he did it…The way his thumbs pressed into your skin, his pupils dilating even further, like they were going to break through the small rim of blue, as he felt the shape of your body align with his–made your breath catch.

A low hum spilled from your throat, and you let your weight sink into his lap, grinding back softly. Rhett’s breath hitched. His fingers dug into you a little harder.

“I dreamt it and woke up so turned on I damn near hurt myself,” He whispered, ducking his head to your neck. His lips pressed there–warm, soft, wanting, and craving–then his teeth scraped the skin just below your ear.

“And ever since then…” He muttered, voice breaking as his hips dragged you against him again, “It’s been stuck in my head. Just can’t seem to get it out…” His mouth traced your jawline slowly, nipping you once–just enough to make your breath hitch. His erection was now straining against the fabric of his pyjama pants, begging for attention and release.

The pressure made you shiver.

One of your hands came up to his cheek. His stubble scratched faintly against your palm, rough and familiar, and you tilted his head gently until your eyes met again.

You kissed him.

And not quick–not teasing.

Slow.

You kissed him like the whole room had melted away. Like it was just the two of you and the flickering shadows and the low hum of the record player turning behind you. His lips parted instantly, mouth soft and eager beneath yours. His hands stayed tight on your hips, but he didn’t move, didn’t grind you against him–he let you kiss him. Let you taste him, guide him, own him for a moment.

It was heady, how easily he gave himself to you.

When you finally pulled back, lips brushing his as you breathed out, your voice was soft but sharp with intent.

“You wanna see me in your hat,” You whispered, “Riding you like you deserve?”

Rhett looked dazed. Eyes blown wide. Cheeks flushed. His erection twitching beneath you.

“‘Course I do,” He breathed. “Baby… I want it so bad it hurts.”

You leaned in again, kissed him once more–just a soft, lingering press of your mouth to his–and then drew back with a grin.

“Then go get it, cowboy.” His eyes widened, almost comically so.

“Really?” He asked, voice thick, stunned, hopeful. You nodded once, slow and deliberate, your thighs still bracketing his, your fingers dragging lightly along the sides of his neck.

“Go on,” You said, a teasing glint in your eyes. “Earn it.” You shifted off of him gently, settling beside him on the bed with one leg tucked beneath you, and Rhett was up like a man on fire–rising too fast, adjusting himself with a sharp inhale as his erection strained visibly against the front of his pyjama pants.

He stumbled a bit with his words, already halfway out the door. “Don’t–don’t you go disappearin’ on me now,” He called back over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in two seconds.” You giggled, unable to help yourself, hearing the way he was half-running barefoot through the narrow hall of the trailer. The floor creaked under his weight, then came the familiar soft clatter of the coat rack by the door as he snatched it down.

His hat…The one he never let anyone touch.

You finished the last of your wine slowly as you waited, letting the heat in your body spread lazily across your chest. A light flush had crept up your neck. Your legs still tingled from how tightly he’d held you just a moment ago.

When Rhett returned, you looked up–and your breath caught just a little.

There it was in his hand: his rodeo hat.

That dusty brown Stetson you’d seen him wear to every meet, every arena, every time he’d stepped into a chute with fire in his veins. Wide-brimmed, sun-bleached around the edges, a little worn on the crown from where he’d fidgeted with it before each ride. You had seen him toss it off before a fight, and cling to it when he prayed. You’d seen how the light hit his jaw just right beneath its brim–and every time, you thought: damn, he was made for it.

But the way he was holding it now?

Like it was an offering. Like it meant something more than a uniform.

Rhett placed the hat at the foot of the bed, eyes locked on you the whole time, breath a little ragged.

And then–he reached for your ankle.

“Before we get to fulfillin’ that dream of mine…” He murmured, his voice dipping low, soft but rough with intent, “I want to get my daily dose of you in my system.”

You swallowed audibly.

Because you knew what he meant by that.

Rhett loved going down on you.

Loved the way you tasted, how you fell apart for him. Loved when your thighs trembled around his shoulders and your voice cracked on his name. Sometimes he’d spend entire evenings between your legs without ever asking for a damn thing in return–mumbling against your skin that it was his favorite way to end the day.

And you felt that now, in the way his fingers gently curled around your ankle.

“Rhett–” You started, but the words caught in your throat when he pulled.

It wasn’t harsh. Just a firm, coaxing tug as he guided you down the mattress, one hand sliding up your calf, slow and careful.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about it all day,” he murmured. “Thinkin’ about comin’over to you, layin’ you out like this. Gettin’ you all wet and shakin’ before I ever even touch myself.” His voice, with that lazy drawl and that mix of devotion and filth made your stomach twist into knots. His mouth found the inside of your knee first, pressing a kiss there–then higher, then higher–until you could feel his breath against the hem of your shorts. You barely had time to breathe before he hooked his thumbs into the waistband.

“Let me…” He whispered, “Let me taste my girl before she puts on my hat and ruins me…” You looked down at him.

And he looked at you like you were his last prayer and first sin rolled into one.

That hunger in his eyes–the ache behind his pupils–it was nearly feral, but somehow still soft. Steady. Like he knew what he was about to do to you and was savoring it in slow motion.

You didn’t speak.

You just nodded–small, slow, sure.

Your hand came down to gently brush his hair back, fingers sliding through damp strands to keep them out of his face. His breath hitched at your touch, eyes fluttering closed for just a moment, like that simple gesture wrecked him more than anything else could.

Then–with that same quiet gentleness–he slid your sleep shorts down your hips. His hands were slow, careful, almost ceremonial, hooking into the waistband with his thumbs and dragging them down over your thighs, your knees, your calves. When they hit the floor, he didn’t look away from your center for a second. His palms smoothed up the outsides of your thighs as he pulled you down the mattress, coaxing you toward the edge with practiced ease. You let him, with your shallow breaths and your heart thudding against your ribs.

And then–he dropped to his knees.

Right there on the floor, between your legs, with his bare chest rising and falling under the thin cotton of his t-shirt, and his jaw slack like he was already drunk on the sight of you. He slid his arms under your thighs and over them again–cradling, anchoring–until the backs of your knees rested over his broad shoulders. His hands gripped the outer curves of your thighs, holding you open, thumbs stroking small circles into your skin like he couldn’t stop touching you even if he tried.

And when his eyes met yours–

God. That look alone made you ache.

Rhett always looked up at you when he did this.

Never shy and certainly never avoiding.

Like he wanted you to see what he was doing to you. Like he needed you to know how much he loved it.

“You’re already shakin’,” He murmured, voice low and rough with heat. “You that worked up for me, sweetheart?” His breath hit your core, and your hips gave a soft jolt in response.

Rhett grinned.

“Thought so.”

Then his mouth was on you.

And not just on you–devouring you and everything you had.

His lips parted around your folds, tongue sliding out slow and wide, dragging upward in one long, unhurried lick that made your spine arch and your toes curl. The heat of his mouth, the scratch of that stubble brushing your thighs–it all rushed through you like lightning.

He groaned against you–like the taste of you filled his mouth too good, too thick–and the vibration of that sound pulsed right through your core.

“Fuck,” you gasped, your head tipping back, one hand fisting the sheets beside you, the other reaching for him–searching for his hair, his shoulder, anything to ground yourself.

He kept going. Lapping and kissing and sucking gently at your clit, alternating pressure, drawing tiny sounds out of you one after the other like he was memorizing every response.

And still–he kept looking up.

Every few seconds, his gaze would flick up your body, pupils dark and blown, and meet yours with this desperate, tender intensity that had your stomach fluttering uncontrollably.

“You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever tasted,” He rasped, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips already slick with you. “Always so warm… always so wet for me…”

Your breath hitched. Your thighs squeezed slightly around his head, and he groaned at that too–loved when you did that–before ducking his mouth right back down and closing it over your clit.

He sucked.

Not hard–but deep. Pulling it into his mouth and curling his tongue around it until your whole body trembled. Then he licked again–quick, focused strokes right where you needed them most–and you could already feel that pressure building fast and thick in your lower belly.

“Rhett–” you gasped, barely able to speak. “Rhett holy shit–”

He gripped your thighs tighter, holding you still as he sucked again, then slowed–drawing a long, slick stroke down your slit before groaning again, low and needy.

“I could stay down here forever,” He mumbled against you, and that sound–the low timbre of his voice reverberating through your center–made your legs tremble even harder. “This–this is the best damn thing I’ve ever had.”

He flicked his tongue just beneath your clit again, then flattened it, slow and firm, circling that sensitive bundle of nerves until your mouth fell open in a silent moan.

“Look at you,” He whispered, glancing up through his lashes. “So fuckin’ pretty when you come apart for me…”

And you did—nearly right then.

Your back arched as the tension snapped. A sharp, desperate cry tore from your throat as your orgasm rolled through you in wave after wave. Rhett didn’t stop. He never stopped. He kept his mouth on you, licking and sucking and moaning like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Your fingers found his hair and tugged hard as you came, and he groaned like it drove him wild, like your pleasure was the only thing tethering him to earth.

When you finally started to come down–shaking, gasping, your chest rising and falling hard–he pressed one last, soft kiss to your center before pulling back slightly, lips slick, chin wet, eyes wrecked.

“You good, darlin’?” he asked, his voice still hoarse, his hands still warm and steady on your thighs.

You blinked down at him, dazed.

“Barely,” you whispered, your body still twitching from aftershocks.

He smirked, running a hand slowly up the inside of your thigh.

“You still got enough in you to make that dream come true?” He asked, thumb brushing gentle circles into your thigh, lips slick and pink from everything he’d just done to you.

You let out a breathless laugh, voice still trembling. Your gaze flicked toward the foot of the bed–where his hat sat in all its quiet glory–and then back to him.

“I always have enough in me to please my cowboy.”

That made his smile flicker wider, that dimple creasing his cheek just before he surged up from the floor, bracing one palm on the mattress and leaning in to kiss you–messy this time. No hesitation. Just hunger and heat and a mouth slick with your arousal pressing against yours like he couldn’t get close enough. It was wet and open-mouthed and a little uncoordinated, noses bumping, teeth catching on swollen lips, and when you both pulled back to catch your breath, there was a thin trail of spit still clinging between your tongues before it broke and smeared against the corner of his mouth.

You swiped your thumb over it.

He licked it from your skin without shame.

Then his fingers found the hem of your tank top and lifted.

You raised your arms without a word, letting him pull it up and off and toss it aside. His eyes swept down over your now fully bare chest like he was trying to memorize every freckle and curve, every little mark he already knew by heart.

“You’re somethin’ else,” he muttered, a little dazed. “Don’t know what I ever did to deserve this.”

You kissed the edge of his jaw, warm and reverent. “Shut up and take your shirt off.”

He did.

The thin cotton clung a little to his stomach from the heat of his skin, but he peeled it over his head and dropped it behind him, revealing the warm flush across his chest, and the super light trail of hair down his navel that disappeared beneath his waistband.

You leaned in and kissed the base of his throat, then lower–tracing the center of his chest, lips dragging over the rise and fall of each breath.

“God, I want you,” You whispered.

He swallowed hard. “I’m yours.”

And then he was shoving his pajama bottoms down–quickly, too worked up now to be careful. His cock sprung free, flushed red and hard, the tip already glistening.

Rhett had barely finished kicking his flannel bottoms to the floor when he climbed back into bed, propping himself against the pillows, chest heaving with anticipation. His hands twitched slightly at his sides, like he didn’t know whether to grab you or just sit back and let you ruin him.

You stayed on your knees at first, watching him settle. The lamplight painted him in golden hues–his chest flushed and rising with ragged breaths, his thighs taut, cock heavy and twitching where it rested against his stomach. His eyes never left you, like you were the only thing anchoring him to this earth.

Then, with that quiet confidence you knew he loved, you shifted up onto his thighs and slowly climbed into his lap.

You made sure your knees bracketed his hips perfectly. Making sure the skin of your inner thighs brushed against his, and then, still holding his gaze, you reached for the hat.

Your fingers slid under the brim, lifting it from where it lay beside you. The moment the crown settled in your hands, Rhett’s breath caught–audibly. His eyes went wide again, not just with heat, but with something deeper. Worship. Wonder. Like watching you hold it turned a fantasy into something sacred.

Then slowly you brought it to your head, and you slipped it on.

The wide-brimmed Stetson sat low over your brow, casting your eyes in shadow and making your mouth the brightest thing on your face. Your lips curved into a slow, deliberate smirk, and Rhett visibly shuddered.

“Jesus Christ,” He whispered, voice barely there. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.”You smiled wider. He reached up like he couldn’t help himself, and with the gentlest touch—like it was second nature—he flicked the brim of the hat once with his knuckle.

“Looks better on you than it ever did on me,” he murmured, a soft laugh catching in his throat. You giggled back, the brim tipping forward slightly with the motion, and that light, giddy sound made something in Rhett’s chest physically stutter.

Then you leaned forward, just enough for your bare chest to press against his, the heat between your bodies rising, coiling, fusing into one steady burn.

Your hand slid between your bodies.

Rhett inhaled sharply as your fingers wrapped around him–hot, thick, hard, already slick at the tip. You stroked once. Twice. Slow, deliberate movements that had him tipping his head back against the pillows with a guttural groan. His hands flew to your hips like instinct, gripping them firmly, grounding himself in the feel of your skin.

You teased him, letting your slick gather at his head as you guided him through your folds, rubbing the crown against your entrance, but not quite letting him in.

