#☆.⠀⠀⠀here's johnny⠀⠀⠀⎯⎯⎯⠀⠀⠀⠀(⠀answered !⠀)

[lilgirl-cumslut]

I invite you over to show you my new puppy... soon after you arrive 5 of my friends also arrive... they haven't cum to play with my puppy 😈

TW: gangbang, cnc, degradation.

I love dogs!! They get me so excited.

I bounce up to your door and ring the door bell. I’m so giddy to get to meet your cute little puppy. You answer the door and grin. “Hey there, sweetie.” You purr at me. Your eyes look slowly over my body. My large tits are nearly busting out of my push-up bra and tank top. My little black skirt has a slit that leads up to a zipper, making it easy access.

I don’t notice you taking me in at all. I’m looking past you. You send a text on your phone while holding it at your side, something you had already typed up before answering the door.

“Where is he?” I ask, all excited.

“Oh, he’s in my bedroom. He’s very excited to meet you too.” You lead me into your house and show me around. I didn’t even notice you left the door ajar as you take me in the quick tour.

Soon, we get to your room and you open the door, letting me in first. You look towards the door and see your group of friends walk in. You smile at them and follow me inside.

I’m standing there, pouting. “Where is he?”

You grab me and push me hard to my knees, pulling my face to your crotch. “Right here, you stupid bitch. You’re the puppy.”

Confused, I struggle to get away as your friends pile into the small bedroom. I start to panic.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Where here to play with the new puppy.” One of them says as they all laugh, circling around me.

“Go ahead,” you say, “play time!”

Two of them kneel down and start to grope my tits and ass.

“Please… no…” I whimper.

“Come on, we won’t hurt you. If you’re a good pup, we’ll make sure you enjoy it too.” One of them says.

I whimper and try to push away from them but you hold me firmly. “Be a good girl, pup. If you cause any trouble I’ll crate you and you’ll be punished.”

It seems hopeless to resist, and as you pull your cock out, I open my mouth. You push your way right in.

“That’s a good girl. See? Not so bad to be obedient.”

The guy playing with my tits gets rougher before finally ripping my shirt open. “Let me at those titties!”

I yelped, but as he yanks on my bra, my breasts pop right out and his hands grip them hard. “Man, I spent most of Chemistry class fantasizing about fucking these last year!”

I look up in horror, realizing who it is. That was Johnny! We were in Chemistry together. He was my lab partner. Every time he accidentally touched me in class wasn’t an accident. I should have known.

Johnny pulls out his cock and puts it between my tits. Your other friend gets down lower and starts to unzip my skirt.

I kick at him but he pins my legs down. “Dumb bitch! Kick at me again and I’ll break your fucking leg!”

I cry out and try to move away from him but you and Johnny have me pinned. He finishes removing my skirt and finds my cute black lace panties. “Nice panties. I knew you were a fucking slut.”

His fingers go straight into my pussy and I yelp, unable to stop him. The others get closer and they all have their cocks out, stroking them to my distress.

“Be a good girl and suck my friends off too.” You say, guiding my hand to the next person. Johnny moves out of the way, getting in line to get his cock sucked. I open my mouth and take the first cock. I realize it’s your friend Trent. The black guy next to him is Jamal, and next to him is Cody. The guy on the floor I didn’t even know.

You make me suck each one of them in order. They all moan and praise me for being a good pup. You hold my head for them as they fuck my throat? Making me gag. My spit splattering out as I gag, covering my face.

You force me to go back and forth between them before pulling me to my feet. “Good puppy’s walk on all fours.” You say and toss me into your bed. I start to get up, but you and Jamal pull me up and put me on all fours. You get behind me and rub your wet cock against my pussy. I cry out and move my hips away. Jamal grabs me and holds me in place. “No. Bad puppy. Girl puppies are good for one thing. Breeding.”

“No!!! I’m a virgin please don’t!” I cry out, struggling in vain once more.

The guy who was go by wrong me before shoves his cock in my mouth? Holding my head in place while he makes me gag. “Shut the fuck up, bitch.”

Tears are pouring down my face as I realize what’s about to happen to me. You slide the head of your cock up and down my slit before pushing slightly. The tip slides right in and you moan. “Mmm… you say no, but your pussy is pretty wet, pup.”

You rock in and out a little, staying shallow for now. “I guess it’s time to see if you’re a real virgin or not.”

I shake my head as much as I’m able but it’s fruitless. You pull back and ram your cock inside me. I scream around the stranger’s cock as you tear through. I’m sobbing and gagging even more around his cock as you both move in and out of my holes at both ends.

“Definitely not a virgin now.” You say, chuckling. The rest of them laugh as they watch the two of you fuck me.

I feel your friend’s cock jerk in my mouth just before he released his load down my throat. I start coughing and he pulls out, letting me retch his cum all over the bed. Then he slaps me across the face. “Good dogs swallow, you dumb bitch. Try again.” He said, then pushed Johnny over to take his place.

Johnny shoved his cock right in, lubricated by the other guy’s cum he had me gagging on his cock instantly. It was so intense I barely noticed how much pain I was in as you raped my pussy.

Johnny held me down on his cock, letting me choke for a bit.

“Her mother feels so damn good!” Johnny says.

“You should feel her pussy, man. She’s fucking squeezing my cock right now. I think this slutty puppy likes it!” You say.

I feel lightheaded as your words echo in my head. I felt it, but I didn’t realize what that was. I was orgasming on your cock as you raped me and Johnny choked me with his dick.

I couldn’t really explain it, but in that moment, I felt so confused. The orgasm felt good, but the circumstances were distressing and painful. I wasn’t sure what to feel.

You start fucking me harder as I nearly vomit. Johnny pulls back and I cough, somehow managing not to puke all over him.

Johnny laughs. “Damn, she takes cock good.” Then he grabbed my head and forced his way back down my throat, fucking into it roughly.

I can feel you speed up. I hope you pull out but after you all talk of breeding me, I doubt you’re going to. I groan around Johnny’s cock as you ram your cock as deep as possible into me and release your load.

I can feel the pulse of your cock as it empties a fertile load deep inside of my violated pussy and it throbs to the beat of my own pulse. I cum from the intensity of it, then feel a hot liquid gush down my thighs.

Your friends all start to talk at once. They seem excited about something but I have no idea what. You pull out and I hear one of them exclaim, “she fucking squirted all over the bed, man!”

Johnny pulled out a bit with a shaky “oh fuck! Here it cums!” And releases his load in my mouth.

I desperately try to swallow it for I feel I’ll drown if I don’t. There’s so much.

A different dick slips inside of me and starts fucking me hard. My pussy walls are on fire with pleasure. The pain is fading quickly and the cum inside of me mixed with my own fluids causes his thicker cock to slide right in and stretch me with ease. He doesn’t go nearly as deep as you did, but the pleasure is still there.

With no cock in my mouth, I’m moaning like a whore.

“She really is enjoying this!” One of them cheers.

I feel all sorts of hands on me as whoever it is fuck me hard and fast. He’s using my pussy as his own personal flashlight. I was just an object to use for him. I could feel it in every thrust and that knowledge just made me cum again.

He came right along with me, moaning like it was his first time. “Oh, fuck yeah!” I recognized the voice. It had to be Cody.

I feel his thick cum start to drip out and then someone shoves two fingers inside me. “Gotta keep that in!” They all laugh.

“Me next.” Jamal’s deep voice rumbles as he pushes past the others. He grabs me by the hips and flips me over.

When I look up at him, I see him stroking his long, thick black cock. It looks huge in his big hand and he chuckles as my face must show my concern.

“Don’t worry, bitch. I’ll make sure you feel the whole thing.” He chuckles again and lines himself up.

“W-wai…” I try to protest but the head of his cock slips right in my slippery well used hole. I whimper, but he shoves his cock deep inside me and I scream as the head hits me cervix hard.

“Shut up, slut. Take my fucking cock.” He says, then pulls out and slams in again. I can feel the head of his cock spread my tight cervix open, causing me to scream again.

Trent moves to kneel above my head, then tilts my face so he can shove his cock in my mouth. “There, now be quiet, dumb whore.”

I suck on his cock because there’s nothing else I can do. Jamal rams his cock inside me over and over again and my eyes fill with tears. Each thrust Jamal sends into my cunt sends a sharp pain through the inside of my body and I can feel his cock starting to break through.

He gives one final thrust and I feel the head of his cock split my cervix open. I try to fight and get away but they both hold me down. Through my tears I can see the pleasure on Jamal’s face. My cervix is squeezing the head of his cock and knowing it gives him pleasure makes my body tremble around him.

