#might make her into a rise oc or something

[phykoha]

found this little lady in my folders

she's very. inspired. hdfgdgfshf

[sofiasfanartcollection]

prompts are: “in the future” and “on a… cruise?”

more from that Draw Your Rise OC Challenge by @angellustrates

(previous)

River is not having a great time in these.

The first prompt gave the option for either the bad or good future, but since River was already an adult and I don’t see her changing much in appearance in the good future, I drew something from the bad future :( She would not do well in an apocalypse. She ends up getting stuck in her ghost-like form.

And on that “cruise,” well, she’s uncomfortable in a dress and overstimulated with the bright light and lots of people and smell of sunscreen and has no clue what’s going on. The reason she’s able to sort of keep it together is she remembers Warren. (Before this, the two of them had been searching for Hypno who’d been kidnapped.)

Also, the bad future one got me thinking about the movie, and I decided to try giving a design for a krangified River a try. (Don’t worry, it’s not canon to her story.) Under the keep reading in case anyone doesn’t want to see it.

cw for light gore/body horror/extra eyes

[i-loveducksandturtles]

I was genuinely crying so much yesterday over a F! Rottmnt scenario I made up in my head with my OC that I refuse to share because I'm pretty sure she's a marry sue.

[ghouljams]

With Love, König tags: König x f!reader/f!oc, regency era au, manners, collaring, courting, king!König, reader is mildly insane, König is going to marry you and that's a threat Summary: Your fiance runs off, your reputation is in ruins, and worst of all König has decided he's going to make you his queen. He doesn't even ask your father's permission to do it.

You receive word that your fiance has left you in the short hours of the morning. It comes in a carefully folded note, with his seal, and his signature. It's cruel, but not unexpected. You'd known for long enough that this was an engagement for nothing but your title. Still, you shed a few tears onto the parchment at the loss of your future, bleak as it might have been. You can rest assured that your parents, and the rest of the social world, have already received the news. You expect they'll start looking for another match for you soon.

The second letter is somehow more surprising. You don't recognize the black wax seal, or the handwriting. You don't know how it slipped past your family without being opened, but it's tucked on the same tray as your fiance's letter and you break the seal with cautious fingers.

"My Heart," it begins, and you frown at the familiarity, "You have bewitched me, body and soul. My every hour is spent with thoughts of you. The memory of your touch is only remedied by my own hand, and even that is not enough. I hope that you will accept this small token of thanks for the dance we shared, and look forward to our next meeting with the same fervor I do."

You look up from the letter to stare at the wall. You narrow your eyes at the wallpaper and do your best to try and think of who the fuck is sending you love letters. Certainly not your ex-fiance, he never did more than send you a note asking you to wear something "more appropriate" for the next party. You look back at the letter. It's a bit stuck at the bottom, likely to keep whatever token it contains in place. You slip your finger carefully under the edge of the fold to open it. A silk ribbon flutters onto your lap as you stare down at the king's signature. "With Love, König" in perfect royal handwriting.

You scramble to ring for your maid, you need to get dresses and you need to speak to your father immediately. Your maid seems to either not know or not care that you are received a letter from a king because she helps you get ready with her usual compliments and coos. Disinterested in the day ahead of you, you always assume. She ties the ribbon behind your ears when you ask her what to do with it. The black clashes, but you don't have time to argue.

König is already in the sitting room with your father when you finally make it downstairs. He stands almost as quickly as you drop into a low curtsy. Your father stands too and you're taken aback by how small he looks next to König. Your father has always been a proud man, a man to be feared as much as respected, but next to König he may as well be a child. You drop your eyes to the floor, proper and polite.

"Gott in himmel," König breathes, and your eyes dart to him. His brows are drawn together, like he's in pain. You can't tell if he's displeased when you can only see half of his face, his mouth obscured by a dark black cloth. You meet his eyes and are quick to avert your gaze, lest the heat in his burns you.

You rise from your curtsy and keep your eyes on the floor. "My lord," you greet, and hear him hum. He's pleased you think.

"My lady," The way he stresses "my" makes you shiver, his lady, "look at me when I speak to you." You're quick to follow his command, the tightness in his tone is intriguing, but you can't see a reason for it when you do look up at him.

Your father attempts to raise issue when König stalks towards you, his voice drowned out by the way the king fills your vision. You barely flinch when he grabs your chin, and turns your head. His skin against yours is unfamiliar and rough, it makes your skin prickle with heat as he sighs.

"You're wearing this wrong, Hummelchen," He tells you, his free hand going to tug at the end of the ribbon around your head. The black silk is tugged loose, falling delicately into König's grip. His thumb teases your lower lip, improper and entirely hidden from your father. "You want to wear this right for me, ja?"

You open your mouth to answer and he pushes his thumb between your lips, presses down against your tongue to hold you open. Your eyes dart in your father's direction, panic rising in your chest. König's eyes crease at the edges, he tips his head to watch your tongue try to work under his grip. You settle for swallowing, your lips closing around his finger as you nod your head. What else can you do in the face of a king?

"Braves Mädchen," He praises sending another prickle of heat over your skin. You feel like all your manners are just being thrown out the window, it's making your head spin. His grip loosens, his thumb sliding out from between your lips to smear the wetness against your hot cheek. Warmth pools between your legs, entirely too familiar, and entirely his fault.

König makes a twirling motion with his finger, and you don't hesitate to turn. You can hear his fingers pulling the length of ribbon between his hands, and you're glad to have your hair off your neck when he loops the ribbon around your throat. You have to tip your chin up, you have the sudden --and startlingly appealing-- thought that he could very easily choke you like this. König's fingers pull the ribbon tight, and you make a quiet noise of... protest? Approval? You make a noise, and it loosens just enough to be comfortable. He's quick to tie a neat bow, the tails of it hanging on either side of your spine. You touch your fingers to the silk. Like a collar.

König's fingers linger on your neck, and you tilt your head to afford him space to touch. Each brush of his skin makes your heart race, this monster of a man is so gentle with you. As if you were some treasure he could hardly afford. He curls over you, one of his hands sliding down your arm. He grips your wrist tight, and raises it to his lips. You turn your head to watch him, his eyes are dark when he catches you staring. His teeth flash dangerously in the light where they scrape against your pulse. Not so gentle then.

"You will accompany me to the next party," He leaves no room for argument in his command, states it like a fact predetermined by God, "We'll announce our engagement there."

"Your what?" You father asks behind König, aghast at the breach in conduct. You hardly notice it, entranced by the way he presses his cheek into your palm.

"Kay," You breathe for him. He's just like one of the heroes from your penny novels, better for being real. You wonder if he's ever killed anyone, he'd look good with a little blood on him.

[hoseoksluna]

TIME | knj

pairing: fiancé!namjoon x oc 

genre: smut

word count: 13.0k

summary: namjoon makes your dream come true in a much better way than you ever wanted.

pinterest board: divine | playlist: time | taglist: join

warnings: basic relationship fears, oc is heartbroken in the beginning, fight, minor violence, oc has daddy issues (like the writer), namjoon and oc smoke (like the writer as well <3), family sickness, punishment, spanking, choking, hair pulling, a mention of throat fucking and squirting, namjoon has an obsession with oc's boobies, dirty talk, use of a blindfold during intercourse, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, handjob, multiple orgasms, raw sex, namjoon talks her through it, praise kink

note: i will cherish this work until the day i die. i will carry it in my heart and never, ever forget it. this might be my best piece and i don't think i'll ever write anything as good as this. i love namjoon with all my heart and i want to thank him for inspiring me to write this. if he weren't such an amazing person, such a dear person to me and if he never released cbtm, this work wouldn't be here and i wouldn't brim with so many warm emotions. i gotta tell you guys—while writing the smut, this was the first time i wasn't affected by it in a way that i normally am because i found so much beauty in their relationship. enjoy this, my loves. let me know what you think. i love you. <3

The orange light in the hotel room causes bile to rise in your throat. It exudes a zephyr of mockery, such profound air of scorn, and you feel it thumping upon its reflection on the bare skin of your arms. You want to pinch it—make it hurt somehow, cause it the same agony that’s poisoning your system through and through because in all truth, that’s all you’re left to do. 

The Eiffel tower out beyond your window, blanketed in a soft layer of snow, has begun to twinkle. The perception of how long you’ve waited for your fiancé to come back that even such a monumental structure, your dream, has descended to its sleep full of blinding light beckons gooseflesh to mar your skin and it doesn’t go away. Not when your sight blurs, unfocuses, and the stars that have latched themselves to the tower enlarge into bulbs with softened edges, a myriad of bokeh that seem to have a slither of pity for you, lessening their grandness as the falling snow thickens. Not when both of your waterlines become rivulets of tears that heat your cold cheeks, despite the burning bushes of fury that incinerate your lungs. 