“Jesus,” He hissed, his hips twitching up slightly, fighting the urge to thrust. “Baby… please…”

You didn’t give in right away.

Instead, you leaned in, letting your chest brush his again, your breath ghosting over his jaw as you murmured–

“You dreamed about this, didn’t you?”

His hands gripped tighter.

“Yeah,” He rasped. “Every goddamn night since.”

You held his gaze as you tilted your hips–slow, careful–until his tip nudged your entrance. You paused there, savoring the moment. Savoring the heat, the stretch, the way his lips parted as if to beg, but he held back.

Then, with a steady exhale, you started to sink down.

He was big. You both knew it. Every time you took him it was a stretch–deep and toe-curling, your body adjusting to every thick inch of him.

But this time? It felt even more intense.

Maybe it was the hat. Maybe it was the fuel of the dream behind everything. Maybe it was the way Rhett looked up at you like you were some kind of goddess kneeling above him, his mouth open, his brows drawn, like the sight of you riding him like this might actually break him.

You sank down inch by inch, slow and steady, your jaw dropping open as the burn turned to fullness, and then to pleasure. Rhett groaned like a man possessed, his fingers flexing hard on your hips, his knuckles white.

“Fuck, baby,” he gasped, his voice hoarse and shaking. “You feel so good–so fuckin’ good–”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You were too focused on the way he filled you, stretched you, your hands bracing against his chest as you slid down until he was seated completely inside you. Your walls fluttered around him involuntarily, and he let out a choked sound, his hips jerking up once with a desperate need to move. You let out a shaky breath, lifting your gaze.

You started slow. Just the barest roll of your hips, your thighs trembling slightly as you adjusted to the weight of him inside you. Every inch of him pressed deep, dragging against your walls in that way that made your breath hitch and your belly clench. Your palms flattened over his chest, steadying yourself against the tremble that spread through your limbs.

Rhett’s hands stayed tight on your hips, not forcing, not guiding–just holding.

His eyes locked to where you were joined, and he let out a choked, reverent sound. One of his hands slid up, tracing the curve of your waist, the slope of your ribs, until his thumb brushed reverently beneath the underside of your breast. His other hand reached for the brim of the hat.

He tilted it back slightly on your head so he could see your face better.

“Look at you…” He whispered, voice low and ruined. “My girl…ridin’ me like a goddamn dream.”

You rocked your hips again–slow, dragging friction that had you both gasping. Your folds were slick, soaked, stretched wide around him, and the wet sound of your bodies moving together filled the room, lewd and obscene. His cock pulsed inside you, thick and throbbing, and your walls squeezed around him reflexively.

The brim of the hat shaded your eyes, and Rhett looked absolutely wrecked by it.

You leaned forward, your hair falling in soft strands around your face, and you kissed him again–sloppy, wet, desperate. Your tongue licked into his mouth as your hips picked up a slow, grinding rhythm, your clit dragging over the soft patch of hair above his base with each rock of your hips.

He moaned into your mouth, teeth catching your bottom lip before pulling back slightly. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse–like it had been scraped raw from how badly he needed you.

“You’re killin’ me,” he groaned. “Feelin’ you like this–watchin’ you on top of me, wearin’ my hat–fuck, baby, it’s too much.”

You rolled your hips again and leaned back slightly so he could see the way your body moved above him, the way he disappeared inside you, the way your stomach fluttered with every rise and fall. His hands slid to your thighs, then your ass, gripping tight, holding you open, watching every slick, filthy grind.

“You want me to stop?” You teased, breathless.

His head shot back against the pillow, eyes squeezing shut as he let out a guttural, almost-pained sound.

“Don’t you dare,” he choked. “I swear to God, I’ll lose my mind.”

You smiled, slow and wicked, and began to ride him in earnest.

Not fast. Not yet.

Just deep.

Grinding circles, pulling nearly all the way off his cock before sinking back down with a slick, breathy moan. Your hands slid down his chest, dragging over his stomach, and Rhett watched with glassy eyes as your body moved in perfect rhythm over his.

Every stroke was a worship. Every roll of your hips drew a cry from him–half groan, half prayer.

“Look at you,” He panted, hands sliding up your waist, thumbs stroking your ribs. “Takin’ me so good…So goddamn deep…”

He sat up, slowly, arms wrapping around you as he buried his face against your chest, mouth hot and open over the swell of your breast. He pressed kisses there–wet, messy, dragging his lips across your skin like he couldn’t get enough. His stubble scraped your sensitive flesh, and you gasped, your hands finding his hair, holding him close.

“You’re all I think about,” He whispered, voice trembling. “You in this hat…ridin’ me like you were made for it…You feel so good, baby–so warm, so wet–I could die right here…”

You rocked harder, your breath catching with every grind, every drag of his cock against that aching spot inside you. His tongue flicked your nipple, then sucked it into his mouth, and your head tipped back as you moaned.

“Rhett–fuck–Rhett, you’re gonna make me–”

“Come on, darlin’,” He rasped against your breast. “Come for me. Wanna feel you all over me. Want you to make a mess. Let me feel you clench around me while you wear my fuckin’ hat.”

You whimpered–high, needy–and rolled your hips faster now, chasing it. Your slick dripped down between your thighs, coating him, sticking to his skin in hot, wet strands. The bed creaked under you, and Rhett’s hands clutched your ass, helping you ride, pushing up into you as you rocked down onto him again and again.

The hat stayed perfectly perched on your head.

And Rhett looked up at you like he’d gone and seen heaven.

“Come on,” He begged, “Show me how good it feels. Come on, baby–I need it–fuck, I need it–”

You came with a cry.

Your hips jerked, thighs trembling as your orgasm tore through you, slick flooding around him. You clamped down on his cock, pulsing hard, your moans broken and raw. Rhett groaned and held you there, grinding his hips up once, twice—and then he followed.

“Fuck–fuck–oh Jesus–” His head tipped back, mouth open, eyes glassy, and he came inside you in thick, hot spurts that you could feel dripping down between your thighs.

You collapsed against his chest, both of you panting, sweating, your skin sticking where it touched.

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight.

And then he reached up, breathless, and tipped the hat off your head just enough to press a kiss to your forehead, before he removed it completely and put it on the nightstand.

“You just ruined me for every other fantasy,” He whispered. Rhett’s breath was still coming in soft, uneven waves beneath you, his chest rising and falling in sync with yours.

The afterglow wrapped around you both like a weighted blanket, warm and heavy, laced with sweat and the slow pulse of satisfaction. His arms were still locked around your waist, one hand splayed across your back like he didn’t want to let you go, not even to breathe.

He tilted his head just enough to look at you, still dazed, still flushed–and smiled. That slow, crooked, post-orgasm grin that only came out when he was taken care of, and truly spent.

Then he let out a lazy exhale and murmured, “Now whenever I wear that hat, I’m gonna be so goddamn distracted thinkin’ about this moment right here.”

You bit back your smile, leaning in close, your nose brushing his. “Wasn’t that the whole point?” you whispered, and kissed him.

It was soft at first–just a brush of lips, a sigh passed between mouths–but then his hand curled around the back of your neck, and he deepened it, just enough to let the warmth spread again. A hint of tongue. A little groan. He kissed you like a man still savoring dessert.

When you finally broke apart, Rhett gave a breathless, quiet laugh. His eyes crinkled at the corners in that way that made your chest flutter–genuine, drowsy, gorgeous.

“Well…” He murmured, eyes half-lidded and glowing gold in the lamplight, “In theory, I didn’t really think past the idea of you ridin’ me with my hat on.” He gave your bare thigh a soft squeeze, his thumb drawing lazy circles against your skin. “Or the long-lastin’ effects it’d have on me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, your head dropping briefly to his shoulder as your body relaxed against him. You felt him chuckle beneath you, his whole body shaking gently. The sound of it, warm and boyish and sleepy, was your favorite thing in the world.

“You good?” You asked softly, your fingers brushing through his hair again.

“Darlin’, I’m ruined,” he sighed dramatically, but there was nothing but affection in the way he looked at you–like he still couldn’t believe you were real.

You let the silence stretch a beat, then whispered, “We should probably wash off before we pass out like this.”

“Yeah,” He said, groaning a little as he shifted beneath you. “Before I end up glued to you for life.”

You kissed him once more, then slowly rolled off, muscles still trembling as you carefully stood on wobbly legs. Rhett watched every movement, his eyes roaming with unabashed hunger and satisfaction, like he was committing the sight to memory.

As you padded toward the bathroom, trying not to trip over your own feet, you felt the air on your slick thighs and winced at the mess between them.

Rhett caught that little shuffle in your step and gave your ass a light, playful smack.

You gasped in mock outrage, laughing as you glanced back at him over your shoulder.

“Hey!” You teased, swatting at the air.

He just grinned up at you from the bed, completely unrepentant.

Then, without missing a beat, you turned and picked up his hat from the nightstand. You gave it a little twirl between your fingers and then tossed it gently toward him. He caught it one-handed, eyes still glued to you, slipping it on his head as a joke, messing with the brim a bit.

“Maybe next time,” You said, voice sweet and slow, “I wanna see you wear this in the bedroom, cowboy. We can make some more memories that’ll ruin you.”

Rhett blinked.

Then his grin went from lazy to wicked.

“Yes, ma’am,” He said, tipping the hat toward you with that glint in his eyes.

You raised a brow at him, lingering in the bathroom doorway with one hand on the frame, your silhouette soft in the dim light. Steam had just begun to curl from the faucet, misting up the mirror. You leaned your weight on one hip, letting your fingers brush your thigh, voice light and teasing.

“You just gonna sit there lookin’ smug,” You asked, “Or are you actually gonna join me?”

Rhett blinked once, then twice–like your words hadn’t fully registered at first–and then his expression shifted into something downright wolfish.

“Hell yes, I’m joinin’ you,” He said, practically throwing the hat onto the nearest pillow as he stood, bare and flushed and beautifully wrecked. “Can’t miss an opportunity to get you all soapy and wet, now can I?”

You laughed, and so did he–both of you loose and glowing in the afterglow haze, your bodies still humming from everything that had just happened. He was already halfway across the room before you could turn, catching your hand as you disappeared into the bathroom, tugging you back toward him for one more lingering kiss. Hot, slow, and full of promise, that the night was far from over.

[smutmind]

mina getting passed around by BBCs for when it doesn't fit please

When It Doesn't Fit ft. Mina

idol x bbc

The Paris hotel suite whispered opulence. Floor-to-ceiling windows unveiled a twilight cityscape, the Eiffel Tower winking in the distance. A sprawling king-sized bed sat untouched in the center, crisp linens waiting to be disturbed.

Mina traced the window frame with her fingertip. Clad in a silk robe, she looked ethereal—barefoot, long hair cascading down her back.

“Finally a night to myself,” she murmured, voice soft.

The door clicked.

She turned, startled. Two figures entered without invitation—broad, towering, exuding menace in tailored suits. One was clean-shaven with icy eyes; the other, dark-bearded with a sardonic smile.

“I don’t remember ordering room service,” Mina said, attempting composure.

“That’s because we’re not here to serve you.” The bearded man shut the door with a deliberate click.

She took a step back. “Then leave. Now.”

“Not happening,” the clean-shaven one replied. “Tonight, you’re ours."

“Wait—stop—please, this is a mistake—!”

“Oh, it’s no mistake.”

Hands caught her wrists. The robe slipped from her shoulders, baring her delicate frame.

“Perfect,” the bearded man breathed. “Let’s see which of us can make this pretty thing scream first.”

“Please—please, don’t do this—I’ll do anything else—!”

They ignored her pleas, guiding her to the bed. The clean-shaven man pressed her forward, forcing her onto all fours. Her ass was lifted, her panties torn away.

“Mmm... wet already? Naughty girl.”

“No—I’m not—you’re wrong—please!”

Both men unzipped, thick shafts released. Mina glanced back, eyes widening in terror.

“No—too big—I can’t—please!”

“Oh, you will.”

The clean-shaven man positioned behind her. “Let’s get started.”

“Please—no—don’t—AHHHH!”

He drove deep in one brutal thrust.

“Fucking tight,” he growled.

Mina sobbed, body jerking with each merciless stroke.

“No—please—stop—it hurts—please!”

“Music to my ears,” the bearded man smirked.

After several punishing thrusts, he stepped forward.

“Enough of doggy. Let’s see her tits bounce.”

“Agreed.”

They hauled her upright, pinning her against the wall. The clean-shaven man continued to thrust from behind while the bearded one latched onto her nipples, sucking, biting.

“AHHH—stop—please—I can’t—I can’t breathe!”

“Shhh—just feel it.” His tongue flicked her swollen nipples.

“Let her ride me,” the clean-shaven man growled. “I can’t hold it.”

“No—please—no more—I can’t—!”

They dragged her onto the bed. The clean-shaven man lay back, cock glistening.

“Come, little slut. Ride me.”

“Please—don’t make me—I don’t want to be bred—please!”

“Too bad. Now get on.”

Tears streaming, Mina straddled him. Slowly, painfully, she lowered herself.

“AHHH—too big—too deep—please stop!”

“Bounce.”

“Please—I’m trying—I can’t—please!”

“Gonna fill you—get ready.”

“No—no—please—don’t breed me—!”

“Too late.”

He grunted, jerking beneath her. “Take it—take all of it!”

“AHHHHH!” she wailed as warmth flooded her.

