#Tile Puzzle Cats

[holydracii]

“i f*cked my way up to the top” - spencer reid! ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹

who?: perv!spencer x maneater!reader

a/n: first smutty thing i’ve written i feel dirty will not happen again (i feel like i got possessed while writing this?)

w/c: 5.2k (again i went a little over board)

summary: “His jaw clenched. You were fucking your way to the top. — And you were winning. And worst of all—he liked it. He liked the power in it. The danger.”

You were walking down the corridor beside Spencer, your heels clacking against the tile in a rhythm too confident for the beige walls of the BAU. He was mid-ramble, something about a new paper he read—quantum decoherence, string theory, Schrödinger’s cat on acid, who knows. You weren’t really listening. You were more focused on the way his hands moved when he talked, long fingers twitching like he couldn’t quite hold still.

And he was focused on you. Always was.

Spencer’s mouth went dry when he noticed it again—just like every day now.

The stares. The greetings. The fucking grins.

Almost every guy in the hallway acknowledged you. A wave. A wink. One guy from Forensics had the audacity to nod and say “Hey, gorgeous.”

Spencer blinked. Stopped walking. The words in his mouth tangled themselves up like a bad dream.

“You uh... must know a lot of people here?��� he asked, trying to sound casual.

You just giggled.

Spencer’s brow furrowed. His head tilted. “What’s so funny?”

You glanced at him, sly and soft. “Yeah, I know everyone. Very well.”

The implication hung in the air like perfume—thick, heavy, undeniable.

Spencer’s heart jumped behind his ribs. His fingers twitched again. His eyes dropped from your smirk to your mouth, then further—your throat, your blouse, the subtle rise and fall of your chest. He tore them back up. Swallowed.

He was a profiler. He knew the game. And he hated that you played it so much better than him.

“You’re not serious,” he said finally, voice low.

You raised an eyebrow. “You think I made it here because I aced my psych evals and color-coded my case files?”

“...I mean, those things would help.”

You laughed again, and it was almost cruel. “Spencer, baby. I’ve been on my knees more times than I’ve been behind a desk. To put it simply I got tested — and I'm best, yes”

His breath caught.

You leaned in, brushing past him as you walked again, your hand dragging lightly across his chest as you passed. “But don’t worry,” you murmured. “I’m still deciding if you’re worth the effort.”

His mouth parted, but no sound came out.

You didn’t look back.

Spencer was supposed to be filing reports. Instead, he was in the dim, quiet room of the archives, the light of the desk lamp casting long shadows on the walls. The air smelled like old paper and the faintest trace of your perfume—Chanel No. 5 and something darker.

He’d checked. He’d profiled.

He didn’t like the way Morgan looked at you. Or how Hotch’s eyes lingered just a second too long. Or how you’d touched the new PA’s wrist and whispered something that made him blush.

Spencer was smart. Too smart. And it was driving him insane.

He sat with your personnel file open in front of him. There wasn’t anything official to prove it—but the puzzle pieces were there. Timing of promotions. Transfer requests. The field agent who left mysteriously a week after you arrived. The interdepartmental memos that didn’t quite add up.

His jaw clenched. You were fucking your way to the top. And you were winning.

And worst of all—he liked it. He liked the power in it. The danger.

He didn’t want to stop you. He wanted to be next.

He closed the file and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, breathing slow and shaky. He could still hear your voice.

“I’m still deciding if you’re worth the effort.”

A quiet creak behind him.

He turned.

You were there, silhouetted in the doorframe.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked, walking in, shutting the door behind you with a click.

Spencer stared at you like you were a mirage—half dream, half threat.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered.

You walked to him slowly, hips swaying like you knew the effect, like you counted on it.

“I know,” you said. “But I figured... why wait?”

You slid into his lap like you owned him. Your fingers curled around the back of his neck.

Spencer's breath hitched. He didn’t move. Didn’t dare.

“You’ve been watching me, Doctor Reid.”

“You—you’re not subtle.”

“You’re not either,” you purred, grinding down slightly, feeling him stiffen beneath you.

He swallowed hard. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

You smiled like the devil herself. “And you’re about to lose.”

You kissed him. Slow. Possessive. Like you were taking something from him.

And he let you.

The kiss ended, but you didn’t move.

You hovered over him, fingers still tangled in his hair, thumb tracing the edge of his jaw like you were studying him. Like he was your next case. Your next conquest.

Spencer stared at you, wide-eyed and dazed, like he couldn’t tell if this was real or a hallucination born from too many sleepless nights and too much wanting. His hands hovered awkwardly at your waist, barely touching you—like he was afraid you’d vanish if he held on too tightly.

“You kissed me,” he said, dumbly.

You smirked. “Took you long enough to notice.”

“I don’t understand…” he trailed off, but he did understand. He just didn’t want to say it out loud. Didn’t want to admit he liked being used. Liked being one of your pawns.

“You don’t have to understand, Doctor. You just have to behave.”

That shouldn’t have made his pulse spike, but it did.

“Is this part of your—your game?” he asked quietly.

You leaned in close, lips brushing his ear. “This is the game, Spencer. The question is—are you going to play along?”

He shuddered.

And then, finally, he snapped.

He grabbed your waist, hard. Not rough, but with purpose. Possession. Like he’d been holding back for too long.

“I’m not like the others,” he said. His voice was quiet, but it held something dangerous in it. Something simmering.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “No,” you said slowly. “You’re so much worse.”

He kissed you this time—messy, needy, clumsy with want. Like he’d been starving. Like he couldn’t help himself. His hands gripped your hips like he was anchoring himself, like if he let go, he’d drown.

You moaned softly into his mouth, and it only spurred him on.

You reached down, hand ghosting over the bulge in his slacks, and he gasped, pulling back, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy.

“We—we shouldn’t—”

“We already did,” you whispered, licking your lips. “And you liked it.”

He didn’t deny it.

He just let his head fall back against the chair, breathing heavy, watching you through his lashes like he wanted to ruin you and worship you at the same time.

You stood slowly, straightening your skirt like nothing happened.

Something in his eyes snapped.

He kissed you then—messy, hungry, like he’d been denied oxygen and you were the only source left. It wasn’t sweet.

It wasn’t gentle. It was desperation, pure and raw. His tongue tangled with yours like he needed to prove something—prove that you were his. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, dragging you flush against him, like if there was even an inch between you, he’d lose control completely.

“Do you even know what you do to me?” he rasped, breaking the kiss, panting, forehead pressed against yours.

“I’ve been watching you for months. Do you know how many nights I’ve sat there pretending I was normal, pretending I wasn’t thinking about this? About you? About bending you over that desk in the briefing room, about hearing you cry for me behind a locked door?”

Your heart thundered, but you didn’t look away. You should’ve been scared. Maybe you were. But it didn’t stop the heat building low in your stomach.

He reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear—tender, if not for the darkness in his gaze.

“I’ve read every paper you’ve ever written. Memorized the way your voice sounds when you're excited. I know how you take your coffee. I know you fake smiles when Morgan flirts with you, and that you bite your lip when you’re trying not to laugh. I’ve imagined what else you bite your lip for…”

You swallowed hard.

His hand slid up under your shirt, fingers trailing fire along your ribs. “Say the word,” he said hoarsely, “and I’ll stop.”

You didn’t.

That was all he needed.

His mouth was on yours again, rougher this time, like he’d just barely been holding himself back before and now—now that he had permission—there was no reason to pretend. His teeth grazed your bottom lip before he bit down, not enough to hurt, just enough to make you gasp.

“That sound,” he breathed. “I’ve heard it in my head a thousand times.”

His hands moved like he already knew your body—like he’d mapped it out in some quiet, obsessive fantasy long before you ever let him touch you. You should’ve known. Maybe you did. Maybe that’s what drew you in. The way he looked at you like you were a secret he was desperate to crack open. Like you were a crime scene and he was going to find every hidden piece of you.

“You don’t get it,” he murmured into your neck as he kissed a line down your throat, his fingers slipping beneath your waistband. “I study you.”

Your breath hitched.

“I’ve imagined the exact pressure it would take to make you tremble. I’ve read so many books on human response, but none of them compare to watching you arch your back when you think no one’s looking.”

His fingers dipped lower, slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every inch. Like he wasn’t just touching you—he was claiming data points, filing them away, building a thesis on your desire.

You moaned, head tilting back, and he grinned into your skin.

“Statistically speaking,” he whispered, “you should be fighting me off right now. You should be running. But you’re not. You want to know how far I’ll go.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide, chest heaving. “I won’t stop unless you make me.”

There was a flash of madness in his eyes. Controlled. Beautifully restrained. Like a knife polished to a shine.

And you weren’t going to stop him.

You didn’t stop him.

You should’ve. Maybe. But instead, you let your hips roll into his touch, greedy for it. You let his breath hitch in your ear, let his fingers slide lower, parting you like he’d been studying your body the same way he studied case files—methodical, meticulous, obsessive.

“You’re so wet,” he whispered, and his voice was tight, like it cost him something to stay this controlled. “Fuck.”

He dragged his fingers through you, slow and deliberate, collecting everything, like he was analyzing it. “Do you know what this does to me?” he asked, slipping one long finger inside. “You—like this? You ruin me.”

You gasped, and his other hand caught your hip, keeping you right where he wanted you. “You always act like you don’t notice me watching. But you do. You like it. You like being the reason I have to jerk off in the FBI bathroom between briefings.”

He added another finger—long, thick, curling just right—and you cried out, but his hand clamped over your mouth.

“Shhh,” he hissed, eyes burning. “You don’t want anyone to hear how filthy you are for me, do you?”

You shook your head, biting his palm, and he groaned.

“God, that mouth. You have no idea what I’ve imagined doing with that mouth. I’ve read every psychological profile on oral fixation just trying to understand why the fuck I need to feel your lips wrapped around me like I need air.”

He pulled his fingers out of you and brought them to his mouth, sucking them slowly, tasting you like a man starved.

“You taste like sin,” he said, voice wrecked. “Like the price of everything I’ve ever wanted.”

And then he was undoing his belt with shaking hands, eyes locked on you, and there was nothing clinical about him now. No trace of the good doctor, the genius, the golden boy.

There was just him. Obsessive. Starving. Unhinged.

And all of it—every fractured, brilliant, filthy part of him—was for you.

His belt hit the floor with a soft clink, but the sound felt deafening in the silence between you. His eyes devoured you—completely unblinking, like a predator studying prey it had already caught.

“You wanna know how long I’ve wanted this?” he asked, already moving over you, sliding you onto your back like you belonged there. “Every single time you walked past my desk in that tight little pencil skirt—I had to bite the inside of my cheek just to keep from grabbing you right there in the damn bullpen.”

You opened your mouth to answer, maybe tease him, but his hand was suddenly at your throat—not squeezing yet, just resting there. A warning. A promise.

Your breath caught.

“Oh,” he breathed. His eyes went half-lidded, pupils blown, and his voice dropped so low it felt like it rolled straight through your spine. “That look right there? When you realized how much you like this? That’s going in my permanent memory archive.”

He pressed down just slightly, enough to make you aware of how fragile it all was. His thumb brushed the side of your neck while the rest of his hand tightened, slowly, like he wanted to feel your pulse racing under his fingertips.

“I’ve read the studies on erotic asphyxiation,” he murmured, mouth hot against your cheek, your jaw, your ear. “I know exactly how long to squeeze, how deep to push. You’re safe with me. That’s the irony, isn’t it?”

He was inside you before you could respond���one long, smooth thrust that knocked the air right out of your lungs. The stretch, the fullness, the filth of it. And with his hand still around your throat?

You moaned—helpless, high-pitched, and ruined.

“Fuck,” he gasped, hips jerking. “You feel like you were made for me.”

He started moving, hard and hungry, and every thrust shoved you higher up the slick black couch that used to stay in Hotch’s office. His grip on your neck tightened—not enough to scare you, just enough to hold you there, under him, for him.

“You like being used, don’t you?” he growled. “You like that I can’t stop thinking about this. About fucking you raw while my hand’s around your throat and my brain is short-circuiting from how tight you are.”

You whimpered, and that only made him groan louder—dirtier, more desperate.

“I’m gonna come so deep inside you,” he whispered, lips brushing yours, “you’ll still feel me when you sit down for your next debrief.”

And the way he said it? Like it wasn’t just dirty talk. Like it was a fact.

Like it was already happening.

“Baby, stop.”

The few words sliced through the air like bullets.

Spencer froze—mid-thrust, hand still wrapped around your throat, eyes wide and desperate above you. His pupils were blown, lips swollen from kissing you like a man possessed, and sweat clung to his neck in delicate rivulets. He looked unhinged. Beautiful. Yours.

But he stopped.

Because you told him to.

You slid your hand over his, slowly, prying his fingers from your throat one by one. Then you pushed him back with a firm palm to his chest, watching the confusion flicker in his eyes, then the arousal that followed it like a shadow.

“You think you’re in control, Doctor?” you asked, voice low and venom-sweet. “That this was your fantasy?”

He let out a shaky breath as you pushed him to sit back on his heels. His cock was still inside you, twitching, but he didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not with the way you were looking at him now.

“You’ve been jerking off to the thought of this for months, haven’t you?” you whispered, grinding your hips down just enough to make him groan—wrecked and guttural. “Obsessing. Profiling me. Getting off on the idea of fucking the girl you weren’t supposed to touch.”

He nodded—pathetic, breathless.

You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“Then sit still. Be good. Let me use you like the toy you’ve been pretending I was in your head.”

And just like that, Spencer broke.

His hands clutched the sheets behind him to keep from touching you, knuckles white, jaw clenched. His brain was short-circuiting—desperate to analyze, to stay in control—but his body betrayed him. He was panting, cock twitching helplessly inside you, eyes rolled up like just the act of being inside you while you called the shots was too much.

You started to move, slow and deep, rolling your hips with calculated precision. He whimpered—Spencer Reid fucking whimpered—head falling back as he tried to hold himself together.

“You’re not going to come until I say so,” you warned, one hand sliding up his chest, nails dragging over his skin. “You’ll sit there and take it like the pathetic, pervy little genius you are.”

“I��fuck—I can’t—” he gasped, shaking beneath you. “Please.”

That’s what you’d been waiting for.

That word. From him.

You smirked, grinding harder now, feeling him unravel beneath you.

“Oh, now you want to beg?”

His hips bucked, instinctive, and you clamped your hand around his throat—not hard, just enough to remind him.

“I said still.”

And he obeyed.

Because no matter how many degrees he had, no matter how many cases he solved, no matter how much control he thought he had—when it came to you?

He was just a toy.

You kept your hand at his throat—just enough pressure to keep him grounded, controlled. Your other hand slid down his chest, slow and teasing, nails dragging along his stomach, until your fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, still thick and twitching inside you.

Spencer was a mess beneath you—sweat-slick, trembling, mouth slack with need. His eyes kept fluttering shut, then snapping open again, like he couldn’t stand not looking at you.

“Please,” he choked out, voice wrecked. “I’m—God, I’m so close. I need—fuck—please let me come.”

You tightened your grip slightly around his neck, leaned down until your mouth was right against his ear.

“You need to come?” you repeated, mock-sweet. “After all that talk about how obsessed you are? All those nights jerking off to the idea of owning me… and now look at you.”

You rolled your hips slow, deep, and cruel—just enough to keep him on the edge, but never enough to let him fall over it.

“You don’t own anything, Spencer. You’re just a toy I let inside me. A smart little perv who knows how to beg.”

He groaned—guttural, broken—and you felt his cock twitch, hips jerking involuntarily. His whole body tensed.

He was right there.

And then you pulled off him.

Completely.

His mouth dropped open, a strangled sound clawing out of his throat as his cock throbbed uselessly in the air, aching and flushed, leaking with how badly he needed release. You wrapped your hand around him again—tight, fast, filthy strokes—and his entire body shook.

“I’m gonna—I’m—” he gasped, teetering right at the edge.

And then, with a smirk, you squeezed hard at the base and stopped.

His orgasm died in his throat—cut off before it could crest, back-arching, eyes wide in disbelief as his body tried and failed to finish. A ruined mess of desperation and overstimulation.

He whimpered—actually whimpered—hips twitching, cock still straining in your grip, but there was no release. Just pressure. Just denial.

You leaned in close, lips brushing his ear.

“Good boys come when they’re told,” you whispered. “Not when they beg.”

Spencer collapsed back onto the bed, panting, absolutely wrecked. His cock still hard. Still leaking. Still yours.

And he looked up at you like you were holy.

“I’ll do anything,” he said, voice hoarse. “Please. Let me earn it.”

You grinned, dragging your fingers down his chest.

Spencer was still flat on his back, panting, cock flushed and twitching with the ache of a ruined orgasm he didn’t get to have. His eyes followed your every move—hungry, reverent, completely wrecked.

“You want to come?” you asked, straddling his chest, your knees framing his ribs. He nodded instantly, too fast, like the need had short-circuited his brain. “Then make yourself useful, Doctor.”

You shifted forward slowly, dragging your slick cunt across his stomach, up to his chest, until you were kneeling over his face. His eyes widened. You didn’t give him time to adjust—you just grabbed a fistful of his curls and lowered yourself onto his mouth.

He groaned into you—deep and eager, tongue lapping like a man who’d fantasized about this exact moment every night since the second he met you. He licked you like he had something to prove, like his entire self-worth hinged on how fast he could make you fall apart.

And you let him.

You rode his face, grinding down hard and slow, watching his eyes flutter shut as he moaned against your pussy, so fucking eager it was pathetic.

“God, look at you,” you said, breathless, curling your fingers tighter in his hair. “Smartest man in the room, and you’re happy just being my seat.”

He moaned again—needy and filthy—and his hands clutched your thighs, holding you down, urging you to move faster.

“Oh, now you want to be in control?” you laughed breathlessly. “Not happening, baby. You’re not even allowed to breathe unless I let you.”

You rocked your hips harder, chasing your own high against his mouth, feeling the sharp edge of his nose against your clit, his tongue fucking into you like he wanted to memorize your taste.

“Fuck, yes—just like that—don’t stop,” you gasped, hips grinding now, erratic, relentless. “You wanna come? Then earn it.”

Spencer whimpered beneath you, moaning into your cunt like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted, his hips bucking up helplessly against air, denied again.

You kept going—riding his face like a throne, using him like a toy, moaning his name while you chased your own climax on his tongue.

And when it hit?

You screamed, thighs tightening around his head, grinding down hard as you came all over his mouth—and he just moaned louder, like it fed him.

You finally lifted off him, breathless and shaking, and looked down.

His face was soaked.

His eyes were wild.

And his cock? Still painfully hard. Still untouched. Still waiting for your permission.

“Did I do good?” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Did I earn it?”

You just smirked, dragging a finger through your slick and pressing it to his lips.

“Not yet,” you said. “But you’re getting there.”

You pulled back, gasping for breath, your body still trembling from the way you’d used him. Spencer was still lying there, eyes wide and full of need, mouth slick and swollen, trying to catch his breath like he hadn’t just been a slave to your pleasure.

You slid off his body, slowly, letting him feel the absence of you—the aching emptiness where he had been just seconds ago. He watched you like a lost puppy, desperate for more, but you were done.

You were certainly satisfied.

You grabbed your clothes from the floor, pulling your panties back on first, letting the cool fabric slide over your damp skin. You didn’t spare him another glance as you slid your dress back on, slow and deliberate, like everything had just been another routine for you.

Spencer’s gaze never left you—his hands clutched at the cushions, still hard, still begging for some release, but you didn’t even acknowledge it. He had his answers now, his punishments. This was what he’d asked for.

The only word he could think up right now was, Feral.

“I can’t stop thinking about the way you moaned,” he said, almost dazed. “The exact pitch. I could graph the sound waves if I wanted to.” He chuckled, but it wasn’t amused—it was unhinged. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve come just thinking about you in that skirt you wore to the Gideon briefing?”

You raised an eyebrow, sliding your bra strap up your shoulder slowly. “You're such a perv, Doctor Reid.”

His eyes flashed.

“And you like that.”

You did.

He lunged forward, pulling you onto his lap like he was starving again. “You fucked your way up to the top?” he growled against your throat. “Fine. Then fuck your way through me. Let me be the price you pay to keep it.”

As you pulled your heels back on and sat up slowly, you finally glanced at him—his face wrecked, begging in that silent, desperate way. But there was no tenderness, no softness in your eyes. You were a different version of yourself now. The one who wasn’t affected by him, the one who wasn’t obsessed.

“You’re not going to come, Spencer,” you said, voice cold as ice. “You’re not even worth it.”

You turned toward the door, one last look over your shoulder. “Next time, maybe don’t get so obsessed with the idea of me. It’ll save you some embarrassment.”

And then you left.

The door clicked shut behind you.

Spencer lay there, panting, still twitching, completely fucked.

But you were already gone. And you didn’t look back.

[soo0hee]

In the Middle of the Night...

Pairing — Yoon Jeonghan x afab!Reader

Summary — One year after the snap your life finally is going back to normal again and with insomnia and nightmares plagueing your sleep, you do things you usually wouldn't. Thankfully a little spider is ready to swoop in...

Genre — angst, a hint of fluff, SpidermanAu

Warnings — Depression, mentions of ED, mentions of suicide, alcoholism, guns, mentions of kidnapping, sexuall assault, panic attacks, tell me if i missed sumn

Word Count — 2.8k

Rating — NSFW

A/N — Spidey!Hannie is here my babes, wifes and loves! @tusswrites @tomodachiii @svtiddiess @welcometomyoasis @diamonddaze01

Disclaimer: this fic is written and copyrighted by ©soo0hee on tumblr. do not rewrite or repost on any other plattforms without my permission.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED!