“Oh, that’s more like it. You’re nothing but a needy whore aren’t you?” Jamal says. He starts moving again, but he keeps his cock firmly inside my womb.

Meanwhile, Trent starts fucking my face, moaning softly. My body feels so overwhelmed and I start cumming on Jamal’s cock.

He laughs, “oh yes, good slut. Cum for me. That’s it. Nothing but a little rape sleeve.” Jamal closes his eyes and starts fucking me harder. His cock head starts popping in and out of my womb like it was meant to be that way. I’m crying as I cum over and over again.

Trent grunts and pulls out, cumming all over my face. “Nnn… so hot.” He moans, then smacks my face with his cock a couple times before moving away.

Jamal finally starts to thrust a little more erratically. He’s getting close and I’m oh so thankful.

He shoves his cock back in my womb and I can feel every inch of his length jerk and spasm as he cums. Every drop spills into my fertile womb and it causes me to start crying again.

I’m sure I look a mess. There’s cum all over me and all inside of me. The only hole that hasn’t been violated and used as a cum dump is my ass.

Jamal pulls out and I hear the stranger speak. “All mine then?” He comes closer and pulls me over to the edge of the bed and rolls me on my stomach again.

This guy looks at you and smiles. “Mind holding her down for me?”

It’s not like I could get away if I wanted to. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve cum, and my body is sore and shaky. You come over in front of me and hold me down.

The stranger steps up and slides his cock inside my aching pussy. “Mmm… so much cum inside you. You’re surely going to be a mommy after tonight.” He says, then he pulls out.

The tip presses against my ass and my eyes go wide. He wouldn’t!

I look up at you and you’re just grinning down at me, your cock half hard again in front of my face.

“No! Please! Don’t!” I cry out.

“Sorry, bitch, this ass is mine.” He growls, and then he uses the cum from my cunt to allow his cock to slide right inside my ass. It stings as he stretches me open so easily. In just a few thrusts he has most of his cock buried in my ass.

I’m crying again, unable to handle it. Still, he moves his hips, fucking my ass however he wants. I whine and cry but he doesn’t stop.

“Damn, babe, you crying like that’s got me all hard again.” You say, grabbing my face and guiding me to your cock.

I reluctantly take your cock in my mouth and let you slowly fuck it as my ass feels like it’s being ripped open. This guy is thicker towards the base of his cock and he uses that to fuck my tight, virgin ass open. It feels so uncomfortable, but my pussy is dripping wet. It’s not just cum either.

It feels like forever as he fucks me, but finally, he slides in as deep as he can go and grunts, starting to cum inside my ass. It feels strange. I can feel the hot fluid inside me, filling my ass and stopped by his cock.

I’m hoping it’s over. I’m hoping they’ll let me go and I won’t ever have to see any of them again. The stranger steps back, sliding out of me with a wet sound and the others are standing around me, stroking themselves.

“Ready for round two, slut?” You ask, petting my cheek. I whimper weakly. It seems I didn’t have a choice.

—

Want round two? Give me a like!

[rememberwren]

/•Harmless Fun 4•\

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

For anon who asked for reader calling simon and johnny to pick you up from the bar after getting drunk. Thanks for requesting!

-

The phone rings, and Simon answers it before he even knows he is awake. Perhaps it’s that ingrained military training within him that has him snapping to attention at…quarter til two in the morning according to the glowing numbers of the digital clock on the nightstand. Or maybe it’s the remnants of the sleepless nights when Johnny was in hospital, when Simon would spend the hours staring at the ceiling and dreading the ring of his cellphone. Yes, he was perfectly fine when he kicked you out, but he’s taken a turn for the worse and doesn’t have long left…

“This is—” Ghost. Bravo-0-7. “—Simon.”

“Wha’ is i’?” Johnny slurs from the bed beside him, still more than half asleep. His hair is a mess, lines on his face from the pillow. He reaches out and finds Simon’s hand and they tangle fingers briefly, communicating via touch. Soap’s head lowers, though he doesn’t begin to snore again. He’s listening, more than likely. That military instinct is still in him too, even if his body can’t make the same use of it anymore. 

There is ambient noise from the other end of the phone, but Simon can’t quite make it out. He untangles his fingers from Johnny’s and puts the hand against his exposed ear, blocking out extraneous stimuli. There are voices, talking back and forth. Someone somewhere is laughing. Music, in the distance, though he can only make out the undercurrent of it, something with a heavy beat that he could likely feel in his teeth if he were there. 

Rustling. Then your voice: “—ut it, I’m on the phone, can’t you see? I—Simon? Are you there?” Distantly, like you’ve held the phone away from your mouth, he hears you admonish: “You made me miss him!” 

Simon slips out of the bed wearing only his boxers and leaves the bedroom in case Soap decides that he wants to fall back to sleep. He keeps his voice low when he says into the phone: “I’m here. What’s going on?” 

“My girlfriends all found boy-friends,” you mutter morosely, your every emotion heightened by the alcohol pulsing through your system. Simon doesn’t think he’s ever heard you sound so sulky, not even when Soap ate the last of your leftovers from the diner last week. 

Someone in the background says, full of charm: “I could be your boyfriend.” 

Simon’s eyes narrow. He switches the phone to his better ear. “Who’s that?” 

“Who’s—? Oh. That’s Alan,” you say, your effect brightening somewhat. “He’s buying my drinks at the bar. Free drinks, Simon! Isn’t that nice?” 

Simon wrenches his keys off the hook beside where your own should be resting. Slipping back into the bedroom, he sees that Soap is sitting up now at the edge of the bed rubbing at his thigh. Simon gives him a nod, searching for his pants in the dark and stepping into them. He shoves his keys in his pocket. 

How fucking sweet, Simon thinks. He can imagine exactly what a pissant like Alan is thinking, too: that if he buys this lonely girl enough drinks at the bar, she’ll be easy to convince to come home with him. That maybe even if she puts up a bit of a fight, it wouldn’t be much trouble to persuade her…

He picked the wrong fuckin girl. 

“Have him open up his generous wallet and buy you a fuckin’ water. A bottle of it. Break the seal yourself, understand?” 

“I understand,” you say, sounding a little more sober in the face of Simon’s obvious displeasure. He works to temper his voice. 

“Put Alan on,” Simon says silkily. “Let me make sure he’s taking good care of you.” 

“You want to talk to him?” You sound baffled. Maybe you aren’t as drunk as he thought. 

“Said so.” 

There is a rustle as the phone is exchanged. 

A very unsure, masculine voice says, Hello? 

“I’m going to be there to pick up my girl in ten minutes or less,” Simon says into the phone. “If anything happens to her between then and now, I’m considering you personally responsible, Alan, do you understand me? Whether you had anything to do with it or whether it was an accident out of the clear fucking blue. You will answer for it. So if I were you, I’d take good fucking care of her. Am I clear?”

“I—I didn’t know she was taken—“

“Put her back on the phone,” Simon barks. 

You pick up the conversation right where you left off, not missing a single beat. “Anyway, Alan said he would give me a ride home since all my friends bailed, but I remember you said that if I needed a ride, I should call you and…oh Simon, I’m sorry if I woke you. This is stupid, isn’t it?” 

“Negative,” he says, slipping his belt through the loops. “Not stupid, I mean. Send me your location—your address. Get that water. Absolutely do not go home with any fucker who isn’t named Simon.” 

“What about fuckers named Johnny?” 

“Not even them. Name’s too common. Can’t trust you’ll get home with the right one.” 

“I resent that,” says Johnny, reaching for pants of his own. 

Simon hangs up the phone with you. “Ready for some field work?” 

“You know it, LT.” 

-

Johnny’s heart is thrumming happily the entire way there, something about the late night adrenaline and knowing you are on the other end of this excursion. He’s fine in the passenger seat, even if Simon’s driving is enough to give a civilian a heart attack. Johnny can tell that Simon desperately needs the control right now, his knuckles white where he grips the steering wheel, eyes dark and glued to the road except when he glances at Google Maps on his phone every now and then to be sure they are heading in the right direction. 

Johnny hasn’t driven since the accident. He could, likely, but it would be hell on his sore leg. Maybe after he heals more…

By the time the two of them arrive, it is threatening to drizzle, the wet sapping the warmth out of the air. He’s glad he brought his jacket, already shrugging out of it to give you, memory vivid with the skimpy little dress you were wearing when you left the house, the one that bared your legs even while it covered you from shoulder to wrist. 