Just one more hour and the twigs of flames will perforate the chambers of your heart and sweep it clean of any emotions, any feelings, any understanding for the man that took you to Paris and left you all alone in the hotel room he paid for. You thought he took you here to give you the experience of seeing something new as you’ve never been to Europe and you’ve shared with him on several occasions that it’s always been your dream to see the Eiffel tower. Especially at night when it glimmers with such pretty, pretty stars. But considering he brought you here under the pretense of doing business, you carry nothing but contempt for the strange iron structure. So much for dreaming, so much for putting trust in a man. 

There will always be the other woman. It doesn’t matter if it’s in the form of a female, of alcohol, of ignorance. In this case, the mistress is Namjoon’s company and you should’ve known you’ll have her haunting your back for the rest of the trajectory of your secret relationship with him, with Mr. President. 

You should’ve seen it coming the moment she created a realm for you to soften, privately, in and fall in love with him until your ears turned red, the petals of roses. A realm between an ordinary employee and her boss. Between the walls of unknowing people—the way he would lean in to hear you talk because in comparison to his large stature and broad proportions, made even more prominent by his short hair, you were a mere stone on the ground, an ametrine—split in half with a tendril of yellow—but a stone regardless, fearing the tip of his lacquered dress shoes stomping on you until you’re left crumbled in the dying grass, the jagged pieces of you consoled by the ruthless wind.

You were terribly afraid of him. Briefly, but ardently. A true personification of desire, whenever you had to look up into his eyes. Whenever a whiff of his oriental cologne tickled your nostrils. Whenever the allure of secrecy between you two heightened. All because he was a powerful man, on the cusp of saving you from the lowest of the dirt. Saving you and digging you back inside, left to your own decay. 

Left to. That’s the wisp of tendency in your relationship. The wisp of force that drove you to give your yes to him. The wisp of the engagement ring encased around the fourth finger on your left hand. Left to—because you’d been single for so long and your mother pined after grandchildren and Namjoon was there, a knight in shining armor, dressed in suit and tie underneath, at the very age and position to settle down. Left to—because the special attention he gave you grazed your fear of him, gently, and helped it blossom into a bush of hyacinths growing in your lungs.

It’s how you found out you were in a severe destitute of a fatherly figure in your life.

Because Namjoon paid your bills. Put food on your mother’s table. In the form of a generous paycheck, overtime pay—even though you always clocked out at five, and odd bonuses that rose in monetary value the more he spent time with you. You’ve told him to stop, asked for fairness among his employees, even though nobody liked you there and would do quite the opposite if they ever happened to be in your shoes. But Namjoon never agreed to your offer. No, he stroked your hair and told you to save that money for your mother. And because you never heard that come out of man’s mouth, you nodded, meekly. Listened. The fear of him stroking the violet petals of hyacinths in you because as of now, he owned you. Owned your life. Owned the comfort of your mother. 

All because you made the faux pas and took off your heels when you thought your presentation was done and nobody answered when you asked if anyone had any questions left. Except for that one employee who didn’t have, evidently, a sense of decency and suddenly remembered he had a groundbreaking question to ask you in regards to the matter of your presentation, when everyone else, including Namjoon, was gathering their possessions and rising to their feet. 

He had noticed your nylon-clad feet, your swollen little toes, the way you rolled the ball of your foot on the carpet to alleviate yourself of the pain. And he changed the decades-old policy of dress code the next day. Forbade all women to wear high heels. Flat shoes only—loafers, ballet shoes. Incorporated bonuses that appeared in their bank accounts that very day, demanding an instant payment. 

He paid for every woman’s shoes in his company, including you. 

You never had to go through the torment of wearing heels again, no matter how pretty they seemed to you.

And then it was easy—languid and smooth, the innocent eye contact from across the room, the constant attention, the brushing of hands when walking past each other. And then you ran into him everywhere. He was always alone, which caused you to suspect he was single, so you smiled a little more and found it the easiest thing in the world, conversing with him about everything and nothing. Put a lot more care into the clothes you wore and the daily choice of your perfumes. Not forcing yourself and not being in control of it at the same time, something in the very middle. Something so natural that allowed you to turn your brain off for a moment and let yourself be led by your instincts. 

Then, your mother got sick and you lost your smile. Spent all your free time with her, taking care of her and you never ran into Namjoon again. 

Which is why he began to call you into his office behind the pretense that he needs something from you. And perhaps he did. He needed to be a friend for you. And you needed it just the same. 

He helped you cope with the gravity of a burden regarding a sickly parent and you became his.

And you gave more of yourself to him with every fleeting touch, every secret invitation to his office in broad daylight when he had meetings to attend to but wanted to get to know you instead, get to know your dreams because he has the money and the power to make them come true. Tenderly, despite the potency, the violence of his instrument. And tenderly, he always treated you. Tenderly, he held you steady as you made it a regular thing between you and him to sit on his lap. Not straddling him, but sideways—like a little girl sitting on the lap of her father. Tenderly, he led you through new parts of your life with poetic advice and viewpoints, meeting you outside of work, intertwining his fingers with yours and reassuring you. And tenderly, he became the stable male figure you invariably needed and never knew you did. 

And tenderness is what you need right now. In this shadowed hotel room, with only your arms to wrap around your torso and a ring on your left fourth finger, a ghost of his presence, ever so lingering, but not quite here. And you clutch at your dress, scrape your fingernails along the side of your ribs, etching the words that he said to your slowly awakening form in the late afternoon before he left. 

“I won’t be long. I just have some business to attend to. I’ll be back in an hour.”

It has been more than an hour and you wonder if he’s going to miss the twinkling of the tower. It’s your first night here. You had dinner after you landed, napped, didn’t even walk around the poetry-woven city and Namjoon chose his work. You showered for him, wore the long black dress you saved up the little of your last two paychecks for and he’s not here to see it. 

You feel so betrayed. He found work in your spare time, the time saved only for you both, the time that should’ve been saved for the romance part of your relationship. All he knows is work and so do you—as the entirety of your hours spent together have been solely work-related. This vacation should have been anything but. 

You sigh, hand ready at the zipper at the back of your dress. Once he comes home, he’ll be tired. Too tired to take a walk and immerse himself in the European beauty, so you should save this dress for a better occasion, one which he’s present for. Whenever that is. If that ever comes, at all. 

The squeak of the zipper going down is interrupted when you hear the lock make a sing-song melody, a signal that someone is coming in. Your breath quivers. A twist of events you didn’t expect, but you don’t get your hopes up. You know your fiancé well enough not to expect him to be full of life and elation after a work meeting. This isn’t the first time it’s happened, but you let it slide past every time, aware that if he didn’t work so hard, your mother wouldn’t have the comfort she has. And neither would you. 

That doesn’t mean you’ll let it slide past this time. Not when he reserved his special time for you, for you both. 

Namjoon emerges out of the soft-toned yellow hall with a hand behind his back. You rise from the bed, facing him. Notice his sagged, broad shoulders, the sweat that lines his forehead and the narrow thin line that his lips are pursed in. A petulant, gray aura swathes him, despite the vibrancy of the colors of the hotel room and when he comes in, it’s almost like he absorbs them. His brows quirk at the sight of you, nearly relieved to see you dressed and waiting for him, but that expression falters once he takes in the mirror of you. The same wrinkle on your forehead stamps itself onto his and the sag of his coat-clad shoulders deepens. He stops at the edge of the bed, in front of you. Remains silent. And when you give him a few more seconds to speak and he doesn’t, your fists clench at your sides, against the linen puffiness of your dress. 

“An hour, huh?” 

He sighs and lowers his gaze. But not onto the ground. No, he lowers it onto your dress, swallowing dryly at the accentuation of your waist and the bunched up fabric at the hips cascading down, clothing you in the prosaic night of Paris, not the poetic, not the lively. He missed it. 

“You look so beautiful in this dress,” Namjoon comments and you scoff. If that’s his way of apologizing for leaving you for almost four hours, you don’t really understand it. It merely adds fuel to the flames of the indignation underneath that fucking dress. 

“Do you know what time it is?” you bite, your fingers instinctively grabbing onto the fabric of your garment for some kind of stability as your blood boils. Abruptly, his eyes flick to the window and when you follow his gaze, you discover the tower dressed similarly as you. Shrouded, entirely, in the night, clouds drifting past in place of the twinkles. Your blood is scorching hot and even though you didn’t expect him to take you to it, your stomach still drops at the disappointment that you missed the thing you looked forward to for weeks, knowing it won’t be the same tomorrow or the day after that. Your eyes prick with tears and you hate them. Don’t want to cry. Don’t want to be a spoiled brat, in fact. Not when you grew up the way you did—dreamless, poor and independent. But you can’t stop the words from rushing out. “I can see you wearing that watch that costs more than the house I grew up in and I know your habit of checking the time often, so tell me. Why didn’t you text me? Why didn’t you pick up my calls? Why did you bring me here in the first place if you knew you had business?” 