You knew that it wasn't a good idea to leave your apartment at ass o'clock in the morning, if it could even be called that already. Most citizens of Seoul were dead asleep at this hour.

Most, but not you. Not when the nightmares of losing your loved ones were still plaguing you to this day. Making it impossible to sleep even now, 5 years later and with everyone who had vanished with the snap coming back again.

5 years of surviving as what you had done could not be called living.

You remembered the screams on the street of people vanishing into dust or of those who had to watch those they loved disappear. You could still feel how the hand you were holding was suddenly gone and you turned around just to witness the horrified look of your baby sister as she to turned to dust.

You felt your throat hurting as you screamed terrified just like half of the earths population and only when things had settled a bit where you able to drag yourself home feeling numb and like you had no joy left in your body just to find everyone gone.

Only your mother was left behind, sobbing in the ruins that had once been the living room of your familys home. They were all gone. Your father, brother, sister and even your beloved cat. It was only you and your mother left. Until the day you came home from your job only weeks later to find that she had left you too.

The blood on the kitchen floor had already started do dry as it seemed to cover every single tile it could reach. The missing knife on the counters cooking block and the metallic smell hanging in the air had burned itself into your memory.

Alone, mourning the disappearance of your family and your missing best friend Jeonghan you fell into a hole that swallowed you and held onto your being with sharp claws.

5 years of missing different puzzle pieces of yourself that left you wondering if you would ever be okay again.

Inclined to ignore the knock on your new apartments door you stayed on the couch with your cloths looking like they had been worn for weeks, which at that point was probably true and you desperately needing a shower and proper meal. But the knocking had been insistent and annoyed you threw your blanket to the floor, almost tripping over multiple take out boxes as you marched over to the door. The peephole was covered from the outside so you were unable to see who it was.

Growling out a curse that got stuck in your throat as soon as you saw who had been covering the peephole with his finger.

Jeonghan, still slightly out of it after having been brought back and having been explained what had happened had immediately went to your old home just to find a creepy stranger who looked like he had been nursing on one whiskey bottle after the other. Determined to find you again to see if you were okay, it had taken him a few days do find you and when he finally did, all he could think about was you. From his friends he already knew that you hadn't vanished after the snap just like they had warned him about the state he might find you in, yet when the door opened Jeonghan felt like he had been punched in the guts.

His best friend, the person he'd do anything for, looked like an empty shell of e person she used to be. It was obvious that the last years have not been kind to you and it took everything in him not do cry for the happy girl you used to be. The light in your eyes was gone, your hair a giant mess and even underneath the hoodie you were wearing, a hoodie he was 100% sure had once been his, he could see that you had drastically lost weight.

Jeonghan had barely caught the door as you slammed it shut or at least tried to before running to hide in the bathroom. He listened to the hysteric crying for maximum 2 seconds before breaking down the door after having heard the shattering of a mirror, scooping you into his arms as you begged for the hallucinations to finally stop torturing your mind.

He didn't mind the blood spilling from your bare knees as you sat in between the mirror shards littering the ground as he fought against you while you fought against him and the demons you were seeing in your terror and only when he forced your face to look at him did you finally give in, finally believing him when he promised that it really was him and not your mind playing tricks on you.

God, just how many times had you seen him when in reality he had still been gone?

Until you had calmed down, hours had gone by when you had passed out from exhaustion right into his arms and for you to get better it had taken much longer.

That was 1 year ago and so far, things were going ok. Telling your family about the tragedy that happened while they were gone had put a strain on all of them and while everyone was trying to live with this new reality, distance had grown larger then you thought possible. But they were back, and that was enough for you.

Now though, you were suffering another night of insomnia so you had grabbed your phone and started your journey to Jeonghans place.

Seoul at 3 am was not your favorite place and walking past dark alleyways gave you slight serial killer movie vibes. Tightening your hold on your phone you dialed Jeonghans number, hoping you wouldn't wake him up.

"Hello there, sunshine! Why are you awake?" your friends far to awake voice rang through the speaker.

"You know, I could ask you the same thing." You countered and earned a huff from the other.

"Yahh, at least I'm in bed unlike a certain someone, right?" he answered just as the honking of a car was much closer on his side of the line then it could be if he was in bed.

"Didn't know that your bed is out on the streets now..." you called him bluff. "I'll be at your place in 15, you know."

There was a moment of silence on his side.

"Wait, you're outside? y/n! It's 3 am! That's so dangerous!" Jeonghan whisper yelled and you faltered a little in your steps, unsure if you should continue your way.

“Sorry... I just couldn't sleep again and-"

You looked around yourself, suddenly feeling like you were being watched.

"Please, go home. Try for me! I'll be over in a bit but please go home!" His voice was urgent in a way you had never heard before. It made you nervous.

"I'm already at the sandwich place not that far and-" You were silenced when you rounded the corner, starring right into the barrel of a gun. The men in front of you, 3 in total were covered in black, guns ready to be used in their hands.

"Gimme the phone darling!" the one pointing his weapon at your face snapped. Fear took a hold of you and with shaking hands you did as told. Jeonghans paniked voice rang through the speaker, having heard what has been said on the other side.

"Not your night it seems like." One of the others cackled at your misery.

The third one grabbed your arm roughly, pulling you along into one of the alleyways while completely ignoring your struggles against his hold.

"No, please let me go! I didn't see anything and I-" you begged, voice wavering as you were pushed against a wall.

"Pull of your shirt."

No. No, this wasn't happening. Or was it?

Apparently you were taking to long.

"I said, take. It. Off!"

You whimpered and reached for the zipper of your jacket. The cold air making you shiver when you exposed yourself to the night and reached for the hem of your shirt. "Please don't do this. Let me go home and you can leave too and-" Pain shot through you as you got struck across the face by the gun.

"Shut up and lose the shirt, bitch."

“Now I do have to ask, is that a way to talk to a lady? Did your mother not teach you any respect!”

3 heads + yours flew around only to find…

Nothing.

“Up here, pabo-ya.”

The heads flew up and came face to face with Seouls very own friendly neighbor hood spider.

He was hanging of the side of the building, head tilted to the side and web attached to the building.

“Fuck off Spiderboy. This is our business and not your’s.” the one with the gun growled annoyed and you could hear the sound of dissatisfaction when the hero jumped down to land on the ground.

“We agree to disagree; is that the way to talk to a lady? Seriously guys, you are not exactly being gentlemen here.” The red masked guy taunted happily as he took two steps closer, causing the other 3 to build a barrier between you and him.

You frantically looked to the side, hoping to find something you could use to defend yourself while Spiderman distracted them enough for you to reach for the pipe laying not to far away. You probably would even have noticed if they weren’t busy trying to scare the uninvited guest off.

The 3 gangsters were pissed, you could hear that even with having heard only half of what was being said and just when the first gun shot rang through the alley, you reached for the pipe you had eyed before.

The sound the metal made when it collided with the mans head that was closest to you would have on a normal day made you sick, but not now you only heaved as you watched him sink to the ground.

Spiderman, having taken down the gunner and now busy fending of the last one webbed his hands together, earning him a loud roar of anger which you silenced with another swing of your own weapon of choice.

You came face to face with the friendly neighborhood spider and for a moment you just stood there in silence until you could hear the sound of sirens in the distance.

The groans of the 3 taken down idiots filled the night and spiderman made quick business webbing everyone to the ground before shooting one up in the air to get ready to swing off; the other holding out to you for you to take.

“Unless you want to stay here to make a police report that the police of Seoul is to stupid to follow through with anyway, I can swing us out of here?”

Hesitant but cold you took it and suddenly he had is arm wrapped around your waist and held onto him for dear life while swinging through the night.

The wind tugged at your hair and clothes and you prayed to everyone who would listen that Spiderman wouldn’t drop you. You weren’t particularly keen on ending as human pancake on the asphalt.

Your feet hit the ground or more like a roof top. The rooftop of your best friends apartment building to be exact. Having spend countless of nights up here with him to chase the nightmares away just trying to feel his presence in the last 5 years right on this roof, you knew exactly where you were.

The question was just- no… this had to be a coincidence, for sure…

“You really shouldn’t be out this late, it’s not safe for a lady like you.” Spiderman said and now that you had calmed a little after your adrenalin rush, something about the chiding tilt of his voice rang a bell in the back of your head.

“Yeah, my friend told me as much… I was on my way to his place when i– you know.”

The hero nodded knowingly. “Yeah about that…” he stated calmly before suddenly ripping the mask of his head and your best friend long black hair fall in front of his face. “What the hell, sunshine?!”

What. The. Fuck????

Mouth basically on the floor you stared in Jeonghans horrified face. It was funny. Shouldn’t you be the one to feel like that upon finding out that your best friend was fucking Spiderman???

“What are you doing outside this late? Were you trying to get yourself killed? Do you know how scared I was when you called?”

But it made sense. His late nights. The fact that he brought you here. His voice.

“You belong in bed! Not out on the streets at 3 fucking am!”

Jeonghan paced in front of you, hand furiously buried in his hair and tugging on it while you still stood frozen on the roof.

“God I think my heart stopped for a moment because of it! You’re going to be the reason I go bald early and I hope you know that I will make you pay for every single hair dye job I get because of it!”

Your mind slowly caught up with the situation even if it gave you a headache. You rubbed your temple with the tips of your fingers hoping to make the incoming pain go away before it really started while Jeonghan kept ranting to himself without looking at you.

“Jeonghan.”

“And not even that but what if I hadn’t come in time? Huh, what then?”

You tried again.

“Jeonghan!”

Failing.

“You could have been kidnapped, thrown in a ditch or what not!”

You inhaled deeply.

“Or, or you could–“

“JEONGHAN!”

“WHAT?”

He whirled around to finally face you. Realizing the situation you were in his stressed look changed into something akin to surprise.

“You–“ you stopped talking to gather your thoughts. “Are so lucky I love you or I might have killed you for keeping this from me!” you spit out, livid about the entire situation. You felt betrayed.

Spider man had been around for years, save for the years after the snap. Did that mean that Jeonghan had lied to you about this since the beginning? I had to be, there was no other explanation other then-

FUCK!

The words that had left your mouth came back to you.

You’re lucky I love you… You’re lucky I love you…

The words echoed back, taunting you like the kids on the playground.

“You-“

“NOT THE POINT, YOON JEONGHAN!” You yelled out in panic.

“We are talking about this!”

“Right after you tell me what all this is about?” You gestured wildly to his mask and suit.

The black webs on red of his spandex contrasted starkly even in the dark of the night and Jeonghan had the guts to look sheepish.

“y/n, I- it’s complicated okay. There was this incident a few years with a radioactive spider and now I’m your friendly neighborhood spider. Please don’t hit me?”

His words came out so fast that you had trouble following.

“Still considering on that.” You shrugged, hands crossed over your chest.

You always had a weakness for Jeonghans puppy eyes and this time, just like the countless times before, they made you melt like butter in the sun.

“I hate you so much right now.” You sighed and Jeonghan cracked a smile.

“No, you don’t. You looove-“

Glaring hard at his smug grin you stared at the ground when Jeonghan stepped closer. You shivered in the cold of the night and your best friend gently loosened the grip you had on upper arms, taking your hand into his.

“I’m sorry, sunshine. I should have told you. Maybe then things like tonight wouldn’t have happened” He raised his free hand to your face, fingers trailing down the side of it and sending shivers down your spine. This time not because of the cold.

“You were there, weren’t you? Just like always.” You swallowed with a lump forming in your throat.

“But I almost wasn’t.”

Whispering into the night quiet enough so a normal person wouldn’t have heard it. “Yet you were, and now get me inside. I’m still freezing and I’m tired.”

Jeonghan laughed loudly, hurrying to pull you towards the door to get inside you followed willingly. You would definitely make him tell you about everything in the morning and god better be with him when you do cause it will be the day Yoon Jeonghan will regret not doing so in the beginning.

But for now, all you wanted was get some much needed sleep.

“So you lo-“

“I will hit you!”

[ohburgee]

Chapter Two - Trapped in the dream world

an: SORRY for taking so long for Chapter 2, I was busy with something and didn't go online here on Tumblr for days. But here you are, Chapter 2 :>

Chapter's: 1 tw: Psychological horror, Forced captivity, Emotional manipulation, Chasing

You woke up again with a groan, slowly sitting up from the bed. You looked around, you're alone. Hatred isn't here. Nothing is. But something tells you you're still being watched.

You managed to stand and walk toward the door. When you stepped outside, you saw the black and white surroundings. You're still in the dream world. You wandered further until you reached the dream zone.

As you walked, you saw a plain white space, and a large hand holding four glowing orbs: yellow, blue, purple, and red. You approached and examined them closely. Then, you touched the yellow one, and it consumed you.

You were teleported to a familiar place: Thought, the sketchy world. Walking letters moved around, and you remembered, these were enemies you had fought before.

You descended the stairs slowly. One of the creatures saw you, but instead of attacking, it simply stared. Maybe Hatred did something.

You walked past it and made your way to the upper door. You entered: Personification. A red wasteland. The path here was long, but you started walking. Again, the enemies didn’t attack, they just watched you as you passed.

Eventually, you reached a square, where yellow hands writhed in the air. But suddenly, you fell. Confused, you realized you were now at the end of the maze.

You entered and found Greed, playing with their Tix. They noticed you and immediately wrapped their cartoonishly yellow stickman arms around you.

“It’s YOU again,” they said, pulling you close. “You’re…?” you began. You remembered killing them, because Builderman said to.

“You’re?” they echoed mockingly. “What do you mean?” “You’re dead. You’re supposed to be. How?” They laughed. You heard the Tix rustling.

“You thought you killed me?” they cackled. “It was just a dream.”

You stared at them, confused. “Cat got your tongue?” they asked. You tried to recall something.

“How is that possible? This is a dream?” “Yes, this is the dream world. Everything comes from dreams,” they said. You nodded slowly.

Greed’s gaze shifted. Their head lowered, they had seen something. Someone. Then they turned back to you.

“Go on now. We’re done chit-chatting.” You were suddenly returned to the white plane with the large hand.

You sighed and walked toward the blue orb. You touched it.

Isolation. A cold, blue wasteland filled with broken street lamps.

You started walking. As usual, the enemies only watched. When you reached a rusted gate, you heard whispers.

Then you were suddenly teleported again, to the Duck Pond, a bright and almost surreal place. You stepped onto the path of duck-shaped tiles but paused, an enemy blocked your way. You hesitated, wary of an attack, but it just watched you. You passed, unharmed.

Relieved, you continued and found a door. You remembered needing to solve a puzzle to move forward, but instead, you were teleported to Solitude. They looked at you with quiet recognition.

“Ohhh... it’s you again…” Solitude said, welcoming you. You approached slowly. “You too... you're not dead,” you murmured.

“Ohhh… uhm…” they wobbled like jelly and stepped closer, but stopped.

“I guess… I should just keep myself silent,” they muttered. Their gaze shifted behind you. Then they looked back.

“See you around… Player,” they whispered, before teleporting you back.

Back to the white plane.

You felt a growing unease. Why weren’t they attacking? Were they scared of you? Terrified?

You also noticed, Hatred still wasn’t around. Where was he?

You walked toward the purple orb and touched it. Instead of a purple realm, you were sent to a strange, black place with a violet tree-like wall.

Odd.

You approached the wall. A creature, Fear, waved like a tree before morphing into a monster you recognized. “What are you doing here?” they asked.

“Just wanted to check,” you answered.

They waved their arms again. And then they said something that widened your eyes, “Did it trap you here?” “You know about it?” you asked. Another wave. You took it as a yes.

“Please help me… I know it sounds stupid, but… will you help me get out?”

“I don’t know if I can,” Fear said, voice shaking. “It makes us vulnerable to it.”

“It…” You paused. “I thought… he was a ‘he’?” “No. It made itself look like a ‘he’—it took on someone’s form,” Fear replied. It finally made sense. “I want to help you, but—”

Before Fear could finish, an arm suddenly wrapped around your chest. You grabbed at it, startled. You looked up. Hatred. Wearing Builderman’s face. Hugging you from behind, staring at Fear.

“You know it’s rude to talk behind someone’s back,” he said coolly. Fear lowered its arms. Hatred looked at you. Smiled.

“My dear player needs a rest now, after all that walking.” He, or it, teleported you back to the white plane.

Hatred walked toward the final orb, the red one. His orb. If he’s in Builderman form, you’ll call him he. If not, then just it.

He looked at you, signaling you to touch it. You stepped toward it, but before your fingers met the surface, he grabbed your arm.

“What?” you asked. He stared, then chuckled. “Are you tired?” he asked. You looked down, then back at him. “No.”

“Good,” he replied, moving his face closer. “We’re going to play. If you escape from the Purgatory, I’ll let you go. But if I catch you… you’re mine. Forever.” Your eyes widened.

“It’s a chase. I want something fun for us to do,” he said. Then he grabbed your hand and forced it onto the orb. You were teleported to Inferno. A burning wasteland. You didn’t hesitate. You ran.

Screams echoed around you. Fire cracked. You reached the gate.

Teleported again, to the Glitch, a twisted place covered in pulsing red veins. You sprinted.

A distorted sound grew louder. Red veins snaked toward you.

You ran faster, the warped textures making you dizzy. Around every corner, you turned, searching for the way out. Whispers swirled in your ears.

You skidded to a stop, a wall of veins blocked the path. You struck it with your hands. Nothing. Then you remembered, your sword. You slashed.

More tendrils came at you, but you cut them down. Finally, you broke through and ran again. Left, right, repeat, until you saw the hole.

You jumped. Teleported.

The Heart. But as soon as you landed, red tendrils grabbed your arms, one wrapped around your neck.

Hatred appeared in his monstrous form. It walked toward you, savoring the chase.

“That’s cheating!” you yelled. “I got out of Purgatory!”

It grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up. “I got out! You promised!”

It laughed. “No,” it said flatly. The tendrils let go, only for Hatred to seize your wrist and drag you to the center of the Heart.

“What do you mean no? You swore you would!” you screamed, fury rising.

Hatred smiled, feeding off your rage. It gripped your cheeks with clawed hands, making you look at it.

You stared. No eyes. But that gaze, sinister, inescapable. “No matter what risks you take,” Hatred said, drawing closer, “You won’t ever escape the dream world. You’re trapped here. With me.”

Red, crimson smoke consumed your vision. You felt its head nuzzle yours, a mock gesture of comfort.

Then came the darkness. You lost consciousness as its arms wrapped around you.

[catastrophic-crisis]

We've looked back on the records of 2024, so here's a sampler of games that you can play right now for the low price of free:

Beetle Ninja (a hero-for-hire RPG set two weeks before the end of the world, built for repeated playthroughs) / Grimm's Hollow (a spooky and sweet RPG set in the afterlife where you play as a Reaper hiding your ghost sibling)

Remember Places? (locked inside, an AI is your only friend) / Liminal Dreams (a game about exploring bizarre world and meeting strange strangers)

Drown the Bride (a point n' click adventure visual novel about meeting your friend's fiancee in a historically themed fantasy world) / MAMA (a visual novel where you pass out at a yuri convention you were attending with your girlfriend, and awake to find yourself in your childhood home making certain... connections about your mother's actions in the past)

Slider (a tile-based sliding puzzle adventure to find your cat via manipulating the world around you) / The King is Watching (defend your kingdom against an army; buildings are only productive when your gaze is upon them)

Rental (a short and spooky game about renting a cabin, reminiscent of classic survival horror games) / Illusion Carnival (a lost soul wanders a 2.5D pop-up book-like amusement park, evading the attacks of the anomalies that would love to eat them up)

HavE (a visual novel set at a ski resort vacation goes awry in ways that may be supernatural) / Zodiac Paradigm (a murder mystery visual novel arises when twelve animals are called to be a part of the Emperor's council, yet thirteen arrive)

Bad Manors (a point n' click visual novel on Halloween where your friend can't make it to an escape room with you, so a helpful stranger goes in his place) / Reaper's Goodbye (five patrons of a food stall tell their tales while waiting for the midnight train)

SWOLLEN TO BURSTING UNTIL I AM DISAPPEARING ON PURPOSE (a weirdo RPG in which a flying saucer crashes into the town of "Vomit", but you have packages to deliver) / Until Biglight (technically a demo, a sample of a cancelled project of poverty, cats, mice, violence, words like "hyperreality", and planning an assassination)

C.H.A.I.N. / C.H.A.I.N.G.E.D. / The Madvent Calendar (Three anthologies from the Haunted PS1 community. A game of game development telephone, a branching path telling a tale of time travel and family, and a haunted advent calendar.)

[delopsia]

every storm runs out of rain | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 17,000 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: AFAB!Reader, Hanahaki disease, soulmates AU, childhood friends to lovers, alcohol, food mentions, vomiting, first kisses, thunderstorms, (temporarily) unrequited feelings, almost kiss, unprotected sex, eventual happy endings 🌹. Vaguely based on the Gary Allan song of the same name. Brief Summary: It's a cruelty you wouldn't wish upon your worst enemy. The perpetual ache of your heart, longing for a man who was never meant to be yours. Everything about him is as if he's made for you, and yet, your tattoos don't match. You're not made for each other.