They spot you leaning against the brick wall outside the bar, sipping your water bottle. They pull up to the curb and Simon reaches for the jacket, abandoning Johnny inside with a firm, Stay Here. Johnny watches from the passenger seat as Simon slips the jacket around your shoulders and takes the water bottle. You are clearly unsteady on your feet (those shoes don’t help, bonnie though they are), and Simon gets to loop his arm around your waist to guide you to the car where the hazard lights are flashing ominously. 

Johnny rolls down the window. 

“Hey lass,” he says. 

Your face lights up at the sight of Johnny. You put your arms through the window and wrap them around him, smelling faintly of your perfume and sweat and Johnny’s own jacket. 

“Alright,” Simon says dryly. “Wrap up the reunion. It’s about to rain.” 

“Come sit in the back with me,” you breathe, breath smelling of sweetness with the underlying tinge of alcohol. Whatever you had been drinking tonight had been strong to have you so out of sorts. Your fingers tangle in Johnny’s shirt a little, tugging. “Please, Johnny? Sit in the back!” 

“Alright, alright,” he agrees with a laugh, even though it is painful to get out of the car and into the backseat, and there isn’t as much room back there for his leg to stretch out. He’s afraid that he might do anything for you if you asked him like that: looking at him with your guileless eyes, fingers tangling in his clothes, moonlight like liquid silver on your skin. 

He slips into the backseat with you and has to help you buckle your seatbelt when you can’t get the clasp closed. Johnny feels Simon’s eyes on him, heavy and dark through the rearview mirror. He meets those eyes and gives a nod. He knows that you're drunk; he doesn’t intend to make any passes at you. 

He just doesn’t expect the passes you make at him. 

Cuddling up to his side, you slip his arm around you and meld into him, careful of his bad leg. It’s hard not to be half in love with you when you treat him like this: with such care, even when you’re three sheets to the wind, but never like he is broken. Never like you doubt his masculinity. You look up at him, forehead briefly brushing against his jaw. 

“Did I wake you up, Johnny?” you ask him, soft and sweet. 

“Aye,” he says. “From good dreams, too.” 

You groan. “I’m so sorry. I knew I should have let Alan drive me home.”

“Who the fuck is Alan?” Johnny asks with a laugh. 

“Forget it,” you mutter sleepily, burrowing against him. His jacket slips off of one of your shoulders, and he has to stretch to replace it. 

He thinks you’ve fallen asleep when it happens: your mouth brushing against the juncture where his shoulder meets his neck. He goes still, eyes flickering to Simon in the rearview mirror (he is dutifully watching the road). Was that an accident? Were you asleep? His every cell seems attuned to yours, to the quiet even breaths you draw in, to the warmth of your body pressed flush against him, to your bare legs stretched out beside him changing lights thanks to the passing streetlamps. Then it happens again: your lips brush against his throat, this time with more intention.  

Johnny can’t help but tilt his head to give you more access, his eyes falling shut, full mouth parting around a longing sigh. Even as his body encourages you, his words seem to carry a threat to them. “Lass, you shouldn’t.” 

You hum and press a kiss there, soft and chaste as anything. The next one though is burning with the warmth of your tongue, and Johnny groans softly, unable to stop himself. You match the sound with a whine, shifting in your seat. Uncomfortable, he realizes—because you’re wet. Because you’re searching for friction on your needy little cunt.

“Fuck, you don’t know what yer doing to me,” he whispers roughly. 

“Johnny,” Simon says, an audible warning rumbling in his tone, eyes now watching in the mirror as often as he dares take them off the road. 

You slur something, but what it is and who it is to is lost in your drunkenness. The hand of the arm you had slipped around him finds a way to his belly, resting against his abs, rustling his shirt upwards a little as you cop a feel. 

Johnny half-heartedly takes your hand away, tries to lace your fingers with his own but you are single-minded in your desire to touch him. 

“This is hardly fair,” he says, his breathy laugh turning into a groan when your fingers brush against one of his nipples by accident. Your fingers finally find the way beneath his shirt, your touch chilly and soft against his heated skin as you stroke along the trail of hair just beneath his navel—

Simon hits the breaks hard, jostling you both in the backseat. The seatbelt locks for a moment and is pulled tight across Johnny’s chest, the lap belt scraping against his hard on in a way that has him hissing.

You lean forward, blinking owlishly. “Did we almost hit somethin’?”

“No,” says Simon. He deadpans: “Just traffic.” 

The road is empty. You find this hilarious, laughing until tears are in your eyes. Even Simon can’t help the effect your laughter has on him; he seems to sit taller in his seat, his hands gripping the wheel with less anxiety, the lines at the corners of his eyes growing as he fights a smile. 

Johnny lets out a chuckle too, one that is more of relief than anything. He doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, but the last thing he could let himself do is take advantage of you. Nuzzling against the crown of your head, he breathes in the scent of your shampoo. His erection fades alongside your laughter, and the rest of the drive passes in silence. 

They pull into the parking lot of the apartment building at half past two in the morning. 

“Can you walk, love?” Johnny asks.  

No response. Your eyes are closed where you lean against him, mouth parted in a silent snore. 

“Fast asleep,” he tells Simon, brushing his fingers against your temple in an apology when you flinch a little at the sound, eyes fluttering open before settling back into sleep. 

“This is getting out of hand,” Simon says simply. In the mirror he looks tired…and maybe it is just a trick of the light, but he looks sad. “You need to talk to her.” 

A beat of silence. 

“Don’t you mean we need to talk t’her?” Johnny asks. 

Simon doesn’t answer. 

Outside, it begins to rain.

[athena-studios]

ָ࣪ 𓏲⋆.ָ࣪ 𓏲⋆.ָ࣪ 𓏲⋆.

treasure.

Simon Riley + preteen!daughter

tw: none(?)

a/n: im basically writing what i wanna read. honorary mention to @chaosandmarigolds for giving a bit o' help:) pretty long, don't know how many words but probably around 1k?

this idea has been in my head for AGES now, so glad i finally wrote it💗

Simon's girlfriend died. the 141 knew that. his girlfriend died that night along with the rest of his family. except for his one singular gem that he treasures the most. you, his daughter that the killers that night did not see nor hear because you were at the neighbor's house. that was when you were 5 years old, since then, Simon has done everything in his power to protect you. even as far as not telling anyone but Laswell about you.

you're now 12 years old. having gone through alot already, you're more mature and sassy than most of your peers. which leads you to this situation...

˚୨୧ ｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ ﾟ。 . 　ﾟ･｡･ﾟ ✧ . ˖˳

you were on the couch with your laptop open when you hear a knock. you walk to the door and open it to be greeted with three bulky men, one looking seemingly older than the other two.

the one on the middle has a...Fishers hat? he also has a beard, which is, what you assume, makes him appear older. "this dude could be a grandpa..." you thought.

the one to your left has a weird mohawk. yeah, thats all you can say about him. the one on the other side looks more tolerable, but his cap does wanna make you laugh your ass in front of him for it.

"Hi, who are you?" the grandp— the one in the middle asks. "I'm sorry, shouldn't i be asking you that? there are three, large, bulky men on my doorstep. none of which who are familiar to me." you replied, in your sassy voice, ofcourse.

your dad told you not to talk to strangers, they're strangers, aren't they?

"sorry—I'm Johnny, but i prefer to be called soap. this is John and Kyle. now can we know what yer name is, bonnie?" Johnny speaks up. you scoff. "fine. its y/n. y/n riley. that's all I'm telling you. and what the hell kinda name is soap?"

at that, the three of them glance at eachother in both shock and confusion. "what?" you ask. "your last name's Riley?" Gaz asks. "yeah, what about it?" you cross your arms, getting slightly defensive.

behind their back, you see your dad's truck pull up the driveway, the three men in front of you also noticing. you speed-walk to your dad and point to the three men. "Dad, these guys are tryin' to kidnap me." you say nonchalantly. he looks behind you and sees his captain and his two sergeants. "honey, they weren't tryna kidnap you. those guys are my teammates." he says as he walks to the trunk of the car and hands you two grocery bags. "now, bring these inside and I'll talk to 'em. 'kay?" he pats you head as you nod, walking back to the house.

"so, simon. when were ya gon' tell us ye got a daughter?" soap's scottish accent rings out. they glance at simon's balaclava-less face, because they don't usually see him without that damn balaclava, but also because they await a response from him. "to keep her safe...only Laswell knows abou' her. she's the only thing i have left. my treasure." simon clears his throat to ease the silence. "so, why are you guys 'ere anyway?" simon asks.