Mouth ends rounding ever so slightly, at last he shows what he’s been hiding behind his back. A bouquet of fresh, violet chrysanthemums and baby’s breath of the same muted tones. A symbol of thoughtfulness and care. The oxymoron makes you seethe and you grit your teeth. 

“I ran around the city trying to find one flower shop that was still open. I bought the first flowers that reminded me of you.” He pushes them your way, trying to get you to take them and you do, the wrapper rustling as your hands touch and electricity zaps you. Damn it. “Purple, your favorite color.” 

The audacity this man has, walking over that one word of apology, avoiding it. He takes your anger to another level and the fact that it seems to be endless makes you even angrier. Enough to want to hit him with the flowers. 

And you do. 

The flowers hover in the air in slow motion before their petals scatter around his troubled shoulders and the ruffled bed, where you sat so restlessly. Namjoon raises his arms in defense and you don’t stop, not until he grabs your arms and stills you. 

He calls you by your name, his hold on you deathly, and he shakes you, just once, in effort to bring some sense into you. “Calm down.” 

The stems from the chrysanthemums lay crooked on the floor between your bare feet and his black dress shoes. Ruined, devastated. Just like your dream. Some snapped in half, never to be whole again. Just like your heart. 

“You think some flowers are gonna bring my dream back, huh?” you snap, raising your voice, quivering in his grasp. You push at his chest, trying to get out of his clutches, but to no avail. You remain firm and unmoving in his hold. He doesn’t even budge. And once again you feel like a stone—an amethyst this time. Bigger, stronger, yet it still pales in comparison to the mountain that Namjoon is. You give very little fuck about that, however. “You knew it was my dream to see the Eiffel Tower at night. You brought me here knowing that, so I’m asking you once again why. Why did you bring me here when you knew you weren’t gonna make that dream come true for me?” 

He sucks in a breath and it looks as though he’s hanging by the edge of his composure. A thick vein bulges on his forehead and he clenches his jaw, his mouth a small button on his face. Anger. A mirror of you. But it’s not directed towards you—not at all. 

Namjoon withdraws and steps away, taking off his coat and his jacket, slinging his outerwear onto the edge of the bed. And as you simmer in the middle of the tense silence, he casually rolls his sleeves upwards, focusing his gaze, momentarily, on the action before he bores it into yours. The other sleeve gets the same treatment meanwhile he keeps the boiling temperature of your fury at a fixed degree with that stare. You want to boil over and so does he, but he doesn’t let that happen. 

The tiniest wisp of lust curls in your bloodstream, steamed by the heat, creating something dangerous. Oh, he’s playing with fire and he shouldn’t. 

All forest fires end catastrophically. The ruined flowers are enough proof of that, and yet it’s just the beginning. 

Namjoon loosens his tie a little bit, tipping his chin, and you can’t help but to ogle the slender material, his long fingers as they hook over the knot and pull it down. They way he’s asserting his dominance—the way he’s making you wait, making you tremble all fucking over by the silence and the slowness of his motions, by his stance and the clenched jaw. You hate the way it’s working; hate, with all your crumbling, stony being the pressure of your craving to get on your knees. 

Your tremor causes your fallen strap to tickle your arm and it snaps you out of the indecent daze, head swiveling to it, hand fixing it right away. You tug your dress down so it doesn’t slip down again, your plunging sweetheart neckline exposing your full breasts. 

“Why don’t you ask me what the business was about?” Namjoon challenges and it causes your head to swivel back to him, facing him. He’s sunk his hands into the pockets of his black dress pants, anticipation and tension hanging heavily in the stuffed air. 

You raise your brows. Fuck if you care about it. “Do I look like I give a fuck? I don’t wanna hear it.” 

Namjoon drops his gaze onto the ground, the clench of his jaw tightening enough that a dimple appears on the side of his cheek. For some reason you can’t really explain it aches and you don’t want to look at him anymore. You edge around him, the soles of your feet stepping on the violet petals and when you’re side by side, he stops you with one hand. 

“You’re gonna want to hear this,” he murmurs, his hold on you softening once your movement is halted. 

You roll your eyes, untangling your arm from it. “Too bad I don’t.” 

Namjoon sighs, deeply. “I’m telling you this one last time. You’re gonna sit on this fucking bed like the nice girl I know you are and you’re gonna listen to me.” 

A pulse sneaks to your sensitive parts and you furrow your brows, not liking the words he chose, not liking the way they made you feel. A half of you is torn, though. A half of you forces your body to do as he says, liking it very much. Too fucking much. “You don’t get to talk to me like this. It’s unfair.” 

“Sit.” 

That half of you wins. That easily. 

You sit on the bed and cross your leg over the knee, obnoxiously dangling your shin back and forth. The hem of your dress flutters, gains momentum when Namjoon opens the balcony door, letting the winter air in. Then, he moves over to stand a foot away from you, the stems crunching beneath his feet, his hand fishing out his pack of cigarettes and pulling one out, popping it into his mouth. Yellow, almost brownish butt. Golden Marlboros. Typical. 

Your own parts in dismay. “You’re gonna set the fire alarm off.” 

“You’re gonna get rained on, then. Look pretty in that soaking dress with the petals and all.” He lights up his addiction and the flow of your fire changes its course. Burns differently now. Burns lustfully. “You think I didn’t tell them to turn it off when we arrived? You were too sleepy. Barely knew where we were.” 

Flying while drifting through dreamland does that to you. Why it is a surprise to you that Mr. President made such a demand is beyond you. What’s more, it annoys you. His power, his influence. While it once sparked fear, you’re glad it’s lukewarm to you now. 

Sucking deeply, he puffs out the smoke, its tendrils curling around his eyes that he narrows to protect them from the sting. Your fingers, instinctively, play with your engagement ring. You’ve always loved the way he smoked. Especially in his office. Especially the way it never smelled. His attention to detail, his thoughtfulness perpetually mesmerized you. You wonder where it’s gone at the cusp of the realization of your dream. 

“I fought tooth and nail to get a deal. To make a connection. For you.” 

You scowl at him, pull your wandering fingers away from your engagement ring. What the fuck does he mean by that? 

“For me?” 

“Yes, for you. For your mother.” 

You grip the edge of the mattress at the mention of your mother, left behind on her sick bed while you’re fussy about your mindless dream. A jolt of guilt runs down your body and your scowl smoothens. You don’t think the madness disappears from your eyes. Not entirely. 

“I risked having some very powerful people knowing about us because I wanted you to have a stable place here. There’s a five star hotel that has shares in Korea. I wanted to become their partner. Get you in there. Get you another source of income. Get you a house here. For your mother. For our children. Have you commute here whenever you’d like,” Namjoon breathes out, moving his busy hand with each word, the smoke clouding the air. He takes a drag, holding the cigarette. “Come to think of it, you’d get to see this.” He points behind himself at the Eiffel Tower with his thumb. “For a week straight if you’d like. Splurge on dresses, shoes and croissants and whatnot. Have not one care in the world. You make the call and we fly.” 

From Korea to Paris. Whenever you’d like. Namjoon is the CEO of a five star hotel he built with his own hands. You’re the marketing manager, but you oversee almost everything you find time for. From banquets to room beddings, only because you enjoy it. It’s the main reason why you’re so disliked. You’re favored. And if there’s conflict of interest, there’s only one person who wins in the eyes and the final say of the CEO.

Namjoon’s hidden thoughtfulness opens in the shadows of the room and you’re stupefied. 

He wanted to partner with another five star hotel in Paris. 

For you. For your mother. For your future. For your comfort. 

For your dream. 

For your children. 

Your mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. 

How would you possibly handle having your job times two? You already have enough on your plate. Have wished, multiple times, that there was more of you cloned, who could do each job that you have to do each day. Doing that twice would be difficult, agonizingly so, but knowing your own work ethic, you’d make it manageable. You’d make do. Not for yourself, per say—but for your mother and your future children. 

Your heart constricts. Constricts so tightly that you let out a pained breath, overcome by his plan for the future, by the actions he’s willing to do for it. By the very raw fact that he spent three hours trying to make that happen—make that come true for you. 

“Namjoon, I—”

“They said no, though. No matter how hard I pushed, no matter what I was willing to risk, to sacrifice. They said no. So I made a quick phone call and forbade them from ever entering our hotel.” 

Our hotel. 

You almost sob, touched by him, but a gust of the icy breath of winter seizes you and you visibly shudder. Namjoon takes a last drag of his addiction and, putting it out on the ashtray on the confined balcony, he closes its door. But the freshness grazes you still, grazes you with the allure of this too-good-to-be-true fantasy and while it feels nice momentarily—the futile, brand new dream—you settle on the contentment that it will never come true. 