It's hard to tell if the feelings started with the stuffiness in your lungs or if it's something that has always been there. 

An indescribable sort of longing that has flown beneath your radar for the better half of a decade. The kind of thing that has let you assume a false sense of comfort under the title of childhood friend. 

Best friend, if Rhett has a few drinks buzzing through his system. Two shining plaques with your name written across them in bold letters.

But neither of them are what you and your dumb heart crave. The pride of being called his significant other is a feeling you will never know, so long as your tattoos are around to remind you that they don't match. So, so close in nature, and yet, they're not the same. 

It's a cruelty you wouldn't wish upon your worst enemy. The perpetual ache of your heart, longing for a man who was never meant to be yours. Everything about him is as if he's made for you, so perfect he could fit into your life like a puzzle piece, and yet fate has destined him and you to fall in love with strangers. Not each other. 

Never each other. 

That tickling rises in the back of your throat. Snowballing larger and larger until you can no longer—

A horn blares. 

Your head jerks back toward the street just in time to see the passenger door of an old GMC squeal open. Rhett. Leaned all the way across his bench seat, hair in his face and all. 

"Y' comin' or not?" He chirps, already beginning to impatiently pat on the cloth seat, beckoning you in like he would a stray cat.

In this cold little town, your heart burns a little warmer.

How he got here so fast, you'll never know, but you've never been more thankful for it. Water splashes beneath your feet, darting toward his truck and away from the crowd of people raging on behind you. Up into your designated place in his passenger seat, slamming the door closed before you've even gotten settled, effectively shutting off the thumping music and flashing neon lights.

"How did you know where I was?" Because last you recall, you never told him about where you were headed tonight. 

Rhett just hums, the noise lost to the rumble of his truck engine. "Recognized the floor in the picture y' sent." 

Of course, that would be one of his many odd talents. 

"Being able to identify a bar just from the floor tile might mean you have a bit of a drinking problem, Cowboy," your eyes roll, shifting to rest against the door. 

"Listen," the streetlight catches in his eyes, lighting them up with a memory, "that checkered pattern is cute 'til your head stars spinnin'." 

He's...got a point. 

Ugh. 

The silence that falls into the truck is a comfortable one. It's the kind of quiet that lets you hear the impatient drum of his fingers, dancing to the soft drone of his radio set to an old country station. Backdropped by the sound of water spraying beneath his tires, washing away weeks upon weeks of built-up dirt from the ranch. 

His whole truck could use a good wash, but it won't see a bucket of soap and water until he scores another date with some no-name from the rodeo grounds. Or alternatively, you show up in the middle of the night and scrub it from top to bottom.

Your phone lights up with a text asking about where you went. Sent from some guy you cared so little about that you haven't even bothered to save his number in your contacts. But as you move to unlock the screen, it opens up to a different set of messages. 

You: Nothing quite like being stuck at a bar, waiting on your designated driver to decide she wants to leave. 10:47 PM

Rhett: What's wrong? 10:51 PM

You: I told a guy I didn't want to dance, and he 'accidentally' spilled his drink on me 🙄  10:51 PM

You: But my ride doesn't want to leave for another hour or two. 10:52 PM

You never noticed the message that was sent right after yours. 

Rhett: On my way 10:55 PM

Maybe not every man in this world has gone to shit. 

Rhett's hand bumps into your chest, some kind of gray fabric balled up in his hand, "here."

You've seen this old shirt before; it's the first thing he ever bought online, hadn't realized until it arrived that it was a few sizes too big for him. Not particularly ideal for a cowboy who can get caught on equipment, but perfect for your impromptu sleepovers.

"You still have this old thing?" You're already beginning to tug your damp T-shirt over your head. Potential onlookers be damned, you're ready to be free of the overwhelming whiskey bitterness reeking from it.

The back of his knuckles graze up your naked side, guided by the thin path of a decade-old scar. A branding from younger, brighter days; the ones when Cecelia would let you spend weekends on the ranch. Waking up at dawn to help Rhett with his ranch chores because the quicker things got done, the sooner you got to run down and play in the creekbed. 

"Still can't believe that piece of glass marred ya like that," Rhett mutters after a long moment. You can't see into his thick skull, but you've got a feeling that he's got a similar memory flickering through his mind. 

"To be fair, I did fall on it," slipping your arms through the clean shirt, you pull it over your head, and once again, that old scar is out of sight. 

That half-hearted chuckle sends a warmth rushing through your veins. The exact one that shouldn't be there. But he hasn't the slightest clue of the wildfire sitting next to him, back to tapping along on his steering wheel as he drives through the main stretch of town. Past feedstores, tourist shops, dinners, the grocery store, and every other little niche boutique hidden between. 

"Thank you." You hardly recognize that it's you speaking. Hadn't realized it was your voice until the sound of it met your ears.

It's a little too quiet in this truck.

But Rhett just reaches over to shake your shoulder. "Y' don't gotta thank me for shit like that," for a fleeting second, he's got just enough time to look away from the road and offer you a lazy smile. "'s what friends do, ain't it?"

Your chest feels like it's been stuffed with cotton. Meek, you nod, attention suddenly on the floorboard and nothing else—nothing else to say. 

Yeah. That's what friends do. 

He doesn't make mention of it, but you've got the feeling that your SOS text must have interrupted another one of his dates. A pile of rose petals rests at your feet, scattered as if they've been swept off the seat in a hurry to make space. Caked in mud and the rainwater that tracked in from your shoes. Storebought, that much you know for sure.

Roses don't grow in Wabang. 

The next time you see him, it's planned. 

You have, for some reason, allowed yourself to become roped into the craze of Wabang's beloved Sugarbeet festival. Right smack dab in the middle of some old ranching land that the county bought some years back. It would have been a pleasant idea if the festival was hosted in spring or autumn and not in the blistering heat of summer. Not an ounce of shade to be found, nothing but cheap tents to protect you from the beating sun. 

It's the kind of misery that makes the outdoors feel like a goddamn oven, and heading out to start your car is its own kind of devil. The air jammed in your AC blasts your face with the boiling winds of hell itself. So damn intense that if Rhett's truck weren't crawling down your driveway, you would have canceled and called it a day.

And you're so glad that you didn't, because good lord. 

The last thing you expected was for Rhett to hop out in that unbuttoned flannel, broad chest on display for all to see. The sleeve falls just far enough from his shoulder that you can see the scar hiding below his left collarbone. 

"Quite the festival outfit you've got," you chirp, dragging your eyes away from his bull tattoo and over to a nearby tree, feigning interest. The back of your throat is starting to tickle, lungs tight as you fend off the urge to cough. Not here, not here, not here.

He laughs, "What, y' don't think I look good like this?"

You do, but he doesn't need to know that. Not in the slightest. 

"Its...certainly a choice," faking a grimace, you turn your attention back to your car, slowly but surely growing cooler the longer it runs. A pleasure that Rhett and his broken air conditioning unit haven't known since last summer. 

You don't mind the idea of it staying broken if he keeps showing up at your house looking like this. Even if that does mean that you become his ride on the hotter days, fearing an onset of heat stroke. 

The passenger door is silent as he opens it. No longer squealing due to whatever he and Royal did to it last weekend. Being friends with a family of DIY ranchers has its perks. 

Thunk_

"Shit." 

You blink. Was that...?

Yeah. 

It was. 

As if last time wasn't enough of a lesson, Rhett's got his knees pinned up against your glovebox, the seat too far forward for him and his big body to fit. Though this time, he isn't hurriedly pawing at the seat levers like he'll die if he doesn't get any more space. Instead, he's resigned to a frown. More annoyed with himself than anything.

"You alright there?" 

Rhett's sigh is so heavy that his shoulders visibly deflate. "Yeah," reaching off to the side, pushing the seat back as far as it can go. "Humbled, but 'm alright."

It's toward the end of your drive that you notice the flower petals sitting on your dashboard. Roses, you think. It must be what you get for leaving your windows rolled down all morning, vulnerable to adventurous squirrels and other varmints that enjoy trespassing into property they don't own. 

They're certainly not from you, and you would have asked Rhett if your destination hadn't come up so quickly. Fighting for a parking space in the withered grass is a bigger task than folks let on. Even with folks on the ground, pointing you to the perfect spot, someone will always try to steal it out from under you. 

For a festival in such a small town, there is a hell of a lot going on inside of it. Food trucks, concession stands full of sweet treats, craft booths, and cheap knick-knacks bought offline to resell under the guise of being handmade locally. Apple bobbing, the duck pond, and ring toss. There's a precariously placed dragon roller coaster and a horse carousel that Rhett tries convincing you to get on. 

Worse. There are so many people. Faces you recognize and those you've never seen before. Waiting in lines and shoving themselves between you and Rhett because the small gap between your shoulders looked like a good opening to get somewhere quicker. 

"'s a lil crazy out here, don't ya think?" Rhett's asking through a laugh, once again stepping over to you. Two kids dart between you, their hands occupied with bags of fake goldfish. 

Only took a decade for them to learn not to hand out live fish. You can still remember the three you and Rhett got when you were small. One didn't survive the drive back to his house, and the other two managed to stick around long enough to see New Year's. 

Rest in peace, Goldie Junior and Patches.

"I think it's always been crazy," tilting your head to cough into your elbow, dislodging that goddamn tickling sensation—you look away before you can see what it is. 

There's a girl off to the side, staring in your direction. Or rather, Rhett's direction. Long, wavy hair and a delicate sundress, the kind of woman who looks like she's walked right off the beach cover of a magazine. Her warm gaze has long since settled on Rhett; it's a look you've seen a million and one times at the rodeo. The one that gets him a little weak in the knees.

You look away as quickly as they flickered over there. If you don't make eye contact, maybe she won't come over to introduce herself. 

"We weren't that bad, though," but then, pausing to look at you, concern lacing his narrowed gaze, "...right?" 

Rose-tinted memories flicker through your mind. Rhett falling and breaking his wrist after taking you out on a green horse. Trespassing onto the Tillerson property to play with Luke and Billy, only to get hauled home in the back of a police cruiser, 'cause their momma didn't care much for you two. Getting busted, sneaking out your bedroom window to go spend the night with Rhett. All those times, you had to run through back alleys together because you'd been caught out after Wabang's curfew. 

"I like to think we were relatively well-behaved," concluding after a moment. Though your families may have a vastly different opinion on that. 

Laughter rumbles from you at the same time it does from Rhett, shoulders bumping together. Sends a little shock of warmth rippling through your bones, twisting around your heart like briars.

Maybe the conversation would have lasted longer if you didn't get distracted. Rhett lays eyes on a truck dedicated to a locally crafted beer, and the small frame of a self-serve station from the local candy shop catches your attention. It only makes sense that you would step aside and regroup in a few minutes. You're in desperate need of a breather before that girl works up the nerve to approach him and turns you into a third wheel. 

There's more to this little station than what initially met the eye. It's shelves full of caramel apples, peanut brittle, fudges of every flavor you can imagine, covered pretzels, cookies, and hard candies galore. And here you thought that it would have been wiped clean by the folks who came early in the morning before the sun could reach mind-numbing temperatures. Even your favorite candy is here, the last box left on the shelf.

The price is a little steep, but the flavor of them on your tongue is enough to distract from the pained cries of your wallet. If Rhett knew these were here, then he absolutely would have skipped out on beer in favor of convincing you to split them together—the candy mooch. 

But you must have taken too long to make your decision because you don't see Rhett. Not by the crudely decorated truck, and he said he would be waiting next to the old wooden bench under the oak tree, but it's entirely empty. Not a cowboy in sight. That stuffiness arises in your throat again. 

Maybe he's...

"Hey!" A herd of kids are darting around you. Like a bunch of cats scrambling from the bang of a tractor. One slams into the side of your leg as she rushes past. It doesn't affect her in the slightest, but your feet stumble. Knocked off kilter. Your open container of candy threatens to spill onto the dirt. 

 But then another kid is bursting through the crowd, and this one... 

You recognize this one. 

"Amy?" 

She doesn't need to say a damn thing. Her wide eyes tell all you need to know. 

The crowd is too tall for her to see over it, but as she tugs you along behind her, you've got the feeling that she knows exactly where she's going. Navigating the festival based on terrain alone, over thinly spread gravel, and down a broad dirt path. Her hand clings to your wrist so tightly that her knuckles have gone white. 

You don't know who she's bringing you to or what could have happened. But it has to be something. Perry could have fallen into another one of his rages. Rhett very well may be doing something dumber than getting a DUI on the back of a horse. Or, or—

It's both of them. 

Perry's clawing at Trevor like a goddamn cat. His teeth bared like an animal. Crazed. Feral. Someone's got him by the collar. But it's not doing anything. He barks something incoherent. Jabbing a pointed finger at Trevor. Amy's shoulders jolt. Squeezing your wrist impossibly tighter. 

Plaid shirts scuffle behind them. Cowboy boots and Prada sneakers kick up plumes of dirt. Two brick walls slamming into one another. Caught in a spiral until someone makes the first pull backward. Luke's fist connects with Rhett's jaw. 

Flower petals burst into the air. 

All of a sudden, Luke is jumping backward, his palms raised to the sky. A rare white flag. One that you didn't even know was in the Tillerson arsenal. "I'm sorry, man," is all he can say. Pale as a damn ghost. 

Almost pale as the baby pink petals fluttering onto the dirt floor. 

"Is that..." Amy's the one to break the silence, looking your way as if you hold all the answers. In a sense, maybe you do. "I thought it was a myth?"

Air catches in your windpipe. Feels like you're about to choke. "I did, too." 

What the fight was over, you're not sure. It couldn't have been something serious; they've dropped the issue far too quickly for it to be something worth fighting over. There and gone within the blink of an eye. The Tillerson brothers are dispersing into the crowd without another foul word, Rhett's wordlessly pawing at the fresh red mark on his jaw, and Perry's barking something you don't care to hear. 

Amy's long nails are biting into your skin, threatening to tear through and draw blood, but you can't ask her to loosen up or let go. The sting is half the reason you haven't unraveled like a loose ball of yarn. It isn't enough to stop your lower belly from twisting and turning, a bitterness rising in the back of your raw throat.

"Sorry," Rhett's voice comes so suddenly that you jolt. 

"I leave you alone for five minutes." Your tone comes out blander than you intended, doesn't match the roll of your eyes, deliberately avoiding the sight of flowers lying in the dirt.

He must catch onto it because his frown deepens. But he doesn't say anything, and neither do you. Only offering a wave and a forced smile when Amy ultimately ventures off with Perry for another one of his ice cream apologies. Those seem to be happening more and more lately. 

Hypothetically, someone should say something. Explain what the fight was about, how he got across the festival so damn fast. Was the beer any good? Want to share this candy before your jaw starts to ache like a bitch? The words are flickering through your head a million miles a minute, but not a syllable makes it to your tongue. 

"It's over someone at the bar," Rhett's admission comes in the tune of a guilty child confessing to breaking a vase. Meek. Like he'll fall apart if pushed any harder. "If that's what y' were wanderin'." 

Falling back into the character of annoying best friend is easy. All you've got to do is throw your weight into his side, not strong enough to deliver a playful shove. "So there really is another person stuck with that god awful tattoo," letting your mouth rise into a smile, almost thrilled to be pulling this off so well.

"Hey!" He's pushing you back, laughing, though he's careful not to knock you off your feet this time."'Least mine ain't a shoe."

Defiant, you raise your left arm, the tattoo on your wrist just as dark and bold as it was the day you were born. "It's a lucky horseshoe, thank you very much." 

And just for a little bit, you can deceive yourself into thinking you can still breathe.

You never do put the passenger seat back into its place. It's so far back that you catch yourself thinking it's not there at all; more than once, you clamber into the vehicle and think someone has robbed you of it. A part of you wishes it would happen. That some ridiculous bandit would break in and take that seat. 

It would be doing your dignity a favor; you're acting as if he's dead. 

You passed his truck on the way over here, parked outside the Handsome Gambler. If you weren't worried about wrecking, you would have tried to get a glimpse through the open door to spot him with his shiny new soulmate. 

A good friend would stop in and say hello; if she makes Rhett happy, then you should be happy. It should be on the forefront of your mind; you're three stores down from the bar, but your feeble heart jerks in your chest with a familiar sourness. Hand trembling, struggling to hang onto this little bag of chips. 

A good friend would be happy for him. 

But you're not a good friend. 

And if this cashier doesn't hurry up, you might also become a horrible customer. Your stomach is twisting like you're about to puke, something bitter rising in the back of your throat. Damn near dropping the receipt when she hands it to you, shoving it into the bag, and darting out the open door. 

You hardly make it to the edge of the sidewalk. Keeling over with a wretched noise. 

But the only thing that comes up is the shit that's been lodged in your chest all afternoon, stubbornly sitting in your chest with the weight of a damn elephant. Refusing to move, restricting your airway until you crack, and confess your feelings to a man who was never meant for you. 

"Hey!" 

Bleary, your eyes peel open. Really hope they're not talking to you. 

"I have your sidekick!" Sherrif Joy's voice cuts across the night air like a knife. Swift and straight to the point.

Turning your head might be the thing that puts you on the ground, vision spinning like your eyes have gone loose in your skull. Funny. You can almost deceive yourself into thinking that's Rhett she's towing along.

Maybe because it is him. Boots dragging against the sidewalk, shoulders so loose that they sway in the wind, eyes hardly open, simply led along by the hand Joy has on his bicep. You've got just enough time to paw at your mouth with your sleeve before she's close enough to notice that something may be off.

"I know he's not your responsibility," the glint in her eye suggests she's getting more amusement out of this than she should be. Probably because this wouldn't be the first, second, or third time that she's sought you out. "But he wouldn't shut his mouth when he saw you."

Rhett's grin is too bright for his flushed face. "Hi." 

You don't need to look at your phone to know that it's too damn early for this, and yet, you can't seem to muster up the slightest bit of irritation as you ask. "How are you already drunk at eleven at night?" 

"I—" Hiccup. "Been here all evenin'." Shreds of red rose petals cling to his lips, flaking off with the movement of his mouth and fluttering to the ground like rain.

Oh, Rhett. 

"If you don't want him, I can bring him to the station," Joy always says this, the same damn line over and over, as if she doesn't know what you will ultimately say, "it's no big deal for me." 

Looping your hand through the handle of your grocery bag, you reach out to take Rhett by the wrist. He comes to you easily, long arms reaching out to wrap around you, clinging like an oversized piece of velcro. 

"I'll take him," feigning annoyance is impossible when he's smiling at you like that. Drunk but completely and utterly happy to be with you. 

If only he looked at you this way when he's sober.

Getting him to the car might be the hardest part of this excursion; it takes you and Joy to get him into your passenger seat without banging his head on the roof like last time. But this isn't your first Drunk Rhett Rodeo; Lord knows it ain't Joy's either. It might even break your previous record of five and a half minutes. Not that you were counting.

"Where we goin'?" He chirps the moment you've clambered into the driver's seat. 

"Home." It's the only response you've got. Not entirely sure if he's got the capacity to follow long sentences. 

But his head cocks to the side like a goddamn puppy. "My home, or...home home?" 

Ice forms in your wrist. Suddenly caught before you can turn the key in the ignition. Is he...? It's gotta be. What else would he be referring to? 

"Home home?" More of a question than anything, but he's not sober enough to notice the difference. That grin simply grows a little bigger. His boots kicking against your floorboard, happy as a clam in high water. 

It doesn't fade, either. Even as you get the car going, and he fusses about leaving his truck behind, he doesn't lose the excitement that bloomed the moment he laid eyes on you. Content to sit here and let you drive, looking out the window and commenting on whatever he sees. The crazy lady on Second Street has added more flamingos to her lawn hoard, and someone's mailbox has been knocked over. What does that sign say over there? 

"So what's your soulmate like?" You ask, reaching to turn down the radio. "You haven't said anything about her." 

Rhett's shoulders rise and fall with a shrug so subtle that you nearly miss it. "They're alright," pause. Then, a weary laugh. "I jus' wish they'd like me back."

Yeah. You understand the feeling. 

He doesn't seem to notice the petals clinging to the lower strands of his hair and into his flannel, hanging off the edge of his pocket and accumulating in his lap. They're identical to the ones sitting on your dash, dry and shriveled from the sun, bouncing as your front tire hits a pothole. 

Now that you give it some thought, you suppose that's why he's drunk. 

"My throat hurts," he grumbles out of the blue, rattling you from the sanctuary of your thoughts. 

You hum, not entirely there. "Getting sick?" 

Quiet, he reaches into his flannel pocket, producing a small assortment of something green. Rose stems, their thorns stained with crimson. There's no way that he's...

Your tire smacks the edge of a curb. The steering wheel yanking out of your hands.

Shit. 

Right. The road. 

"You've been coughing those up?" Voice strained by your heart, sitting high in your esophagus. You're so damn lucky that was a concrete curb and not another car. 

And yet, you dare to peer at him through your peripheral. Those stems still resting in his big palm, as if he doesn't have the strength to put them away again. You reckon he's not sober enough to have noticed your mistake. He would have commented on it by now, making fun of it as if he's any better of a driver. 

"Fuckin' hurts," it comes out softly, a confession that his own ears are afraid of. 

And it's the kind of statement that echoes throughout your car for the rest of the drive. Rattling between the pauses between songs and bubbling to the surface at every lull of the music. Clouded over by too many wonderings of how long he's been quietly dealing with the roses growing in his lungs. A condition so extreme that the stems are beginning to come up, too. 