"i actually came here to ask for advice, and then i saw soap already standing at your door, saying something about a teatime catch-up? but anyway, he called price over, faking that your pipe was broken. and when he came up, we knocked on your door and y/n answered it." as gaz finishes his explanation, you walk back out the door. "so...are you all gonna come in or not? because i didn't stop binge watching heartstopper on netflix for nothing." you say as you chew on a french fry Simon had got for you, per your request.

they all walk in, and take a seat on the couch, Simon quickly preparing drinks for them. as Simon takes a seat next to you, Price speaks up. "so y/n, how old are you?"

"I'm 12." you answer blatantly. "y/n, be nice." your dad whispers to you. "you got any hobbies?" Soap tries to make conversation.

you playfully glare at your dad before answering soap. "i like to play the guitar, i like to paint, and crochet sometimes." you answer again, trying to put a less boring tone to your voice.

it goes like this for a few minutes, everyone just exchanging laughs and conversation. maybe they're not so bad after all...

[hederasgarden]

Stand By Me - Part 3

Summary: When a local ranch hand’s attention evolves into something more sinister, Rhett Abbott becomes an unlikely source of comfort and protection for you. Pairing: Rhett Abbott x F!Reader Word Count: 4.8K Rating: Mature, future chapters will be explicit and 18+ only. Stalking, anxiety, and Rhett being protective. Future chapters will include some violence. No spoilers for Outer Range. A/N: Welp, here we are a year later. 😬 Sorry it has taken me so long to update. I cannot thank my beta N, @mayhem24-7forever and @whatblogisthis216 enough for their help and support putting this together. Thank you @callsignhurricane for the absolutely gorgeous header.

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed this story. Your interactions keep me writing and inspired.

Masterlist | Lewis Pullman Characters Masterlist

"I see you're in with the Abbotts now," your boss remarks, watching Rhett climb into his truck. "Got a phone call from Cecilia this morning about you not closing up by yourself anymore. That woman has a real way about her, all polite-like when she's handing you your ass." 

“Mr. Anderson,” you start, rushing to explain but he waves you off. 

“She was right, of course. I know you got that, er- fella who hangs around too much.”

“My stalker?” You question, your tone harsher than you intend. He looks down at you, surprised. There’s an apology on the tip of your tongue but you resist, meeting his brown eyes. Maybe it’s knowing you had Rhett and Cecilia on your side, or maybe some leftover frustration from the Sheriff. Either way, you don't back down from your statement. 

“I suppose he could be,” Mr. Anderson agrees. “Anyhow, I’ve got Johnny set to close from now on. You go on and tell that to Cecilia now. One dressing down from that woman is enough.”

“I’ll let her know.” 

He nods, patting your shoulder briefly before disappearing into the back office. You exhale and look back out to the empty street. It’s stupid to miss Rhett but a small part of you does. You’re safe in the store; there’s no need to have him here with you. He has a life of his own and a ranch to help run. 

“Was that Rhett Abbott?”

You turn to face the owner of the voice, finding your coworker Sandra watching you excitedly. She’s got that glint in her eye, the one that means she’s not going to let this go easily. Wabang didn’t have a town gossip, but if they did, everyone knows she’d happily take the job. In high school, she was in everyone’s business, spreading rumors and ferreting out information. She never looked twice at you back then, you were too boring and quiet. 

“It was. He just gave me a lift. Not a big deal,” you promise her.

“Uh, nope," she says, popping the p and stopping you with a hand on your arm. "We’re not going to breeze past the fact that you left your car here last night and now the manwhore of Wabang is dropping you off. Spill," she demands.

"We're not…," you start, an automatic denial falling from your lips before you can stop it. She gives you an incredulous look and you stammer out an answer. "It's not a big deal. We're, um, dating," you explain.

"Rhett Abbott doesn't 'date'," she tells you, eyes narrowed. "He has sex with whatever buckle bunny catches his eye.”

“He’s not like that,” you argue, defensive at the way she speaks about him. You know Rhett’s reputation, pretty much everyone does, but you saw a different side of him last night and this morning. You know there’s something more under that charming smile. He listened when no one else did and that means something to you. 

“Honey, please,” she says dismissively. “That boy is nothing but trouble and trash. You best stay away from him."

“Don’t talk about him like that,” you tell her, voice warbling with emotion. “He’s not like everyone says.”

Sandra’s perfectly plucked brows disappear into her hairline. “Alright, alright,” she concedes, hands held up. “Just be careful. He might not stick around after he gets what he wants from you.”

“He’s stuck around the last two months just fine,” you fire back, only realizing after the words are out that you and Rhett never talked about a timeline. 

“Really?” Sandra says, leaning in closer enough for you to catch the fruity scent of the gum she smacks noisily. “That certainty explains why he hasn’t been hanging around the Handsome Gambler lately. I just thought maybe he was getting serious about bull riding or Royal had him on a short leash after the last fight.” She leans back, looking contemplative. “Well, that was some exciting gossip for a Friday morning.”

“Please don’t spread this around,” you ask her, knowing full well she would. Although the idea of people talking about your personal life made your skin crawl, you knew if Rhett were here he’d say it was good. The more it spread, the more likely your stalker would learn of it and back off. 

“Your secret is safe with me,” she promises you, crossing her fingers and winking. 

Sandra spends the rest of your time together on her phone, chewing on the endless supply of gum she keeps next to the register. You’re normally not a self involved person but you’re fairly certain she’s texting about you and Rhett. During lunch, you send him a text of your own about your conversation with Sandra. He responds immediately with a thumbs up emoji which doesn’t help your anxiety. What if he was mad? What if he was with another girl at that time and you just screwed up this whole story?

You spend your shift distracted, overthinking what you told Sandra enough that you keep losing track of the inventory you’re working on. Eventually you give up and volunteer to work the till. An unexpectedly busy afternoon keeps your focus on the task at hand and you don’t even notice it’s 5 p.m. until you look up and find Rhett in line for your register, a shopping basket in hand. 

He steps up to the counter and smiles. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you return, feeling unexpectedly shy. You stare at him long enough that he clears his throat and nudges the basket towards you.

“You gonna check me out?” he asks, his tone playful. 

Beside you, Sandra scoffs. When you spare her a glance, you find her watching Rhett. His attention, though, is focused on you. 

“What’s all this?” You question, taking out the deadbolt kit and some window locks.

“For your apartment. When I was there last night I saw they could use an update.”

“Rhett…” you trail off, embarrassed. 

He seems to sense your emotions and leans forward, resting his elbows on the counter. “I think this is the part where you ask me, cash or card,” he whispers. 

“Will that be cash or card?” You ask, thankful for how easily he dispels your discomfort.

After you’ve finished checking him out, you clock out and let him walk you to his truck with an arm around your shoulder.  Once you reach your apartment he pulls out a tool bag from the bed of the truck and says he’ll install the new deadbolt while you get ready. A part of you wants to protest or offer to pay him for the supplies, while another is too embarrassed to draw attention to what he’s doing for you, so instead you say nothing and disappear into your room.

“Pretty sure they’re doing line dancing tonight,” Rhett calls out in between the sounds of the power drill. “You got some boots you can wear?”

“Uh…I think so," you half yell back, staring at the contents of your closet. 

You have to get on your hands and knees and pull aside a few boxes to find a pair of brown boots. The last time you wore them was for high school graduation, back when your grandfather had been alive. You trace the delicate lines of embroidery around the calf, pale pink and periwinkle flowers connected by green vines. There hadn’t been a reason to wear them since, all you did was go to work and come home. 

Tonight seems as good as any and you stand to finish getting dressed. The sundress and jean jacket are a little dated but they’re comfortable and look nice enough. Once you’ve managed to fix your hair and makeup, you return to the living room to find Rhett replacing the old window locks.

The creak in the floor draws his attention to you briefly before his eyes return to the window. A second later they’re back on you. He blinks and stands, clearing his throat. 

“I think I’m ready," you announce. 

“You, ah, look real nice,” he tells you, nodding. “I like the flowers.” 

“Thanks. You look nice too,” you add, touching your neck self-consciously when he doesn’t immediately speak again but keeps watching you.

“Well…we should probably get going then.”

“Yeah,” you agree, watching Rhett gather up his tools. “Thanks again for installing that stuff.” 

Rhett nods. “I’ll finish up with the other windows tomorrow.”

The drive to the bar is quiet. Rhett’s fingers drum on the steering wheel as you wait at the stoplight. You cycle through potential conversation openers but discard them all. Nothing feels right, and you realize that the sour pit in your stomach only grows the closer you get to the Handsome Gambler. 