And that’s okay. You were brought up having nothing. Having someone like Namjoon intertwined with your future doesn’t change it. You don’t need to have everything. It’s enough that you’re in Paris just for the prolonged weekend, even though you didn’t get to see the sparkling Eiffel Tower up close on your first night here. That was the only dream you ever had and you can die peacefully now. Knowing the reason behind his late arrival, it doesn’t disappoint you anymore that your dream was altered. As a matter of fact, you don’t consider it ruined any longer. Not when Namjoon tried his hardest to create a beautiful future for you and your closest. You regret being mad at him, regret hitting him with the flowers and you brim with the wish to gather them, fix them, and put the little what’s left of them in a vase. Cherish them like he cherishes you. Cherish him. 

Namjoon crouches at your feet, cradling your ankle. “Your mom would’ve had a house right next to ours. Our kids would visit her everyday and vice versa. The air would’ve done her good here. The change of scenery. It would’ve prolonged her life. She’d be happy.” 

You nod, believing him, your heart untouched by the weakening fire, tender, squeezing. A mist of liquid emotion pools at your eyes. “You spent three hours trying to make that become a reality.” 

It’s not a question, but rather an expression of your procession of his goodness. Of his selflessness. And all over again, you’re reminded of the way you grew close in your relation because of your poor mother, of the way you bonded. And in place of the fire, it’s love that blooms those hyacinths in your lungs back to life. 

Your mother would’ve loved Paris. Because you know how much she loved listening to you talk about your dream when she was healthy and you were a young schoolgirl, you’re certain she would’ve fallen in love with the stark difference that lines these history-wrought streets. 

Namjoon focuses his gaze on your bare foot, fondling his thumbs over your silky skin. Your declaration of his actions loosened the heft on his shoulders and he relaxes, leaning his temple against your knee, fleetingly. When he speaks, he looks up at you. A certain light, covered in pity, flickers in his eyes. “I didn’t do it on purpose. It just took that long and I had no idea. And when I checked the time once it was over, I googled when they turn off the lights. Knew I had some time to spare, so to fix my mistake for taking so long, I ran through these streets, trying to make it up to you. I thought I’d make it in time, but you let out your frustration on me, which is understandable. I was in such a hurry that I forgot to text you. I’m sorry.” 

The coolness of the growing flower buds in you fills you with such gentleness that it’s not relief that you feel upon hearing his explanation and apology. It’s love. A profound, sinking capacity of love for the man beneath you taking on the likeness of the stone that certain energies and events of life invariably minimalized you into. 

He’s the stone and you’re the mountain. 

And when you bolster his face in your hands, Namjoon releases a breath at the touch and you find that relief streaming in him, seeping color back into his cheeks. You’ll paint them redder. Feel obligated to do so. 

“I’m sorry for hitting you. You left me alone for so long and I had so many bad thoughts,” you say, internally cringing at your neediness and you would regret uttering your admission had he not rubbed your legs in such a reassuring manner that it revitalizes your body, guiding briskness into your veins. 

“I’m sorry that I missed it,” Namjoon says, subduedly, his hands warm like the fire that burned in you, giving you back your heat that you’re lacking. He kisses the top of your knee and your breath is but a vine of poison ivy inside your throat. Such tenderness, such healing gentleness, such pity that permeates your skin. He truly is regretful that he messed up and you want to weep. He doesn’t have to be, not anymore. “What kinda bad thoughts?” 

You feel your heart rotate on its axis and you stifle back your tears, taking a deep breath to be able to talk. “I thought you chose work over me. Thought your business had nothing to do with me. Thought you left me here all alone for selfish reasons.” 

Namjoon coos, a softened emotion screwing his face—eyes enlarging and a slight pout forming on his face. A leeway for your tears to spurt onto your cheeks, unabashedly, with nothing holding them back any longer. He cups your face, like you did, and he sweeps back that rivulet with his thumb. “I didn’t, baby. I didn’t. And I’m here. I’m here with you.” 

You nod and it’s all that you’re left to do because it’s the truth. He’s here. He’s come back. And he’s sorrowful that he let those thoughts plague your brain with such a small mistake. 

“Don’t go anywhere again,” you beg, hushedly, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry you worked so hard for nothing.” 

It’s the last straw for Namjoon because he straightens his form, guides you to stand up and he sets you down on his lap, pushing your legs onto the bed—holding you as if he were holding a child. 

And that’s precisely what you need at the moment. 

“It’s not over. Pick a place and we’ll go there. Start over. With you present this time. What are you dreaming of these days?” 

Your heart swells. Nothing has been flooding your dreamland as much as Paris was. Even that seemed unrealistic, let alone a much different place. It overcomes you and, peculiarly, stops you from crying. You feel like a spoiled girl getting what she wanted after she had a meltdown and, internally, you blame Namjoon for it. He spoils you. Exudes such overtones of fatherliness that makes a way for it to happen. Most naturally. 

“Paris has always been my dream. No other city,” you say and Namjoon clicks his tongue. A smile widens your mouth, liking the way he senses your custom of modesty, liking the way he dislikes it. You laugh, softly, through your nose. “I’ll think of something.” 

“That’s my nice girl.” 

Taken aback, you clutch the side of his neck. Namjoon is bathed in the orange light and it no longer causes bile to lodge in your esophagus. No, it sparks up something else. Something very rapid, spreading throughout your body. The energy shifts and it’s you who clicks their tongue. “What did I tell you about talking to me like that?” 

You move your hand to the middle of his throat, tightening your hold around his Adam’s apple, tipping his chin. Namjoon grins, hums, wraps his fingers around your wrist. 

“What did I tell you about choking me, hm?” 

A flashback flickers across your vision. One of the last time you were intimate in bed and he was rocking your shit in missionary, using your throat as a leverage. You mirrored him, as you usually do in these endeavors, and choked the air out of him, making him come prematurely. Namjoon scolded you until your ears turned red and refused to make you come. You had to bring yourself over that edge and you managed to squirt your love and your enjoyment of fucking with him all over his body. Namjoon made sure to feed you your elated essence, but he also made it very hard for you to swallow, telling you to hold it as he drilled your throat, making it trickle down the corners of your mouth. 

The memory effortlessly brings back the pulse in your sensitive parts and you begin to crave the repetition of that filthy rendezvous. Badly. 

And so you squeeze his throat. 

Namjoon squeaks your name. You laugh, ferally. 

That is until he pins you down. Hand on your throat this time, the other holding down both of your wrist, the petals sticking to the silk of his pants-clad knees on either side of you. You didn’t even catch the movement as he did it, his strength overbearing and so incomparable to yours. But you don’t feel like the amethyst. No, you feel like a mountain connected to another, to him. Two peaks staring at each other, grinning, your laughter unfaltering, even though it’s you who’s squeaking now. 

Elated, giddy, aroused, equal, your tears sunk deeply within your skin, giving life to your rhapsody, giving it the body it needs in order to come out. 

You love it when he’s like this. And you love that he’s come back to you. 

Of course you have the means to prolong it, to tease it out of him.

“I don’t really care when it turns me on this much,” you rasp, your smile glinting in the dimmed light, arching your back until your chest kisses his. Just once. “When it turns you on this much.” 

Truth, the epitome of pleasure. The corners of your mouth widen, all over again. 

You can’t help it. 

Namjoon cocks a brow, his mouth ends following the same directions, dimples poking holes in his cheeks. “Oh, so you don’t need to be reminded?” He mimics your intonation, angling his head.

You shake yours, eyes dipping to his clefts, teeth instinctively finding your bottom lip, biting down. You feel the heaviness of his stare and it urges you to bite down harder, the tension quickening your blood circulation. And it isn’t until you meet his adoring gaze that it stops, for a mere second, scattering tingles down every vein. And Namjoon resumes the flow by pressing a chaste kiss down onto your lips, lingering there. 

“I know you’re a nice girl and that you didn’t mean it, but I have to spank you for it, anyway. Do you understand?” He whispers against those pillows, each movement of his mouth brushing against yours, making you needy for more. 

You make a face. “But I did mean it. Meant it with everything in me.” 

Namjoon laughs, endearingly. “No, you didn’t, baby. Not when you know what I’m capable of doing to you. Or not doing to you.” 

You smirk, catching onto his game. He’ll disagree until you grow so frustrated that you burst, disobeying him to the point that he has to tame you. He wants to get you to the lowest point, because the lower you dig, the bigger treasure you find—the more you stimulate the brain, the chemistry, the bigger the pleasure. Namjoon is an intelligent man; knows what the fuck he’s doing and you’re so transfixed by it that you’ll let yourself be led into his little trap that he watches over. Just to please him because ultimately, you’ll be pleased beyond measure. 

You tip your chin and trace his lips with your own. “No, I did, because I love how whiny you get. Makes me wanna bruise my knees for you, take all of you down my throat until it hurts to speak.” 