You would ask why he's never told you about this, but...

Rhett's head cracks against the window with a heavy thunk as you pull into the driveway. So sharp and sudden that you fear he's broken the glass. But the only wound to come out of it is the red spot on his forehead, the color already rising to the surface by the time you put the car in park.

"Did that hurt?" It's impossible to ward off the lightness in your tone; a smidgen amused. 

"Nuh-uh," but he's rubbing at it like it does. 

You shouldn't have believed him, either, because by the time you get him through the door, it's already begun to swell. Miniscule at first, but if you give it some time, it'll grow into a proper bump. One that he'll grimace at in the morning but will lie through his teeth when you ask if it's hurting him. 

If he were sober, he would be nipping at your palm for daring to venture near his face; you can hear it now, the prematurely yelped "'m alright!" before you've even opened your mouth. But he's not sober. Has to put his hand on your waist to stabilize himself, not entirely aware of how you're curling your hands around his cheeks, holding him still. 

You don't think this one will rise too horribly, but you've been wrong before. Like how you insisted the cut on your side was just a scratch and wound up needing more stitches than you knew how to count. 

"Will you let me put ice on it?" You find yourself asking, your fingers drifting up to smooth over the bump. 

Defiant, his head shakes. 

"What if I order a pizza? Will you let me then?" Trying again. But even at the prospect of his favorite drunk snack, he's not interested. 

"Ice cream?" No.

"A movie?" Wrong again.

"Two movies?" Nope.

"A promise to never speak of this again?" Nada.

Huffing, you let go of his face, throwing your hands in the air instead. "Is there anything I can bribe you with?"

His brows furrow. A thought flickers behind his eyes.

Slowly, he nods. 

You've got a bad feeling about whatever this could be, but God, it's too late for you to care. "What is it?"

Even if he would have let you go on for the next century, you would have never guessed that he wanted this. 

Here in the soft sanctuary of your cozy little unmade bed, nestled beneath the myriad of sheets and blankets that you swore you'd throw into the washer three mornings ago. There might be a few crumbs left over from your snack last night, too distracted by the video on your phone to notice the mess until it was too late. 

The state of it all would bother you under normal circumstances, but you reckon you're getting contact drunk. Head spinning at the sight of this cowboy, snug as a bug in your bed, his cheek squished against the spare pillow. His arm has wound up draped over your side, over the sheets, and you can't remember when your hand drifted to his face, thumb swiping back and forth over his scruffy, unshaven jaw.

For once in your life, you can breathe.

You've started to forget what that was like.

He's so unnervingly close that you reckon he can hear the hammer of your heart rattling against your chest like a caged animal. Furious. Determined to burst through and spill its contents for him to see. The devil on your shoulder suggests that you should let it happen; chances are, he won't remember any of this come morning. But the soft, whiney voice of the angel reminds you. 

Rhett's got a soulmate. And it isn't you. 

"What made you ask for this, anyhow?" The sound of your voice comes as a surprise; one of those thoughts that have journeyed to your mouth, rather than staying up in your head. 

Those sleepy blues peel open; maybe the slightest bit cross-eyed perfectly matches that crooked little grin. "'s like a sleepover."

There's a word you haven't thought of for a while. Probably hasn't surfaced in your vocabulary since your early teenage years, arising in arguments about how unfair it was that hitting puberty meant no more sleepovers. It was okay before, so why did it become a problem when your ages started ending in 'teen'? 

Hesitant, your attention drifts to the tattoo on your wrist—that not-so-lucky horseshoe. A symbol that only became a problem in your second year of high school when your heart decided that it wanted your best friend over a soul mate. "Like the ones we're banned from?"

"Uhuh," his foot juts out to kick your ankle, "'cause we're too damn old." 

You're kicking him back before you can think twice about it. Old habits be damned; you're not letting him get a shot in without getting one yourself. But he's already fighting back, socket feet smacking against yours. Tangling. Fighting to get one punch in over the other. His leg bangs against your knee. Your hands lightly shove against his chest. 

All of a sudden, Rhett's lurching forward.

The room spins.

And you're lying on your back. Caged beneath the broad frame of a man proven to handle animals over a thousand pounds heavier than you. His hands planted on either side of your head, knees straddling your hips. Long hair strays into his face, slipping out from behind his ears, but it's not enough to block your eyes from locking.

You're itching to reach up and tuck it back into place. To drift your palms across the roughness of his cheeks and trail a thumb over those thin lips. They're bitten to all hell, but try as you might, you can't imagine they're anything other than soft. 

Time itself might have stopped. 

God. You can't breathe. Don't know if it's from the infestation building in your lungs or the overwhelming scent of alcohol on his tongue. 

Or maybe...maybe it's because he's gradually growing closer. Minimizing the gap between your bodies, inch by debilitating inch. An image plucked right out of your own imagination, replayed a hundred and one times. 

But this version of Rhett doesn't belong to you. 

The one in your head didn't reek of whiskey and beer. 

"Rhett..." You're whispering as if anything louder will shatter you like glass. But he's still...he's still leaning in, and, and— "Rhett. You're drunk."

He freezes. Stiff as a board. Eyes so wide that his irises look tiny. 

"Shit," jerking away as if he's been burned, "sorry." 

This time, when his back hits the bed, your belly doesn't fill with butterflies. It fills with something much, much worse. 

It's the silence that eats at you the most. He's right next to you, and yet, not a word can leave your mouth. What if you hadn't stopped him? Did he confuse you for the pretty thing at the bar, wandering around with the same marking as him? Your heart lurches in your chest, tummy twisting sourly. God, why are you even entertaining this sort of thing? 

He's your friend. Friends don't think of each other like this, especially when one of them has a soulmate waiting on them. 

A funny feeling swells in the back of your throat, stomach gurgling so loudly that it's got Rhett tilting his head to look at you. 

"Are y—"

You're getting up before he can finish talking. Darting for the bathroom for the umpteenth time today. 

You wake to an empty bed. 

Sunlight trickles through the cracks in the blinds, illuminating the freshly made sheets that Rhett once occupied, tucked in the best he could get it. He's been gone long enough for them to feel cool to the touch, but you can't hear him moseying around your house, either.

Your bare feet drift across the chilly, wooden floor, still frozen with midnight's temperature drop. Where Rhett would typically bump the thermostat up a couple of degrees, today, it sits the same as you left it. 

"Rhett?" Voice a smidgen too fragile for the hammering of your heart. 

All you receive is an echo, variants of your own tune. His boots are missing from where they once sat by the front door, and when you creep far enough to peer through the kitchen window into the backyard, you don't find him there, either. The ice pack has been resting in the freezer long enough to begin hardening again. 

And your phone left sitting on the counter overnight, contains a notification from everything and everyone, except for one man. Still the same text messages from three days ago, no matter how many times you refresh the page. But the magnetic whiteboard on the side of your refrigerator has a new smiley face on it. 

...and the marker is once again missing.

With a sigh, you reach for the phone, fingers tapping away at the keyboard.

You: Hey, cowboy, you've got something of mine. 09:47 PM

It's not until after you've got a morning drink in hand that you recognize the tire tracks in your front yard. The grass flattened in the corner of your driveway in a fashion that only Perry Abbott can pull off. No matter how many times he's driven here, he's always overshot the turn and ventured into the lawn.

Your phone is still quiet when you cruise through town a little after nine. Rhett's truck is missing from its place in front of the bar, the space now occupied by a vehicle that the Abbotts can't afford. 

 On its own, your heart lurches in your chest. The tail end of a blue pickup is poking out from a streetside parking spot just down the main drag, and that's got to be him. You know this town like the back of your hand. There aren't many trucks that look like Rhett's. If you catch him now, maybe you can smooth things over regarding last night. Before the dust begins to settle and erode away at your psyche—

But Rhett's truck doesn't have stickers. 

This time, you don't make it to the bathroom before that damned sickness overtakes you. Spewing onto the side of the road at the only red light in town, right in front of the old cafe with its outdoor seating. 

A hangover would be more dignifying. At least then, a little old lady wouldn't be tilting her head at you, her kind, wrinkled eyes soft as she offers you a smile. You understand that look more than you'd like to admit. 

It's the same expression you carried when those petals burst from Rhett's mouth. 

You: Hey, cowboy, you've got something of mine. Yesterday.

Odd. Usually he responds fairly quickly, at least when it comes to him hijacking one of your belongings, but maybe he's busy. Summer has never been kind to the Abbotts, between blistering heat and cattle who love to take down the southern fences to get at the neighbor's grasses. Judging by the forecaster rambling on the news, things aren't about to get easier, either. 

You: Hey, cowboy, you've got something of mine. Two days ago.

You: I'll give you a hint. It writes in purple ink. 07:33 PM

No dice. 

How are you meant to leave reminders in the kitchen when a rogue cowboy has pocketed your only marker? It's barely been three days, and you've already started to forget things. Today was laundry day, but now you're standing here, swaddled in Rhett's oversized shirt because it's the only clean thing you have left. Maybe there is a benefit to not returning his clothes. You were meant to go get a spice for this new recipe but didn't remember until you were halfway into working on it. Come to find out, that recipe really, really relied on it. 

You can try to blame your lack of an appetite on your cold, unseasoned dinner all you want, but it only goes so far. Heart lurching in your chest, as the screen lights up with a text.

Autumn: Still coming with us Friday night? 👀 07:51 PM

 You: Hey, cowboy, you've got something of mine. One week ago.

You: I'll give you a hint. It writes in purple ink. Five days ago.

You: I'm going to call a bounty hunter if you continue this hostage situation. Three days ago. 

You're getting sick of feeling your heart twist every time you look at this damn screen. But that stupid son of a bitch still hasn't—

"Excuse me," a lady whispers, squeezing past you, "I'm sorry." 

The entrance of Odessa's probably isn't the best place for you to be checking your phone, now that you think about it. 

That's alright; you're already sliding the device into your back pocket, reaching to catch the door before it can close behind her. You've wasted enough time for your friends to have already secured a spot at the Handsome Gambler. It's a wonder nobody hasn't given you a ring to make sure you weren't nabbed off the street. 

Stepping outside does nothing to ward off the drone of multiple shop televisions. All of them moan about how another wicked storm is due to ravage Wabang and every town around it. Same channel. Same woman talking. Same obnoxious blue background. It's a tale you've heard so many times that you can nearly quote it word for word. 

There's a serious storm rolling in tonight. Tornadoes and hail are possible. Here's what to do in a tornado. Do not do these five things in a tornado. Download the news app to stay connected. Tune back in soon to find out if the forecast has miraculously gotten better or worse! 

Looking overhead, you can already see the dark accumulation in the distance, a humid breeze tickling your neck as it drifts past. It feels just like the night you and Rhett rode out into the west pasture to watch the storm roll in. 

Sitting in the grass, watching those dark gray clouds roll closer and closer whilst the horses relaxed behind you, their attentions focused solely on the greenery below. You can still hear the tune blaring from the speaker of his phone. He'd really thought he was clever, playing that Gary Allen song about how every storm runs out of rain. It wasn't so cute when the south pasture flooded. 

A laugh cuts across the evening air. Sharp and pitchy enough to have your head tilting in the direction of it. Right behind you, on the corner of the block. 

Maria Olivares. That's a face you haven't seen in a long while. Wasn't she off to medical school, a couple hours away from here? Who in the world could she possibly be...

You know that cowboy. 

Puzzle pieces click into place. The darkened mark gracing her inner wrist. Too small for you to make out. How she giggles and batts her eyes up at Rhett, as he talks about something in that wonderfully deep voice of his. 

Of course, Rhett's soulmate would be Maria. How could it not be? No wonder why he was so crazy about her in high school; they've got the same damn marking on their bodies. 

As if to spite you, a muscle spasms in the juncture of your wrist. Sourness bubbles in the back of your mouth, but for once, you're able to swallow it down. Not here. Not when either of them can turn their heads and realize that you're standing in the middle of the sidewalk, staring like some kind of creep. Even coming from a childhood best friend, that would be weird. 

"Are you in line?" 

You jerk backward. Wide eyes landing on the wirey frame of some middle-aged man standing in front of you. He motions, with the brim of his hat, toward the door. The Handsome Gambler. Your destination.

"Distracted," you blurt, scurrying to grab the handle before he can, "sorry."

"There you are!" A glass of beer rises from the opposite end of the bar. Autumn. "I was fixin' to come looking for you!"

You have to wait until you're within earshot before you can respond to her, squeezing past the group of cowboys crowded at the corner, watching a PBR ride on someone's cellphone. "I was eavesdropping," You supply, can't keep a damn thing to yourself these days, "Maria Olivares must be Rhett's shiny new soulmate."

Autumn's jaw slackens, eyes so big they might comically burst out of her skull, "are you kidding?" 

One of her friends, you forget her name, gives you a gentle nudge with her arm. You suppose Autumn has already filled her in about your situation. "How did you find out?" Her tone is gentle, nearly washed over by the music blaring from the stereo. 

"Saw them laughing together in the street." There's more to that statement, context, and a reason behind why you've come to that conclusion, but Autumn is taking a brightly colored drink from the bartender, passing it your way.

The Handsome Gambler and mixed drinks do not go hand in hand; there's always too much or too little of something. But out of the corner of your eye, you can see the door opening, two familiar frames entering the bar, the happy new couples themselves. 

Tonight, you don't give a damn what these things taste like. So long as it makes you forget the sour twist in your chest, lungs tightening as if all the air has been sucked from them. Without second thought, you bring the glass to your lips.

It doesn't leave until it's halfway empty, and that's only because the need for oxygen has grown superior. 

The lady behind the bar lifts a freshly cleaned shot glass. You've got a feeling that she's overheard your ramblings. "Need something stronger?"

She doesn't need to say another word. "Absolutely." 

One shot. 

Fuck this town.

A second. 

And fuck Rhett Abbott. 

You're feeling delusional enough to ask for a third, but Autumn's nudging you a glass of water instead. It doesn't have the same bite, but it's equally unpleasant against the back of your throat, still raw and sore. 

Next to you, Autumn and her two friends are already delving into a new conversation. Something about the oddities going on around town and how some old man says he walked into a cave and saw a mastodon. You suppose there must be some inside group dedicated to continuing the claim because it's a rumor you've heard every year. 

A smile fights its way onto your face. You and Rhett used to gear up and go mastodon hunting up on the old trails behind the Abbott property. Royal loved to ask what y'all planned to do with it once you caught it, but you and Rhett never thought that far ahead. 

Your gaze follows the bartender, ready to ask for something sweet, but she's on the other end, gathering a dozen beers for a party that just walked in. Someone leans onto the bar. His head blocking part of your view. But then he looks over, and—

Rhett's eyes widen at the sight of you. By the feel of it on your face, the expression is mutual.

At least, it is for a second. That sourness jumps into your throat. Lower gut churning with a fervor unlike ever before. 

"I'm heading out back," you blurt, hand rising to cover your mouth, "you don't wanna follow." 

The girls frown, but they're certainly not making the risk to stop you. Autumn's already reaching for your drink, accepting your nod as a sign that she can finish off what you've got left. A voice jumps across the blare of the music. Almost sounds like the call of your name. But you don't have the luxury of stopping and looking. 

Your feet are barely falling into line. Rushing to push through the men gathered by the back exit. Past the blasting jukebox. There's that tightness in your lungs again. A thick sensation rising higher. Higher. Higher in your throat. There's the door. There's the door. Your hands are reaching out. Grappling at the handle. 

Hinges squeal open. Shoes scuffing on the concrete. 

Vivid purple petals burst past your lips like goddamn confetti. Stems and all. Ripping past your already battered windpipe and sticking to your tongue, little bits of purple carrying in the wind. 

Those three-petalled flowers were pretty until they started growing in your lungs. You can't stand the sight of them, but you've got no choice but to cough more of them up. As if any amount of effort will make them disappear. 

 A bundle of them have caught in the back of your mouth, stubbornly thwarting your ability to breathe. Light as a feather, your head spins, feet stumbling as you scurry to one of the chairs, sitting against the wall. The plastic groans under your weight, so brittle that it ought to give away at any moment.

Lightning flickers as another wave of flowers rain to the floor, and it's a wonder you can get these out at all. 

The back door opens with a screech. Music pours through the gap, an incoherent tune so loud that you can hardly hear the thunder rolling through town. Someone in boots stumbles out, keeling over.

A bloodstained rose tumbles to the ground, pink and red petals dancing behind it, landing amongst your mess of purple. 

When you lift your head, you know what you're going to see. But that doesn't make the look in Rhett's eyes any easier to bear. Some kind of hellish cross between horror and bewilderment that manages to look akin to a wounded puppy. 

Not a word leaves his mouth. Doesn't get the opportunity to, for that matter, another plume of petals forcing their way past his lips before he can do anything about it. Just the sight of them has that tickle building in the back of your throat, but for the time being, your tank is empty. 

Thunder booms as Rhett falls into the chair opposite you. His hand dips into his flannel pocket, producing...

your marker. 

"'m sorry," he mutters, sentence broken by a cough, "Didn't realize I stuck it behind my ear 'til you texted me."

"Which time?" You can't help the bitterness seeping into your tone, plucking the little writing utensil from his outstretched hand. 

His eyes dart away. 

The tension in the silence doesn't come from the storm. Wind howling around the corner of the building, rustling through the trees. Lightning flickers, illuminating the world around you for the briefest of moments, and just like that, rain begins to fall. Coming down in a thick sheet, so strong that even under the awning, it manages to reach you, mist tickling your skin and dampening your clothes.

Idle, your fingers twist the marker back and forth; it's still warm from where it rested in his pocket, snug against his chest. A part of you wonders if he always runs this hot or if your hands are just cold from the Wyoming air.

"So you and Maria, huh?" Even with the roar of the storm, your voice is too loud; a megaphone in the library would be more tolerable. 

"Nah, I just ran into her 'bout a half hour ago." Rhett's head shakes, eyes on the floor. "We were both goin' to the same place, 'n that was about it."

"Damn, and here I thought she was your soulmate." You hate that a selfish part of you floods with relief. So overcome with it that you can feel the way your shoulders drop. "It would have made for the perfect story."

You could have been the perfect story, too.

"I don't know why I liked her in high school," he's continuing, running a hand through his hair, fingers visibly catching on a tangle, "'s like talkin' to a fuckin' wall."

Of all the things you've imagined him saying, that wasn't even close to making it on the list. Though, you can't say he's entirely wrong; ever since that time you got paired with Maria for a history presentation, you haven't been able to see what's so interesting about her, either. Nothing but one-word answers and giggling with her friends while you worked on the assignment by your lonesome. 

It may be petty, but you're still bitter. 

"I'm sorry, I..." Rhett's talking again, caving to the silence that you've unintentionally put between you two. His hands fall into his lap, clasping together. Then, break apart just as quickly, one of them reaching up to rub at his forehead. "I shouldn't have tried to kiss you the other night."

"It's alright—" your tongue pauses before the rest of your sentence can follow. I wanted you to. But you're looking down at your tattoo, and it's still the same horseshoe. It doesn't match Rhett's. 

It will never match Rhett's. 

Finding your voice is damn near impossible, but you do it anyway. "You've done stranger things while under the influence." 

"Like gettin' a DUI on the back of a horse?" He says it so bluntly that you can't help but sputter. 

It's easy. Dissolving into laughter. Peering at each other through smiling eyes. Yeah, getting a DUI on horseback is much, much worse than trying to steal a kiss. You've still got the voicemail from when Joy called you in the dead of night, asking you to come get Rhett and his horse. 

White flashes. Lighting up the world for the briefest moment. An ear-splitting crackle erupts from above. So loud that the town lights flicker in unison like a bunch of candles nearly blown out by the squealing wind. 

"'s gettin' pretty bad out here." The sound of Rhett's voice is nearly lost to the ringing in your ear. 

"Tell me about it," you lean forward, peering over at the miniature river that runs down into the alleyway, carrying with it a parade of purple, pink, and red flower petals. "The road'll be flooded by the time Autumn decides she's ready to leave."

Rhett's head tilts to the side. "You didn't drive?" 

"Couldn't." Shocker, you know. "I had a hot date with a shot of whisky."

"Two from what I saw," so he was watching you do that, huh?

You wink. "I would have made it three if I knew you were watching."

Something crackles in the distance. Maybe a tree struck by lightning, bits of bark falling like rain. A little too close for comfort, whatever it was.

That tickling rises in the back of your throat once more. Forces another cough out of you. The purple petals catch in the wind before they can hit the ground, soaring off like tiny planes. Rhett's eyes follow them until they're out of sight. 

All of a sudden, he rises to his feet, spurs chiming with the motion. Must have forgotten to take those off again. "Need a ride?" Offering his hand. 

You take it before you even realize what he's asking. 

A part of you is beginning to suspect that Autumn can see into the future because she's hardly phased when she turns her head to see you meander back into the bar, hand in hand with Rhett. Her white teeth flash you with a smile, perhaps a little too interested in whatever Billy Tillerson is babbling into her other ear. With their hands intertwined, you can hardly tell that they've got timers imprinted on their wrists, bearing identical numbers.

Autumn doesn't need to ask when you hand her the twenty from your pocket; in the time you've known each other, you've proven to be a creature of habit. Instead, she offers you a wink, not a word said. 

Rhett's already by the door, working his beat-up wallet back into his jeans before he can set it down and forget that it's there. "Y' ready to get wet?" He chirps once you're within earshot. 