Would he be there tonight you wondered? Just the thought of seeing him is enough to make your breath come quickly and your hands tremble. You exhale and close your eyes, trying to get yourself together. Rhett is here. 

When the engine cuts out you look up, eyes drawn to the neon glow of the Handsome Rambler’s sign. Rhett’s quick to meet you at the curb, offering his arm. You curl your hand around his bicep and he draws you close. At this time of night, the bar is busy, humming with energy and conversation. Rhett navigates the crowd with ease, exchanging brief hellos with a few people, finally stopping at an empty booth. You slide in and he follows. 

“Want a beer?” He asks.

You’re not much of a drinker but you nod anyway. Rhett flags down a waitress and a few minutes later two cold beers are dropped off at your table. You fiddle with the label as Rhett takes a long swig and leans back, shoulders relaxing. When you sense him watching, you bring the bottle to your lips and take a drink. It’s cold and a little bitter on your tongue. Your distaste for it must show because Rhett cocks his head to the side with a faint smile on his lips.

“I can order you something else,” he offers. “Wine? Something fruity?”

“Maybe something fruity… honestly though this is okay. I don’t want it to go to waste.”

Rhett shakes his head and flags down the waitress again, ordering you a daiquiri. “It won’t go to waste,” he assures you, pulling the beer toward him.

You return his smile as he rests his arm along the back of the booth. His fingertips hover just above your shoulder, not quite touching your jacket. This close to him you can smell his cologne, faint and a little musky but nice. Everything about this is surprisingly nice, including the way his denim-clad leg presses against yours, warm and firm. 

“He’s not here,” Rhett announces and you look up at him sharply. He’s still scanning the bar as he sips from his beer. For one silly moment, you forgot why you were even here, something that seemed impossible earlier. 

“Should we go?” You ask Rhett.

You’d only come to make it clear to the man that you were with Rhett.

“What?” Rhett’s brow furrows as he glances at you. “Why? You wanna go?”

“No.” You shake your head just as the waitress arrives with your drink. “We came so he’d see…”

“There’s more than one way to make sure he knows,” Rhett tells you, pushing up the brim of his hat before leaning in close. You can feel his breath against your cheek. “Look to your right, past the pool tables. You see those men?” You nod, watching the rowdy group in the corner playing darts as you absently sip your drink. 

“They all work at the Dustin ranch, including the one in the baseball cap who keeps looking at us.” At that moment, the man in question stands up for his turn and looks back, meeting your eyes. If he is surprised to find you looking, he doesn’t show it. He holds your gaze for a second before glancing at Rhett who smirks and waves. His expression doesn’t change but when he turns back you catch a brief flash of something.

“He’ll make sure Jimmy gets the message that you’re with me.”

“Jimmy?”

“Your stalker," Rhett clarifies. "After I dropped you off this morning I paid a friend of mine a visit that’s friendly with the foreman of the Dustin ranch. That’s the man’s name. He hangs out with the guy in the baseball cap, Rick.” 

“Oh.” You stare at the table, trying to process the information Rhett gave you.

When he says your name softly you realize several minutes have passed in silence. “Sorry, I….” you trail off and look back at the man with the baseball cap. 

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Rhett says. “This is a lot.”

You nod, lips pressed together because you don’t trust yourself to speak. 

“Line dancing looks fun,” he notes, taking a swig of beer. “Might be a nice distraction and you can put those fancy boots to good use.”

“They’re not fancy,” you defend. 

“Hmmm, don’t look like nothing I’ve seen at the feed store,” he teases. “Come on.” He stands and offers his hand. 

You let him pull you up and follow him to the dance floor as Vince Gill’s What The Cowgirls Do fades from the speakers and a soft, more subdued song  plays. The crowd thins and you realize the remaining dancers are pairing up. Rhett doesn’t seem deterred by the change in music, grasping your right hand and wrapping his left arm loosely around your body. His palm rests firmly on your shoulder blade, pulling your body close to his. After a moment of hesitation, you settle your left arm on his bicep.

“It’s been a while since I’ve danced like this,” you admit, watching how easily the other couples move around the dance floor. 

“Nothing to it. All you gotta do is follow, I’ll lead,” Rhett promises, surging forward and taking you with him. 

You stumble a little but he’s quick to adjust his pace for you, whispering words of encouragement. Maybe it's how Rhett guides you around the dance floor or some long buried muscle memory from high school but soon enough you’re moving in sync. Then he raises his arm to spin your body in a circle before quickly drawing you back into his arms. When he does it again a second time, a breathless laugh escapes you. 

“Atta girl,” Rhett says, drawing you closer. 

Your skin tingles and you feel warm all over when he speaks those two simple words. The world narrows to Rhett’s handsome face, his blue eyes dark pools in the dim light. Your chest constricts, only allowing you to pull in shallow breaths that leave you lightheaded. It’s only when someone else bumps into the two of you and the spells breaks that you realize a new, more upbeat song is playing. 

Rhett’s lashes flutter and he releases you, his gaze falling away a moment later. 

“Beer’s probably getting warm,” he says and you hum your agreement, letting him lead you back to your seat.

Before you can make it, two men you don’t recognize stop Rhett. 

“Shit, that you Abbott?” The shorter one questions, swaying on his feet. 

You watch Rhett for his reaction, only relaxing when he smiles. “Smitty.”

“Heard you’re riding tomorrow.”

“I am,” Rhett agrees.

“Damn,now we gotta go to see that,” he tells his friend before turning his attention to you. “Did you know your boyfriend's one of the best damn bull riders in these parts?" He asks. 

You’re not sure what to say so you just nod. 

“You guys gotta come get a drink with us,” Smitty says. 

“Thanks, but my girl and I were about to head out,” Rhett says, capturing your hand in his. “Y'all have a good night.”

My girl. 

Rhett uses that phrase so casually, like he’s done it 100 times before. For a moment, you let yourself imagine a world where it’s true, losing yourself in the fantasy long enough to miss the rest of their conversation. When Smitty and his friend stumble away, Rhett leads you back to the booth where  your daiquiri has all but melted. If Rhett’s beer is warm, he doesn’t show it, finishing it off in one gulp. 

“If you want to get a drink with your friends…,” you start hesitantly.

Rhett’s quick to cut you off with a shake of his head.  “Not with those two dipshits. They’re fun for sure but… trouble too.”

You turn to face him. “Sounds like there’s a story there.”

He waves your comment away, grinning with one side of his mouth. “Maybe, but it aint suitable for girls with flowers on their boots.” 

The rest of the evening passes surprisingly easy, so much so that before you know it, it’s nearly midnight and you’ve all but forgotten about Jimmy and the man in the hat. Rhett pays your bill with cash and walks you to his car, keeping a hand on your lower back. 

Once you arrive at your apartment, Rhett turns off the truck and leans forward to look out the windshield.

“Want me to stay the night?” He asks, leaning back. 

You do, but you’re aware of just how much he’s done for you already; staying over last night and pretending with you at the bar. You should decline and let him go home to sleep in a real bed but behind him you can see the dark windows of your apartment and the words catch in your throat. 

“Never was an Eagle Scout,” he starts, pulling a black duffle bag from behind the seat, “but I came prepared.”

You stare at the bag, surprised, and when you look back at Rhett he gives you that half smile of his, brow arched. You find yourself nodding before you can think too hard about it.

“Alright,” Rhett says, opening his door, “come on.”

That night you sleep better than you have in weeks and when the morning comes, you quietly slip out of your bedroom.  Rhett is already up, a mug of coffee in hand. He looks lost in thought, a deep crease between his brows but his expression clears when he sees you. 

“Made coffee,” he says, raising his mug. “Hope that was alright.”

“Of course,” you’re quick to tell him. 

“I won't be able to pick you up after work,” Rhett says, following you into the kitchen and leaning back against the counter. “Gotta be at the rodeo early but my Ma said she’d b there.”

“Okay.” You yawn as you doctor your coffee to make it sweet enough to drink.

“Looks like I kept you out too late,” he observes, watching you over the rim of his mug. 

“No, it was…” you pause searching for the right word but come up short. “I appreciate it,” you finally settle on. 

Rhett nods, looking away. “It’s nothing.”

When he sets his empty mug in the sink, you head back to your room and get ready for work.  Once you’re dressed, you reach for the beat-up tennis shoes you always wear, stopping short when you see your boots from last night. You hesitate for only a second before slipping them on instead. 