Namjoon is so awestruck by your words that his mouth parts as he gawks down at you and he moans. There it is. That’s precisely what you wanted. 

“You know,” he starts, pausing to swallow. “I had different plans with you in terms of this. Good fucking plans. But you just ruined them.” 

The precipice of what that could be hangs over your clavicles and suddenly you brim with the need to know what it was. What his smart, business brain came up with. And not only that—you want it to happen, your curiosity piqued, blaming the choice of words he used, the work-tinged colors he splattered them with. 

“What plans?” 

He straightens, setting your hands free. “Take off your dress.” 

You’re taken aback. “Namjoon.” You stress his name. “What plans?” 

“No, I’m not telling you. You’re gonna take off this dress and you’re gonna take what I give you.” 

You frown. Your curiosity won’t let up. “Namjoon, please.” 

The pretty word curls his mouth. Perhaps, you’ve softened his stubbornness. You surely hope so, but to no avail. 

He gets on his feet and swivels you onto your stomach, fingers finding your zipper and dragging it down. Being manhandled like this causes butterflies to swarm not just in your tummy, but over your arms and legs as well, fluttering all over, making your head spin and again, you can’t help the smile blossoming. In the middle of winter, spring opens in you at the touch of his dominance. 

Spreading his hands over your back, sinking his warmth beneath the skin, he leans in, mouth at your ear. “What word do you use when you say please?” 

You know what he wants you to say, but, peculiarly, you’re in such a good mood that you crave to disobey. Just for the fun of it. Just for the pain of it. 

“Pretty please?” you chirp, pursing your lips to hide the slyness of your smile. Delighted, excited. 

Namjoon pulls your hair, causing your head to tip, harshly, pain shooting up your scalp. Your tongue runs over your bottom lip, moaning almost soundlessly, only to realize that he can see you. Your pleasure wasn’t private. Not at all. Never is when he’s involved. 

You flick your eyes up at him, meeting his darkened stare, and you flutter your lashes at him, playing the stupid girl when you’re well educated by him in reality. 

Maybe you do need to be reminded, after all. Again, for the fun of it. For the pain of it. 

To distract him from his failure. Help him forget. You know how it gets to him. Deem he deserves it; deem it’s a duty of your fiancée privileges. 

“Pretty please is an addition. Something to help me have a sliver of pity for you. You seem to have forgotten who I am to you.” 

Oh, he’s a myriad of things. 

Mountain. Stability. Dependability. A most grand picture of beauty. Of intelligence. The sun and the moon, his brain cells the planets in the universe. The second heart you’ve grown over the trajectory of your relationship. The pulse of your emotions, especially the one between your legs.

He’s everything in your life while you remain your own person.

And only Namjoon would have achieved something like that. 

“No, I haven’t. You’re my husband,” you say, allure dripping in your tone, wiggling your hips, causing the fabric of your dress to ripple over your bum. 

Namjoon coos, quite pleased with the title, and he pats your behind before he grabs you by your waist and pulls you to your feet—flush against his body and the rock solid situation in his pants. You sway your hips, the gasp that slips out of your mouth goes almost unnoticed by you as you’re entirely focused on his hardness. You look down to follow the movement of his hands like a cat. They drift upwards—from your ribs, over the swell of your breasts until his long fingers reach the straps of your dress and drag them down, exposing you, exposing your arousal evident on your stiffened nipples. You could blame the cool temperature hanging in the room for it, but both of you know that would be a lie. A fat lie that your husband doesn’t deserve, not when he’s so dominant, so strict and so fucking provocative, spreading tendrils of heated life in you with each subtle touch. 

Subtle? Oh, Namjoon gropes your tits, rolling your nubs between his slender fingers, softly moaning behind you. And then he pinches them, coaxing your squeaks out and you feel that familiar, wet warmth pooling in your core, mingling with the throbbing sensation that intoxicates you. Enough for you to clasp your hands over his and tighten his hold, squirming against him, loving—loving terribly the sparks of pleasure coursing down your figure. Loving the feeling of dampness against your panties that’s nothing but evidence of the way your body savors his special attention. 

“Husband, that’s right. Your fucking husband,” Namjoon murmurs, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, causing your head to knock back against his chest and make space for him, inviting him to continue—and he does. Places tiny little kisses down to your shoulder, where he licks the skin before he sucks it into his mouth. “But there’s something else you call me when I treat you this good. What is it? Think.” 

Those kisses and his command for the wheels in your mind to quicken alone make you give in, make you submit to his craving to call you by that filthy, rightful title. Even more so when he pinches your nipples again. You whine, feeling your neediness for more taking greater highs in your system, feeling your own body yearning to scream out that name. 

“Daddy,” you cry out, desperately, awfully. How well it fits him, how well he deserves to be called by something like that—how gratified you sense your body to be right now. No poetic string of verses could ever manage to do it justice. 

Namjoon hums, his pleasure deepening. “That’s it. That’s a good girl. I love it when you use that brain of yours.” 

You blush. A tableau unseen by Namjoon yet, for he busies himself with undressing you. Your garment gets plopped onto the mattress, your underwear along with it. A silky strip that hardly covers anything. You’re bare while he remains fully dressed and something about that turns you wild. The silkiness of his slacks, the cotton of his white shirt against your skin—such softness, such balminess, such caress for the undomesticated freedom that you profoundly feel within. You sigh at the sensation, your lingering curiosity bubbling in you, slowly rising to the tip of your tongue. 

“Will you tell me now? What you planned?” 

Namjoon chuckles, humorlessly. “You think you’ve earned it? No, baby.” He runs his hand down your ribs and your tummy, halting at your mound. His middle finger can nearly reach your swollenness and you quiver in response. “You’ve got spanks to take first. Maybe then I’ll tell you.” 

You whine, softly, and Namjoon grabs your chin and turns your head so you can look at him. A mad, mad smile adorns his shadowed, taut face and you realize there’s pent-up frustration still swirling in him. One you will do anything to help him steam off. 

Anything. 

Anything for your husband. 

And so, by your own whim, you lay down onto the bed, anticipating the pleasure of pain. Namjoon lets out a sound of approval and you sense the vibrations of his nearness as he props a knee on the bedding, flattening down a violet petal. He fixes your position, lifts your bum in the air, and he kisses your bare cheek with all the world’s affection, sucking the skin, nibbling on it before smoothing the pain with a swipe of his tongue. 

“You’re my nice girl, aren’t you?” Namjoon questions and you nod, but that’s not good enough of an answer for him. He spanks you, harshly, coaxing a hiss out of you before the pleasure draws in and you let out a breath, turning your head, so you can have a perfect view of him. Namjoon gives you another chance to fix your mistake. “Aren’t you?”

Licking your lips, you make it your focal point to be good for him. “I’m your nice girl.” 

Humming, he caresses your back to praise you. Spanks you with the same tenderness, rubbing the flesh to alleviate the faint sting. The love you carry for him grows with each brush of his calloused hand and you stifle back your needy sounds, your little whines and sobs of a small girl very seldom loved by an even smaller number of male figures in her life. 

Most strangely, it heightens the experience. 

“You’re my wife, aren’t you?” Namjoon purrs, his fingers sneaking to the place that yearns for him more than anywhere else, finding you bedewed, dripping as he rubs your folds—just touching you there without giving you any friction. 

The touch is so nice that you can’t help but mewl most happily. 

“Yes, I’m your wife, Daddy.” 

Namjoon moans, the pads of his fingers sneaking over to your clit and stroking it. You arch your back, your noises rising in volume—the wetness, the pleasure in tandem. Your body begins to shudder in reaction, mimicking his motions, the pressure coiling in the lowest of your tummy. 

“Good, good. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. You’re my good little wife, but you were bad, weren’t you? You were a bad little wife?” 

He quickens his speed, testing your focus and your mind spins again as the pressure deepens. From his words, from the very gravity of the title ‘wife’, from the very pleasure stemming from the principle of being bad, and you stutter a few times before you’re able to get out the full sentence in a perfect flow. 

“I was your bad little wife.” 

Namjoon growls, liking it just the same. “And what did you do?” 

He slows down, stalling your climax, keeping you halfway from the edge, right where he wants—the pressure of his touch light and gentle. Letting you work your brain. 

You smile up at him, from the clouds of shadows and petals you’re surrounded by. Namjoon deepens the eye contact, returning the smile. Your heart thuds in your chest. 

“I choked you.” 

Clefts of dimples—you, yourself, choke out a breath. Another one, too, when Namjoon spanks you hard, his fingers wet and sticky on your skin, the pain tingling all over your body, beckoning out more of your slick for him. 

“That’s right, you choked me, even though I punished you for it quite severely the last time,” he rasps and spanks you again, again and again. You hiss and flatten your lips to stifle it back, grasping the bed sheets to overcome that burn—and overcome your craving for more. 