You're not, but there's no stopping the rain now that it's coming down. "Ready as I'll ever be." 

The door creeks open. A gust of wind rushes in through the gap. Slams you with the force of a freight train. Damn near strong enough to knock you on your ass. But Rhett's grabbing hold of your wrist and him hauling you forward is the only thing keeping your feet from being swept out from under you. 

Freezing rain splatters against your skin like a million tiny bullets. So sharp you think they might pierce through and come out the other side. A sheet of white blinds you. Forced to lower your head and prey Rhett's hauling you the right direction. The sidewalk is already flooded. Splashing up to lick your ankles. Soaking through your shoes. 

You're moving. You know you're moving. But you might as well be on some hellish treadmill because it doesn't feel like you're going anywhere.

All of a sudden, Rhett's pulling you to the right. Toward the curb. Reaching for the handle. Yanking so hard you can hear it over the rain. 

It opens. You're inside within the very same second. Clambering into the cloth passenger seat, pulling your legs in, just as Rhett slams the door shut. Through the blurry dash, he's only identifiable as a big blue splotch, travelling around the front of his truck. His door rips open just as quickly, the vehicle rocking as he all but throws himself inside.

"'s fuckin' cold!" He sputters, blindly jabbing the key at the ignition. Miss. Miss again. Another miss. He tilts his head. It slides home. 

It's been a minute since the last time you heard this old truck roar to life. Even longer since you've last felt your skin go this numb. Shivering like a leaf, nerves so ruthlessly beaten by the elements that they're shot. There's a texture to this seat. You know there is, but you can't feel it. 

A weary hand darts out. Wavering back and forth. Narrowly misses the little heat dial.

"Ain't got heat, remember?" Rhett almost sounds guilty, though you can't say for sure. It's hard to get a read of his face when he's focused on putting the truck into gear, looking straight ahead as he pulls onto the road. Though you're not entirely sure why, he's still got that old—

...no. His spare shirt is still sitting in your clothes hamper, next in line for a wash. Even if you had miraculously known to carry it with you tonight, there's no way it would have done you any good. Not with how soaked your clothes are, dripping like you've just gone for an impromptu swim in the coldest river you could find. 

Your arms rise to wrap around yourself, clinging to what little body heat you've got left. A jacket. Why didn't you think to carry a jacket? Lightning flickers. Crackling so loudly that you can feel it travel through the ground; almost sounds as if it's laughing at you. 

Even in the safe confines of this truck, the win threatens to wriggle in and get ahold of you. Screaming around the truck. Whipping past light posts. Rattling them so hard that they sway back and forth. Something is telling you that a power outage is in your near-to-distant future. With how you can look out the back window and see it ravaging the main part of town, there's no way it's not going to take out a power line. One little mess up is all it takes to plunge this little town into darkness. 

There's already a tree down. Its long branches obstructing part of the road, forcing Rhett onto the other side to squeeze past. 

"'m I over far enough?" He sounds like he's got a handle on it, head tilting back and forth, drawing the truck closer and closer to the edge of the road. 

Your eyes squint. Struggling to see through the window. "I think so."

It's an obstacle easily overcome, but as you begin to pick up speed once more, a new problem arises. Those poor little windshield wipers can hardly keep up with the rain. Coming down in sheet after sheet, splattering against the glass quicker than it can be swept off. Driving in the ocean would have better visibility.

"Can't fuckin..." Rhett's talking to himself. You hope he's talking to himself because you can't hear him over the chatter of your teeth. Trembling like some kind of exaggerated cartoon character.

The truck gently veers to the right, off into some kind of gravel space on the side of the road, grinding to a halt.

"The— the wipers can't go any faster?" Tongue limp in your mouth. Impossible to move.

Rhett's head shakes. "No, they don't..." 

His eyes lock onto yours. Even that might be enough to eat away some of the ice forming in your bones. His jaw softens. Eyelashes fluttering with an incoming thought.

Slow, his arm rises from his side, extending your direction. "C'mere."

Your breath catches. Is that...no, you....you shouldn't—

"Promise I won't kiss ya," his fingers tap your shoulder, "'m jus' gonna warm ya up."

Another bolt of lightning flashes. 

You're scooting across the bench seat before thunder even has the chance to arise. Slipping beneath his outstretched arm, helpless to do anything but fall into his big chest, equally soaked as you are, but he's warm. A big furnace, wrapping around and squeezing you into him. 

He shifts the slightest bit, leaning against the door, opening himself up for you to properly squirm into his side. With such little space in this truck, it's a squeeze, but you fit nonetheless, cheek resting atop that old bucking bull tattoo, the scruff of his jaw tickling your forehead. 

Another rumble rolls through, wind slamming into the side of the vehicle, rocking it back and forth like some kind of giant cradle. Rhett's legs shift, properly rising up onto the seat, knees knocking into yours as they settle. There's no way that you can feel his body, not with those thick jeans in the way, but a part of you swears that you can. So certain of it that you think the ice in your bones is beginning to thaw.

A big, warm hand runs up and down the expanse of your arm as if to create a little friction there. "Can y' still feel your hands?" He murmurs, voice rumbling against the top of your head, and you think that's the tip of his nose bumping into you.

You're wiggling your fingers, can see them moving in the darkness, but hardly any sensation comes of it. Feels as if you're operating a separate object and not a part of your own body. "I don't know." 

He reaches down, both hands wrapping around yours, and immediately, it's as if you've been set ablaze. Fire burning in your frozen joints, sensitive to even the slightest change in temperature. Rhett's thumb swipes against yours, a rough glide, his skin weathered by a lifetime of labor on the ranch. 

They're so much bigger, too, dwarfing yours in comparison, long and thick with muscle and built-up callouses. He must be noticing it as well because he's sliding his index finger down next to yours, and even in the dark, you can tell that he's at least twice the size. So big that you can hold just the four of his fingers, and not even need the rest of his hand.

You don't know why you're doing this or why he's letting you. 

Careful, your gaze crawls upward, roaming over the wet fabric of his flannel, up his damp neck, and the dripping curls resting at his nape. And he's...

he's already looking at you. Half-lidded eyes fixated on your face, the corner of his lip twitching upward for the briefest moment. A tickle rises in the back of your throat. Nothing comes of it. Lightning lights up the world like a light switch flicked, but you don't hear the thunder that follows. 

His nose bumps into yours. Breath fanning out against your skin. 

This...you shouldn't...but...

Those blue eyes drop down to your lips. Then back up to you. His eyelashes flutter. You think yours might, too. He's so close. Can feel the stubble on his chin brush against you, a fleeting thing that you can somehow still feel, even after the contact breaks. A breath trickles out of your chest. The slightest little movement that brushes your bottom lip against his. And he's not moving away, he's—

An ear-splitting boom tears past the truck. Rattling it back and forth. Sends you and Rhett jumping. Your head bangs against the seat cushion. His elbow hits the horn. 

"The hell..." he grumbles, with a shake of his head. "Was that s'pposed to be thunder?" 

"Is that what it was?" Parroting him, looking toward the window as if that could possibly give you an answer. 

The rain has slowed into a slow trickle that is easily swept away by the windshield wipers, unveiling the world around you once more. You recognize where you're at now, just two or three miles down from your house.  So damn close, and yet...

"Let's get you home," Rhett's sitting up, and you've got no choice but to do so as well. The scoot to the passenger side is almost shameful, the cold, soaked seat squishing beneath you like a sponge. 

A thick collection of petals swell in the back of your throat as Rhett's foot finds the gas pedal once more. Were you about to kiss him? What the hell were you thinking? That isn't how this works. You're not soulmates.

Somehow, the air has grown even colder without him wrapped around you, his very presence haunting you like a ghost. Lingering in the back of your mind so strongly that you can almost deceive yourself into believing that you're still snuggled into his side. But no matter how hard you focus, you can't force it to manifest into reality. 

Cruel is what it is.

Even as the rain picks up once more, it's not enough to pull you over again, swept away from the windshield as quickly as it lands. There's another tree down, but it has barely made its way into the road, such a simple obstacle that only takes a second or two to get past. And just like that, your porch light is emerging in the distance. A golden glow that grows larger by the second, like a tiny sun rising to greet you.

The gravel driveway crackles beneath the tires; it's usually a pleasant sound, but today, all it does is cause your stomach to sink. Such a sour feeling that it rises, flower petals tickling the back of your throat until you cough. Little bits of purple scatter across your lap. Rhett's foot jumps to the brake pedal, a soft squeal emitting from beneath the vehicle as it comes to a stop. 

You've never been so disappointed to see your front door. 

"Thank you," barely a whisper as it leaves your mouth. Anything louder might break you.

He nods, eyes darting from your lap and up to your face. "Yeah." 

The only sound in the truck is that of the frozen rain pitter-pattering on the metal roof. Nothing more. Nothing less. With a forced, tight-lipped smile, you reach for the door handle. It opens with a groan, creating just enough space for you to slip out, the oversaturated ground squelching beneath you. He doesn't say anything as you shut the door, so neither do you. 

Resigned to silence, you trudge through the rain. Wind rips past, determined to lift you up off the ground and whisk you into the sky. But you don't lift off the ground. You don't even slip. Your feet find the front steps of your porch, hand fishing into your pocket and producing a set of drenched keys.

The confines of your home are so much warmer than it was outside, and yet, as you toe off your muddy shoes, you can't help but compare it to Rhett. Your heater may be strong, but it doesn't wrap around you the way his arms did. Big. Secure. The kind of thing you thought only existed in your daydreams. 

Strange, you don't hear his truck pulling out of the driveway. You know he hasn't; that old GMC runs far too loudly for it to slip by unnoticed. Curious, you hook your finger into the blinds, pulling them down.

No, he hasn't moved at all.

...what's he doing out there? Even from here, you can tell that the storm is picking back up again, rustling through the trees, swaying them back and forth. 

Nothing has fallen or otherwise obstructed the driveway, and something couldn't have gone wrong. Not that quickly. Unless he's suddenly developed the ability to hear your heart hammering against your chest, wordlessly begging him not to leave your driveway, there's no reason for him to still be parked. 

The cab light flicks on. Then off again. All of a sudden, he's rounding the back of his truck. You're opening the door, socked feet stepping out onto the cold, wet porch. His spurs chime, boots thumping up one stair. Two. Three. Four. No, no, something must have happened. His eyes are wide, and his jaw is slack, looks half scared to death. 

But he's not stopping. 

"Rhett—"

"I forgot somethin'." One more step, and he's leaning down, and, and...

It's the simplest of things, merely pressing against each other for a long moment, but heaven itself cannot compare to the feeling of Rhett's lips against yours. His nose crushed uncomfortably against your cheek, big hands cradling your cheeks like you'll break if he doesn't. 

Just as quickly, he draws away, soft blue eyes meeting with yours. Lightning flashes, but even the following slam of thunder cannot stop you from grabbing a fistful of his flannel and yanking him in once more. Lips crashing together, feet stumbling with the force of it. One of his arms is wrapping around your waist and your hands are sliding up into his hair. Bold. As if this is familiar, something you've done every day of your lives. 

The press of his mouth and the stubble of his chin are so much more than your imagination ever could have crafted. Warm and scratching against you so deliciously that your head goes quiet. Soul mate markings be damned. This is where you're meant to be. Right here. Twisting your fingers through his unruly curls, gasping against him. Drowning as he kisses you again, and again, and again. 

Your head is spinning. Stumbling blindly as he leans into you, forcing you backward. Your heel catches on the doorway. "Rhett—" But you don't fall. You can't. Not with that strong arm around you. "Cowboy!" 

"You're the only one that's ever called me that." He breaks away, kicking at the door with his foot. There's no doubt a mud stain on the white frame now, but you've hardly got it in you to care. 

"What?" Your nose bumps into his cheek. A little too close.

"Cowboy." He mutters, lips brushing against yours. So, so close. 

A breath hitches in your throat. "Should I stop?"

"Never." And he's kissing you again. 

Muffled thunder rumbles outside, and you're pretty sure the power has gone out, but you can't open your eyes to check. Helpless to do anything but tug on his hair, drinking in his deep grumble like you're starved. You should be embarrassed. Shouldn't be this desperate over a first kiss. 

But Rhett's got it just as bad. Pushing you backward until you're bumping into the wall. His big, calloused hand is venturing beneath your soaked shirt. God, and you're letting him. Back arching as his fingertips trail up your spine, chest pressing into his. Gasping against his lips like you're trying to put on a show. 

More. You want more. Reaching down to toy with the buttons on his shirt, undoing them one at a time, shaking fingers struggling to push them through the holes. Too eager to feel the expense of his chest beneath your palms. 

"You're gonna have t' stop me," Rhett's speaking against your lips, batting your hands away. Makes no effort to finish your handiwork as he yanks the flannel off his shoulders, the final three buttons snapping off and scattering across the hardwood floor.

Before you can stop it, your hand drops to his belt, pulling him closer. Earns you an affectionate chuckle that echoes throughout the house. Those hips of his press forward, obnoxiously large buckle digging into your belly, not an inch of space left between your bodies. 

"Why would I stop you?" It's too early for you to be reaching down to grab at the hem of your shirt, but you don't care. You want this damn thing off. The soaked fabric stubbornly clings to your frame, heavy as you drag it over your head. It hits the floor with a wet thunk, a mess for the future version of you to handle. 

Those deep blue eyes might eat you alive. "Good point." 

It's hard to tell who makes the next move. All you know is that you're leaning in to kiss him, noses crashing together, and his hands are appearing on your ass, squeezing until you get the hint to jump. It all happens so fast. The thunk of your back against the wall. His hips slotting between your thighs. 

"Y' feel what you're doin' to me?" He grunts, and he doesn't need to specify for you to know what he's talking about—heavy bulge straining against his jeans, pressing perfectly against your core, igniting a familiar heat there. 

"Uhuh," is all you're capable of. Greedy hands sliding across his chest and up his shoulders, feeling over all the little freckles and marks that have haunted your imagination. Fuck, and he just lets you. Too busy leaning in to steal a kiss off you. One. Two. Three. Before he shifts to the juncture of your jaw, stubble tickling as he kisses down your neck.  

Your hips buck forward. 

"Fuck," Rhett's voice tickles your ear, "shoulda let me kiss you earlier, sweetheart."

A shiver ripples down your spine. That's new. 

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Finding your words is a task in of itself. Hard to do much of anything when his lips find the soft spot beneath your ear, sucking lightly. 

"You were drunk," voice strained, wound too tight in your throat. 

"Felt pretty sober in the moment," He hums, tongue poking out to wet your skin. Fuck, you wonder what that would feel like in other places, thighs squeezing impossibly tighter around his hips, works a groan right out of him. 

Thunder booms outside, but it's not enough to stop your lips from crashing once more. Teeth clattering, hopelessly grinding down into him, and even these layers of clothing can't stop you from feeling the way he twitches. 

It's all a blur. 

One moment, you're up against the wall. The next, you're on the ground again, socks sliding against the floor as you stumble down the hall. Hands tangled in his hair. Gasping against his lips. Moving blindly, too focused on each other to spare even a second. You don't know you're in the bedroom until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, falling backward with a yelp. 

Fuck, you shouldn't be doing this. There's no reason for you to be letting Rhett Abbott climb into bed with you and slot his big, warm body between your legs. He's your friend. You've known him since you could walk. And these tattoos. They don't match. You're not soulmates. 

Rhett's hand rises, pinning yours to the mattress, fingers slotting together. Must know what you're thinking about. "Who gives a fuck 'bout soulmates," he whispers, leaning forward to bump his nose against yours, rubbing them back and forth. "A damn stranger ain't gonna make me as happy as you do."

And you don't...you don't know what to say. 

Maybe you don't need to say anything because he kisses you like he's heard everything your heart has to tell him. Stealing your breath away, plucking every little flower from your lungs, so dizzying that your legs have to curl around him to keep from floating away. As if you could possibly escape the big, warm arms that have settled on either side of your head. 

Slow, his weight settles on top of you. Bellies snug together. So close that you can hardly grind up into him, reduced to a needy squirm, whining high in your throat. 

"Shh," he coos. A big hand curling around your cheek, thumb stroking the thin skin there. "I'll take care of you."

He's already making good on his promise, pulling away to kiss down your neck once more. Hot tongue poking past his lips, running over a vein, leaves behind a glistening trail as he makes his way to your collar. One of his hands dips behind your back, pinching the clasp of your bra, opens it so easily that it almost surprises you.

The last thing you expect is for him to gasp when he pulls it away. Awestruck by the sight of you, bare, for his eyes only. "So fuckin' pretty," whispering, as he kisses down your chest. Too eager to run his tongue down the swell of your breast, so content that his closed eyes seem to smile. 

Oh, that's...

"Rhett..." Heat swells in your lower belly. The feeling of his tongue swirling around your nipple is...truly something... 

Just as quickly, he's darting to the other one, all too excited to feel the little bud harden beneath his touch. Sensitive. Only takes the slightest bit of suction to make you jolt. But he must have noticed something even more enticing because he's pulling away from that one as well, a big hand rising to toy with it as his head dips down lower. 

A delicate kiss presses to the scar on your left side. 

Then another. And another. And another. Loving on the old wound, as if he can possibly reverse the damage if he gives it enough attention. Maybe just one more kiss will do it. If not, then surely the next one can make it happen.

"It was nobody's fault," you say softly, reaching to run your fingers through his hair once more. Truly, it wasn't. Nobody could have anticipated that shard of glass. 

"I know," the rumble of his voice tickles, pausing to run his tongue up the expanse of the mark, "jus' wish it didn't hurt ya like it did."

Gradually, he draws himself away from your side. Kissing his way down your belly until he meets the thin, delicate band of your underwear. His eyes peer up at you with a silent question. Your answer comes in the form of lifted hips, allowing him to pull the material down your legs. Then, he reaches for his belt, pinching it open with mesmerizing ease.

One boot thunks against the floor. Then the other. You really hope he didn't track mud all over your hardwood.

"You and that obnoxious buckle," the comment slips off your tongue before you can stop it. Too busy watching him undress. It's unfair how well the fabric clings to his thighs, fitting him like a damn glove. 

He laughs, kicking his jeans off his feet. "What, don't think it looks good on me?" 

"If I answer that, your ego will go through the roof." Your eyes roll; the last thing you need to do is tell him that, yes, you do like it. Lord only knows he'll run himself through four more rodeo seasons, trying to score an even bigger buckle. 

"Already has," he winks, hooking a thumb into the waistband of his boxers.

You don't know what he's got to be so confident about until...

"Jesus, Rhett."

"What?" He grins. Absolutely fucking obnoxious. But you can't formulate a single word. "What?"

Your thighs cinch together, hiding yourself from view. There is absolutely no reason why that should be springing up from its confines, so heavy that it smacks against his hip, unable to stand up against his belly. So wet that even in the dark you can see him glistening.

"Naw, y' don't gotta be shy," Rhett's hand travels up your knee, slipping between your closed legs, callouses dragging deliciously against your sensitive skin, "'s just me." 

A little too easily, you fall apart once more, feeling a little too exposed as his hungry eyes rake down your body. Every imperfection and curve is on full display. An exhibit of the life you've lived. And Rhett just might be your biggest admirer, his warm frame slipping between your legs, big hands gliding up your sides, pressing lazy kisses as he settles on top of you. 

"Rhett..." you don't know why you're saying his name, thighs curling around his sharp hips. His cock head bumps into the meet of your thigh, sends you jumping before you can realize what's happened.

"Ain't gonna hurt ya," uttering beneath his breath, a sentiment meant for your ears only. "I promise." He reaches between your bodies, gently guiding himself to—

Your head tilts back with a gasp. That's new. The delicate drag of Rhett's cock, gliding between your folds, the underside of him nudging at your clit. Hadn't realized you'd gotten this worked up until now, so wet that you can almost convince yourself that you don't need any lube at all. Not a hint of dryness to be found, sliding so, so easily against you.

But then you're gathering the courage to peer down between your legs, and even the darkness can't hide how big he is. Thicker than your daydreams have ever depicted, just a hair longer than any of the toys hiding beneath the bed.

"Bedside table," you blurt, heart fluttering in your chest. Walking is a privilege you'd like to keep. 

An unforeseen positive to letting your best friend between your legs is the fact that he knows exactly what you're trying to say. No need for questions as Rhett reaches off to the side, hand disappearing into the drawer. Comes back with the bottle, then delves back in, producing some tiny, round hunks of plastic.

You don't recognize them until he flicks one on—the tiny, fake candles from a few Halloweens ago.

"How romantic," there's a strangeness to this that you didn't expect; oddly casual, even with this newfound situation. 

"What?" He asks, innocent as can be, like you have a choice in the matter, already putting one flickering candle off to the side. Another, next to your hip, and he's still got four or five of them left to turn on. "Ain't in the mood for some mood lightin'?"

Lying to yourself is fruitless. The soft golden glow is a welcomed addition to this dark little bedroom. Highlights the room just enough for you to catch the way he drizzles the lube into his palm, reaching down to spread it over himself. That big hand almost tricks you into believing his cock is smaller than it really is, the flushed tip nudging at your cunt with every upward glide. 

They say monsters hide in the dark, and you know you caught sight of one between his legs. 

Two fingers press into you. No warning to be found, the thick digits easing in like they've done it a million and one times, crooking upward, dragging against your walls. There's the slightest hint of a stretch, a soft ache that—

You suck in a breath, a soft noise escaping past your lips. 