Rhett drops you off with a kiss on your cheek and a wave to Sandra, who watches the two of you from the front window display. The day passes uneventfully, without any sign of Jimmy. A little after 6 pm the Abbotts come to collect you. Cecilia is warm and open, asking about work while Royal drives, glancing at you occasionally in the rearview mirror. You’ve only met Rhett’s father in passing and always found him to be an intimidating man. Tonight he’s mostly silent, only chiming in when you tell Cecilia about an issue that happened today with Donald Everrtt’s lumber order.

“That man’s got more cows than sense,” Royal grumbles and you laugh when Cecilia chastises him.

Leaning back and gazing out the window, you think about your own parents. They weren’t so different from Rhett’s and you’d forgotten how nice something as simple as this could feel. Thinking of them hurts like it always does and you swallow around the lump in your throat, distracting yourself by listening to Cecilia and Royal talk about Rhett and the bull he’s meant to ride tonight. 

When you arrive at the rodeo, it’s loud and chaotic. The announcer booms something about the bull riding beinging soon. It doesn’t escape your notice that Royal and Cecilia keep you between them as they guide you through the crowd of people to the metal bleachers where Rhett’s brother and his family are waiting. Their daughter, Amy, is quick to question you once you’re seated. 

“Are you Uncle Rhett’s girlfriend?” she asks, leaning around Cecilia to see you.

You stare at her, unsure how to answer with so many people around. Rhett had shared the plan with his parents but you weren’t sure who else knew the truth. Your silence makes Amy’s  little brows furrow, a look so reminiscent of her uncle that it almost makes you smile. 

Thankfully Cecilia interjects before you have to figure out what to say. “Yes, Amy.”

Before Amy can ask you any more questions, her mother suggests they get some popcorn. Once they disappear, Perry takes a swig from the flask in his boot, and when he sees his mother looking, he makes a face.

“Come on Ma,” he grumbles, but Cecilia pins him with a silent, angry look and he eventually puts the flask away, sighing heavily.

There are several riders before Rhett and you watch each of them get thrown from their bull with increasing anxiety. You search for him among the crowd of riders at the far end of the fence. When you spot him, you’re surprised to find he’s watching you. He grins, tipping his hat. It’s such a simple gesture, but it fills you with a fluttering warmth that lasts long after he looks away to acknowledge his parents. 

When it’s finally Rhett’s turn to ride, you rub your hands on your thighs anxiously. The buzzer goes off and you flinch as the gate is ripped open. The world narrows to Rhett, the bull, and the sound of your own breathing. The seconds tick past agonizingly slow until he’s thrown from the bull. 

Dust flies and the bull stomps. You stand up, searching until you find him stock still in the dirt. You make a small, terrified sound and Royal touches your shoulder drawing your gaze. 

“He’s okay. Just got the breath knocked from him,” he assures you. 

You look at Cecilia who seems just as concerned but then a second later the bull is gone and Rhett stands. His gaze is focused on the scoreboard but you watch him. His expression is serious, lips pressed into a thin line as his chest heaves. Then suddenly he smiles, open joy written across his features and the crowd cheers. When you look up his name is first on the board. 

Beside you, Royal yells and Perry sticks two fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly. Cecilia shouts his name and Amy jumps with excitement. You expect Rhett to come straight to his parents but he makes a beeline for you, climbing up the bleachers and past people with ease. 

“Rhett,” you start, whatever you were going to say cut short by his lips on yours. The kiss is intense but brief. When he pulls away, he looks as surprised as you feel. You stare at one another before suddenly he’s pulled back by an older man who claps him on the shoulder. More people push forward to offer him congratulations. 

“Let him hear you one more time,” the announcer encourages. “Ladies and gentlemen, your hometown hero, Rhett Abbott!”

You touch your lips, mind working hard to process what just happened. Rhett looks back, eyes glued to yours as he’s pulled back into the ring.

“Come on sweetheart,” Cecilia urges, patting your arm. “Let’s wait for him at the other end. Less people.”

You can’t see her eyes under the brim of your hat but you suddenly realize she and about a hundred other people just witnessed what Rhett did. You have no idea what his parents must think. There’s another feeling under the embarrassment and awkwardness that you don’t investigate too closely. 

“Well that was something,” Royal says and you glance up at him sharply before you realize he’s talking about Rhett’s ride. 

Cecilia smiles. “He’s gonna ride next weekend in the finals for sure.”

“I knew he’d make it,” Royal says proudly and you smile at both of them, nodding your agreement. 

After a few minutes, Perry arrives alone. “It was getting late so I thought it best Amy went home,” he tells the three of you, hands on his hips. “She can celebrate with us tomorrow.”

“Hmmm and I suppose you’re gonna help your brother celebrate tonight?” Cecilia asks, judgment clear in her tone.

“Yeah. Handsome Gambler,” he confirms, clapping Rhett on the back as he arrives. “You’ll be drinking for free, that’s for sure.” 

“Did you consider that your brother might not want to go?” Cecilia asks, looking at you pointedly. 

“Oh, that’s alright. We can go,” you say, feeling even more awkward.

Perry grins and leans in. This close you can smell the alcohol on his breath. “Great, I’ll get us a booth.”

He disappears before Rhett even has a chance to speak. Cecilia sighs and Royal rubs her back. “Nothing wrong with having a little fun,” he reminds her.

“I know,” she concedes. “But be safe,” she adds, looking intently at Rhett.

“I will,” he promises her, nodding seriously.  

Cecilia offers you a tight hug, promising to stop by the store later in the week. Once she and Royal are gone, you’re alone with Rhett. He rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat. 

“I’m sorry.” He pauses, looking back at you. “For the kiss. I shoulda asked if you were okay with that. I was out of line.”

“It’s okay. It uh, was good. Lots of people saw. That’s the point right?”

He stares at you for a long moment, an unreadable expression on his face. “Yeah, that’s the point," he agrees, finally before his gaze flicks away. “But, we don’t have to go to the Gambler tonight. Perry’s just… Perry,” he finishes with a long suffering sigh. 

You think about how excited he was before and what tonight means for him. He’d done so much for you lately, the least you could do was go with him to the bar. There was no way he’d drop you off and home and go alone. You had fun with him last night after all. Maybe tonight would be just as nice. 

“We can go,” you tell him but he frowns, clearly unconvinced. It’s late and you’re tired but it isn’t hard to manage a genuine smile for him. “Afterall, I brought my dancing boots,” you add, pulling up your jeans to reveal them. 

“Alright,” he agrees, his expression lightening. 

The bar is more crowded than last night and Rhett keeps you close. Everyone wants to talk to him, including Maria. You can’t help but feel jealous at the way she lays a hand on Rhett’s arm and leans in close to speak to him. She’s even more beautiful than she was in high school when half the town knew he’d been in love with her.

Watching them together and seeing the easy way he smiled at her, you wonder if he still is. That makes your chest ache, which is silly. You and Rhett weren’t actually together. Nothing, from the dance last night to his kiss earlier, was real. It was an act because you caught the wrong kind of attention. Suddenly, you want to be anywhere but here. You take a step away but Rhett’s quick to face you, his hand shooting out to grasp your elbow.

You lean in to be heard over the din of the bar. “I need to use the restroom but Perry said he can come with me,” you lie, looking over your shoulder at his brother. 

“I can come,” Rhett tells you, setting his beer down. 

You wave him off. “Catch up with your friends.”

When you realize Rhett doesn’t turn around immediately you’re forced to actually ask Perry. He agrees and finishes off his beer, following after you a little unsteady. You take your time in the bathroom, splashing water on your face and staring at your reflection. It’s quiet here but your mind is buzzing. You close your eyes and sigh. You’re not sure how long you stay like that, lost in thought but eventually a toilet flushes and you stand straight. You were being selfish, Rhett deserved to celebrate tonight without worrying over you. 

With a deep breath you head back into the bar, searching for Perry. When you left he was leaning against the wall, scrolling on his phone. Now he’s nowhere to be found. You only make it a few steps before someone’s hand closes around your wrist and tugs you back. You spin around, half expecting to find Rhett but it’s not him. 

Green eyes meet yours. 

“Hi baby,” Jimmy says, smiling. 

[cactusisconfused]

Ok ok, so I have another idea. (Please ignore any grammar mistakes)

Ghost and soap are on a simple mission that’s been going well enough, at least in the sense that they’ve gotten what they’ve came for.

That is until they’re making their last rounds and ghost comes across two bodies, both dead sitting in their own pools of blood.

Ghost pauses and can’t his eyes off of them. Off of the boy with dark hair that looks no more than six. A mother, blonde hair and blue eyes.