You’re at a crossroad. You find yourself wanting to be bad in order to get spanked again, but at the same time you want to be good, so he tells you what he planned for you. Your fucked out brain can’t decide which side is better, but when Namjoon spanks you again—he reminds you that it doesn’t matter at all. You’re getting punished either way while the goal is to tell you. 

Such a good, intelligent husband. And you tell him. 

“You’re so good to me, baby,” you whisper, your knuckles white as you’re grasping the sheets with all your might. “I’m sorry for being bad. I’m sorry for choking you, but I love it when you spank me.” 

Namjoon chuckles, warmly, spanking your clit once in affection, drawing out your squeaks. 

Truth, the epitome of pleasure. All over again. 

Close to your ear now, he kisses your cheek, his body heat enveloping you in an embrace. “My naughty little wifey loves it when Daddy punishes her. Loves to do the bad things Daddy doesn’t like just so he spanks her. That’s it, isn’t it?” 

You moan out, puckering your lips against the sheets and Namjoon half-kisses your pout, humming against you. He lifts you up onto your knees with your torso upright and he cradles your face. Waits for your answer. 

You’re more than happy to douse yourself in that truth. 

“Yeah, I love it. I love being bad for you.” 

He descends one hand to your bum while the other wraps around your waist and pulls you flush to the hardness of his body. And as he expresses to you how much he liked your words with guttural moans, he spanks you. Again and again, your head tipped back, eyes wandering in the darkened maze of his, where you lose count of how many you’ve taken. 

“But you do realize that’s a big no-no, don’t you?” 

You nod. “I do, Daddy.” 

A hum. “Will you do it again?” 

You whisk your irises up, thinking about it while already knowing the answer in your heart. “Probably.” 

Namjoon laughs and kisses you, feverishly. Moves his mouth against yours, parts it, so he can slip his tongue inside. Plays a game of chase while both of your noises and his interlock and create a music that echoes around the hotel room. He adds a high-pitched tone into the song, yours, as he spanks you again, playfully this time, grabbing the flesh of your bum with both of his hands now, kneading it, drawing it closer until you feel his aroused length against your tummy. 

Moans, squeaks, skin slapping and lip smacking. A song of beauty that will resonate within your body, mind and soul for days to come. 

And another thing. 

“God, I love you so much,” Namjoon whispers, bringing his hands to your ribs until his thumbs brush across your nipples. 

That, too, will ring in your veins. 

You melt. Become nothing but liquid devotion in his hands. And as he begins to focus on your neck, you roll your eyes back and resound your love back to him. 

“I love you, Namjoon.” 

He sighs against your collarbone, mutedly. “You love me?” 

You sink your fingers into his short hair, kissing his temple. “I love you so fucking much.” 

When he emerges with puffy, reddened lips, you can see it on his face that he did it again. Made you say the words he wanted to hear. And so you say it again, again and again. Each time with more intensity, with more verve, embedding it into his lips, his cheeks, jawline, his chin and his neck. All skin you can reach until you stumble upon the cotton of his shirt, at which you frown. 

“Take this off. Now.” 

And he listens. Loosens his tie, places it upon the petals on the bedding. Begins to unbutton his shirt. All while staring you down. And all you can do is watch him in awe, licking your lips, hungry for him, hungry for the intelligent plan he’s keeping from you. 

Once he bends at the waist to get his arms out of the sleeves, you press on the matter. 

“Tell me,” you say, softly, despite the tension of your curiosity. “Tell me what you planned.” 

Namjoon tilts his head and light flickers across his eyes, fires of stars—the ones that twinkled on the Eiffel Tower before his arrival. You spent your entire life dreaming about seeing it when it stands right in front of you, half naked. Has been standing before your eyes for years. 

Your mouth parts at the tenderness of it all and emotion bubbles within you. 

Sizzles, ferociously, when Namjoon reveals his secret. 

“Speeding down the road to this hotel, I saw it before my eyes. What I was going to do to you,” he starts, unbuckling his belt and sliding it off the loops. Your heart thumps, violently, against your ribcage, longing to jump onto his big palms. He pauses his motions to concentrate on his words. “I was going to apologize. Tell you what happened. And then I was going to make it up to you. Undress you, keep only the shoes on you were going to wear.” He looks over to the side, where your black YSL heels have been waiting for hours to be worn. Before he even asks if those were the ones, you nod your head and Namjoon fetches them and puts them on your feet. “I was going to have these digging into my back while I ate you out. While I would transfer us to the park before the Eiffel Tower with my words.” Securing the straps, he straightens, knees on either side of yours, and grabs his tie, smoothing it out with his thumbs. “I was going to blindfold you. Make you imagine you were there with me. No one else but us. On a blanket. Describe to you in great detail what we were doing as I’d be balls deep in you. Here but there at the same time.” 

Your throat dries as you take in his words and there’s only a few words you’re capable of saying. Your eyes flick to the tie, then back up to his dark chocolate irises, wet with a glint of deep arousal, one that you feel pulsing in you just as well. You hook your arms on his hips and nod at the slender fabric in his grasp.

A man of the world’s intelligence. How attractive, how alluring. Your shadowed cloud swathes you tighter and you spill with the need to be fucked. Fucked with that smartness. That capability. All wrapped around that big cock of his. 

You need it. Won’t live if he doesn’t ruin you with it. 

“Do it,” you choke out, swallowing with great difficulty. “Please.” 

Fingers curling around his belt loops, it doesn’t go unnoticed the way his manhood twitches in the tight confines of his slacks and the sound you let out at the sight would be embarrassing if he wasn’t so endeared by it, caressing your face with his thumb, lifting it so you pay attention to what he wants to say to you. 

“Are you comfortable with me blindfolding you? We’ve never done that before.” 

Even though your trust wavered merely an hour ago, it happened so it would get strengthened at this very moment. You don’t detect any no’s echoing within you, any worries or fears, anything that would cause you to stand in the way of this endeavor unfolding. It excites you, the newness, the principle of placing not just your trust, but your control, your senses and your safety in his hands. Allowing him to proceed with his would solely mean that you deepen what you already practice in your sex life, take it to another level. And these things are of great importance to Namjoon. He never disappointed you—never failed, never missed. 

He takes care of you. Through and through. From the beginning to the end. Until you close your eyes, only to take it from the top the following morning. 

Your trust in terms of that could never waver. It’s impossible. It’s so strong, so held steadily that it would never come across your mind, even. 

And so you give him your consent. 

“Yes, I am. I’m excited to do this. I want this.” 

Namjoon strokes your hair, pressing a kiss onto your forehead. “All right, my love, but remember that we can stop anytime. I’ll take it off as soon as you say the word. Tell me you understand.” 

And along with your consent, you give him a big smile. “I understand, baby.” 

He kisses you, stealing a thousand tiny kisses more in the same lip lock. “That’s a good girl. So smart. Are you thirsty?” 

You fold your hands on your lap and nod your head. The tie slung over his broad shoulder, Namjoon walks over to the mini bar, fishes out a bottle of ice cold water and opens it for you, tipping it to your mouth, encouraging you to drink.

The coldness streaming down your stomach only enlivens your arousal and it seems as though the matter is naked to the eye as Namjoon bites his lip at the sight of you, screwing the bottle shut and placing it on the bedside table. You tug at the tie, your eyes crinkling as your smile simply can’t leave your mouth alone and Namjoon hums out a laugh at your excitement. 

“Ready?” 

Your whole figure is fluttering, of course you’re ready—and you tell him. “Born ready.” 

It prolongs his expression of lighthearted endearment. “Good. Remember to stop me when it gets too much. Close your eyes.” Obeying, the softness of the silk grazes, fondly, your eyelids as pitch-blackness encompasses you. Namjoon ties the thick wisp at the back of your head, careful not to intermingle any strands of your hair into the knot, attentive enough not to pull it too tight and not too loose either, causing you to ache for him so badly that you almost want to scream. “How does it feel?” 

Uncanny. You hear his voice and, peculiarly, it’s louder in your ears, although he’s speaking in the same volume as he was before he blindfolded you. You sense something missing from you—and it’s a feeling that you detect in the pit of your stomach and at the ends of your abruptly numb fingertips. 

You clench those digits, but the sensation remains. It is only when you raise them and bump into the sturdiness of his chest that you perceive what it truly is. 

Groundedness is what you’re missing. 

The softness of his skin brings back a sense of realness back to you. When you drift your palms up to his shoulders and hold onto them, you feel real; you feel like a person that has limbs, that has someone right there with them to look out for them because aloneness is what comes with the darkness of the sight and that is absolutely terrifying. 