Rhett's cock twitches against you. "'s that it?" 

Weak, you nod. Don't trust yourself to speak. Not with him gradually beginning to move, shallowly pumping those long digits into you, never pulling out far enough to make you feel empty. But it's so hard to stay quiet when he continuously rubs up into those little nerves, nudging them on every pass over. 

"Rhett..." hips writhing against the bed, not sure if you want to lean into it or squirm away. 

That must be all that he's planning to give you because all of a sudden, he's drawing away. Wet fingers glisten in the candlelight as he reaches for his cock once more, guiding it back between your folds. Not entirely the same as what you had before, but the drag of his cock head against your clit is so, so worth the exchange. 

His warm chest settles against yours once more, lips finding your cheek, scratchy jaw tickling the skin there. Sounds like he murmurs your name as he travels to the corner of your mouth, pressing another kiss there. Finally. Finally, he meets you for a proper kiss, almost immediately broken by the swivel of his hips, reformed just as quickly.

Your hands are on the move. One in his hair, the other on his naked shoulder, feeling the way his muscles flex and ripple beneath your fingertips. Strong from a decade of bull riding and all that time spent on the ranch, chiseled and perfect in every way you can imagine. Fuck, it's like he was built just for you and this. Rutting between your legs like he's in heat, dragging against your needy clit until your hips twitch off the mattress, pressing into him. 

Swallowing down his groan is enough to put you up on cloud nine. 

A pressure appears at your entrance—the soft nudge of his tip. Your antics must have caused him to wander a little too far down. But you're pushing down onto him like it was your intent all along, and by God, he's not trying to stop you. 

Rhett stiffens. "You want me to...?" Muttering against your lips, unable to draw himself away any further. 

"Yeah," it's the easiest thing you've said all night.

It's all the encouragement he needs, mouth meeting yours once more. Slow, that pressure between your legs begins to grow, his blunt tip spreading you wide. There's a part of you already beginning to wonder if you should have asked for more lube, but his incessant lips are so damn distracting. Tangling with yours, drawing you into a captivating dance, spinning your head round and round, drawing your mind away from the burn. 

His head slips into you with a soft 'pop,' such an odd little feeling that has you gasping into his kiss, fingertips digging into his shoulder blades. Now you can really feel him. The delicate drag of his length gradually filling you, centimeter by debilitating centimeter. You'll be waddling come morning. You can already feel it.

There's no way you won't be. Not with how your pussy aches with the overwhelming stretch of him.

"Y' want me to stop?" Rhett's low voice rumbles against your bottom lip; when did the kiss break? 

Thunder rumbles outside, your only reminder of the storm that looms just past the thin walls of your home. Even the memory of running with him in the rain feels like it was forever ago. There were flowers filling your lungs just a few hours prior, but as you draw in a breath, you can't feel a shred of evidence that they were ever there.

"Yeah," nodding, your nose bumping into his, "you're just...a lot." 

God, you shouldn't have said that. 

But it's too late. There's already a wild grin emerging onto his scruffy face, so pleased with your words that his eyes seem to sparkle. As if the sight of you struggling to take his cock wasn't enough of a boost to his ego. 

"'s that it?" Speaking through his smile, still has the audacity to sink even further into you. "Ya never had anything big as me?" 

Your eyes roll so hard that they might get stuck.

All at once, his hips are flush with yours, not an inch of space left, your legs tightening around him as if there's a risk of him pulling back out. But that's not happening. Not with the way he's blindly nuzzling his nose into you, so lost in the feeling of you wrapped around him that he can't hold his eyes open.

"Y' alright?" His eyelashes tickle your cheek as they flutter open.

"Uhuh" is the best that you've got at this given moment. It's so hard to speak when you're so full. Couldn't take another millimeter of him, even if he begged you to. "You can..." pausing for a breath, "you can move."

In perfect synchrony, your attentions flicker down to where your bodies meet. A sight lit by the golden glow of the artificial candles, illuminating the slow withdrawal of Rhett's cock, where you're stretched so wide that you don't think your smaller toys will ever satisfy you again. 

"Shit, look at that," there's no reason why Rhett, of all people, should be so mesmerized by this, but he is, and it makes you fucking dizzy. "'s fuckin' hot."

And then he's sinking back in and—

"Fuck," it's too early for you to be whimpering so high in your throat, but his blunt tip is dragging right against the sensitive nerves hidden within you, and it's so, so much. 

This close, it's hard to miss the way Rhett's breath hitches, "'s that the spot, baby?"

All you can do is nod. Nails biting into his shoulders as he draws back once more, rubbing past that little spot once more. Toys don't normally get this sort of reaction out of you, but there's just something about it being Rhett that's getting to you. Your childhood best friend. The man that your weary heart has yearned for since high school. Eye candy at every rodeo he's ever set foot in. 

His lips find yours, tangling lazily, humming all the while. A part of you wonders if he always demands this many kisses. If he makes a habit of smiling into them. The rest of you knows that he doesn't because otherwise, he'd know that the heavy thrust of his hips would send your teeth clattering together.

"Ow," he's jerking back as if he's not the main culprit behind it. 

His cock head drives right up into those nerves. Sends your back arching up off the bed, pussy spasming around him, and you don't know which of you cry out louder. 

"There, there, there," you're babbling like a fool, but he's already missing it again. Such a minuscule thing that every correction is an overshot. 

Rhett's brows furrow, focusing so damn hard, and yet, "I can't...shit, that ain't it either." 

But you've got an idea.

Without a word, you begin to lean up, foreheads bumping together as Rhett tries to follow along, his big blue eyes so wide that they glisten in the light. Slipping out of you entirely as he falls onto his haunches, looks like a big puppy when he's confused like this.

"On your back," your command is soft. It could easily be bent if he really wanted to, but he's already following through on it, twisting and falling back onto the bed without a fuss. 

Settling into his lap is a feeling you've imagined a million and one times, and yet, somehow, it's unlike anything your mind has ever come up with. Warmth radiating off him like he's a damn heater, broad chest making your hand look impossibly tiny, as you lean on him for balance. He's already one step ahead of you, carefully guiding his cock back to your dripping cunt; all you've got to do is sink down and—

A pair of gasps tear through the room. Louder than the storm raging outside.

"Y' look so fuckin' beautiful on top of me, baby," Rhett sputters, peering up at you as if you've hung the moon and the stars in the sky. 

Already, you're beginning to move. Knees digging into the mattress, palms firm against his chest as you lift yourself up. The curve of his length alone is enough to make your thighs shudder.

"You're not so bad yourself," you're breathless already, hips swiveling, searching for that deceptive little angle. Maybe if you...lean a little further forward...

There it is. 

A tingle ripples up your spine, clamping down around Rhett's cock, and he must feel it because his head rolls to the side, lips parting with a groan that ought to make your head spin. Those big hands settle onto your thighs, gripping like he'll fall off the bed if he doesn't.

"Is that—oh fuck,"  his hips jerk up off the bed, leaking tip kissing those little nerves head on, "is that it?"

You can't answer. Palms shivering against his chest, already fighting to keep yourself upright. An ache blooming in your thighs with every rise and fall, head tilting back, a familiar heat beginning to bloom in your lower belly.

Rhett must be feeling it, too. There's no way he isn't. Head rolling from side to side, back arching off the bed, unable to keep himself still beneath you, a whiny mewl escaping his parted lips. And all it's doing is jostling his length inside of you, sporadically tapping against all those sensitive spots.

A calloused thumb appears on your clit. Not sure when he started reaching down, but it's damn near got you collapsing onto his chest, a tremble setting into your exhausted bones. 

"Fuck, Rhett!" You're squealing, poorly built rhythm already beginning to fall apart. 

Again, his hips snap upward, heavy balls smacking against your ass. "'m sorry, I'm not trying to buck my hips. I just..." he doesn't get to finish that because you're falling forward into his chest, face burying into his shoulder. It's too much. It's too much. 

Big hands settle on your hips. Gripping tight as his knees bend, feet digging into the mattress to pump into you properly. Lewd smacks of skin on skin echoing through the room, artificial candles bouncing with his every motion. 

"Anyone else ever fill your sweet pussy like this?" He rasps in some rumbling, guttural tone you've never heard before. "Hm?"

Your head shakes, but it takes a moment to realize that he can't see what you're doing. Not with you nuzzled up under his jaw. "N-no," whimpering right into his ear. 

Those hands are moving again, gliding up your back, big arms securing themselves around you like a hug, the only damn thing that keeps you from bouncing further up the bed. Your forearms settle on either side of his head, shivering as you try to lift yourself up, but you can only go so far, barely able to meet his eyes.

Lips clash, so loose that it hardly even counts as a kiss. Drinking down Rhett's feeble whine. Makes your head spin so much more than the alcohol ever did. Heat pools between your legs, pussy tightening like a vice around his pistoning cock, thick tip rubbing into those nerves over and over and over. 

You're close. 

"I love you," it slips out of him so quietly that you nearly believe it's a figment of your imagination. "I love you, I love you, I love you." 

One of your hands delves into his hair, noses colliding. Think you might be whispering it back, but you can't hear what's coming out of your mouth. Overridden by the blood rushing to your head and the slap of his skin against yours, and, and, and...

Spots appear in your vision. Body going taut as you cum around him without the slightest warning. Crying out high in your throat, forehead knocking against Rhett's, an invisible flame racing across your skin. Every thrust pushes your head higher into the clouds, could damn near float up to the ceiling if his arms weren't tightening around you, his hips stalling. A melody of whimpers bubbles out of his throat, orgasm washing over him like a tidal wave. 

You think you can feel it. The spasm of his cock and the warmth of his cum painting you white, flooding your pussy so full that you think it's already beginning to pour out of you. His hips jerk up into you, punctuated by a sickening squelch and his own broken moan. 

And yet, somehow, you've got the strength to meet his swollen lips, lazy tongues poking out to twist together like a greeting. Wet and messy as can be, saliva running down your chin, drooling like dogs in the summer sun. Rhett twists beneath you, and you're vaguely aware that the world around you is spinning, falling into the mattress beside him. 

A tickle rises in the back of your throat, forcing a cough out of you. Two purple flowers dance out onto the bed, obnoxiously vibrant and dainty. They've always been small, nothing compared to the roses Rhett's been choking up, but they look even tinier in his sweaty palm.

"Spiderwort," he murmurs after a moment, running a fingertip over their petals. Bleary blues peer flicker up to you, half-lidded and turned upward by his dumb smile.

They've always been his favorite. 

"So there was no girl at the bar?" You ask, hand wandering onto his cheek, curling around it like he's the most delicate thing on this planet. 

His head shakes. "Never." 

There's still a storm lurking outside, rattling the house, lightning and thunder striking the ground with an unmatched fury, but you hardly notice it. Too distracted by the warmth of a cowboy, his legs tangling with yours, uncaring of the mess you've made together. Kissing just for the hell of it, wandering across cheeks and peppering over old scars, musing about the memories attached. 

When you fall asleep, you're not sure, but you wake snuggled into his naked chest, his big arm looped around you like a blanket. Sunshine peeks through the gap in the curtains, the shrill tune of a bird singing her song, and for once, it's dreamy rather than irritating. 

On its own accord, your fingers drift across his sleeping face, warm and maybe the slightest bit flushed. Wandering over the scruff clinging to his jaw, finally at that length where it's grown soft to the touch. Drifting around the minuscule scar above his brow, the only remnant of the night you snuck out together and wrecked the four-wheeler. 

As far as you're aware, Royal never did find out why it started making that funny noise.

...or maybe Rhett was never asleep to begin with because when you look back down, his eyes are open. 

"Keep doin' that," he grumbles, voice deeper than the rumble of last night's thunder, leaning in to press his lips against your forehead. You don't need any further encouragement, trailing your fingertips across his face just for the hell of it.

There are things you should be saying. Discussions to be had about where this puts you and what you are to each other, but the upturn of his lips tells you a million and one words. Seriousness can wait. For now, all you want to think about is this next kiss he's planting on you.

And then another between your eyes, and another on your left cheek, one more on the tip of your nose. Slowly but surely sprawling across your face, peppering you with them so quickly that it feels like the wings of butterflies fluttering against your skin.

"Rhett!" You squeal, pushing at his jaw, but it's no use. He's rolling on top of you, and you're helpless to do anything but squirm and cry out, forced to endure all these kisses. 

As quickly as they start, they stop. 

You're half anticipating them to begin the moment your eyes peel open, but he's not even looking at you. Too focused on something next to his face, just past your wrist.

Or maybe...

"What?" You're not following. 

He leans back, brows furrowed as he looks down at his arm. 

You don't get it. What, was he expecting the tattoos to change overnight? It still looks the damn same to you—

...oh. 

That's not the same marking that has marred your skin from birth. And Rhett's turning his arm to let you see, and it's—

It's the same. Rhett's old bucking bronc, your shoe flying behind its upturned feet. It was never meant to be identical; they were meant to complete each other's picture. 

"Are you serious?" You're sputtering through the smile emerging onto your face, so wide that it shapes your eyes with it. 

And Rhett's not doing much better. Red-cheeked. Grinning from ear to ear. "We just been wrong 'bout it the whole fuckin' time."

This time, when he leans down to kiss you, there isn't a single flower to be found in your lungs. No roses. No spiderwort. Just you and him collapsing into these messy sheets, tangled together as one, matching tattoos at all. 

Separation is only temporary. Breaking apart just long enough to venture into the shower together, uncaring of the tight fit, so long as Rhett's hands are gliding along your body. Tangling together in the kitchen, waiting on the microwave to beep, feet knocking into each other beneath the table like you're five years old, and sharing breakfast at the Abbott house again.

He kisses you in the hallway while mopping up the mud he tracked in. Peppers them along the side of your neck when you stumble out onto the porch to find that a tree has fallen, blocking your driveway completely. Perry says he'll come by with a chainsaw tomorrow afternoon; he could be here within the hour, but you've got the feeling that he's already caught on to what's happened. 

In the middle of summer, you begin to suspect that some familiar flowers are beginning to grow around your home. Vibrant little buds sprout from amidst the dewy grass, nestled against the foundation of your home and roaming out into the lawn, running rampant now that the storm has run out of rain.

Roses don't grow in Wabang. Unless, of course, they're accompanied by spiderwort. 

A few kisses from a cowboy are all they've ever needed. 

[calvincell]

Critical PSA to Balatro or Mahjong or general Roguelike Deckbuilder Lovers for the amazing looking upcoming game ULTIMAHJONG!

ULTIMAHJONG is in the exact spirit of the likes of Balatro, Bingle Bingle & other casino/gambling-based roguelikes/deckbuilders that have been inundating the indie gaming scene recently and which I’ve personally been happily drowning in! In this case the base game is Mahjong & it’s straight up Riichi Mahjong based thankfully rather than the deluge of puzzle solitaire tile matching games that overwhelm Steam

Currently has playable demo on top of being Wishlistable. The dev predicts a release this year & I’m absolutely purchasing it on day one if for nothing else than to reward a halfway legitimate Mahjong game!

Speaking of the dev, they themselves ran through a few rounds of the early game to show it off:

Don’t know how many this post will reach but I’m happy to do my part to raise the population of Mahjong Enthusiasts out here on top of supporting innovative indie devs & their projects!

EDIT:

My luck finding out about these types of personally niche games seems to remain at an all time high because I’m obliged to update this post with a 2nd Roguelike Mahjong Deckbuilder on the horizon: AOTENJO

Similar to ULTIMAHJONG in intent but with its own distinct style & also has a free demo on Steam to try out.

One of AOTENJO’s major features is the inclusion of multiple regional mahjong variants to enrich the variety of the play experience!

Unlike in the case of ULTIMAHJONG, AOTENJO’s developer XO Cat’s YT channel (under the moniker NonToxicEel), lacks a similar in-depth breakdown of the game’s demo but does have a few videos attempting speedruns of the demo and are still a recommended watch to get the game flow & feel they’re aiming for:

Once again, I happily embrace the Mahjong renaissance we seem to be getting in our post-Mahjong Soul & Balatro indie gaming landscape!

AND UPDATE EDIT!!

Genuinely never expected this post to do so many numbers here on Tumblr but I’m truly glad to see it. Especially since AOTENJO has launched into Early Access as AOTENJO: Infinite Hands!

It’s got a 12% discount from its $9.99 price for these first 2 weeks of its Early Access launch on Steam! Already bought it myself in a hurry & have money set aside for when ULTIMAHJONG decides to finally join us.

[caffedrine]

Keith Howell Sequel 03 - Fan Translation

If you trust me to know what I'm doing, then we have both made a huge mistake. I cannot guarantee accuracy for this fan translation, or even grammatical correctness.

Please support Cybird and pick up this event when it makes it to the English Server

Keith: “...”

Before he knew it, he was in a dense forest.

This was the only place where Keith and the other one could exchange words, but tonight, thick clouds obscured the light, making it dim.

Neither of them knew which heart was being expressed.

――――From the looks of it, nothing seems to have changed.

Keith: “Yeah. Time will gradually help with recovery, but things aren't getting better.”

Keith: “...No, I feel like it's becoming increasingly difficult to talk to you like this.”

Keith: “Before, if I wished, I could definitely see you.”

――――—So it's correct to say things are "getting worse."

Keith: “...How long will this situation continue?”

Keith: “Because the problem is so specific, no matter how much I search for a solution, I can’t find one.”

――I’ve read through dozens of medical books, and in the end, it only ended with more knowledge gained.

――I might as well become a doctor alongside being a herbalist, huh?

Keith: “As long as I think I’ve gained useful knowledge to help you, I won’t be in despair.”

Keith: “Emma... we need to resolve this quickly... for her sake too.”

――She is probably already aware that we’re hiding something.

――――—I reacted to his gross pranks so obviously, after all.

A self-deprecating smile fell in the forest, and a silence that felt similar to hesitation flowed between the two.

Keith: “When you pointed our sword at Kagari... was it not for intimidation but something serious?”

――There’s no need to hold back against someone who sends killing intent toward my fiancée.

Keith: “Yeah. I would have surely done the same.”

Keith: “But at that time, you were instinctive. You instinctively switched with me...”

Keith: “Normally, you wouldn’t fall for such an obvious prank. That’s been troubling me a bit.”

――――Be lenient with me, Prince Keith. I don’t trust that cat as much as you do.

Keith: “I was also not very keen on having her accompany us to Kougyoku.”

―――...It’s better than leaving her behind in Jade though.

Another brief silence arrived.

The other self in front of me suddenly looked this way.

The wavering in his eyes, which looked like uncertainty or the reaction to repression, stirred the leaves of the trees with a strong wind.

―――Are you happy right now?

Keith: “Why are you asking something so sudden? Of course I am.”

――――Don’t look at me with such a puzzled face. I’m just asking.

Keith: “...Aren’t you?”

....—

After unexpectedly encountering Kagari Amagase, they were guided to a magnificent red-tiled castle.

And when night fell—

Keith: “Mm...”

In the guest room bed assigned to him, Keith stirred and opened his eyelids.

Emma, who was in his arms, was still in a dream, smiling sleepily at him.

Keith: “So cute...”

Keith: “...”

Keith: “………………………………I’m probably looking too much. I should stop soon.”

He sat up and surveyed the guest room, as if pulling on threads of memory.

The eyes peeking out from under his heavy bangs gradually showed relief, and a breath escaped his lips.

Keith: “I’m okay. But just to be safe...”

Emma: “Mmm...”

Keith: “...!”

Keith's large body jumped slightly at Emma’s voice.

When he looked over, her eyelids were still closed, and her hands were patting left and right on the bed, as if searching for something.

As if trying to find something, Keith gently extended his hand toward her.

The small hand touched his large hand, and the moment it did, she grabbed his thick arm as if to say she had found it...

Keith: “Whoa...”

With a strong tug, she pulled Keith back on the bed. Emma was drawn into her fiancé's arms and began to quietly breathe in her sleep again.

Keith: “...”

Keith: “...”

Keith: “...Emma, you’re so cute.”

Unable to hold back, he stroked Emma’s head and kissed her forehead.

With his eyes and lips softened, Keith gazed at her lovingly, embodying happiness...

Keith: “...I’m happy, Emma.”

His voice seemed to dissolve into the quiet room, as if checking for something.

Later

(Yup, I feel like I’m getting used to this. Today is put together well too.)

(Finally, let’s finish this up...)

I tidied myself up and, for the finishing touch, picked up the small perfume bottle he had placed on the dresser.

(Hmm...?)

Suddenly feeling a gaze, I looked up to find Keith's smiling face in the mirror.

Keith: “Ah, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare; I just thought you’d wear it again today.”

Emma: “I wear it every day. It’s my favorite perfume.”

Keith: “Thank you.”

Keith: “Everyone has different scent preferences, and feelings about scents vary, so I’m really happy to hear you say that.”

I lowered my gaze to the delicate and cute perfume bottle topped with a flower-shaped cap.

This perfume was something Keith gave me before I left Jade.

(I was surprised to hear it was handmade by Keith...)

(If the ingredients are plant-based, I wouldn’t be surprised if he could make anything.)

I opened the cap, took a small amount of perfume on my finger, and applied it to my neck. The sweet scent of fruits and flowers wafting through the air made my lips naturally smile.

Emma: “Since the first time I encountered this scent, it has become one of my favorites.”

Emma: “When I wear it, it’s like I can always feel you, Keith...”

Emma: “It’s very calming, similar to the gentle scent when you hugged me.”