“My turn.” The bearded man pulled her into reverse cowgirl.

“No—please—I’m too full—please stop!”

“Shut up. Show me how you take it.”

She sobbed, bouncing as he mauled her tits.

“Good girl. Cum for me.”

“Nooooo!” Her body betrayed her, pussy clenching.

“Fuck—yes—take it all!”

He groaned, flooding her again.

Before she could collapse, he yanked her hair.

“Now your mouth.”

“Please—I-I can’t—!”

“Open wide.”

He thrust deep down her throat.

“Mmmph!” Tears poured.

“Eyes up.”

“Guh—guh—please!”

“Gonna flood it—take it all.”

He grunted, thick spurts filling her mouth.

“Swallow. Now.”

She gulped, tears spilling.

“Good little slut.”

He released her. Mina collapsed, sobbing.

[lithnin]

It might be more instructive to say that the landlord is acting as a risk buffer in this scenario.

People generally want banks to exist. They want to be able to deposit their money someplace safe, have a place to cash their paychecks, be able to take out loans to pay for bigger-ticket items like cars and houses, etc, etc. (Mortgages are actually pretty complicated, but for the purposes of this post let's only think about regular old-fashioned loans.) In order to remain solvent, a bank has to make sure the money it lends out will get repaid. Otherwise, it will lose all of its money – i.e. its depositors' money, i.e. your money and my money – and then none of us will be able to do banking stuff. That sucks and nobody wants it to happen.

To that end, banks (or other types of lenders, the underlying logic is the same) have to assess how likely it is that you won't pay them back. Using certain pieces of information to do that is illegal, but one of the ones that isn't illegal is demonstrated history of paying things back on time, hence credit scores. In your example:

an aspiring homeowner goes to Assholes Inc. a bank to take out a home loan, but even though they can afford the $2000 monthly payment, theyre *gasp* a PEASANT- sorry, their "credit score isnt high enough" bc they cant always pay their exorbitantly priced credit card on time/can only afford to pay the minimum

A lender may well look at this person's inability to reliably pay off even a smaller amount of debt and decide, yeah, thanks but no thanks. This is not a value judgement, they don't care that you're "a peasant" or any nonsense like that, they're just doing an expected value calculation: is the likelihood that this person won't be able to pay back their loan, times the remaining principal of the loan, more than we'd expect to make off of the interest payments?

This is not fundamentally different from deciding whether to lend $20 to that friend of yours who's totally good for it, man, come on, you know me, but then mysteriously they're broke again the next time you see them. If you, personally, are willing to take that risk with your own money, go for it. The bank is not.

(Realistically, in most cases it's likely that they'll still offer a loan but at a higher interest rate, which is just a way of pricing in the chances of defaulting on the loan. This is, again, not a personal slight or a punishment, just a reflection of the greater risk involved.)

The landlord in this scenario does not have that problem. They've presumably borrowed money and bought things on credit many times and reliably paid them back. They probably have money saved or invested, own other property like the houses they're renting, or otherwise have assets that could be used as collateral. From the bank's perspective they are a safer bet. They also don't have depositors that they're beholden to, so they can assume some more risk from the renter, and that extra $500 on the rent payment is their version of the interest rate pricing in that risk.

Are there ways the system as a whole could be improved? Definitely – in particular, the housing supply in many areas is artificially constrained in ways that hurt both renters and prospective buyers. But to a first approximation, both the bank and the landlord here are providing services that people want, and it's a good thing that they are able to.

Why are landlords allowed to lease homes they don't own? Why are renters expected to pay off the landlord's mortgage?

If the bank owns the home then the renter should be paying directly to the bank, instead of paying a higher fee so that the landlord can make a profit off of the transaction by doing nothing.

[my-castles-crumbling]

Mac and Cheese

@celestial-vibes-1 requested wolfstar and mac and cheese, here's what I've created!

“Remus, what’re you doing?”

Sirius’s voice from the door to the kitchen made Remus jump. He’d been so wrapped up in his work that he’d completely stopped paying attention to anything outside the little kitchen. In his defense, Sirius had also been asleep, so it wasn’t like he’d thought to listen for him, anyway.

The idea had started a few days ago. James had brought up missing mac and cheese, something that was apparently a staple of his childhood, and Lily had jumped in in reverent agreement. “Ugh, it’s so good,” she’d exclaimed. “Like…crack in a box.”

Sirius had just frowned. “Sounds good,” he’d mumbled.

It was something that happened every once in a while. Something relatively ‘normal’ that people experienced in childhood was brought up, only for Sirius to realize that he’d missed out on it, because of Walburga and Orion. And every time, Remus’s heart broke for his boyfriend. Because if anyone deserved some fucking childish whimsy, it was Sirius Black.

So this time, he was determined to give Sirius at least something he’d missed out on from his childhood. Sure, he couldn’t be the tooth fairy or give him a tenth birthday party, but he could make him some mac and cheese.

The problem was that Remus’s mom never made him mac and cheese. Because…well, he was lactose intolerant.

So he was going completely on nonexistent instincts. Luckily, he was a grown man, so he didn’t feel the need to refer to the directions on the box. It couldn’t be that hard, it was a kids’ food, after all.

It went well at first. He boiled the water, cooked the noodles, then measured out the other ingredients. And while he didn’t seem to understand the attraction–the powder freaked him out a bit, and the artificial orange color made him want to gag–he was pleased with himself for giving Sirius something he felt he missed. Stirring in the butter, milk, and cheese, he hummed happily, reflecting on how Sirius deserved all the wonderful things.

Until he was interrupted.

“I’m…making you mac and cheese,” he admitted, turning to see Sirius in the doorway and feeling rather sheepish. “You seemed so sad about having never had it before, and…” he trailed off, trying to figure out what Sirius was thinking, as the shorter man had brought his hand up to cover his mouth, and his eyes had gone watery.

“Remus…that’s so sweet,” Sirius whispered, walking over and embracing him. “I…wow.” 

After they pulled apart, they both looked down at Remus’s concoction. “Wanna taste it?” Remus offered nervously.

“Sure.”

But after eating a spoonful, Sirius did not seem impressed. “This…no offense, but, this is it? Wow, Lily and James have low standards,” he frowned, making a disgusted face. It was so nice of you to make this for me and all, but… ‘crack in a box’? I don’t think so.”

Frowning, Remus tasted a small spoonful as well, not wanting to get sick. “Eurgh,” he nearly gagged. “This is awful! Do you think Lily and James were messing with us?"

"Or they've both gone crazy," Sirius shrugged, looking just as confused as Remus felt.

It was then that James arrived through the Floo and immediately yelled out, pointing at the blue mac and cheese box. “Ah! Have you saved some for me?” he asked eagerly, beaming.

“You can have all of it, mate, it’s disgusting,” Sirius said, grimacing. “Dunno what other weird shit you and Lils like to eat, but–”

But as James approached the pot, he immediately burst out laughing, cutting Sirius off. “Moony, you have to drain the water before you put the other stuff in. You’ve made…mac and cheese soup!” he laughed, rolling his eyes.

Sirius and Remus exchanged a glance.

Oh.

[juliettejwnewinesa]

can you do a seong je and an innocent sweet girl which is everything for her is first time (then your brother who is in a gang insisted that you go out with someone since you didn't have a boyfriend. The person he wanted you to go out with was a member of the gang. Since your brother had been insisting for a long time, you finally agreed.) then they both end up in a one room alone which is set up by your brother and his friends. smut please thankyouuuu

Title: “Not So Innocent Anymore” Pairing: Seong Je x Innocent!Reader Word count: ~5,500 Content warnings: smut (loss of virginity, size kink, oral, light coercion via setup but with consent, possessive behavior, praise kink), protective brother, gang themes, first-time tension

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Everything about this was your brother’s fault.

You’d never even had your first kiss, and now here you were—locked in a small apartment room with Seong Je, one of his gang friends, while your brother and his idiot crew laughed somewhere outside.

"You said you’d go on one date," Seong Je said, voice low as he leaned against the wall, watching you.

“I thought you meant, like… coffee,” you muttered, arms tightly crossed in front of your chest. “Not this.”

His eyes dragged over your shy stance, the soft pink of your cheeks, and the little white cardigan you kept pulling tighter over your dress. He smiled, amused. “They’re dumbasses. Probably thought locking us in here would… speed things up.”

You stared at him with wide eyes. “Speed what up?”

That smile turned wolfish. “You really are that innocent, huh?”

You felt like a rabbit caught in headlights.

You weren’t sure how it happened, but after a bit of talking—mostly nervous rambling from you and quiet nods from him—he was sitting closer. Then his fingers brushed yours. Then… it just happened.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked, voice oddly gentle for a man with a reputation like his.

You nodded—shakily.

When his lips met yours, it was slow. Testing. You gripped the edge of your skirt with both hands as his thumb brushed your jaw, coaxing you closer. His tongue tasted like mint and something darker, something dangerous, but warm. Safe. Addicting.

“First kiss?” he whispered.

You nodded again. Face on fire.

His smirk deepened. “Cute.”

It escalated quickly.

Now, you were lying on your back on the futon, dress bunched around your waist, thighs trembling as Seong Je kissed down your neck and over your chest, pushing your cardigan and bra away. You gasped when his tongue flicked over your nipple.

“S-Seong Je…”

“Too much?” he asked, even though his hand slid up your bare thigh, fingers teasing your panties.

“N-No—just… everything’s…” You bit your lip, arching into his hand despite your words. “I’ve never…”

His gaze snapped to yours. “You’ve never done anything?”

You shook your head.

He stared for a long moment. “Fuck, your brother’s gonna kill me.”

Then his mouth crashed into yours again—hungrier this time, like he couldn’t stop himself. Like he didn’t want to.

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he muttered, dragging your panties down slowly, reverently. “But if you don’t say anything…”

“I don’t want you to stop,” you whispered.

That was all it took.

His head dipped between your thighs, and you nearly screamed when his tongue licked a slow stripe over your center. He held your legs open with firm hands, looking up as you writhed. “Taste so fucking sweet, baby.”

“Seong—Seong Je��wait—!”

“You said you didn’t want me to stop,” he murmured, voice low and dark against your heat.

When he pushed two fingers into you, stretching you gently, you clung to the sheets and sobbed.

“You’re so tight, fuck,” he growled, groaning as your walls clenched around him. “Gotta get you ready for me.”

You could barely breathe. His tongue licked at your clit while his fingers curled just right, building something sharp and hot and terrifyingly good in your stomach.

When you came, you screamed into your hand.

He hovered above you now, shirt gone, cock heavy in his fist. You stared in disbelief.

“That’s not gonna fit,” you blurted. (😏)

He grinned. “It will. I’ll be gentle.”

“I don’t know if that’s even possible with that thing…”

“I’ll make it possible.”

He kissed your jaw, your ear, your throat, lining himself up carefully as you clutched at his arms. “You sure, Y/N?”

You looked into his eyes—dark, intense, but somehow soft just for you—and nodded. “Please.”

The stretch was unbearable at first. You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. He moved slow—agonizingly slow—kissing your face as you tried not to cry.

But then…

“You’re doing so good,” he whispered, wiping a tear from your cheek. “So fucking tight, fuck—if I move too fast, I’ll cum right away.”

Eventually, the pain blurred into something else. Heat. Pressure. A deep, aching pleasure.

“You okay?” he asked.

You wrapped your arms around his neck. “More.”

He groaned like you’d ruined him.

Seong Je fucked you slow at first. Then faster. Then rougher. The moment he felt your legs wrap around his waist and heard your breathy moans, he lost the last thread of restraint.

“Never thought I’d get to be your first,” he muttered between thrusts, his forehead pressed to yours. “Your brother’s gonna kill me.”

“You feel so—so good,” you whined, overwhelmed.

“I’m not gonna last,” he groaned, hips slamming into yours. “Fuck—I’m gonna fill you up so good, baby—make this virgin cunt mine.”

“Please,” you whispered. “I want it.”

Your body tensed beneath him again, and you came with a soft cry, clenching around him so tight that he swore and buried himself deep inside, spilling everything he had with a guttural moan.

Later, when you were curled up on his chest, shaky and sore, you whispered, “Do you… do this with a lot of girls?”

He looked down at you, stroking your hair. “No. Never like this. Never someone like you.”

You blushed.

He smirked. “Your brother’s not gonna believe it when I tell him I’m keeping you.”

Author's note: before someone asks why i post ff back to back is because i write them at day post them at night but i finish them first (i do like 90% at day)

[thistle-wrote]

Johns Bird

F!Reader X John Price CW: Age gap relationship, kind of Dub-con, major manipulation on John's part, emotional abuse, coercion, explicit sexual content, power imbalance, controlling behavior, JOHN IS TOXIC AND A TOTAL ASSHOLE PLEASE NOTE THAT BEFORE READING.

Pt two to this because one person asked me for it and I give into peer pressure very easily.

John shut the front door behind him, locking it as he entered his home. He knew where his bird was; she’s always in the same place when he got home.

“Hi, little girl,” John spoke, entering the kitchen, leaning against the granite countertop. For a second, he looked down at his feet, noticing he’d tracked dirt through the house. That’s fine. She’ll clean it up.

“Hi,” came her mumbled response as she looked up at him, smiling. She never seems to get tired of his homecoming, never irritated by the prospect of constantly cooking for and cleaning up after a grown man.

“What are you cooking, pet?”

He began crossing the kitchen, standing behind her to wrap his arms around her shoulders, effectively trapping her in.