You cling to his neck, causing him to stumble into you, and you sigh in relief at the feeling of his weight. He goes to lift himself up, but you stop him—tightening your headlock, pressing the side of your face against his, eating that realness as you trace your lips against his cheek, run your hand across the back of his head. 

He’s here with you and he’s not going anywhere. With that stability, you can walk further in this rendezvous because you’re not alone at all, despite the fact it’s what your eyesight is telling you. 

“It feels really strange. I need you close. I need to feel you. To know I’m not by myself,” you whisper, sensing your chest to become lighter once the truth is out. Your naivety and excitement didn’t expect this to happen, but you’re comfortable with trying this out and feel where it takes you.

“Do you want to stop?” Namjoon asks and you can identify where he roots that question on your body. Right there upon your left collarbone, where his breath seems warmer than ever before and where he begins to scatter tiny kisses. 

That thrills you—the identification of where he is, the loudness of his voice, the depth of his touch and the unusually scorching body heat he radiates as all of your other senses are heightened and you want more of it. You crave to know what it would feel like to have his tongue on your sensitive parts like this. What it would feel like to have him drilling you. 

That alone makes you shiver with something beyond excitement. With something feral and undomesticated, again. 

Another thing for him to tame. 

Your body sings to him. To the stars. To the tower. And Namjoon can hear it, incorporating his tongue into his not so chaste kisses in response. 

“No, I don’t want to stop. I want you to keep going,” you say at last, caressing the wholeness of his back, reveling in the discovery of his muscles, his shoulder blades. It feels so new, so different. You quake all over. 

Namjoon pulls himself upwards, nudges his nose against yours and you smile. “Okay, baby. I’m right here.” He kisses both of your eyelids, the right one first before the left one. You feel at one with your heart as it palpitates; feel as though you were inside your body. “Fuck, your eyelashes are so long that I can see them curled around the tie. You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

You blush, the heat of your cheeks akin to a blanket pulled to your nose. Such coziness. You hum and try to find his lips, but he’s out of reach. You crane your neck until it hurts, giving up with a huff. 

“God, don’t do that to me. That was so cute,” Namjoon husks and moans when you pull him down and kiss him at last. 

It’s at this moment that you thank the God that he mentioned for writing into the Book of Life that Namjoon was to be late and miss your dream because this kiss does more than make up for it. This kiss creates new dreams that begin to swirl within you. Dreams of the Mediterranean sea, the sand and sun rays so hot that they bronze your skin. Dreams of sultry nights, black dresses and flats for all the roads you shall walk upon while following the starlight, hand in hand with Namjoon dressed in linen of the same color. 

Dreams of Asia, but not where you first opened your eyes in as a newborn. The western side of Asia, the one you’ve never seen and never dreamed of until now. 

Your heart enlarges and you overspill with so many emotions that they trickle out of your hidden tear ducts. Newness, possibilities—for both you and Namjoon, but mainly for him. For his happiness. 

He calls your name, fearfully, but you shake your head. “What’s wrong?” 

You feel his fingers sneaking over to the knot of the tie, but you stop him. “I know where we’re going next time.” 

His breath of relief becomes the new cloud you rest upon. “You scared me. Don’t cry, baby.” 

You fondle his wrist. “Namjoon, we’re going to Turkey.” 

Silence. Then, a kiss. “Is that where you want to go?” 

A nod. That’s where your soul will escape to once you lay down to sleep. “That’s the place I’m dreaming of.” 

A kiss on your neck. A hum. “Then, that’s where we’ll go.” A stripe of his tongue down to your collarbones—you feel your slick drip down onto the bedding. “Do you remember where we are right now?” 

An inhale of breath. “Paris.” 

Namjoon sucks the supple skin above your nipple. “That’s right. We’re at the park in front of the Eiffel Tower in the middle of summer. You’re sat on my lap like this.” He manhandles you to the position he describes and you gasp, not expecting it. “My back is facing it while you have a perfect view of the twinkling lights. Can you see them?” If your memory serves you well, he’s painting a picture of reality as well and you’re so touched by it that another, secret tear rolls down your cheek. 

“Yes, they’re shining so brightly. They’re so pretty, too. You’re making my dream come true. Thank you.” 

Wetness against your sternum. Namjoon must be crying as well and the realization makes you sob. Makes you find his lips again and kiss him. 

“I love you,” Namjoon croaks out and you break, holding onto him so tightly that you clench all of your muscles. 

“I love you, Namjoon.” 

A final kiss before the continuation of his depiction of the dream. 

“Nobody is around. They’ve all gone to sleep. It’s just us, the Tower and the moon. You’re so beautiful, so lost in the pleasure as I’m kissing you like this.” He shows you by resuming leaving kisses along your breasts. “And when I do this—” He licks over your nipple, sucking it into his mouth. You whimper, flexing your eyelids at the sensation swarming in your core. “You make pretty sounds just like that, but I tell you to be quiet. We don’t wanna wake up those people and ruin the fun. And you’re so good that you listen, taking the pleasure so well.” 

He sets you down onto the bed, moves down to your tummy, placing the rest of his kisses there. 

“Then, I lay you down on the blanket. You’re naked for my eyes only and I spread your legs.” His hands follow his words, lifting your thighs and pinning them down. “I blow on your needy little pussy and you shiver so beautifully for me. I can see you shining for me, shining brighter than the lights and I give it to you.” 

There you feel it. The lick of his tongue on your clit and you shudder, moan so loudly that it reverberates down your body, the pleasure unlike any other you ever had the grace to experience. You roll your body into his mouth and Namjoon moans in tandem with you, even more so when your heel digs into his shoulder blade like he dreamed of.

“I lick your clit in circles and I feel you come alive on my tongue, so I pick up the pace.” 

You chase the movement as he does, reveling in it to the point that you curl your body, rising yourself to your elbows and grasping the nape of his neck, knocking your head back once he prods a finger into your heat. 

“I need more of it. I need to feel you around my fingers, so I stretch you out.” 

He adds another digit, fucking you diligently, and you whine out his name, squeezing his neck, your thumb pressing the spot above his Adam’s apple. 

“But my baby is doing something she knows is making my cock needy for her. She’s choking me, making me so fucking hard for her, so I pin her hands down.” 

He rips your hand from his neck and pushes it down onto the bedding, holding it in place with his forearm as he rounds an arm around your tummy, fingers spreading your folds apart from this angle, leaning his weight on it, freeing up space for his other hand to fuck you harder. 

You plop down onto the bedding, unable to resist him. And with your submission comes your orgasm, the rope uncoiling right at the place where the pulse on his wrist thumps. 

And your dreams explode across the blackness of your vision. 

“And you come like this. On my tongue. Around my fingers and I go fucking crazy for you, lick up everything you gave me. So fucking crazy that I turn you around and take you like this.” 

You’re glad for the way he worded this part because you don’t jump when he does swivel you and licks over the red marks over your bum. He prepared you. The coolness of the petals on your skin causes you to whimper and you move your hand in effort to grab one of them. Namjoon settles between the sides of your thighs and when he sees what you’ve found, he chuckles, taking it from you, turning you halfway and brushing it against your cheek. 

You gasp, liking the heightened softness, and you purr. Seeing your reaction, Namjoon drifts it down your neck, your collarbone until he reaches the peak of your breast. And when he circles that stiffened nub—an endeavor just between you, outside of the dream—your whimpers have so much tension and opulent seductiveness to them that you feel his bare manhood twitch against the line of your bum. 

It drives you to thrash your hand until you find him, too, and you wrap your hand around his thick manhood, pumping him as he stimulates your nipple like this, your position—halfway on your side, with your leg crossed, propped on the bedding, brings friction to your clit as your body moves where the pleasure wants it. 

Namjoon breathes hard, groaning gutturally, and you could almost come like this. 

“Fuck, Daddy, it feels so good,” you whine and it causes Namjoon to turn you fully onto your back and take that petal down to your wet clit. “Oh, my God.” 

Faint, yet so nice. You tremble, feeling the petal drifting over your folds, your lips, gathering your slick over your heat. And when Namjoon rubs circles on your clit with it, the membrane of the petal so fucking slippery now that it’s coated with your wetness, his title falls from your lips like the rain that keeps those flowers alive out there in Paris. 

“Keep fucking me with your wrist,” Namjoon rasps and you moan, loving to be ordered around, loving being told what to do. 

You fix your mistake of neglecting him while lost in the new delight, concentrating on his equally wet tip as you tighten your hold, pumping him swiftly, his foreskin closing around him in tandem with your movement coaxing his growls out that envelop you in firelight, hotter than anything you’ve ever felt. 

Even gripping him you perceive to be different and as that firelight flickers vastly across the night you see, splattering it with makeshift stars that Namjoon calls to creation with each of his deep sounds, your orgasm comes as an explosion that brings color to his art. 