Keith: “Eh... Ah... I didn’t know you thought of it like that.”

Which option will you choose?

It’s a joke.

Please forget what I just said.

That was a strange thing to say.

As the blush spread across Keith's face, my own cheeks began to heat up as well.

(What am I saying on the second day in Kougyoku...? I might still be half-dreaming.)

Emma: “I said something strange.”

Keith: “‘While wearing it, it feels like I can always sense you, Keith...’”

Keith: “‘It’s very calming, similar to the gentle scent when I was hugged by you,’ right?”

(He remembers every single word...!?)

Keith: “I don’t think it’s strange at all. If anything, I was so elated I almost fainted from those words.”

Keith: “But I might have given the role of comforting you to the perfume... I thought that just a little.”

Keith: “Sorry for saying something selfish. I was the one who made a strange statement.”

(All of his words are unfair.)

Emma: “Please don’t worry. The role of hugging is something only you can do, Master Keith.”

As I spread my arms wide, Master Keith came close and hugged me tightly.

Keith: “You have a knack for making me feel elated, Emma. It’s a bit troubling.”

(That’s on you, Keith.)

Clearing my throat softly to disperse the embarrassing atmosphere, the soft fragrance brushed my nose, soothing my heart once again.

(I’m sure various flowers and plants blooming in the Jade castle were used in this.)

(So that's why I feel so relieved.)

It seems that Keith’s important place has also become a dear and comfortable place for me, and I couldn’t be happier.

(Well...)

Suddenly recalling yesterday’s events, my lips opened once more...

Emma: “Speaking of which...”

Emma: “I heard that you’re friends with Kagari, but were you friends since childhood?”

Emma: “From the interaction between the two of you in the city, I sensed a friendly atmosphere, and I was curious about it.”

Keith: “That’s right. I think I met Kagari around when I was ten years old.”

Keith sat down in a chair beside the dresser, narrowing his eyes as if tracing threads of memory.

Keith: “I think we’re still close enough to exchange letters from time to time.”

Keith: “Sorry, I should have communicated that beforehand.”

Emma: “I was also so caught up in matters of state and diplomatic preparations that I hadn’t heard much about Kagari.”

Emma: “You first met in Kougyoku, right?”

Keith: “No, actually it was in Jade.”

Keith: “The king, worried about my frailty, asked the head of the Amagase royal family to train me.”

Keith: “I learned various martial arts from Kagari, who came to visit.”

Keith: “I think the reason we became friends was that we ate dorayaki together.”

Emma: “Fufu, that sounds so heartwarming.”

(Imagining young Keith eating dorayaki... he must have been adorable.)

Emma: “I’m starting to crave dorayaki now.”

Keith: “Then let’s go eat some. I’ll ask for the location of Kagari’s shop later.”

Emma: “Kagari’s shop?”

Keith: “Yeah. Kagari runs a sweet shop with a ridiculously wide variety of dorayaki.”

Emma: “Is that so!? I’m looking forward to it in many ways.”

(The second prince of the royal family, Yasha Kagari, running a sweet shop...)

(He’s becoming more and more of a mysterious person to me.)

~Flashback~

Kagari: “Shall I teach you? I’m used to being a teacher.”

Alter!Keith: “I’m not your student.”

(With those words... Kagari is both a friend and a martial arts teacher.)

~End Flashback~

Emma: “So, Kagari was involved in your training, Keith.”

Emma: “I’m curious about what kind of training you underwent. Please tell me more about it soon.”

Keith: “...Yeah, of course.”

(Huh... did his voice just drop a little...?)

Keith: “To put it in one word, it was hell.”

Emma: “Hell...”

Keith: “It was an intensive training program, covering everything from basic physical fitness to martial arts, swordsmanship, archery, spear techniques...”

Keith: “It was all so demanding that every time I felt like fainting during training, I had to be slapped on the cheek to wake me up.”

(That’s definitely the kind of Spartan training that deserves the name "hell.")

(But... )

Keith: “Even after showing such a disgraceful side of myself, he didn’t look down on me and stayed with me until the end...”

It was clear from Keith's voice that the harsh training had also become a cherished memory for him.

Keith: “He’s often called Yasha or a battle maniac and feared, but Kagari is a kind-hearted person.”

Emma: “From what you’ve said, I feel the same way about him.”

Emma: “I want to deepen my interaction with Kagari as much as possible during this diplomacy.”

Keith: “He can be surprisingly chatty, so if you approach him, I think he’ll be happy.”

Keith: “Ah, but...”

Emma: “? What is it?”

Keith: “I’d be glad if I could be with you when you deepen those interactions...”

Keith: “I’m sorry, just imagining it made me jealous.”

After finishing breakfast, I was making the final touches to my appearance in front of the mirror, as we were about to get a tour of the castle.

(Alright, nothing seems out of place.)

Just as I was about to head toward where Keith was waiting in the hallway...

(Oh...)

~Flashback~

Keith: “I’m sorry, just imagining it made me jealous.”

~End Flashback~

Suddenly, a cabinet with a red theme caught my eye.

Emma: “Keith, thank you for waiting.”

Keith: “Welcome back. Are you warmed up?”

Emma: “Yes, the bath had a cherry blossom scent, and it was very soothing.”

Emma: “Oh... were you working?”

Keith: “No, it’s nothing major.”

Keith: “I just finished writing, so I’m going to hop in too.”

Drawn to the cabinet, I quietly approached it and opened the first drawer.

There was a quill pen, a small bottle of ink—and a notebook.

Emma: “...”

My heart beat uncomfortably.

Until recently, Keith and Alter!Keith had been communicating through notes and through Liam. But now, they could talk directly and they could share thier memories with each other.

Still, I knew that even gentle Keith sometimes wrote in his diary out of anxiety.

Even though it’s anxiety, it’s trivial and dear, reminding me of the time I learned about from Alter!Keith.

When my hesitant hand touched the edge of the notebook...

(……………!)

My heart and body jumped strangely at the sound of knocking.

Keith: “Is something wrong, Emma?”

Emma: “Sorry, I’m coming!”

(I worried him by taking so long to come out...)

I hurriedly returned the notebook to its original place and closed the drawer.

(...I’m sorry)

I wasn't even sure what my apology in my heart was for...

Shaking off my unease, I hurried towards Keith.

The castle of King Kuga was much larger in both height and width than I had imagined.

In the training hall, I learned the reason for the strength of the swordsmen through their intense training...

In the clinic, I saw the herbs brought by Jade being put to great use, feeling proud...

In the courtyard, I gasped at the beauty of the cherry blossoms in full bloom.

Everywhere I went, my curiosity and sense of exploration were piqued, and it felt as if Keith, who was next to me, looked at me with affectionate eyes again and again.

Finally, as I waited for Lady Kagari, who would guide me to meet King Kuga––

Keith: “Emma.”

Emma: “! Yes, what is it?”

I caught a glimpse of Keith's face appearing in my sight.

Keith: “Can I touch your hand?”

Emma: “Of course.”

(What could this be……………?)

As his large hand enveloped mine, he began to press the center of my palm and the middle of my wrist.

The sensation and warmth reminded me of a memory.

Keith: “I read in a book that pressing here can relieve tension.”

Keith: “Since you looked a bit tense after getting off the carriage, I was concerned…”

Keith: “I'm sorry if this surprised you, being so sudden.”

(Just like when he helped me relieve my tension at Sonia’s party...)

(It's warm and feels nice)

With nostalgia and affection, my heart sweetly raced.

Emma: “Thank you.”

I finally realized that I had been holding unnecessary tension in my body.

Emma: “I’m sorry, I’ve been so tense since coming to Kougyoku.”

Keith: “It’s not a bad thing to be tense.”

Keith: “It’s also a sign of wanting to do your best.”

Keith: “You don’t have to rush to get used to it, and it’s okay not to feel anxious about not getting used to it.”

Keith: “So when you feel tense, I want you to rely on me. I’ll help you relax in various ways.”

He said it with just a bit of pride and began gently pressing my hand again.

(Every time I feel Keith's care, I wonder if it’s alright to be loved and cherished this much.)

(Keith’s love feels boundless.)

~Flashback~

Keith: “Emma, because you’ve been by our side, we’ve been able to overcome any difficulties and hardships.”

Keith: “...Thank you for saying you want to participate together.”

Alter!Keith: “If you were to get hurt again... well, maybe locking you in a room wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”

Alter!Keith: “At first, it would be boring, but if you repeat it, it will turn into a normal daily routine.”

(...)

Keith: “Emma?”

(Alter!Keith ✋ Gilbert)

~Flashback~

Before I realized it, I was holding Keith’s hand with both of mine.

Imitating him, I pressed on his palm and wrist.

Emma: “This is a return for relieving my tension.”

Emma: “I... I want to convey that I love and cherish you all just as much as you always care for me, Keith.”

Keith: “Eh...?”

He looked surprised and seemed to be thinking about it.

Emma: “Well... Keith, you always concern yourself with me and support me.”

Emma: “But I feel like I’m just receiving your kindness without being able to return anything...”

Emma: “That’s why I thought I wanted to at least express it properly in words.”

(... What am I doing? I’ve been too indirect, and I've only perplexed Keith...)

A memory flashed in my mind of that day when I saw dark emotions hidden deep in his golden eyes.

(I’m still unable to sort out my own feelings, yet here I am, rushing to understand his.)

The awkwardness in the flowing silence intensified.

I have to say something. I need to distract him. I became aware of the words swirling in my head.

(Even though I wanted to know, it seems I’m scared to touch Keith’s heart.)

Keith: “...Emma—”

Kagari: “Ahem, ahem.”

(Kagari, realizing he's not prepared to be one of the many people Keith and Emma forget are there while they engage in PDA)

Keith and Emma: “! ”

Kagari: “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Keith and Emma: “Don’t worry about it at all!”

“Please don’t mind us!”

Kagari: “You two are quite in sync.”

(I can’t believe Kagari saw that... How embarrassing.)

The awkwardness quickly morphed into shame, and my face felt like it was burning with heat.

Emma: “I’m so sorry for not noticing.”

Kagari: “I’ll forgive you since I saw something rare.”

Keith: “I don’t think it was rare, though…”

(So it seems he wasn't displeased. Thank goodness...)

(And it might have helped a little that he came at this moment.)

If it had continued like that, I would have gotten stuck deeper and troubled Keith even more.

Kagari: “I’ll guide you to the throne room. Follow me.”

Keith and Emma: “Thank you.”

Keith and Emma: “Thank you very much.”

Kagari: “You're in sync again. You two are such good friends.”

Prince Kagari turned his back and began to walk away.

Keith: “Emma.”

Emma: “Yes?”

In an effort to maintain my composure, I noticed Keith leaning down slightly to meet my gaze. His fingers intertwined with mine felt cold but pleasant, conveying my own body’s warmth.

Keith: “I was happy to hear your words just now.”

Keith: “But there’s one thing... saying you haven't been able to return anything is incorrect.”

Keith: “Rather, it’s me who hasn’t been able to repay you.”

Keith: “I receive a lifetime’s worth of happiness from you every day. Even while we’re making eye contact like this.”

Emma: “That’s such an exaggeration.”

Keith: “It’s true. The fact that I’m here now, as 'me,' was created by your existence.”

Keith: “For me, happiness cannot be achieved without you, Emma.”

Keith: “So please don’t feel anxious. Your feelings and words... they are reaching me.”

Keith: “Thank you for helping me relieve my own tension.”

He gently lowered the corners of his eyes and placed a kiss on the back of my hand.

Keith: “Well then, let’s go. Before Kagari calls out to us again.”

Emma: “Yes... Thank you very much, Keith.”

He took my hand, guiding me as we began to walk.

(I have no idea what Keith was about to say earlier.)

(But I have a feeling he was trying to ease my anxiety.)

(...I've received something once again.)

Keith: “So please don’t feel anxious. Your feelings and words... they are reaching me.”

(...He might be able to see into my heart.)

(It's time to meet the king. I need to switch my mindset.)

After repeating my thanks and apologies to Keith in my mind many times,

(This way it feels...)

[sol-consort]

just wanted to share a thought that popped into my head. Imagine adopting a lil baby alien, a turian, asari, krogan, salarian, whatever. Just imagine how cutteeeeeee🥰🥰🥰 im gonna pinch their lil cheeks and give em to much candy

Humans are well known for their ability to bond with just about anything. I’m honestly suprised xeno adoptions aren’t something that are even mentioned in the games

I know realistically it could go wrong in a million different ways. I know our differences can be hard to overcome. I know that this is wish fulfilment fantasy at best.

But that's exactly what I want, this beautiful fantasy where humans are accommodating, loving, and absolutely willing to adopt and raise children from different species.

The mental image of a toddler salarian alone is making my brain do backflips, my heart is in a vice grip, this adorableness can't be allowed, this cuteness oh my god. Just imagine the baby salarian. THE BABY SALARIAN MY HEART I CAN'T TAKE IT.

Silly cat videos can't even compare to the level of adorableness that is a baby salarian curling into a ball while sleeping sorrounded by pillows because it unconsciously remind them of the safety of the egg they hatched from.

They're so clever for their age, already solving puzzle toys meant for human kids much older than them. And you couldn't be more proud as you fawn over them, bragging about your genius toddler to anyone willing to listen.

Clever, yes, but not very smart as they attempt to eat your hair on various occasion because they don't know what this strange thing growing from your head is. Endlessly curious, every toy you bring them ends up gutted, turned inside out, then put back together by clumsy fingers.

Each time you take them to the park they overflow their pockets—and yours by extension—with grass, small twigs, and cool rocks. Bugs sometimes, alive ones.

They're the fastest ones to develop speech. Using the high-voice baby talk with them is very effective.

-

Or baby turians who literally chrip like birds when they're hungry, how could a small thing with such sharp teeth still manage to look this adorable? You don't know. They have a small tuff of feathers atop their head, which gradually falls off the older they get

Extremely cuddly, very clingy, chirping loudly whenever you leave the bed, standing in front of the bathroom door waiting for you to come out. They're relatively low-maintenance in comparison to salarian children. Baby turians prefer the tranquility of a soft nest to sleep in all day, wake up to eat food, wiggle around a little, bite your fingers and giggle at the funny human noises you make, then fall asleep cuddling against your warm body. You're so soft, you're basically another pillow to them.

Turians have special toys for their children that are ment to help maintain their claws and teeth. Dextro safe chew toys and rough textured toys to claw against are very common toy lines.

-

Then there are the baby krogans who are just so round and chubby that you wanna squish their cheeks together. Who enjoy rolling around like a ball courtesy of their hard backs and protective shell coverings.

They're heavy and hard to lift, but they love nothing more than being carried around. Raising a baby krogan is its own workout routine.

Definitely attempt to headbutt you when throwing a tantrum. But they're so short they can only reach your knees, and their heads are still soft it feels like a squeaky toy is bumping against your knee.

God, their cute tiny tail wiggling as they waddle around like a penguin.

-

Then there are baby drell who try to bury themselves under your body/the pillows when going to sleep because seeking shade is one of their early instincts.

You have to be careful and resist the human urge to cover them with a blanket because it's actually very bad for them. They also really enjoy laying on the cold tile floor. The cooling effect it has is very calming to them.

They are so much smaller than a human baby. You can't comprehend how these cute things grow up to the size of a drell adult. It's a biological advantage to allow parents to carry them everywhere—which you do, and they cling to you while staring at the world around with wide eyes, very quiet and content with watching things. a small green fist holding tightly to the collar of your shirt.

They're at their most vocal when happy, and they're the happiest when splashing around in a kiddie pool outside. Bathtime is so easy because they seem to enjoy playing with water, but you have to stop them from drinking it multiple times. Prolonged humidity is dangerous, so they can't enjoy it too often.

They shed their scales every so often, you have to use a toothbrush to gently encourage them to moult the stubborn ones.

Their photogenic memory makes it impossible to play peekaboo or hide things from them. They remember exactly where you hid the cookies. They know you have the TV remote behind your back, and they'll squeeze themselves between you and the couch to get to it.

[snailsagere]

Please read my dni in my bio before interacting

Since everyone wanted a post like this! Here you go! :3

Computer games to play when regressed!

I'll say the name, price and I'll do a brief description and content warning for each game (if you think I should add a CW for any that I didn't put one for feel free to tell me and I'll add it)! I'll also be making another post like this for phone games! :3

🌸=personal favourites

You can get all of these games off steam!

100 hidden frogs

Description- this is a short game where you look for 100 frogs in an image!

Price- free!

CW- none! :3

🌸Alba a wildlife adventure

Description- in this game you explore and take photos of animal, there is also a main storyline where you restore an animal reserve!

Price- £13.49

CW- wild fire

Baba is you

Description- a puzzle game where you change words around to create new rules to win the levels, the puzzles can be quite tricky!

Price- £11.39

CW- none! :3

🌸Birth

Description- a puzzle game where you collect organs and bones to build a partner for yourself, I recommend this game for if you like spookier games but don't wanna play something too scary!

Price- £8.29

CW- bones and organs (not realistic ones), bugs, brief appearance of m*d!c*l equipment

Calico

Description- a game where you own a cat cafe, explore the world, complete quests and find more animals for your cafe, I recommend only playing this game if you can use a controller because it's difficult to play on keyboard!

Price- £9.29

CW- none! :3

🌸Cat cafe manager

Description- you run a cat cafe and are able to collect new cats, decorate and upgrade the cafe, this game can be a bit tricky since it is a management game!

Price- £16.75

CW- capitalism?

The cat games

Description- a game where you play different cat themed games, I'd recommend this game for if you regress to older ages since it can be a bit tricky!

Price- £1.59

CW- none! :3

Cat goes fishing

Description- you catch fish and upgrade your boat with the money you get from them, it can be a bit tricky to catch the bigger fish!

Price- £4.99

CW- deep water

Catlateral damage 1 and 2

Description- you play as a cat and have to knock things of tables and shelves to earn points, I recommend this game for if you regress to younger ages!

Price- £8.50

CW- bones, one of the levels is a mad scientist lab and has some creepy stuff

Cattails

Description- you play as a cat in a cat colony, there's a main storyline and you can have kittens, make your own colony, fight other cats, forage etc!

Price- £10.99

CW- fighting, hunting of small animals

Cloud gardens

Description- this is a post apocalyptic game where you grow plants and build apocalyptic scenes, it's quite relaxing a good game for any regressors who don't wanna play a stereotypically 'cute' game but still wanna play a relaxing and fairly simple game!

Price- £13.99

CW- post apocalyptic

Cozy grove

Description- a game where you play as a scout and help bears on an island!

Price- £11.39

CW- swearing, dark backstorys? (I haven't finished the game yet so I'm not 100% certain!)

Dorfromantik

Description- in this game you put tiles together to make a landscape, this game is a really relaxing and calm game!

Price- £10.99

CW- none! :3

Flower

Description- you play as the wind collecting flower petals, the game is quite relaxing but can be a lite it tricky!

Price- £5.89

CW- pollution is a key theme in the game

Fossil corner

Description- you make/find fossils! That's it really but it's a relaxing game!

Price- £7.19

CW- none! :3

The game of life 2

Description- it's based off the game of life boardgame! You play through the life of someone! You can play the game with AI or with friends, personally I also like playing it with my stuffies!

Price- £10.49

CW- none! :3

Haunt the house terror town

Description- you play as a little ghost and you have to haunt different locations to make all the people leave!

Price- £4.29

CW- non-graphic death

Koi farm

Description- you make different types of koi fish by breeding them to get different colours and patterns!

Price- £2.09

CW- none! :3

Kynseed

Description- you live in a medieval village and can explore, have a job, family etc, the game can be a lil creepy so I recommend this game more if you regress to older ages!

Price-£19.99

CW- can be a bit creepy

🌸Lil gator game

Description- this games adorable, you play as an alligator who's playing games with their friends! It's a bit tricky to describe the game but you're basically playing a game in a game, it's very cute!

Price- £16.75

CW- none! :3

Littlewood

Description- a game where you rebuild a town! You can get married, explore, decorate houses etc, keep in mind the game is incomplete and has been abandoned!

Price- £11.39

CW- none! :3

Mail time

Description- you play as a mail scout and hace to deliver letters to different characters!

Price- £16.75

CW- none! :3

🌸My fluffy life

Description- there are different little activities to play in the game and they change season to season, you can also buy clothes and furniture for your character! The mini games are quite easy so I recommend this if you regress to younger ages!

Price- £3.99

CW- none! :3

Paradise marsh

Description- a relaxing game where you explore a variety of weather and seasons and overall environments while collecting bugs and talking to the stars!

Price- £12.79

CW- bugs, the game is a bit ominous

Pupperazzi

Description- super cute game where you take pictures of dogs!

Price- £15.49

CW- none! :3

🌸A short hike

Description- really similar vibes to lil gator game (this game came out first) you explore a forest, make friends and climb to reach the top of a mountain!

Price- £5.79

CW- I don't really remember the contents of the phone call but once you reach the top of the mountain you have a phone call and I believe it might be upsetting

🌸Slime rancher 1 and 2

Description- a sandbox game where you collect little slimes and explore the world, you can also disable dangerous slimes to make the game easier!

Price- £14.99/£23.79

CW- none! :3

🌸Stardew valley

Description- you inherit your grandfathers farm and move to a town in stardew valley, you can farm, forage, mine, fish and form relationships with the villagers!

Price- £10.99

CW- substance abuse, mental health, family issues

🌸Sticky business

Description- you own a sticker shop and you make new stickers and ship them to customers!