“Just chicken.” Truth be told, he couldn’t actually care less what she was cooking, it’s always good and as long as he doesn’t have to do it, he’s satisfied.

“Good girl.” She has always responded well to soft cooing and praise. He watched as her little cheeks flushed, and her lips quirked upwards. God, he loved her. He had been so patient, waited so long for her that once he got her, he took what he wanted all at once.

“I wanted to ask.” She began wiggling underneath his grasp, turning to face him.

“Mhm,” John hummed, looking down at her big doe eyes. She’s been so good since he got her. She does what she’s told, she doesn’t fight, she doesn’t argue.

“I want to go out with my friends tonight.” Immediately John felt his mood sour. He hates her friends. Does she not remember how they ended up in bed together all those months ago in the first place? Her friends left her alone in that bar. Stupid girl she doesn’t know what’s good for her.

She, of course, noticed the change, a very perceptive little thing. “Shouldn’t be going out, love,” John added. If he spoke to her too sternly, she cried. If he was too lenient, she didn’t behave. He’d found a way over the last months to keep her where he wanted her, without her babbling or tears flowing. 

“But it’s Emma’s birthday and...” John watched her words die in her throat. She doesn’t typically beg or plead, especially not when John gives her the look he just had, the furrowed brow and hard stare. Doesn’t she realize he saved her? Doesn’t she realize he’s all she needs?

“Now, bunny rabbit, what kind of man would I be if I just let a sweet little thing like you wander around drunk and alone with a bunch of girls?” John has learned a lot of things in his nearly 40 years of life. One of them: you don’t just simply allow girls who look like her to go out by themselves. John may be many things, but he’s not stupid.

“But I can handle myself.” 

“No, love, you can’t.” 

Despite her frustrated expression, she conceded and went back to cooking dinner like a good girl. He hates seeing that little pouty lip she gives him. It’s not that he doesn’t trust her, no it’s not that at all. It’s just he doesn’t trust everyone else. She’s spacey, she doesn’t pay attention to her surroundings, and anything could happen to his sweet thing if he’s not watching her. 

…………………………

As the evening went on, she was quieter than usual, she doesn’t often act like a brat, John Price doesn’t do brats. But despite his authority and desire to simply do what is best for her, she does pout. Although not in the way most do, it’s still pouting. The quiet way she sat on the couch reading her book, not tucked under his arm, not chatting his ear off.

“Birdie girl?” John said, lighting the cigar in his hand, watching her as she sat peacefully. 

“Yes sir?” Her gaze moved from her book to his eyes. Eye contact. Good fuckin’ bird. 

“You going to stop pouting anytime tonight?” The question, while rhetorical, was more of a demand for her to wipe the pout off her face than anything.

“I’m not pouting.” She whined. Like nails on a chalkboard, that tone. He’s not being mean to the girl; he’s just protecting her. She has to understand that.

“Come sit.” He didn't leave much room for argument. He just leaned back further into the couch, manspreading a little bit more, giving her a place to sit.

Despite her clearly being upset with him, she listened, putting her bookmark in her book and setting it down on the arm of the couch. She crawled across the sectional to find her spot on his lap. He took a drag of his cigar before speaking, not bothering to try and keep the smoke from her face.

“You know why I don’t want you to go?” John asked, placing his free hand on her thigh. She simply shook her head. John took that as his cue to explain. As much as he believed she should just trust him, shouldn’t need an explanation, he’d give her one if it would stop her attitude. 

“Your friends aren’t good to you, bird. They leave you alone. Remember when we met, all those months ago? You told me you wanted better friends; you got me instead. I am here to protect you, to keep you away from things that could hurt you. That means away from your little friends, and away from the wandering eyes of the men who’ll no doubt be in that bar.”

“But I…” She started before John quickly interrupted.

“Let me finish, little girl” she nodded, letting her head fall to rest against his shoulder. She may be upset, but she’s still his sweet bunny. John moved his hand from her thigh to her head, resting it against her hair. He spoke again.

“I know you want to have fun, but I have to keep you safe, love.” 

“I know.” She nodded against his shoulder. The resignation in her voice was enough to chub his cock. Such a sweet girl.

“We can have fun at home, you know,” John said, taking another drag from his cigar, this time blowing it directly into her face. She likes it.

…………………………

There was always one surefire way to both keep his woman happy and make sure she’s being good. Who needs friends or birthday parties when you have a bed you share with your boyfriend, pretty girl? 

“J-John.” She tried. She failed. John may be at least a decade her senior but he’s not old; he can hold out a long time if that means keeping her quiet.

“Can’t even talk, huh?” John let out a condescending chuckle as he continued to rut into her. Her knees pushed to her shoulders. God, she’s so pretty like that, overstimulated and tired.

He couldn’t help the groan that escaped his lips when, for the fifth time, he felt her walls tighten around him, squeezing him as her eyes rolled back and her body spasmed. 

“There you go, puppy.” He cooed at her, truly like a little pet. She acts out sometimes, but in the end, she always ends up right back here, doing exactly what he tells her. She let out a soft little whimper at the overwhelming feeling.

“Don’t start fussing now, baby. You wanted to have fun, remember? There you go, that’s a good girl.” She was too fucked out to respond; she just babbled some incoherent nonsense. Despite her brain obviously having shut off, her eyes glazed over, and small tears of pleasure pricked at the corners. His pace was unrelenting, brutal. 

She needed a reminder, on occasion, exactly why she behaves for him. “Come on, pretty. You can give Daddy one more.” And she did, two more actually. He continued to push himself in and out of her sweat cunt until he could no longer hold out.

“Gonna fill you so full, sweet girl.” John groaned as he released himself into her. He felt her tight, puny little grip on his shoulder as he did. 

Once his hips stopped rocking into her, he pulled his now softening cock from her pretty hole, watching as the remnants of their “love" leaked from her. 

When he pulled her to lay on top of him, he let out a satisfied sigh as she snuggled into him.

“No more asking to go out, I can give you everything you need right here.” She nodded, he knew she’d heed that warning.

…………………………

CoD Masterlist

[captain-huggy-bear]

Would you be willing to write a McBain request where his girlfriend might wear more revealing outfits or risky outfits and a guy makes a comment about it but Jack shows up and is like “My girlfriend can wear what she wants one bc she’s a grown woman and two bc i can fight.” ?

This is so Jack, wear what you want, babe, he's got this. Requests are open for specific people only, please see my pinned post for details :) Writing Masterlist

You really don't think anything of it when you pick that particular dress to wear to go out to the bar with Jack and the team. Sure maybe it's on the shorter side and maybe it shows your shoulders and some cleavage, but you're fully dressed, nothing inappropriate at all. Just sexy, a little revealing. The sort of thing girls your age should wear out on the town.

You don't think anything of it because you never have to worry, not when you're going out with Jack. He's always made sure you were safe, looked after and it made picking clothes a thoughtless exercise because you knew that if anyone tried anything Jack would be there.

It's all fine until you go up to the bar by yourself to get another drink. Some guy, too much cologne, no hair, stupid pair of sunglasses on as if he's out in broad daylight, approaches you. You're okay at first, he's a little too close, a little too personable, but you're polite, short answers, nothing to give him the impression you're interested. Not when you're not smiling, body turned away, shifting further down the bar. You know Jack is watching, can feel his eyes assessing the entire time to see if you need him or not. He's good like that, not barging in at the first sign of another man, letting you handle things, trusting you to handle things.

It's when you reject his offer to buy you a drink...and then his request for your number that the guy gets shitty, trying to loom over you despite his insignificant height, getting into your personal space as his mood turns sour.

Your eyes shift to Jack the instant the mood turns, he's already out of his seat, already half-way to the bar and it makes it easier to deal with because you know you're okay, you know Jack won't let anything happen to you.

"If you don't want the attention you shouldn't dress like such a slut." He's in your face, but you're shifting as far back as you can, avoiding the finger pointed in your face as he spits at you like you were leading him on, like you'd invited him over.

Your eyes shift over his shoulder, Jack's there. Looming, a 6ft 4 wall of broad shoulders, muscle and scruff. He's got a face like thunder, brows low over his brown eyes that are narrowed on the back of the guy's head. He's so fucking big that even with the guy still in your personal space your shoulders relax on instinct, because Jack's here and Jack is safe.

"What the fuck did you just say?" His voice is sharp, a low sort of grumble that has the pest you're interacting with turn around with narrowed eyes. He's all bravado but there's a slight shift in his face, in his body language that tells you he's noticed how much larger Jack is, how he'd never win in a fight against him. There's a loss of some of that arrogance.

"I said if she doesn't want the attention she shouldn't dress like a slut. What's it to you?" There's a quiver to his voice, the sort that tells you he's all bark and no bite. Jack seems to notice too, a sort of sardonic smirk starting to form, shifting his head back slightly as he peers down at the guy like he's some sort of irritating insect.

"One, that's my fucking girlfriend." Jack's hands are shifting the guy aside with ease, a shove until he moves a few feet to the right, Jack's hand reaching for yours to tug you against him, out of the other guy's space and in his own, "Two, she can wear what the fuck she wants because she's a grown fucking woman and because I can fucking fight. So, you wanna do this or you gonna call my girlfriend a slut again?"

"Uh...shit, sorry, man! I didn't know..." He's all apologetic bluster, wide eyed because it seems to have suddenly hit him that Jack is not only bigger than him, but that he's actually serious and actually pissed off.

It's not enough for your boyfriend whose teeth are gritted as he pulls you closer to his side, large hand tightening on your hip, keeping you close.

"Apologise." It's a demand, a demand that confuses the guy in front of you, after all he already apologised to Jack.

"I just did..."

"Not to me. Apologise to her." But, Jack has never meant apologise to him, it was always apologise to you...because you were the one that got insulted, intimidated, treated like crap. It was you who deserved the apology. If he had it his way you know Jack would have the guy on his knees begging for forgiveness, but the spectacle is unwanted. It's bad enough there are people looking your way already, you can see the table filled with Jack's teammates all looking your way, heads perked up waiting to see if they need to intervene or not.

"Sorry, you can wear what you want. I'm really sorry," The guys' voice is almost frantic, a little panicked, eyes shifting between you and Jack, trying to see if he's done enough, if Jack is happy with his apology or not.

"Good, now fuck off and go bother someone else." Jack doesn't even shift back to the let the guy passed, forces him to make himself smaller to move past Jack, another way of humiliating the guy, another nail in the coffin.

Jack's eyes follow him until he's gone, out of sight, far from you. Jack's like a guard dog in that way, not relaxing until he's certain the threat to you is gone and then he melts, eyes turned on you all soft and crinkled at the corners, voice rumbly but sweet, hands tugging you by the hips until you're stood in front of him, hands on his chest.

"You okay, baby?"

"Mm, I'm okay...thank you." You shift closer, hands sliding up and around his neck, tightening your hold because being close to him is safety. Being close to Jack is security, protection.

"Always, no one messes with my baby." God, he's so sweet. Big, tough, ridiculous, but so soft to you and it makes your heart ache with affection. Has you reaching up on tiptoes until your lips connect with his cheek in the softest of appreciative kisses that has Jack's cheeks flushing red.

[nickythehickey]

*emcee voice* hello sfth fandom, by the request of myself and literally four people (hi @not-an-idiot @very-confused-alpaca @chaostributary97 @bbatcat), i give you

my best attempt at a list of disability representation in the sfthverse

*for the purposes of the list, "disability" includes physical/mental/developmental disabilities, neurodivergence, chronic illnesses, and mental health conditions

*i went through and added as many as i could think of but easily could've missed some. also i can't get the patreon rn so there's no patreon exclusive characters, sorry. if you know of some more feel free to reply/reblog and i'll add them!

canon (either explicit or heavily implied)

bubba (inside the mysterious cube) is stated to be an amputee with prosthetic legs

peter steven (the milkman) is stated to have adhd; granted its a throwaway line but i think it's true. since adhd has a large genetic component, that implies that either janet or david or both likely also has it- my money's on david since peter seems to mostly take after him

post mortem, L (the creak in the attic) is mute and uses mime/sign language and possession as forms of aac

donnie (the detective vs. the christmas tree bandits), my personal blorbo, is explicitly stated to have adhd and a seizure disorder- likely photosensitive epilepsy based on the mentions of the lights in the strip club. "i was never good with numbers" could be interpreted as dyscalculia as well. frankie may also have adhd bc again genetics, but if he does he can mask like a motherfucker

chip (the cardboard stegosaurus) has an unspecified seizure disorder (although i can't find one that turns you french), and while she isn't present, we learn that his mother marie-claire was suicidal

queen of representation that she is, amanda (clarissa's diy wedding) is all but confirmed to have prosopagnosia, or face blindness

according to divorces and teddy bears, the entire north pole elf population has adhd. congrats on the diagnosis luke i mean snowball

"that one gas station man" as @doodle-ratz called him (the pilot's final flight) is blind

mrs jeffery (the milkman) was blind at the beginning of the scene, they ended up not going with that but she probably does still have poor vision

the bartender (the hare who wore a sweater) slut dropped so hard his knees exploded, and that's now a sentence i've said on the internet. im.... not sure what to count this as tbh, but as a person with vague undiagnosed joint fuckery myself, he makes the list regardless

they don't like... SAY IT say it, but john hobson (the creak in the attic) with the whole "thunderstorm killed my parents" thing probably has ptsd. like yall see it too right

based on body language, granddad (wine under the bridge) appears to use a walker, suggesting mobility issues

headcanons (still implied like at least a little bit but mostly up to interpretation, this is mine)

*(this one's messy, its more me sensing vibes than anything else, there's almost definitely some projection in there, honestly you can disregard it if you want. spoilers its mostly autism bc that's me)

frankie (the bard with a scar) says that he can't run fast, maybe implying mobility issues? i like to think so

i don't think their ages are ever established so i may be completely off base and they're just meant to be children, but jimmy (toby's secret pocket) and jeffery (party quirks) are both autistic teenagers/young adults to me. jeffrey specifically bc he reminds me immensely of how i acted the first and only time i threw a party

i get... a vibe. from titch (the unrelenting aubergine). im not sure what it is, but its there

fellow autistic people yk how there's this weird kinda split that happens where when you're a kid people think you're mature for your age but then once you're older people think you're immature? yeah johnny and janae (the neighbor's under the bed) are the extreme incarnation of that dichotomy

someone in the comments of ballet on the battlefield pointed out alexa stimming after she befriends janusz and i love that so im saying she's some flavor of neurodivergent

troll-son (wine under the bridge) probably has some kinda allegory for something idk

because of the way i visualize character designs for sfth, pretty much any character luke played while wearing glasses (like andrew (all eyes on nigel) or fullset o'hands) also wears glasses. im not gonna list them all just know they're included

i've been working on this list for seven hours. i feel like sysiphus (thats a very smart reference). im going to bed

EDIT: if you're seeing this now there's an update in the reblogs!