And just for that moment, ghost is back in that house, in Christmas, where he lost everything. He hears soap behind him, muttering a “bloody hell” at the sight. Ghost shakes himself out of it, they have a mission to complete after all. He pushed through, doing his best to ignore how his mind seems to have slowly taken a backseat- dissociation he’s learned it’s called.

They get on their evac eventually and ghost ignored how it’s cold. In fact everything seems cold now. Soap is talking about something, ghost really tries his best to listen, to focus, but somewhere in the Scot’s words he hears a different voice. Joesph. Then another, his mother, calling out to him, quietly.

Always quietly.

Ghost doesn’t remember landing, barely blinking when he felt a hand rest in his shoulder. Part of him screamed to rip the hand off, but he didn’t, not when he saw pale blue eyes and that beautifully stupid Mohawk kneel down in front of him. Soap was speaking, ghost knew that. Could see his lips moving, but he could tell which sounds were real anymore.

Was the sound of conversations on their base real? Or was the fire crackling real?

Is Johnny’s voice real? Or is his mother’s voice that is real? Both call for him, he wishes he could answer both calls.

He watched distantly as soap moved to help ghost stand from his seat, then to walk down the halls of the base…or the halls of the house? Was Johnny here when it happened? The memory of that night continued to blur, soap would fit in. Laughing with his nephew, his brother mother and sister in law.

But soap is alive.

Is he alive?

Ghost doesn’t remember entering a room. The lights are off, only the light from the hall giving a soft illumination. He lets soap undo his gear, always a warm hand remains on him. Soap is speaking again, about what ghost had no clue, but he think somewhere distantly that he never wants to hear it go away.

Soap guides him into the far small bed for the two men but ghost doesn’t bother to protest, not that he could anyway. His mouth didn’t exactly seem to want to move. Soap didn’t mind. Johnny never minded. Johnny gently draws patterns into ghosts now bare chest, something to keep Simon grounded. He keeps talking, about everything, about nothing.

Simon doesn’t know when the other voices stopped, or when his head came to rest in johnnys chest, his heart beat playing on loop. He knows Johnny will ask in the morning, but for right now, he has Johnny.

Johnny who is alive.

[erofz]

PJO x CoD fanfic

Here’s a taste of the Prologue

"Jake- I'm not even gonna try and say that." The camp director called out inaccurately. "Jake! Where is he?" His tone became more frustrated with each word, looking towards the large centaur for answers.

"..me?" Johnny croaked, confusion strung throughout his voice. He was stood in the doorway, merely a shadow in front of Chiron. To Johnny, Chiron was a previously wheelchair bound teacher turned blessed with two extra functioning legs, a centaur he thinks he explained? God it was freaky, annoying even. Being dragged from his school mid-exam by the principal. Suddenly being thrown an expulsion for - from his perspective - no reason at all! And all of a sudden his mother says he has to go to.. a summer camp? Seriously? What even is this weird ass place, he could've sworn he saw dude with goat legs earlier as well, which hardly made the experience simpler.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Hi, it's me again 😭 I also wanted to ask how you'd think the story would change if Steve wasn't a character! I know people think that him and Two-bit aren't important but I totally disagree so I wanted to hear ur thoughts on it (sorry if you've already answered this question)

OMG A STEVE ASK? ILY

Ok so I already made a huge post in defence of Steve as a character which anyone can read here if they want to, but I will reiterate that anyone who thinks Steve (or Two-bit for that matter) aren't important characters obviously struggles to understand the point of the book, or has a shallower grasp on the main themes. Yes, the main PLOT of the book (meeting Cherry at the movies, the slap, stabbing bob, running, the church fire, etc) could happen without Steve, but it would be very cut and dry and dare I say a lot more boring without Steve as a character. the whole point of Steve and Two-bit is that they provide nuance and contrast to other characters and situations which serve to make those characters/situations that much more impactful. Soda isn't half as lovable on the page without his grumpy best friend to compare him to. Without Two-bit's laziness to compare to, the weight of Darry's responsibilties wouldn't be so obvious or impactful. Steve also shows readers that Soda has some level of a support system aside from his brothers- take Soda's best friend since gradeschool out of the book, and Soda becomes a loss less dynamic of a character. Steve's presence in the novel makes him a person, a three dimensional character who is nuanced and important in his own right. Without Steve, Soda becomes nothing more than Ponyboy's big brother. I also recently made a post about how Steve foils Johnny- Johnny is another character whose nuance is cheapened if Steve isn't around. Steve, like Dally, is someone who Johnny could have become given his life and his circumstances. Take away Steve, and you don't see that as clearly. Even think about Ponyboy- the antagonistic nature of his relationship with Steve (Steve calling him a tagalong, Ponyboy saying he hates him sometimes, etc) help to remind the reader that Ponyboy is fourteen years old, something that makes the tragedy Pony has lived through even more impactful to those reading. Take away Steve, and thus his and Pony's rivalry, and you lose a lot of instances where Pony actually acts and thinks like a kid his age. I've said it before and I'll say it again: you don't have to like Steve as a character (even though in my opinion everyone should) but it's disingenuous and downright untrue to say he isn't an integral part of the novel, and it's willfully ignorant to continue to say as much. Steve is important, and I will shout this from the rooftops until he finally gets the respect he deserves.

Thanks for the ask xx

[temeyes]

I feel like if he were a younger millennial and got into the idiocy of the early/mid 2000s your Soap would have been one of those kids slamming back like 15 Pixie Stix in a row and it not ending well (source: I was that kid. At least i wasn’t the band kid who snorted them)

after consuming 15 stixs straight, Soap had a breakthrough,,,

[angelbitezzz]

Short fic under the cut

Just when he'd settled down for a good nap, Sans was startled awake by knocking and calls from his door. He'd be more annoyed if he wasn't such a good sport—knock knock jokes are serious business, after all.

"yaaawn...mm...who's there?"

The skeleton sat up with some difficulty, rubbing at his eye socket. Her voice answered, still a little muffled through the layer of thick wood and magic.

"Stopwatch!"

He climbed off his mattress, sleepily kicking his slippers onto the correct feet and shuffling to the door.

"heh heh heh. stopwatch who?"

"Stopwatch you're doing and open the door!"

Sans did as told, still chuckling at the joke. Across from him stood Angel, rocking back and forth on her heels with her hands behind her back. Her expression said it all—she was excited, ready to show him something.

"alright. door is open. what's up, human?"

"Well, "skeleton"," She started, with an edge of amusement in her voice. "You remember how I bled all over the place?"

"sure."

"And I kiiinda stained some clothes?"

"vividly."

"You'll be happy to know that I fixed it!"

A pause. Sans raised a browbone at her before she seemed to suddenly remember what she was trying to do in the first place, fumbling slightly as she pulled her hands away from her back. Both were shoved forward into his face, white fabric held tight in brown fingers.

...His gloves?

"why do you have—"

"I dug 'em out the trash and cleaned them, now take them!"

He did as told, giving them a once over. Perfectly clean—no longer stained reddish brown. No evidence of the fact that he'd had to try and stop a human from bleeding out.

"whoa. how'd you manage that?"

"Trust me, you don't know how much blood I've had to get off of clothes before."

The implications of that statement strained his grin, just a little.

"...meaning what? you, uh, make a habit of hurting other humans?"

Angel looked at him for a long moment, confused by his reaction, before suddenly bursting into giggles. He felt off-kilter. Was she messing with him?

"Do you know anything about the human body?"

"....i sense i've made a mistake of some kind."

She beckoned him to lean forward, which he did after a long moment of deliberation. Five minutes later, he jolted away like he'd been burnt, left hand up to cut her off.

"okay alright i believe you—don't tell me anything else or i'm gonna lose my lunch. which would be impressive, since i don't have a stomach."

"Aww, the skeleton can't handle a biology lesson. And here I thought you liked science!"

Sans refused to confirm or deny that fact, and the human merely laughed and shook her head.

"Men. Oh well, let me know whenever and I'll show you how to get the stain out of the Crossbones jacket, okay?"

Angel giggled all the way through the hall and down the stairs. He shook his head and took a moment to look at them again. Perfectly clean. When he tugged them on to test, they looked fine.

His eternal grin softened a little as he leaned against his doorframe, rubbing at the back of his left hand absently. On the first floor, Angel had set about folding her blanket on the couch, his pupils idly tracking her movements as they grew fuzzy.

"...heh."

[piranhaincaps]

SPAR SPAR SPAR >:D

you cheater <3 IT'S AN ART WIP THIS TIME HURRAY ✨

pacrim 141 au! this was supposed to be done weeks ago but i— life (derogatory) Ghost was going to have sleeves like the victorian maiden he is but i reeeeaally want to badly draw his tattoos. he can have socks as a treat instead. pick one not both: boobs or butt? nah. wrists or ankles.