Price- £8.50

CW- none! :3

Teacup

Description- you help a shy frog find everything she needs to host a tea party for her friends!

Price- £7.19

CW- none! :3

🌸Undertale

Description- you're a child who falls through a mountain where monsters have been trapped, you have to help the child leave the caverns! There are multiple endings depending on if you kill or don't kill any monsters!

Price- £6.99

CW- death of characters (it can be quite sad), most of the more upsetting content is in the route where you kill all the monsters

🌸Wobbledogs

Description- a game where you evolve dogs and look after them

Price- £15.99

CW- they do eventually die but you can turn off their deaths in the settings, the game can be a bit uncomfy and 'strange' so keep that in mind

🌸World of zoo

Description- a game where you look after animals in a zoo!

Price- £11.90

CW- zoo

[prettyboyprettyeyes]

i want a small apartment. something cozy, where i can hear my love shuffle around the kitchen while he gets ready before work. i want big windows, maybe even an area we can call “the sun room” because of the amount of windows. i want a claw foot tub, something i can float in and let my worries be washed away. i want a kitchen that’s just big enough for a table and a few chairs. (i would die if it had the black and white tile). i want a small bedroom, one that our queen sized bed would take up a lot of the space in. i want furniture that eats you, that you just kind of melt in to. i want it all to be secondhand, well loved. i want our space to reflect our adoration for one another. i want our cats to be happy. i want to come back from work or school to my boyfriend making us dinner because he’d get home before i do. i want throw blankets everywhere. i want fairy lights and candles. and most of all i want you. i want late night in front of the tv, curled up like puzzle pieces, your lips against my forehead. i want mornings so early that i have to make your breakfast the night beforehand, and i want you to wake me up as you leave for work. i want a home that feels like walking into love.

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

Since it's been ridiculously hot outside for a while

How do each skeleton deal with the heat Especially since there s/o is dieing from the heat and they can no longer find s/o where they usually are but find them in cooler/colder places/rooms or even outside watering the poor plants who didn't receive much rain

How do they react when they find the fridge full with ice cream, cold drinks, and a blanket oddly enough. S/o just walks up grabs the cold blanket then walk away with the very cold blanket wrapped around themselves.

Undertale Sans - Uh. He for sure didn't think about the cold blanket. But that's fine because unlike you he has a serious advantage. He's smol. Sans climbs in the fridge, curls up like a cat on a shelf and stays there until the night falls and the heat is lower lol. During the heatwave, Sans is liquid. He's completely lifeless, faceplanting in the tiling in a desperate try to cool himself down, or napping like a dead sea star in front of the fan, not moving a bone all day long. He hates hot weather. Why do you think he lived in Snowdin for in the first place?

Undertale Papyrus - Well, Papyrus has a big problem during heatwaves and that problem has a name: Undyne. Undyne loves hot weather being a monster adapted to warm temperatures. Papyrus is... Well. He's not that for sure. But he still wants to go running with her. And do fun activities. And cooking at max temperature. And that explains why he's actually at the hospital right now. After a cooking session, he felt really too hot all of a sudden and then everything went black lol. Please teach him how to chill out when it's hot outside.

Underswap Sans - It doesn't change everything for Blue. He's used to work in complicated weather as a police officer, so he doesn't mind that much. However, he transforms into a water dictator during heat waves. Every two hours or so, he slams a water bottle in front of you and Honey. You will not dehydrate on his watch. Drink up, all of it, he's watching.

Underswap Papyrus - Welp. The Surface was fun and all but he's done lol. He's going back Underground, in Snowdin, and then faceplants in the snow with a happy sigh. He's going to stay there until the heatwave is done. Come to fetch him if you want him to go home. He's not moving.

Underfell Sans - The government said he can't fill the pool, so he filled his bathtub instead and he intends to stay in it until that damn weather finally gets colder. Red doesn't feel right during heatwaves and that's the only way he found to cool down. Sorry about your water bill though. Since he's adding cold water every time the water gets too warm. That's going to be expensive.

Underfell Papyrus - He bought cool carpets for his cat, but since Doomfanger isn't using them... He's lying on the floor on all of them, finally happy. Of course, he's doing that when you're not here. The second you enter the room, he stands up in a hurry, pretending he is checking the color of the carpets or something. He's not lying on the floor what are you talking about?

Horrortale Sans - Like a cat, he's following the shadows and moves from one spot to another every time the sun catches him, hisses at the light angrily. Also, he kidnapped the fan and will growl if anyone came close to it, his brother and his S/O included. He's not sharing his fan, heck that.

Horrortale Papyrus - He goes in the cold room he's using for the farm products with a book and some puzzles, he steals an armchair and he stays there the entire day. He doesn't like it when it's too hot because it tends to make his back problem worse. He's very fine where he is.

Swapfell Sans - When you come to fetch your blanket, your blanket is gone. Nox saw you do it once and decided to steal it. He's in his torture cave with a fan and your blanket, staring at you with defiance when you come to get it back. Like hell, you are. He fought Rus twice already out of this room and he will fight you too. That's his blanket now, find something else.

Swapfell Papyrus - You're too hot? That's ok, he can help! He brings the garden hose inside and then turns it on at max power on you. You don't have the time to scream at him to stop. The house is flooded, you are so wet you think you will never ever be dry ever again and he's very proud of himself. He can even transform the house into a pool if you want :D You're wondering in how much trouble you'll be if you suddenly knock him out.

Fellswap Gold Sans - You have the surprise of your life when Wine walks into the kitchen entirely naked, with absolutely no shame. It's too hot to wear clothes, so why wear clothes? He winks at you and then says he won't say anything if you decide to not wear clothes either today. He perfectly understands.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - He found a way to drag the air-climatizer inside his closet and now he's living his best life, hugging it as he naps there in a nice cool temperature. Don't even try to get him out, he's not moving from there for a very long time. He's so happy right now. He doesn't know why he didn't think of this sooner.

[martintheblackwood]

All of my ceramics 2025 projects

1. Lidded Jar/Snake Pot

2. Time Capsule Tile

3. Texture Mug

4. Sgraffito Dish (currently being used as my cat’s water bowl) (bonus project)

5. Puzzle Box

6. My Heart (bonus project)

(Colour grading is weird because I wanted them to be as close to irl as possible)

Colour grading is weird because I wanted them to be as close to irl as possible.

[submalevolentgrace]

Yarn Cat is a lot of fun! I'm on Forest 8 so far and enjoying as new mechanics get added.

With games like this I always wonder how people come up with the puzzles. How do you plan them out?

I'm glad you're having fun, and thank you for saying so, hearing that people are enjoying it makes all the anxiety and debugging worthwhile!

I think the most important thing for any part of game design is thoughtful analysis, of games you play and your own development prototypes. I think at its most boiled down, a videogame gives information to a player and asks them to respond, then telling them if they responded 'correctly' or not, and repeat. So whenever I'm playing any game, I ask what messages is the game giving, what do I think is being asked of me as a player, and how well does succeeding at the gameplay feel like it meshes with what was being asked of me? How well achieves that is a matter of opinion, but consciously amassing those opinions gives a developer a point of view for making decisions about their own games. Then you just have to be honest with yourself how that's going when you have a prototype...

I could go on a big tangent here about the huge success of portal and the ensuing ideology of puzzle design that I actively attempted to avoid when making yarn cat, but that's not really what you asked about lol, so

For the yarn cat puzzles, I usually tackled them from one of two directions. The first is having a specific solution in mind; having spent weeks getting the mechanics from nebulous idea to solid code and testing lots of edge cases, I knew there were a bunch of interesting ways to, for example, loop around fairies in non-obvious ways. So I would put the fairies into an empty level in a way that strongly encouraged the desired solution, and then build other elements around to make it more visually interesting and also a little obfuscated - it's not fun as a puzzle if you can see the exact solution as soon as you drop in, so I try to add elements that will make the player reconsider the actions and options available once they've tried the obvious thing.

Secondly, as the entirety of the game takes place on single screens with no scrolling, I also wanted the puzzles to be aesthetically pleasing. You might notice many levels have symmetrical or repeating sections, and for many puzzles this is where I'd start, making the outline of a pretty scene and then see what maneuverability options there are for the player once dropping puzzle elements in. I notice a lot of sokoban / tile grid puzzle games don't really pay any mind to the aesthetics of a level so long as the puzzle is devious, so I put extra focus here to make sure they looked nice as well as being a good puzzle.

Either way I approached it, there was a lot of iteration for every single level, testing and tweaking and redesigning, trying as many possibly solutions as possible so it's neither too simple or insanely complex, verifying it can be done extra bonus yellow heart style... really just iterating until it feels 'right' to my point of view on what a puzzle should be; and then sometimes having my tester come up with a completely different solution I hadn't even considered!

It's a pretty fun process, and honestly, I would love for more people to try their hand at making solve-a-puzzle puzzle games, because I am a huge fan of them and it's an under-served genre these days or speedrunning precision platformers and portal-esques.

[ryuzakemo128]

Taller, Giant, Reaching For The Skies

Pairing: Ghoap x Tall! Female Reader

Content Warnings: Cussing & Swearing, Johnny, poly relationship ending? 😼 Smut hinted at maybe?

Note: This is a snippet based on the idea here. Where you are one inch taller than König. Who in my heart of hearts is 6 foot freaking ten. Genetics are a wild thing. Don't go sayin, 'That's impossible'.

Word Count: 1204

You rubbed your face, you were not awake enough to deal with anyone. Let alone someone as spunky or energy-thriving as Soap. 'It's like he doesn't have an off switch. Where does he get all that energy from? What on earth is going on inside his head?' You thought as you stared at the Scotsman.

"I haven't even woken up yet. What are you even talking about, you squirrelly bastard?" you spoke as you stretched and yawned. "It's not even eight in the morning. How early are you awake at normally? Four? What kind of monster wakes up before the sun?"

Sighing dramatically. "I must have fucked someone's wife in my past wife to be punished like this. I swear I must have fucked over someone." you continued as you walked over to your bathroom to wash your face. "Perhaps a duke or something and got be-fucken-headed for impregnatin her or whatever."

"Maybe I'm getting too specific," you stated as you washed your face, pausing for a minute to continue, "It would explain the dream I had last night at least. Or the reason why I felt your foot touching my arse for a majority of it."

Soap cackled when you told him that his foot was lodged basically between your butt cheeks. If he were a dog, he'd be howling right now. "It's not my fault you're warmer than a furnace, even Ghost thinks that."

"Yeah, it's why I sleep in my room where I can get swarmed by my army of black cats instead." you quipped, wriggling your eyebrows around playfully. "And besides, I'm pretty sure Ghost is still upset with me for even considering going on a date with 'you-know-whomst'."

Hinting. Suggesting that you were even considering going on a date with an ex you used to date. You didn't think it would get a visceral reaction from Ghost. He hasn't spoken to you since then. You weren't sure what was going on with him. But you were sure it was something that would blow over if you give him enough space.

"He's your boyfriend remember?" you told him, puzzled about all of this mess. "He can't be that upset with this."

Something wasn't adding up. Something about this whole thing wasn't adding up. It was starting to show more each time you talked about downloading a dating app or signing up for a dating website for long-distance relationships.

You didn't think the thought of you dating someone would cause an issue like this. In your mind you were thinking, 'the sooner I give these two space the better'.

This bothered him so much that Ghost reacted differently from what you expected him to. "I thought in my mind, the sooner I move out, the sooner I don't have to hear you two fuck all night—I don't think he understands how hard it is for someone my height to date sometimes." you remarked. "Sometimes I wonder if I would be better if I just bought a log cabin in the middle of no-where Scotland and stayed there instead."

"Then maybe I'll be able to walk around my own house naked without having someone stare inside my house." you added in. "Or perhaps frolic without having people point and stare at the giant woman that is me."

Ghost loomed in the periphery, inside the corner of your eye, you were certain Simon is still upset with you. But for upset at you for what, though? You tried to ignore it. But you came out, and you asked it, out loud this time, "Is there a problem?"

Ghost took you by your arm, causing your long legs to stumble a little with your footing. The cold chill from the black & white tiles in the hallway causes a shiver to go up your spine. You weren't sure what he wanted to talk to you about.

Maybe he wasn't in a foul mood as much as you thought he would be. Surprising. Maybe this conversation between the two of you wouldn't be too hard to discuss. He pulled you to his room, which he shared with Soap.

It was darker than yours, the walls were painted a deep charcoal with beige white trimmings and ceiling. It smelled faintly of men's cologne and the mint incense sticks Soap loves to burn. The bed is unmade, as it usually is at this hour.

You didn't think he would be this bothered. But with Ghost, it was hard to tell if he was bothered by something or not. He was like a cold stone wall most of the time. It was hard to tell what he was feeling from his facial expressions alone.

Ghost sat you down in his office chair and lingered close enough for him to be directly skin to skin on your bare legs. As if, without it he would have nothing to ground himself on. He stared deeply into your eyes like he tried to find something to start, the right way to start the conversation.

For a few minutes, you were convinced he broke himself. You were certain his brain froze for a few seconds.

"Look, if this about the whole datin' fiasco, I was kidding, joking even. I don't have the finances to even begin to date right now, well, maybe I kinda do, but it wouldn't be right to date someone and only spend £50." you confessed thinking this had something to do with what you and Soap were talking about a few weeks ago.

You continued, "I ate your sandwich too, that wasn't even soap like you thought it was. I just let you believe it was."

Ghost raised an eyebrow at the sandwich confession. He wasn't aiming for that part of you. But that's ok.

That wasn't what he wanted from you anyway.

"So you two aren't a thing?" he asked cautiously.

"No. That man had his foot close to my precious butt cheeks for that." you blurted out.

"I'm not the one saying we're not a thing, though?" Soap lingers in the doorway like he was there the entire time. The cheeky smirk firmly planted on his lips.

"I'm saying we're not until either of you decide otherwise," you blurt you without thinking. You said it before you could even stop yourself.

Your fault for doing such a thing.

Soap's grin grew wider. As if it couldn't get any wider normally. A Cheshire grin. A look of complete, utter mischief is written all over his face. As if he too was waiting for you to say something like that without thinking.

"Well in that case," Soap began, "I think we are long overdue for a talk."

You didn't say anything, too focused on what you have already said. 'I need to learn when to talk and when to shut the fuck up sometimes. I keep digging a grave sometimes. When the opportunity comes along to stop talking. I just go, you know? Why don't I just keep going? Let's see how far down to hell I could possibly go.' you pondered, wondering if they knew this was going to happen eventually. You were trying to keep your cool now.

What did you get yourself into now?

Divider Credit: @saradika-graphics

[myguiltyartpleasure]

Cozy games recommendations! part 2

As I promised here is another one bunch of cozy games. This time it's not stardew-like only.

Carto

PC, PS, iOS, Xbox, Nintendo switch (I've completed it for 8.5 hours without any rush)

I don't really see this game in lists of recommended cozy games, but it really deserves to be mentioned! It has interesting concept and beautiful art style. You're playing as a kid, who can change landscape by making changes in their map. You've lost from you grandma, you're trying to find her and all map pieces that were lost. It's a bit of a puzzle, you're travelling through different areas and see different people. It's quite short, but I loved it a lot.

Potion Craft

PC, PS, iOS, Xbox, Nintendo switch (I've played for 32 hours. There are still things to do and developers still release new content)

You're and alchemist in medieval kind of town. You need to create potions according to customer's request (there is no time limit, so don't worry about it). Brewing potions has it's own mechanics, which is easy to get used to. There is no plot, just some optional goals. The final one appears to be creating philosopher's stone. This is a kind of a repetitive game kill some time.

Unpacking

PC, PS, iOS, Xbox, Nintendo switch (I've played for 8 hours)

You're a person going through different stages of life. There are boxes with personal stuff to unpack and to put in places the way you want to. And I've just realized that "Unpacking" isn't just about things, but also about person's own life and problems, which is shown quite subtle. It's very relaxing and cozy

Cloud Gardens

PC, PS, iOS, Xbox, Nintendo switch (I have about 8 hours, but there are still things to do)

The world seems to be post-apocalyptical and you're helping the life to thrive again. Place plants to overgrown ruins and trash to create better scenery. If you love this kind of post-apocalyptical view, you'll like it. Just relax and pick places for plants to grow

Dorfromantik

PC, Nintendo switch (I have about 16 hours)

Place tiles with few rules to create as big area as possible. No plot or quests, just beautiful landscape to create. Apparently there is also a board Dorfromantik game, but I haven't tried it

PowerWash Simulator

PC, PS, iOS, Xbox, Nintendo switch (I have about 120 hours)

You basically just washing different surfaces with pressure washer, but it's really satisfying. There are stories from customers and missing cat, but I usually got too involved in washing process to track them. There is coop mode and paid additional content, but there is enough locations if you don't want to pay extra

Storyteller

PC, iOS, Android, Nintendo switch (I have about 4 hours)

You have a book to fill with stories. You can create ones that asked to be completed or create some weird stories. All you have is a page, characters, scenes and actions to create your fable. I've created number of gay marriages and game allowed me to 😄

What's your definition of cozy game? I have some more to share, but they don't always match the "cozy" term, so I'd love to hear your opinion

[tiredcatboysinc]

...Darling, I don't have a mouth.

I come back after months (?) of silence just to hand you a shittily written DSAF fic at 5am because I fucking love Steven and I'm coping that my dialtown payment won't go through /hj -Eddie🐶

Summary: You know, in hindsight, this was a fucking moronic idea. What kind of idiot brings their phone headed boyfriend lunch? The fucker doesn't have a mouth!!

Warnings: Swearing, crack treated seriously

Ao3

You know, in hindsight, this was a fucking moronic idea. What kind of idiot brings their phone headed boyfriend lunch? The fucker doesn't have a mouth!! He can't eat it!! Not to the mention the lack of internal organs!! Ya know, from becoming a phone headed bastard.

But hindsight is 20/20, and you probably need glasses. Like really fucking bad... No I'm being serious, you probably should reschedule that eye doctors appointment. When was the last time your eyes had been looked at? Like 2 years ago?... Yeah, you gotta get these puppies looked at - and soon.

You don't need another incident... It's only funny so many times when you point at a cat and ask what kind of dog it is.

And you think Steven is starting to genuinely worry about you at this point... Speaking of Steven!! The phone headed bastard in question was no where to be seen, which honestly was a little bit odd.

Normally when you came to visit him at work, whether that was to annoying or just fuck off and wander about, Steven could usually be found either in his office or the main lobby - but you couldn't seem to locate him in either, not right now at least...

A puzzled hum left your pursed lips, the noise almost entirely drowned out by the sounds of children in adject rooms. God, you always forgot how loud this place was... Yeah, it was a entertainment pizza joint meant for kids, so honestly, you shouldn't be that shocked to hear kids screaming in joy and running around - but it always hurt your ears, even if just a little bit.

But that was besides the point, because now you were rotating in place, in the middle of the lobby, in front of the prize corner - and you could feel Matt staring at you, judging you... Silently.

"Are you like the warthful eyes of God or something?" You suddenly chimed up as you stopped your spinning, slightly wobbling on your feet as the momentum came to a stop. Oh god, you honestly might throw up. The combination of looking Matt dead in the face while having just spun in several circles was making you sicker than any salmonella would even dare to.

...You wonder if you punched him directly in the face if it would sink like playdough...

Sorry, intrusive thoughts. You shouldn't be thinking that about your boyfriends employee's, he'd never let you live it down if you got banned from Freddy's - all because you punched Matt for no reason.

"Well, now I am." Matt finally spoke, breaking a very awkward streach of silence. "Are you looking for Phone man?" He asked, completely brushing over everything that had just happened.

Your cheeks lit red in embarrassment, brows furrowing. "Yeah..." You grumbled out, a sigh of frustration escaping you.

Slightly you shifted on your feet, tuning out the rest of whatever Matt was saying - you didn't really care, you'd just go wondering and find Steven on your own... Then you could give him his lunch, just like you'd planned.

"Uh huh... Okay, I'll go look there." You murmured, giving Matt a dismissive wave - finally departing from the prize counter.

Your shoes clicked on the tile floors as you walked, the paper bag crinkling quietly by your side. Where could Steven even be? The only other places you could think was the safe room, or the pirates cove.

...Pirates cove sounds about right.

So you turn around, mind set on heading towards pirates cove - only to slam face first into someone's chest.

You fumble backwards, face red as you begin to apologize profusely. It's only when you're half way through your 15th 'oh my god, I'm so sorry!', you look up - and Steven is trying is best not to burst a fucking seam laughing.

"YOU-" As your outburst begins, so does Stevens. He curls over on himself, busting out in staticy and broken laughter - the noise a familiar sound, comforting and yet incredibly embarrassing. A groan leaves you, head falling into your hands. God, hindsight really is 20/20. And your vision is anything but.

"Oh my foxy... That might have been the funniest thing that's happened all week..." Steven chokes out, laughter slowly dying into a soft coaking of a chuckle. You only grumble in response, reaching out to lightly punch his arm - to which he only chuckles at.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He finally sighs out, arm wrapping around your shoulders to pull you back against him chest - kind of like a half hug, half cradle. "But what're doing here? Did you need something?" Steven tilits his head, the curious motion making him look more innocent than he actually is.

"I brought you lunch.." You murmured, adverted eyes looking down at paper bag clutched in your hand. There was a pause, a beat of silence as the words processed to Steven.

"...Darling, I don't have a mouth."