[satrs]

A/N; working on alll of ur requests rn sweeties!!! It's gonna take me a good while tho, so here is a lil sum sum I wrote abt the guys sum time ago ^^ Hope u enjoy my late night yapping and plzzzz be patient with meeee, I didn't forget ur requests my lovelys!!!

Random/unpopular headcanons of Weird stuff they do! (MDNI! SFW ans NSFW)

ZAYNE

SFW

Drink his coffee HORENDOUSLY. It looks like a brew straight out of hell. Honestly, it’s closer to motor oil than anything drinkable.

Eats like a pregnant woman with the wildest cravings. I’m convinced he mixes sweets with damn near everything, pickles with ice cream, shit like that.

Uhhh, I also think he’s messy??? Like, his house looks tidy at first glance— floors clean, dishes done, nothing crazy. But if you actually live with him, you realize he doesn’t have time to handle allat!!! There’s always clothes flying around, jackets tossed over chairs, hoodies crumpled on the couch, random socks disappearing into the void. Not necessarily dirty clothes, just... clothes littered across the house. It's like he tries to stay organized, but life moves too fast and the laundry pile moves faster.

NSFW

Tries to optimize things. It's kinda weird but also hot??? "What if we adjust the angle by 12 degrees—oh. Oh, that's better."

One time, he came with one hand on the wall like a man in mourning and didn't say a word, just stood there. (Post-nut trauma pose lmaooo)

Looses track of time when he's with u. You've been at it for 3 hours with barely any break before he realized that he has 2 hours of sleep left before he has to get up for work. But he'll worry about that in the morning.

He's giving you a clinical review when you ride him. "Your pelvic tilt just now was exceptional. Ten out of ten."

SYLUS

Bro im ngl… i feel like he's a hoarder. Antique stuff probs like old pennies from 1500s or sum shi.

Props a history nerd on the low. Knows every event ever happening around the word from the stone age to modern times. (Rants to you about them sometimes)

Caffeine Dependency, But in odddd forms.He refuses to drink normal coffee so, instead, he's obsessed with fancy stuff like matcha lattes, cold brew espresso, or even herbal teas that are supposed to enhance mental focus. If you catch him on a "bad caffeine day," you'll see him get irritated if he had to settle for a drink that doesn't meet his exacting standards (He's gonna pull out the glock ain't he).

NSFW

Discovered his wax kink one time when candle wax happend to drip on him turing sexy time, and he moaned so loud it scared you. That's when you both began to involve wax as a main actor during the act more often.

Oh he's soooo horny when you patch him up after a deal gone wrong. Grows soooo hard when you're shocked self runs up to his all bloodied form:(( Just such big baby and a suckerrr for your nursing skills!!!

Guns are everywhere. Like, casually. Sometimes there's one just sitting on the nightstand, loaded, of course— the barrel practically staring at you while he's fucking you. It's kinda terrifying if you think about it too hard.

Okay, hear me out!!!! When he's really exhausted, like dead-on-his-feet exhausted, he comes home, takes a quick, half-awake shower, then just slumps onto the bed, still wet, still half-dressed, a lit cigar hanging from his lips as you ride him. He's barely doing anything, just lying there with this lazy, heavy-lidded look, letting you use him however you want. Smoke curling up toward the ceiling, his body all warm and loose under your hands. It’s messy, raw, and honestly addicting if you admit.

CALEB

SFW

Constantly challenges himself to do backflips in inappropriate places. "Bet I can flip off this railing" No, Caleb. You can't. But he does it anyway(urghhh). It's even grown to a point that he makes a quick backflip when you two meet up as agreeting mane. It's sooo embarrassing when the bystanders eye him but he thinks it's soooo cold LMAOOO

Caleb still doesn't know how to use a lot of things properly. He'll try to fix things around the house and end up breaking them worse than they were. You'll catch him watching YouTube tutorials, struggling with the basics of cooking, or just trying to figure out how something works.

NSFW

Tries to make you laugh mid-stroke. Literally says stuff like "What would you do if I'd start moonwalking right now?" You're crying laughing while he's still inside you.

He high fives you after sex. Every damn time. Yep. Its canon bc i said so!

Treats you on top as if he's ur personal trainer. "Yeahhh, get those megan-kness working. One, two, three— heyheyhey you gotta put your legs into it!“

XAVIER

SFW

Despite him sleeping so damn much, I feel like hes a light sleeper. If you move away slightly his eyes shoot open bruh. (They also glow in the dark and scare the shit out of you when ypu come back to the room after taking a piss)

Incredible memory for faces, but not names. He can remember every single detail about a person's face—the way they looked when they smiled, the exact way they tilted their head during conversation—but when it comes to their names? Not a clue. He js couldn't give less of a fuck.

Always late for your dates. At least half an hour. Not bc he's been sleeping but because he's so slowww man! You're so mad bc you can't teleport like a certain someone cough cough, but still manage to show up on time!!! And when he shows up he acts so innocent and clueless as if you didn't wait for him for half an hour.

NSFW

Thinks it's soooo sexy when you scold him. Say his full name with force and he's rock solidddd 'm tellin youuuu!!!

Always insists on so much foreplay it's frustrating. Don't get me wrong it's sexy! ....until it's been 45 minutes and you’re still begging for him to finally put it in.

Has a thing for u playing with his hair, especially if you pull it when he's eatin you out. But even if you just genuinely move it out of his face after a heated make-out shesh, he whines as if you got his dick in a headlock (you do).

RAFAYEL

Props has a journal and draws little doodles of you next to his entry of the day!! When he's feeling espacially romantic, he'll begin with a small doodle but get lost in it end end up drawing the most breathtaking portrait of you. He hides the journal too, a bit too embarrassed to show you his rambles of how much in love he is with you. Yeahhh for his eyes only!

Rafayel is full of bizarre superstitions. He's the type to refuse to walk under a ladder, always carries a lucky charm, and insists that everything happens for a reason. If you spill salt, you're definitely going to have to throw it over your left shoulder. Was a literal sea god but bad luck are the most of his worries ig...

His desk is a mess, but somehow everything is in its right place. Papers are scattered everywhere, but you can not touch them. He has his own chaotic filing system, and God help you if you try to reorganize anything.

NSFW

Sucker for you when ur in heels. I dare you to step on his foot by accident in heels!!(he almost came in his pants). Loves to fuck you in heels from that point onwards.

Ok so this is ridiculous but I have this headcanon that you both made out in the ocean once and got so into it that you didn't notice rafayel turned into a merman until his fishtail grazed your legs and you fucking screamed for your life. He had to make it up with some sloppy toppy head underwater ofc!!!

Will literally stop mid stroke to get his sketchbook and sketch you when he has the urge to capture your beautiful form splawed out for him. Like, this is for him, like.... oh my godddd yu're so perfect???

[bevy-obeyme]

how do you think luci and mammon would react if they found out MC had a bad injury they had been hiding. like MC had been acting a little strange all week because they got a really bad injury of a demon attack but they didn't want to worry their s/o so they just bandaged it up and took care of it themselves while they hid it. Mc would keep going to R.A.D and everything like normal but often felt pain if they stood up and walked too long or if someone were to jump on them and only by accident they found out about their injuries after seeing bandages under their top sightly peeking out

I am so sorry — you have been waiting for nearly a YEAR. I feel awful 😞. But here it is!!

Lucifer:

- Knowing this perceptive man, he probably already knew from the start.

- You hadn’t been discreet about it. Not like you could’ve tried to be in the first place, you were his beloved and he delighted in knowing you like his palm.

- However, he did of course confront you; he was infuriated. Which moron would dare place a filthy hand on you and expect to get away with it?

- Whether you answered or brushed his concerns off didn’t matter. Lucifer would persist; stubbornly so.

- And by the end, he would emerge victorious in his information and hunt down the despicable demon that had the audacity to hurt you whilst also chastising himself for letting this happen in the first place.

‘’I can tell you’re wondering about that demon. Don’t worry, they won’t be able to lay a finger on you anymore.’’

Mammon:

- Now, Mammon had a tendency of being dense, but he wasn’t that stupid alright?

- He may not catch on as fast as Lucifer does, but he can still notice things after your sleeved dipped down to show a bruise.

- He was angry and concerned; why did you not feel the need to tell your first man? Him? Was he not good enough to help you out?

- But then came the rare serious anger; who would dare to lay hands on you? Some lower class scum probably! And if there was anything he hated was seeing you hurt.

- Like Lucifer, he would stubbornly insist you tell him everything. No matter how much you tried to let it go, he would still continue until he got an answer.

- Next thing you know, tomorrow he’d probably be publicly beating the idiot up at RAD. To the point Barbatos had to knock him out swiftly.

- Not like he cared, he knew Lucifer would back him up. Just this once.

‘’That scum? Ya ought not ta worry about em’. AND no! I wasn’t bein’ stupid! I ain’t letting ya be beat up without returning it!’’

[thedonswife13]

I’m with the girls! I vote we scare her and see what happens. Hehehe these girls and their schemes but, oh what I wouldn’t give to be a fly on that trail/trip!

Glad Buttercup and Rooster are finally get to talk. He knows what it was like having been on that side of things. He’s been in the girls places and can at least understand why it had to happen even if he doesn’t like it. Bradley saying that Jake should’ve put his family first after saying that Jake should’ve been able to handle it in response to what Buttercup said is nice to hear. Knowing what we do, Jake has put Charlie and now Abby first in everything he does, except the midlife crisis 🙄🙄

Oh I love their pranks on Savannah! I’m over here giggling imagining the screams.

I have no doubt in my mind that Jake Seresin is a fantastic father. No doubts at all. Yes they were both hurt by the things said and done in the past…however they’ve both had time to grow and there’s nothing more powerful in this world than love! Jake still loves her, there’s no way Buttercup isn’t still in love with Jake

Nat being dramatic thinking it was Javy at the door again 🤣🤣 I can understand why she and Javy fought so much when he wanted more and she was hesitant; she didn’t want to go through the same heartbreak her best friend did. I think she should’ve taken the jump then and now. I think those two just need to be locked in a room or something and figure out their issues. Natasha calling the guys idiots makes me think of a sister talking about her brothers. 🤣

“…your girls and your man?” “He’s not my man, and you know it” “does he know that?” That’s a darn good question Phoenix, also does she know since I feel she’s started to fall for him again

I forgot all about the itching powder! If Jake ever finds out Rooster gave it to the girls he’s more than likely goin to get an earful! Now everything is coming out! Jake wouldn’t even be with her if she’d be truthful in the beginning which is why she lied! Grrrr I’m so over her

Jake fell hard and fast for Buttercup! Literally the perfect first date! I’ve only been to that zoo once but, it was incredible! Savanah can be mad all she wants, Jake is putting his girls first as it should be.

YES! YES!YES! FINALLY! 🥳🥳 Literally screaming over here!

As You Wish, Chapter 13

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister (but biological relation is never discussed), reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, drinking, reference to divorce, kids doing sneaky things, references to pregnancy, swearing, references to the hospital, references to an accident

South Trail, Seresin Ranch, Clifton, Texas, Now

Charlie felt a chill run down her spine as their trail group walked steadily down the beaten dirt path. Dad was in the lead, as per usual, and Abby had beaten her in a game of rock, paper, scissors in order to come second. That left Charlie third, close enough to Savannah to hear every muttered complaint and snap of her camera as she took selfies.

“Jakey!!!” Savannah cried out as they emerged from the trees onto a lookout, the ledge watching over a field full of wildflowers. “We need to stop! I need photos of this for my followers!”

Charlie stifled a giggle as she saw her dad’s head slump forwards. This was the fifth time Savannah had whined about needed a photo opportunity since they had left the ranch, approximately five hours ago.

“Savannah, I—”

“This is the last one, I promise!” she squealed, clumsily pulling her horse to a stop and sliding down her side until her suede boots touched the ground. She practically threw her phone to Jake and went to stand on the edge of the cliff.