(wip game here)

[ottiliere]

hello! ur posts on the vagus nerve and its connections to digestions have encouraged me to do a lil mini dissertation thingy kinda focused on it/around it, ur big thread on PVT and everything really piqued my interest when i read it and i just held onto it for like a year or smthing until like last week when i started the project. Ik u said recently in one of ur posts i believe that ur not going to post the big dirk PVT post and im not here to be like yo post it because i also think u said that ur kinda moving away from like hs/dirky stuff rn ?? (im forgetting if i saw that sorry) but yeah i just wanted to say thank u etc etc, like ive never done an ask before so sorry if this is phrased weirdly but ur blog is just like one of those blogs that fundamentally changed how i view certain things in life for the better lol, like whether its ur beautiful representations / depictions of mental health in like just beautifully painted art (seriously the way u make it look like idk how to word it cartoony/really 2d but then it stands out against the background + if u zoom in and see the tiny pixel details == it makes me mad) or just like the huggeee long form posts that i like to chew on and save cuz theres so many details that AFFAAT like the way you talk abt the topics u portray has made me concious of how i would want to do so in the same way ig u get me. anyway this got really long and idk if i come across coherently, but ur just a random person on the internet whos art and written thoughts that u decide to share makes me happy when i see it == makes me pace around my room and distract me from this fat essay lmao so tldr: i really appreciate what u do + i hope like that ur doing well and that u keep arting and thoughting no matter what it is that u choose to focus on

(uve made me comitted to reading jthm, playing psychonauts and giving jjba w/ dio another go lmao) 🫶🫶

Hello! I’m sorry this reply is coming so late, this ask in particular is very sweet and has stuck out to me.

I’m really happy to have introduced you to PVT, this is something I’ve heard from a few different people on here and it’s very sweet… I did my thesis on it in college and the time really flew by while working on it, things you don't think could possibly attributed to "nerve issues" being nerve issues is always an eye-opener, isn't it? being able to research things that interest you & access information in general really is a privilege in this day and age.

“The topics [I] portray” are very important to me, so it’s heartening when others take interest in spite of the obvious deterrents. A lot of what I love making art about is unpalatable to most, and while I do understand the reasons for that on principle, it can make things feel a little insular. I genuinely believe there’s a lot of value in depicting tableaus of misery.

The last year has brought a lot of very unforeseen changes, and my life is quite different from when I initially made this blog to post about him! That’s also part of why I’ve been so sparse here…though I’m working to change that quite soon. I love sharing my work, and I’ve had the privilege of meeting some truly wonderful people through this website. That said…with where I’m at now, I’m not sure I’ll be posting the Dirk essay anytime soon, I’m afraid.

I’ve undertaken a few ongoing projects, one of which in particular is an original project I plan on sharing publicly here hopefully within the next month or so. I hope it’s something you & anyone else who’s stuck around with me here will enjoy, but failing that, I’ve really enjoyed working on it thus far.

Thank you for the sweet ask, take care, and good luck with your project!

[irritablepoe]

Be honest guys, do you like my poetry🥹

[bishicat]

bishi i gotta know whats vivs canon cyberpunk ending? like if you had to pick one thats actually ingame what would you pick

ok so if I had to choose, I would def choose the Sun ending through the (Don't Fear) The Reaper ending cause I can convince myself that the Crystal Palace holds the cure/Johnny's back-up body and it's the most open-ended imo (i need to believe in something 🤡).

[cagcd]

His daughter is always right idc what you say

[samandcolbyownme]

can you give us a hint at your next one shot?😋

My next one shot is who ever you pick 🖤

Vote right here

[wander-over-the-words]

do you think, maybe when he gets a bit more comfortable of the idea of pursuing a relationship with our resident giant diving suit... would mister sinclair would wax poetic to delta in his mother tongue? hes a very chatty fellow, after all, surely he would have at least a spanish pet name or two to spare?

INHALES

No.

In my personal headcanon, there’re two occasions where Sinclair ever speaks Spanish at length. One of those is when he’s pissed off. like. he could kill a man just by looking at them kind of pissed off. And that’s because he’s taking advantage of the fact that they (most likely) can’t understand what he’s saying so he can insult them as he pleases (though, his dislike of cursing beyond ‘hell’ and ‘damn’ still stands even in Spanish cause he was raised to be a gentleman, so he’s mostly just calling the person an idiot and whatnot). Even then, it’s not really to their face, he’s doing it more just under his breath.

He’ll be packing his papers into his briefcase after a meeting with Ryan that didn’t go his way like “*grumble grumble grumble in Spanish*” “Until next time, Sinclair.” “YEAH GOOD GREAT BYE ANDY *grumble grumble grumble in Spanish*”

The other occasion that would have him speaking Spanish at length is if he’s addressing his late mother and/or grandfather. like if they’re ever on his mind or if he went and visited their graves.

He’d probably speak Spanish to someone he’s working with if they’re better at that than English, and I do enjoy the thought of him teaching Eleanor Spanish at her request (and Delta would absolutely sit in on some of those lessons, and not just so Sinclair can gesture at him like “This here is…?” and Eleanor can be all “Mi padre.” “AAAAnd…?” “Tu novio.” “AAAAnd…?” “Un hombre muy grande.” “Good job, honey.” “*proud Big Daddy noises*”)

Mostly, Sinclair has left his mother tongue behind him. He won’t allow himself to get rusty in it (if one were to look on his bookshelf, one might find a couple of books in Spanish) for the sake of his culture (if he ever forgot his Spanish, his grandfather would dig himself out of his grave and clip that boy around the ear), but it’s only on rare occasions that he uses it. He hasn’t spoken Spanish as his go-to language since he was a teenager. He’s not ashamed of people knowing English isn’t his first language - maybe when he was younger, but nowadays, he doesn’t give a shit - they just ain’t gonna hear him speaking anything else unless they piss him off. 

If someone played the “oh you know Spanish?? Can you say something in Spanish??” :D card, he’d smile extra wide, look them in the eye and say “No.” because he’s okay with translating something if someone needs it, but he very adamantly doesn’t perform his mother tongue for people

Funnily enough, the only times Spanish would pop up in their relationship would be because of Delta, not Sinclair

Delta would be fuckin PUMPED to learn Sinclair is bilingual. Like obviously he knows Sinclair’s from Panama cause he mentioned it, but it didn’t occur to him that that would mean Sinclair’s native tongue isn’t English. He’d hear Sinclair go on one of his Spanish rants (not at Delta he’d never do it to Delta nrnrgn just. someone bothered him idk) and just be like :0!!! :D!!!! cause like yeah sucks that Augustus is distressed but hot damn listen to that Spanish!! Just when he thought Augustus couldn’t get cooler, he learns he’s bilingual! How fucking cool is that! Augustus is just so cool! So clever! LOOK HOW COOL HIS BOYFRIEND IS

He’d do his big ol’ AWED BIG DADDY CROONING (“Don’t be cute right now, chief, I’m havin’ a crisis.”). Probably sit there like “psst…Augustus…speak more Spanish” :3c

If anything, Delta would want to learn Spanish so he could wax poetic to Sinclair in it (after being removed from his suit of course), which Sinclair would genuinely appreciate cause like?? damn chief you learned a language just so you could tell a dude who speaks that language how much you love him?? That’s cute as fuck he’s never had someone do that before

In the meantime, Delta would attempt waxing poetic by randomly asking Sinclair what something is in Spanish (and he'd get away with some of that because Delta usually gets away with shit that would bother Sinclair otherwise. Sinclair knows he means no offense). and it’s stupidly sweet stuff like. Walks up to him and points at his own chest and then at Eleanor’s Spanish textbook to communicate “what’s ‘my heart’ in Spanish??” 

“Mi corazón, chief. Why?” 

Then Delta just. puts his hand on him like “that’s you” 

“HA! Now, that was a smooth move. But as always - right back at ya, pumpkin~”

In canon, Sinclair says a total of one (1) Spanish word if you get him to, and that’s if you don’t take Simon Wales’s key straight after killing him; after Sinclair says his “I don’t have much air left” line, wait for a bit, and eventually Sinclair will call Delta up and say “You’re a…a tough hombre, chief. Get the key off him and - and use it to get into the Pump Control Room.” 

And that right there is the extent of Spanish he uses on a day where he isn’t angry, speaking to his beloved dead relatives, teaching Eleanor or answering Delta’s Spanish questions