Jake grunted as he neatly dismounted and patted Firewall on the flank. “It has to be the last one or we won’t make it to the campground before nightfall.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine, whatever,” Savannah chirped as she struck pose after pose.

Charlie and Abby both dismounted and moved off the trail to stand in the shade of the trees.

“It would be mean to scare her and hope that she falls, right?” Charlie muttered under her breath.

“Charlie!” Abby let out a scandalized gasp. “She may be awful, but we can’t wish death upon her…though I would be lying if I said that the same thought hadn’t occurred to me as well.”

Charlie slumped against the tree, watching the horses drag their reins on the ground as they stood on the trail, waiting for their riders to be done. “She’s just…the worst.”

“I know. Why would Mum insist that she come with us instead?”

“She said that she wanted Savannah to have a chance to get to know us.”

Charlie smirked. “Alright then. Let’s let her get to know us. Then maybe she’ll wish she had never met us.”

“We’re not that awful,” Abby rolled her eyes.

“I know that, and you know that, but Savannah doesn’t know that. So, let’s make her think we’re the worst. Then she won’t want to marry Dad because it would mean having to spend time with us.”

Abby grinned, her eyes trained on a spot on the ground. “I think I know exactly how to start.”

Crouching to the ground, Abby scooped up a tiny chipmunk from where it was nestled in the roots of a tree.

“Hey buddy…” she whispered. “I bet you want to see what’s in our saddlebags.”

Charlie covered her mouth to muffle the sound of her giggles as they approached Angel.

“Do it now! Savannah’s got her back to us!”

Quiet as a mouse, Abby slid open the saddlebag and slipped the chipmunk inside. “And now we wait.”

Around noon, Buttercup wandered into the kitchen from the guest bedroom. She hadn’t been lying about having to work. Her deadline was rapidly approaching, and she had been struggling quite a bit with writer’s block, so she had taken advantage of the silence of the ranch house and the beauty of the view and spent the morning writing her heart out. Twenty pages later, and her groove had been interrupted by the grumble of her stomach. So, she saved her work and, slowly as to admire the pictures and paintings on the walls of her ex-husband’s home, she wandered out of her writing cave and into the kitchen, where she was faced with a sweaty Rooster.

“Oh…hey.”

He grunted at her as he dug through the fridge. “I’ll be out of your way in a minute.”

“Technically, I’m in your way, since this is your home so…don’t worry about it.” All she received in return was another grunt, and she sighed. “I know you’re mad at me. I know you were against our divorce since the beginning, I know you hated the custody arrangement, and I know you blame me for moving to a different continent, but Rooster…” she sniffled. “Thank you. Thank you for taking care of them for me, when I wasn’t here…when I wasn’t strong enough to do it myself.”

She watched as Rooster sighed, his head hanging between his shoulders before he slammed the fridge door shut and turned towards her.

“Listen, it isn’t your fault. You were sick. I remember my mom talking about how she got sick after havin’ me, and…and shit, Buttercup, I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. And it didn’t help that we kept getting deployed. You were goin’ through it and none of us could see it. I know you fought like hell, and so does he. I just—”

“You know what its like to not have a dad around, so you wish things had been different for Abby. And you know what its like to not have a mom around, so you wish things had been different for Charlie. Right?”

He blinked at her. “Get your ass outta my head.”

She chuckled before the mood settled around them, still slightly somber.

“I should’ve been able to handle it,” she whispered, and Rooster sighed, leaning back against the fridge.

“Hangman should’ve been able to handle it too,” he shrugged. “I know I was pissed off at you for putting yourself first, and it wasn’t fair. I was more worried about how the divorce would affect the team dynamic, instead of worrying about how the divorce would affect you. But he screwed up too. He should’ve put you first, not the team. That’s how it’s supposed to be.” Buttercup blinked up at him and he shrugged. “I started going to therapy after a bar fight when Charlie was like 2. Court mandated, but it helped. I let a lot of shit go.”

“Good for you,” she smiled. “I am grateful that they had you and Javy to lean on, you know. I’m not just trying to get back on your good side.”

“I know,” he shrugged and turned his back to her. “What do you want for lunch? I could hear your stomach grumbling from my room.”

She grinned and sat at the counter. “I imagine asking you for a salad wouldn’t fly?”

He scoffed without turning his back. “We eat healthy in this house, but we don’t eat rabbit food. What do you really want for lunch?”

She giggled. “What about taco salad?”

He turned and pointed at her. “Now that’s a damn good idea.”

It couldn’t have gone better if they had trained the chipmunk themselves. They had remounted and strolled along the trail for another fifteen minutes before Savannah started pawing at the saddlebag, looking for her oversized, bright pink water bottle. She was able to pry open the clasp of the bag and stick her hand inside. And then it happened…

The chipmunk launched into action, racing up her arm before Savannah could even realize what was happening and landed on her shoulder. Savannah freaked out, screaming and shaking her arm to try to dislodge it. Sweet Angel picked up on her rider’s anxious movements and started trotting down the trail, shaking her head this way and that.

Charlie and Abby watched from the rear as the chipmunk disappeared under the hem of Savannah’s designer t-shirt, Savannah screaming as the rodent searched for an escape. Angel reared up and Savannah clung to her neck. Both girls turned their heads to hide their giggles as their dad scooped the reins out of Savannah’s hands and gently pulled Angel back to the ground, soothing her in a calm voice. The chipmunk finally found an escape through the arm of her flannel, and leapt from Angel’s back to a nearby tree.

“Oh my goodness, Savannah!” Abby called, urging her horse forward. “Are you alright?”

“That was crazy!” Charlie gasped, hiding her laughter behind her hand.

She glared suspiciously at them but said, “I’m fine. Thank you.”

Jake tied Angel’s reins to Firewall’s saddle and turned back to look at them. “We’re going to head to the campground now, okay, Charlie?”

Both girls gave him a thumbs up and he rolled his eyes. When he turned back to face forward, they leaned over and high-fived each other. Neither the chipmunk nor Angel had been hurt, but Savannah screams had been absolutely hilarious. Perhaps their dad suspected them (he knew enough about the great outdoors to know that a chipmunk wouldn’t just materialize inside a closed saddlebag), but perhaps their little prank had allowed their father to see a different side of Savannah.

Lunch with Rooster had been good. The taco salad he had whipped up had been absolutely delicious, the ground beef perfectly spiced, and the spinach base had been simple but brilliant. More than that though had been their conversation. He had filled her in on so much of Charlie’s life (and Jake’s life as well, since it was so tightly woven with Charlie’s). She had always known that Jake would be a brilliant father, but some of the stories that Rooster had shared with her had her torn between laughter and tears. The antics her husband and her youngest daughter had gotten up to were bittersweet to hear about. In her mind’s eye, she could see them happening. She could see Jake flying toddler Charlie over his head, could hear her phantom cries as he gathered her 8-year-old body in his arms and carried her to the car, her arm bent at a painful angle.

As she strolled along the gravel path towards the dude cabins, she could practically see the phantom figures of her family as they lived and grew here. Knowing she had missed so much of Charlie’s life here, she regretted her decision to stay behind on the trail ride, but she hoped that Savannah would be able to make a better impression on her daughters than she had made on her.

“Honestly…” she muttered as she approached Cabin 1, where her brother and Natasha were staying. “What kind of woman doesn’t want to write her own wedding vows?” She sighed and climbed up the few stairs to the porch. “And what kind of sadistic bullshit is it to ask your future husband’s ex-wife to write the vows for you?”

She shook off the question as she knocked on the door. It had obviously been some sort of territorial claim from Savannah, trying to show Buttercup that he was hers now, but Buttercup had no doubt about that. She’d hurt Jake too badly for things to ever go back to the simple, fun, and loving way it had been before.

Natasha threw open the door and groaned. “Thank god it’s you.”

She chuckled and entered the cozy, modern cabin. “Who did you think it was?”

Natasha rolled her eyes and collapsed onto the comfy leather couch. “Javy. He keeps trying to come and talk to me.” Her friend shuddered dramatically.

Buttercup considered her carefully as she lowered onto the other side of the couch. “What’s the deal with you two? I thought Jake was the one you hated.”

Nat sighed and buried the scarred side of her face in the couch. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Buttercup took the pillow from behind her and whacked her friend with it. “C’mon! You’re acting like he killed your dog or something!”

Nat snatched the pillow and tossed it back at her. “Why’re you being so pushy, bitch?”

“Because you and Javy have been at each other’s throats since we got here, and I had to kick you out of dinner last night before either of you said or did something inappropriate in front of my children. And I hated doing that.”

Natasha let out a low whine as she tried to bury herself deeper in the couch. “Sorry…I promise I won’t call him a self-important bastard in front of your children.”

Buttercup barked a laugh and cuddled down into her seat. “But why would you call him that? It’s so weird! I honestly thought you two were into each other back in the day.” Natasha shifted so that her back was towards her friend, and Buttercup read it all in the tense line of her back. “Oh my god, you were into him!”

“Shut up…” Natasha grumbled. “He was into me too.”

“Were you two hooking up?”

Natasha rolled to look at her again. “Yeah. For a couple of months. Whenever we were both at Top Gun.”

Buttercup squealed and crawled across the couch so that she was right next to Natasha. “I knew it!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Natasha grumbled, pushing her off.

“So, what happened? Bad breakup? You act like you want to kill him.”

Natasha groaned. “No, it wasn’t a bad breakup. It wasn’t a real relationship.”

“Did he want it to be?”

Natasha buried her head in the pillow. “Yeah…he wanted to make it official after that last deployment. We fought about it a lot. I didn’t want to risk it because…” Natasha paused and looked guiltily over at her.

“Because?” Buttercup prompted gently, having a sneaking suspicion that she knew where this was going.

“Because I saw how messed up you were after the divorce,” Natasha admitted. “Our jobs are–were–risky enough without being in a relationship. And if our relationship fell apart the way yours and Jake’s did?” She sighed. “I told him no, but he wouldn’t let it go. Then there was the crash, and he came to visit me in the hospital and…” Natasha’s fingers clenched into fists. “He told me he would ‘take care of me’. That he felt like it was time to retire and that he would stay with me and that it would all be okay.��

“And that’s…bad?” Buttercup leaned back, confused. “He cared and wanted to help you? Why is that a bad thing?”

Natasha shuddered. “I couldn’t stand him looking at me with all that pity. And besides, why did he retire? He had the best job in the whole damn world and he willingly gave it up? Are you kidding me? They all gave it up! I mean, okay, Bob makes sense because he wanted to help you but why the hell would the rest of them give it up? Fucking idiots.”

Buttercup bit her lip. A decade of living with the other woman told her that trying to talk to Natasha when she was this fired up would be like trying to draw blood from a stone. So instead, she said, “Where is Bob, anyway?”

Natasha shrugged. “He got a phone call and went for a walk.”

“What is up with him and these phone calls?” Buttercup mused as she folded her legs beneath her.

“No clue. But what is with you deciding to stay back and let Cowgirl Barbie go on the trail ride with your girls and your man?”

Buttercup grumbled at her. “He’s not my man, and you know it.”

“Does he know that?”

Buttercup rolled her eyes. “Of course he does! He’s marrying Savannah, remember?”

Nat rolled her eyes and rolled off the couch before padding into the kitchen. “Of course I remember. That’s why I’m going to get wine. We’re going to need it.”

By the time they reached the campground, Abby was half convinced that Savannah had never been on a horse before. Even though she kept telling stories about her championship barrel racer back on her own ranch, poor Angel kept tossing her head at the confusing signals that her rider kept giving her. Charlie was fully confused. She’d done barrel racing before and the way Savannah was describing it, she knew she had never done it in her life. Her stories about shopping, drinking wine, and winning Miss Texas however, Charlie completely believed. No one could sound so excited about boring adult things if they hadn’t actually done them.

Luckily, they wouldn’t have to share a tent with her. That had been a stipulation of her joining them. Her own tent. Not even shared with their father, just her. Luckily, Jake had packed a hammock that he had already strung up between two sturdy trees for himself, leaving the other tent for his daughters.

All three Seresin’s watched Savannah as she primped in front of her cellphone camera, taking selfies of herself near the lake they were camping by. Jake shook his head with a sigh as he finished setting up her tent and stretched.

“What do we think about a dip in the lake before dinner?” he asked the girls, a wild grin on his face.

Both nodded eagerly and bolted into their tent to pull their swimsuits on.

“Did you bring it?” Charlie whispered, and Abby nodded, pulling out a packet from her backpack.

“Uncle Roo gave it to me and I tucked it away for safe keeping,” Abby replied. “You distract Dad, and I’ll make sure it reaches our target.”

“Deal.”

Both girls quickly changed and headed out of the tent.

“Dad!” Charlie called. Jake turned from where he was talking to Savannah, his hands soothingly rubbing her shoulders as she scowled at him. “Can you help me put sun block on my shoulders? Mom would kill me if I came back burned.”

Jake grinned. “She’d kill me first,” he called back, turning from Savannah and strolling over to Charlie.

Jake sufficiently distracted, Abby snuck into Savannah’s tent and ripped open her packet. She sprinkled the contents everywhere. In her sleeping bag, in her clothes, on her hairbrush, in her shoes, and definitely on the inside of her hat.

With a wicked grin, Abby crumpled up the evidence and crept back to her tent to hide it in her backpack. She emerged just in time for Jake to finish lathering her sister with sun block, the two of them turning to her.

“My turn?” she smiled at him sweetly.

“Yeah, baby, c’mere.”

Charlie turned to Savannah, who was still trying to find the just right angle for her selfie. “Will you be joining us in the water, Savannah?”

The petite blond couldn’t hide her sneer. “I think I’ll pass, sugar, but thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” Charlie shrugged. “You might want to get changed then. It’s going to start cooling off soon.”

Savannah smiled, the pull of her lips a touch too saccharine to be sincere, and said, “Thanks, honey. I’ll do that.”

As Savannah strutted into her tent, Jake joined his daughters and mussed their hair. “Last one in is a rotten egg!”

He took off running, his long legs eating up the ground as his daughters squealed and sprinted after him.

By the time they emerged from the chilly water, the sun was hanging low in the Texan sky and the air had adopted a slight nip that spoke of the coming autumn. Charlie and Abby raced to get dressed in their flannel pyjamas and their thick socks. As they pulled on their matching PJs, they heard Savannah whine and swapped grins.

“I HATE THE OUTDOORS!” she shrieked. “Everything hurts, I have bruises everywhere, my hair is so frizzy, and I must’ve been bitten a thousand times because I can’t. Stop. ITCHING!”

The girls could practically hear the frustrated look on their father’s face as he faced her. “I thought you said you’d been camping before?” he asked, his voice cool under pressure.

Savannah scoffed. “Yeah, in a cabin like civilized human beings. You know, electricity and indoor plumbing? And we never rode to the cabin! We drove there.”

“Who took care of that prize winning mare of yours while you were gone?”

“The staff, as usual,” she replied as though she were talking to a small child. “They do everything for her.”

The twins could feel the rising tension even from inside the shelter of their tent. “Even ride her?”

“Duh,” Savannah giggled. “Daddy paid top dollar for her because I wanted to try barrel racing, but I hate riding, so now she just has babies that we sell. Daddy lets me keep the profit since she’s mine and all. Two of her babies paid for my month-long trip to Paris.”

Jake huffed a sigh. “And you didn’t tell me this because?”

“What does it matter?” she replied coyly, a branch cracking under her foot as she moved closer to him. “We have loads of other things in common, sugar.”

Charlie rolled her eyes at Abby before leaping out of their tent. “Dad! We’re starving! Can we get the fire going so we can eat?”

Jake nodded, his eyes still fixed on Savannah. “You two go collect some firewood, and I’ll get everything ready.”

“Savannah, you want to come?” Abby called sweetly.

Savannah grumbled, her hands scrabbling against her chest and stomach. “Why am I so damn itchy!” she shouted, stomping her foot.

Jake huffed and turned to her. “You’re probably having an allergic reaction to something. Go wash off in the lake while the girls are gone. Take the calamine lotion from in my bag and make sure you cover all your itchy areas. I’ll get you some of my clothes to wear.”

“An allergic reaction to what?” she seethed, glaring at the twins as though she knew it was their fault.

“I think Uncle Rooster might have changed our laundry detergent,” Charlie supplied, grinning at her. “Maybe that’s it.”

“Maybe…” Savannah snarled before stalking off, the sound of her complaining drowning out the twin’s peals of laughter.

Savannah complained that the hot dogs and smores they were eating weren’t on her diet plan for the wedding, but Jake promptly shut it all down by telling her they were her only choice. Grumpy and painted pink from the calamine lotion, she slowly munched on a hot dog, grimacing with every bite.

“Dad?”

Jake grinned at Abby and nodded. “What’s up, kiddo?”

“I know you’re supposed to tell us stories around the campfire…” Jake’s confirming nod gave her the courage to finish. “Could you tell us about your first date with Mom?”

Savannah’s eyes went wide, and she looked as if she was about to complain again, but Jake cut her a look and she quieted.

“Sure, darlin’. If that’s what you want to hear…” Jake grunted as he settled himself further into his chair, his daughters watching him from a log across the crackling fire. “Let’s see…”

The San Diego Zoo, almost 13 years ago

Jake’s palms were sweating, which was saying something. He was the only pilot of his generation who had not one, but two air to air confirmed kills under his belt. He was ice cold under pressure. Nothing made him flinch. But strolling amongst the different animal exhibits with Buttercup had his hands damp and gross, no matter how many times he wiped them on his jeans.

My god, how he had fallen for her. Her spark, her sass, that fire in her eyes that challenged him in all the right ways. She was brilliant. She was perfect. And he had to make sure she didn’t wise up and take her brother's advice. There was no denying that Bob Floyd still didn't like him very much, and who could blame him? He'd been a dick to everyone when they had all arrived at Top Gun for the Uranium Mission. Now, Jake was still a dick, but he wasn't 100% an asshole anymore. He needled his teammates, pushed them to be better, aggravated them until they were achieving their full potential. It's what he did. What he had always done, even as the captain and quarterback of the high school football team. His methods didn't earn him many friends, but they earned him a shitload of respect.

It had taken him three weeks to work up the courage to ask out Bob Floyd's little sister. Three weeks of hanging out with her at the Hard Deck, three weeks of getting his ass kicked by her at pool, three weeks of feeling like a fucking freshman again, drooling over the girl that was so out of his league.

It was Phoenix who had finally given him the push to ask her out. A gruff "She likes you too, dumbass, so don't miss your fucking chance" was all that he needed to ask her to go to the zoo of all places. He'd heard her mention it a couple of times and wanted to make their first date memorable, because he had a sneaky feeling that it was one he would be talking about for a while.

“Giraffes are this way, darlin’,” he chuckled as he gently tugged her arm down the correct path.

Buttercup squealed and swung their hands between them. “I freaking love giraffes!”

He shook his head playfully. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“What?” she pouted. “The hot aviator my brother has been bitching about for like a year takes me to the zoo to meet the giraffes and I’m not allowed to be excited about it?”

“No, you are,” he smiled, squeezing her hand. “It’s cute.”

“You just said it was weird,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, but a good weird. I like your weird.”

“I like your weird too.”

He blinked. “I’m not weird.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re the only person I know who can name every type of military jet. In order of the year they were made.”

“Lots of pilots can do that,” he blushed.

“No they can’t, and you know it.”

“Fine, whatever,” he teased. “The giraffes are here, you weirdo.”

She squealed again and tugged him along to the meeting area, where the tour guide was waiting for them.

The whole tour of the giraffe enclosure, Jake kept a close eye on Buttercup, who was drinking in all the information. She was incredible. The way her eyes lit up with excitement, the way she quietly squealed as the giraffes strolled over to look at her. It made a funny pit grow in his stomach. He could watch her facial expressions forever. It made him feel like a fucking superhero to know that he was the one who made her smile like that, that he had been the one to make this happen.

Finally, the tour guide led them up close to the giraffes, who were milling about the wide paddock.

“I’m going to fill their food buckets so that they’ll come closer, and you can say hi, okay?” she grinned at them and Jake pulled out his phone. He wanted to capture the smile on her face as she met her favourite animal for the first time. He wanted to be able to look down at that smile the next time he was out in the middle of the Atlantic and remember how good she had made him feel just by standing beside him.

Buttercup squealed softly as the giraffes came close, and Jake chuckled. "Excited?"

"I still can't believe you set this up," she murmured, glancing up at him with stars in her eyes. "This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me."

"You're welcome." His smile was almost shy as he watched her interact with the gentle giants. "Would you maybe want to grab dinner on the way back? I know a great place for Italian."

Her responding grin was just as bright as it was when she started feeding the giraffes, and Jake gulped. He knew in his heart that this was the start of something special.

As Charlie listened to the story, her misty eyes watched Savannah stomp away to her tent in a huff.

Morning broke, and with it, so did the silence.

Savannah shrieked and, based on the racket she was making, her tent was probably about to fall down too, if it hadn’t already.

Abby and Charlie shared a startled look and bolted from their tent. They hadn’t done anything. They figured having to listen to a romantic zoo proposal story had been enough torture for one night. But there Savannah was, screaming and shoving at her tent, which had seemingly collapsed on her.

“What the hell is going on here?” Jake shouted, his boots hitting the ground as he took in the sight. “Savannah, what is wrong with you?”

“They did this!” she screamed, a pink painted nail stabbing at Abby and Charlie. “I know they did!”

“Savannah—”

“No!” she shouted, whirling on him. “I know they put that chipmunk in my saddle bag. I know they put something itchy in my clothes. And I know that they made my tent fall down on top of me!”

Abby turned to her father. “We didn’t make the tent fall, Dad. I swear!”

“You see!” Savannah shrieked. “The little demon admits it!”

“Watch it!” Jake growled, stepping in front of Abby.

Charlie bent to look at the ground in front of Savannah’s collapsed tent. “There’s hoofprints here, Dad.” She followed the tracks over to where Angel stood, her reins dragging on the ground. A thin black fiber hung out of her mouth. The exact same colour as Savannah’s tent.

“You expect me to believe that a horse collapsed my tent?” Savannah seethed.

“It looks to be that way,” Jake replied icily. “Now, you owe my girls an apology.”

“An apology?” she laughed coldly. “You heard the little brat. She only denied collapsing my tent, which means she did the other things!” Savannah sneered at her. “I know you’re the British one. I can tell a fake accent a mile away. And let me tell you this. You showing up here was the worst day of my life. I never wanted to be a stepmother! I thought maybe I could handle one kid until I could convince you to send her to boarding school, but two? No one in their right mind would want to be a stepmother to two little brats!”

Jake stepped smoothly in between them, both Abby and Charlie huddled behind him as he faced his fiancée. “Who says I would’ve sent them to boarding school? They’re my girls.”

“I am your girl!” she shrieked. “ME! M.E.! And if you want to marry me, then you have to choose! Because I’m not playing second fiddle to two little she devils anymore! Got it?”

“Then…” Jake chuckled. “I choose them.”

“Excuse me?”

“T.H.E.M? Them. I choose my girls. Got it?”

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[rh1ncodontypus]

Actually, I'm still going.

TL;DR

Two days is nothing in real life time.

Content creators are human. We should treat them as such.

Equating morality to the content people consume is not a "one-size-fits-all" strategy.

This is in no way equivalent to what happened with Iskall.

Do I agree with Skizz having mods that support MAGA? No, not at all. I think he deserves the benefit of the doubt, at the very least.

Two days is nothing in real life time.

I think people are jumping the gun with the current information we have. I think Skizz hasn't had the chance to really do anything yet. Hell, I don't think ANY of the Hermits have had the chance to do anything yet, let alone think. I feel like we've been spoiled with in-real time updates. I don't think it's fair to expect Skizz, or anyone for that matter, to reply or act right this second or else.

Content creators are human. We should treat them as such.

TL;DR: This man has just bumped headfirst into the Paradox of Tolerance. Give him a second.

Generally the definition of tolerance has been maintaining a neutral opinion. This was especially the case with Gen X/Millennials. We have different opinions and we work together anyway. I probably don't have to inform you that's much harder to do in the present, if I'm putting it lightly.

I don't think Skizz is transphobic. I don't think he looked at his mods and decided to hire two of them because they're MAGA. Don't get me wrong; I am not defending having mods that are MAGA. I think that five years ago, he needed people to moderate his chat and he thought those mods did fine. This circles back to the definition of tolerance.

Right now, Skizz is facing the paradox of tolerance. It's up to him what he does with it. And honestly, this might be the first time he's having to think about this. He's a white cis man, which means he occupies a position of incredible privilege (that is not a moral judgment).

And you know what? Trans rights are divisive and the fact they're divisive sucks. I'm saying this as a trans person. You post something about trans rights and you have people fighting on your post in 0.2 seconds with increasing levels of hostility. I don't blame anyone for not knowing how to deal with that on livestream, or wanting to maintain neutrality, as much as it disappoints me.

In the wider scheme of things, Skizz is new to being a full-time content creator. He's probably never dealt with a situation like this before.

I feel like people were quick to assume malice or hostility. So I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt and I hope other people are, too. I also don't think this is the cardinal sin that some people are treating it as.

Equating morality to the content people consume is not a "one-size-fits-all" strategy.

I'm already seeing posts encouraging people to boycott his content and heavily implying that someone is a bad person if they don't. You've probably heard of the situation with J.K. Rowling. The reason people are calling for a complete boycott is because any support or money actively enables her transphobic actions and platform.

Separating content from content creator is complicated. I acknowledge that. But applying the morality = content consumption runs the danger of turning into "I am a good person because I only consume pure content™ and this person is bad because they consume the bad content." I don't think that's the way we should be judging people.

This is in no way equivalent to what happened with Iskall.

If this situation is a 10, then what happened with Iskall is a 120. Iskall's situation had tangible victims and was happening over an extended period of time.

Do I agree with Skizz having mods that support MAGA? No, not at all. I think he deserves the benefit of the doubt, at the very least.

[jacksonsturniolo]

warnings — heavyyy angst, crying, embarrassment, sexuality confusion, hurt hurt hurt, kissing, manipulation, mentions of getting freaky at the end.

a/n — I’m sorry like…really sorry.

The music thumped low through the walls of the crowded house. Laughter, red Solo cups, people on the porch and the staircase. Nick weaved his way through the crowd, eyes scanning until they landed on Rylan — posted up near the kitchen, half-laughing with some guys from their class.

Rylan looked relaxed, confident, hoodie sleeves pushed up and drink in hand, like he didn’t have the whole weight of Nick’s heart in his pocket.

Nick hadn’t seen him all night. No text. No check-in. But that was okay. He was here now.

Nick moved toward him, smiling.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice almost drowned by the music.

Rylan looked up.

Nick reached out — just a simple thing, arms looping gently around Rylan’s waist, the kind of hug that was natural between them in private. Familiar. Safe.

But then—

“Damn, bro,” one of the guys chuckled behind Rylan. “Didn’t know you picked up dudes too.”

Rylan tensed under Nick’s hands.

In one sharp motion, Rylan stepped back — pushed Nick off, laughing like it was nothing. Like he was nothing.

“Nah, man,” Rylan said, eyes flicking toward Nick but not really looking at him. “He’s just my roommate. Gets touchy when he’s drunk, you know how it is.”

Nick’s stomach dropped.

He wasn’t drunk. Not even buzzed. Just… trying.

The guys laughed. One of them raised an eyebrow. “You sure? That hug said boyfriend material.”

Rylan shrugged with a crooked grin. “Nah. I like my hookups a little less needy, and definitely not dudes.”

That one landed like a slap.

Nick stared at him. Openly. Chest hollow, breath caught. He felt the heat rise in his face — not the good kind. Embarrassment. Humiliation. Like someone had peeled his heart out and passed it around the room.

Rylan didn’t look back at him.

Nick didn’t say a word. Just turned and walked away, pushing through the crowd, barely hearing people’s laughter and half-drunken small talk. Everything muffled.

—

The room was dark, except for the soft blue glow of Nick’s phone screen dimming to black as it slipped from his hand. He lay curled on his side, facing the wall, still dressed, still tense. His breaths were slow — not asleep, not really, but quiet in the way sadness makes you silent.

The door creaked open.

Rylan stepped inside without a word. The air felt heavy, like the walls themselves remembered what had happened.

He dropped his keys too loudly. Kicked his shoes off. Hesitated.

Then crossed the room.

He stood over Nick for a long second, just watching him in the dark. The gentle rise and fall of his shoulders. The way his fingers twitched, like he’d dreamed of fighting someone off.

Rylan sat on the edge of the bed.

Carefully, he reached out, brushing soft curls back from Nick’s forehead. His hand lingered.

“Hey,” he whispered, voice low, almost shy. “You awake?”

Nick didn’t move.

Rylan’s fingers moved again — tracing through his hair slowly, gently, the way he always did when he wanted forgiveness but didn’t have the courage to ask for it out loud.

“I messed up,” Rylan murmured. “I know I did.”

Nick stayed silent, but his breath caught. Just a little.

Rylan leaned down, his forehead brushing Nick’s temple. “I hated myself the second I said it. I just… I didn’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to be with you the way you deserve. But I want to.”

Still, no reply. Just the silence between them, thick with hurt.

“I don’t care what they think,” Rylan whispered. “Not really. I care when you look at me like you did tonight. Like I broke something in you I can’t fix.”

He let the words hang there.

Nick finally stirred — turning slowly, facing him now. His eyes were red. Not puffy or dramatic. Just quietly sad.

“You did,” Nick said softly. “You broke something.”

Rylan’s face crumpled for half a second. He swallowed it down, brushing his thumb against Nick’s cheek. “Then let me make it up to you.”

Nick didn’t answer, but he didn’t pull away either. His eyes fluttered closed under Rylan’s touch.

Rylan leaned down and kissed him — slow, careful. Not greedy. Not rough. Just… asking.

And Nick let him.

The kiss deepened, inch by inch, and Rylan’s hands found the hem of Nick’s shirt. He pulled back slightly, eyes searching Nick’s face.

“Let me make it up to you,” he said again, voice rougher now, but still soft.

He tugged Nick’s shirt up, his fingers brushing bare skin — and Nick didn’t stop him.

The room filled with silence again.

The kind that always came right before Nick forgave him.

Again.

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[sigrid-of-solstheim]

Annoying nit-pick I have with some of the Oblivion fandom. Not infrequently do I see posts about AUs where Martin lives and relights the dragonfires only to shirk and/or despise the role of emperor or worse yet, dismantle the monarchy rule and establish something like a democracy. You can personally imagine whatever you want for your own entertainment or even the entertainment of others via fanfiction, but you have to realize none of that is actually in character for the Martin Septim the game gives us.

At first and for the majority of the game, Martin prefers to be called just Martin and stops you and the Blades from calling him Your Majesty saying either "I'm just a man" or "who am I but the bastard soon of a dead emperor?" I think people tend to misinterpret this as him wanting to reject the position or treating it flippantly when really he's just being humble. He fully understands the weight and responsibility of becoming emperor and he is willing to accept it when it's time, but for the moment he wants to hold onto being simply Brother Martin for as long as he can.

This all changes during the defense of Bruma when he puts on the armour of Tiber Septim and rallies the soldiers of Cyrodiil against the forces of Oblivion, his name in-game changes from just Martin to Martin Septim. Even without the Amulet of Kings, he's ready to become emperor and lead the people. and later when you do return with the Amulet from Paradise, he's waiting for you, dressed for the role. He doesn't stop you from calling him Your Majesty anymore, he's completely resigned to his fate. He even says it himself:

"After all, this is my destiny. No man can deny his destiny."

From this moment on he's made his peace and is committed to being emperor. He sees this as necessary and knows he's the only one that can do it. He doesn't complain, he's prepared to give his life to serve the people of Tamriel, and he does.

People often get carried away inserting real-life politics and modern sensibilities into fantasy, but this is a roughly medieval fantasy universe, monarchy is the most common form of government across all of Tamriel for most of its history, and Martin is an Imperial man, there is no way in Oblivion the thought of dismantling the monarchy and trying to establish something so foreign in concept as a democracy or republic would even cross his mind. It just wouldn't happen.

If you want further evidence just look at the genres and movies that likely influenced the games writing; Oblivion came out in 2006, Return of The King, a landmark film of legendary proportions and worldwide acclaim, had just released 3 years earlier. There's a reason Sean Bean was cast as Martin's voice actor. Martin is a very Lord of The Rings themed, Aragorn-esque character; a long lost heir returning to rightful kingship. Like Aragorn, he's extremely humble and all too painfully aware of the enormous responsibility of becoming a king/emperor and is at first hesitant towards taking up the role - not because he wants to selfishly go live his own life and do his own thing, but rather because he doesn't feel personally worthy of taking on such a tremendous position. These are the ideal traits of a good and just monarch, someone who is humble and puts the needs of the people before their own wants and ambitions. And further like Aragorn, in the end he finally embraces his fate completely with all the grace and dedication of a true king, even leading an army into a seemingly hopeless battle for the freedom of their respective kingdoms.

This is just my opinion, but I do think the game writing is pretty clear about Martin's motivations and hesitations regarding becoming emperor.

[threegoldfish]

When Steven finally lets Harrow get a word in - pauses long enough for the man to manage to do so - he thinks he can spot some discomfort there, pulsing through the doctor's very being; Unsure what exactly it is, but Steven takes that moment of non-rambling to take a closer look at the other sitting there, as he always does, just...

---More stiff, maybe, yeah. He appears more stiff. More sore, in a way that's hard to describe, as Steven obviously cannot feel whether some soreness really is going on there. Harrow's expression tells that he must've had a day, someting taxing happened, pulled on his nerves, left him tired and a bit exhausted.

Well, Steven's never been really good at such things. He could be entirely wrong, definitely, but... it pokes at him, in a way, and ist causes brows to lift again as that excited expression softens a bit, followed by what is clear empathy appearing within dark brown irises.

"Had a day, yeah?" A gentle inquiry, all soft-spoken and kind, with Steven shifting a bit forward in his seat as he folds his hands onto his lap, blinking once while a few seconds of silence pass. "I, erm, I'm not saying that you look--- bad, or something, no, not at all! Just... a bit tired, maybe? Tense - around the, uhm, jaw-area. Shoulders. ...Something like that."

Mentioning all this sure as hell is a great way to make friends, huh? Steven cringes a bit - internally, that is - before he clears his throat, then allows another smile to tug on his lips again, head tilting a bit, nostrils flaring as he exhales a breath. That previously mentioned empathy continues to exist, however, because it is genuine in nature, sincere; Steven's not one who likes to see other people suffering, and he wants everyone to be okay - which is stupid, honestly, because life is shit sometimes and there's no way for a man like him to make everyone's day be a bit better.

But he cares, still. Has a heart made of gold - which he himself does not really see, not at all.

"Y'know, it might sound stupid to some, but... whenever I feel a certain way, I like to have a cup of tea. It's a warm beverage, therefore makes one feel more relaxed, and it smells - and tastes - very nice. ---Depending on the kind of tea, of course, and whether someone's able to make it the proper way." A slight jab at the psych ward's canteen? Definitely. Steven clears his throat for a second time.

"...What I wanna say with that is, that, uhm... maybe have a cup of tea, yeah? I'm sure it will help you deal with whatever caused you trouble today. --- I mean, yeah, People keep saying that it isn't the case, but I think that tea can help to fix everything!" A true Brit he is, but he might also cling on some childhood memories there, who knows? Steven might not even be aware of it - he just believes in it, the magic powers of a good cup of tea, and he thinks that others can profit from it as well.

Another soft gaze, another kind smile, and Steven inhales deeply, then exhales - looks at the succulent again, being very much fond of it, before his attention is back on Harrow.

"To answer your question - sorry, I just... y'know..." A hand moves, gestures at the doctor, then drops back onto his lap as Steven nods, shrugs, then clears his throat once more. "...Uhm, yes, things have been good for me! ... As far as they can be good, since I'm here and not at home, but!" A finger is lifted, accompanied by a nod, brows rising along the shape of that forehead - so expressive, always. "I did finish an entire puzzle yesterday! No one really wanted to join me, unfortunately... but that's okay. I also went for a stroll in the garden; That lovely caretaker named Abby joined me, and we talked about birds! Very interesting. ---I kinda hoped to find another letter this morning, but... yeah, Marc probably takes his time, huh? ... I hope he's okay and doing well, all things considered. ...I have to admit, I found it rather endearing that he must've made his way over to my room in the early morning just to slide the letter under the door without me noticing, and then probably hurried back to his own room; Wished he would've knocked or stayed for a chat, but... I guess he's shy. That's okay! I can wait."

The day started with a limp. Not unusual, not severe, but just off; tightness in his thigh that hadn’t stretched out like it normally did. Then the heatwave hit, turning the ride on the bus into a sauna, making certain that his head was already aching before he’d even made it to the first patient of the day. 

Khonshu had thrown up on the rug. Ammit was nowhere to be found - the vet didn’t have an opening until Thursday, and his only reassurance had been that he should ‘only be concerned if Khonshu gets lethargic’; as if he were home to be able to watch for that. As if Ammit might not already be lethargic, and he didn’t know because he didn’t have the time to see where she was hiding. 

After that, the coffee was wrong. He didn’t realize it at first, too distracted and stiff in the leg to notice, but it was wrong. Wrong milk, wrong temperature, wrong order. Not even a second later came the zap; a burning strike of pain that lanced up his cheekbone, across his eyes, through the side of his skull like he’d been hit with a live wire from the inside. 

He managed to swallow. Managed to smile, even, as he walked past the front desk. 

The rest of the day was unkind. 

A young woman sobbed as she realized her abuser had finally died, and Arthur had sat with her, carefully not reacting as she threw one of his chairs. Another had a panic attack so violent that he clocked Arthur in the side of the head; by accident, but it still rattled him. 

He was already exhausted by the time he’d met with one of his newer patients; a woman in her mid-thirties. She didn’t sit down. She didn’t look at him; her file was thin, and she refused to answer questions. The only thing she had bothered to do was threaten him; talking through the last doctor she’d had, one who she’d broken the jaw of. 

I’ll see you next week, she’d said as she walked out. Unless someone else gets to you first. 

Overkill, certainly, and not very frightening, but it had been a frustrating way to end their first conversation. His head was resting against his hand when the door opened; he almost didn’t have the energy for it. Not after the morning, the threats, the flare in his jaw that hadn’t stopped pounding since he’d gotten up. But when he heard that voice — Steven, not Marc — he blinked, looking up. 

It hit like sunlight on a rainy day. Arthur looked up just in time to watch Steven fall into the chair like it had been waiting all day just for him. His eyes were wide, his face open; Arthur didn’t interrupt. He just… watched. 

The words flooded in. Excited, warm, spilling over each other like they couldn’t be fast enough. It filled the room in a way that nothing physical ever could; Steven was grinning, talking so rapidly, updating Arthur on all of the good things going on in his world. 

Arthur let out a breath that might have been a laugh. Just a soft puff of air through his nose, but it was more than he’d managed in hours; he nodded gently, faintly, just… listening. The plant had grown on him, yes. He was happy that Marc had written the letter, happy that Steven had received it; the man was glowing. 

Only a few minutes, and Arthur’s chest ached in an entirely different way, his eyes more relaxed than they had been only moments before. 

“I’m glad he replied,” Arthur answered, his voice quiet as he gently shifted to open to a new page in his notebook. “And I’m glad you wrote back. That connection is very important, I think you deserve to be heard.” 

He leaned back slightly in his chair. His body still ached, his jaw still bothered him, but it was already easier. 

“Marc can be… the type of man who takes his time,” he agreed, with a little nod. “But he was very happy, when getting your first letter - I’m sure he’s going to write something back very soon. I assume that things have been going well for you, here?”