Purples, yellows, reds and pinks. Stars that brim with colors. Such paintwork of beauty that Namjoon strums to life on your clit and your scream gets muffled by the sheets as he turns you back onto your tummy without withdrawing his hand. 

He begins to kiss your shoulder, knowing you need a minute before he can fill you up. 

“My pretty girl, my wife,” he moans against your skin, marking you there. “I’m gonna fuck you with that petal on your clit. With the rest of them clinging to your beautiful body like that. Gonna fuck you nice and hard against them.” You whimper your vulgarities, so out of it—so intoxicated by the picture, looking forward to it. “You came so well on my fingers. With the petal. Fuck, I’m gonna ruin you just for that. And for the way you made me forget where we were.” 

You laugh and your stomach flips, love hormones coursing in your veins like the strongest drug. And you laugh even harder when it dawns on you that you’ve also forgotten. 

“I don’t remember either,” you sputter between your giggles, contagious as Namjoon laughs as well, brushing your hair back to one side to kiss your cheek. 

“How are you feeling? Has it gotten too much, hm?” 

He takes the time to check up on you, instead of picking up where he left off and, fuck, you dissolve, becoming one with the petals—no edges to you, only liquid affection. 

You’ve gotten used to the darkness. No traces of fear or uneasiness can be found trickling in your system—as a matter of fact, you can’t wait to be fucked, can’t wait to find out how it’ll feel once he’s inside you. The way he’s talking to you, constantly touching you and making it known to you that he’s present with you doesn’t let the previous disturbing feeling to sidle up to you and you’re terribly, terribly grateful. 

“I feel great. I want you inside me, baby. I’m ready.” 

Namjoon growls, biting into the skin of your shoulder until you whimper, kissing the pain away. Rubs his petal-clad fingers on your clit, prolonging your noises. The pleasure begins to build up, the colors you’ve seen stacking back on top of each other and you sigh, nuzzling your face into the sheets, most comfortable. 

He cradles your jaw, though. Makes you look forward. Augments the dream, resuming. 

“You’re looking at the Tower and I’m holding you like this so your neck doesn’t cramp up. I’m inside you, just like you wanted.” 

Namjoon merges the reality into the retelling, creating something more expanse than this world can bear and you’re awestruck. He sinks himself into your wonder, knees on either side of you as you lay flat on your tummy, your bum lifted a little, heels dangling off of the bed. 

Your eyes flutter beneath the tie as his girth stretches you and the colors you see are adjacent to the picture he paints. They blossom into shapes, swirly edges that grow into flowers and cling to the Tower like the violet petals cling to your body. Namjoon pulls out and gives you a long stroke and more flowers bloom, hanging by the lights. You lose your breath, the vibrancy of the pleasure so heavenly that you lose track of time, day and space as well, floating in that dream that the reality you thought about ripped away from you once he bottoms out. 

You can’t even hear yourself. Can only hear him as your senses wrap around him. 

“I’m not choking you. I’m not giving you a taste of your own delicious poison; I’m just holding you like this, helping you see your dream alive in front of your eyes. I look at you and I can’t help it. You’re illuminated by those lights, yet shining brighter. Kissed by the moon so much that I get jealous. Can you see that fucker up above?” 

As if he drew the planet with his finger, it appears in your vision as soon as he pulls out again and fills you in all entirety in one swift, but hard motion. And it’s now that you hear yourself scream as your clit rubs against his fingers flat against it with that collision. 

“Fuck, Namjoon, I—I can’t take it. It’s too good.” 

“I didn’t ask you if you could take it. I asked you something else,” he husks, moving his mouth against your neck. You feel your eyes rolling back underneath your closed eyelids and you moan, his hips picking up the speed. “You can take it and you will. Tell me, baby. Can you imagine that moon in your vision?” 

It’s right there, beaming at you, but you can’t focus, not when you can feel his cock in your throat. He huffs against you, overcome just the same, resuming his circles on your clit and you’re dead. 

“You’re so deep, Daddy,” you utter in one breath. “So good, fuck.” 

Soaked flowers. Stars flickering more quicker. White dots joining in, along with hot flashes. You’re face to face with your orgasm. 

“Focus, baby,” Namjoon scolds, voice straining nearing you closer, falling in step with you the more you clench your walls against him. 

“Can’t. Gonna come.” 

“Come, then,” he encourages, drilling you harder into the mattress, your clit yet again rubbing against his flat fingers. “Let go and give it to me like the nice girl you are. Come for me, baby.” 

Fireworks shoot through that picture and you cling to it as you come around him. Namjoon praises you through it all, darkening those flowers that surround it and your orgasm convulses through you, lasting as long as the flying colors bursting through the night-tinged sky. And white gushes in as he loses himself in your climax, his own triggered and he stuffs you with it, fucking you through it until the bed makes such terrible sounds that he stills, letting you milk it out of him. 

Panting, Namjoon swivels you halfway around while still buried inside you. “I’m gonna take off the blindfold now. Keep your eyes closed, baby.” 

You listen and he flings it off, kissing you, ravagedly, whimpering into your mouth. Exhaustion seeps so deeply inside you that you can barely reciprocate the energy of the movement of his mouth and with one last peck, he lets you breathe. 

When you open your eyes, it’s not the light that stings your pupils, but the exhilarated, flushed and content sight of Namjoon, his chest heaving, glistening with sweat. You blink a few times to get used to the beauty, touching him all over, spreading your love for him everywhere you can. 

“That was so perfect,” you whisper, sleepily. “Thank you. Thank you for making my dream come true. For making it better than I ever dreamed of. I love you, Joonie.” 

He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles—with bruised, puffy, reddened lips that make you weak. 

“I love you.” 

You lay like this for quite some time, stroking each other’s skin, enjoying the rest and the silence. Namjoon takes off your heels then, massaging your feet as if they were in pain and you smile down at him, fondly. 

“Like hell, I’d let you wear these to the park.” 

You laugh through your nose, your love for him blooming, and he carries you in the shower. 

You join him on the balcony later, sharing a cigarette with him, wearing matching, thick and warm hotel bathrobes to protect you from winter’s cold. You look up at the moon as you take a drag and send your thank you to God for the contended joy that clothes your heart. Namjoon pulls you in, kissing the top of your head. 

“So, Turkey next time?” he asks, inhaling your vanilla scent from your body wash that you brought along. 

You sigh and life overflows from you. “In the summer. No business, just vacation. Just us. And if business does find you there, it’ll find me, too. It’ll be different this time.” 

Namjoon presses his mouth against your forehead, sinks his words there. “I’d marry you right now if I could.” 

Tears prick at your waterline, your throat aching. “If I pray hard enough, she’ll get better by spring,” you say, voice wobbling, speaking of your poor mother. You couldn’t get married without her—it’s the sole reason why your wedding is left in the hands of fate. 

“We’ll bring her to Turkey, then. I’ll make sure to tell her to pack her hanbok and I’ll marry you there. What do you say?” 

Rivulets of tears stream down your face and you look up at him, catching the same liquid lining his eyes. You nod, your mouth rounding in a pout. 

“Perfect,” you whisper. 

Namjoon gives you the last kiss of the night, sealing that plan shut and you believe, with everything in you, that he will bring it into reality. 

You trust him. 

Forever. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[c0nfessions-of-a-writing-freak]

Winner Winner, Stormfly's Dinner

Pairing: Hiccup 'Horrendous’ Haddock III x fem!oc

Word count: 6.7k

Hiiii I was wondering if you could write a fic about the dragon races? I’ve seen your fic about the Lightfury stealing a dragon rider and really enjoyed it and I loved the dynamic the Lightfury had with your oc, Toothless and Hiccup even tho she doesn’t seem to like him too much. I was hoping you could incorporate that dynamic into an x reader fic? Also, you're free to use Stardust as the name of the Lightfury since I thought it was so cute. Since I know it probably wouldn’t fit into your original story I thought it might be easier to do it as something completely new with similar characters if that’s alright? Love your work and can’t wait to see more! From Anonymous

Hiii i was wondering if u could do something like a dragon racing fic with the sheep since I thought that might be fun. I’ve seen most people have requested Hiccup so I’m just going to request him as well since that’ll be fun and easy for you. So maybe like just segments where the reader is singled out with each rider so she can have some fun banter or moments with them and then maybe she gets the black sheep and wins the whole thing and hiccup is super proud of her &lt;33333 From Anonymous

(Y/N): Your name

(H/C): Hair colour

(D/N): Dragon name

A/N:

A loud horn rang out as (Y/N) stepped into the old dragon training arena, her Lightfury–Stardust–following behind her. The noise signalled the nearing of the annual dragon race, letting those know to start making their way over soon. The stands were empty but the pit of the arena was full of dragon riders and their dragons, applying paint to the wings and heads of their dragons.

"Running a bit late now, are we?" Astrid called out as (Y/N) passed her. She wore a smug grin on her face, coloured orange and blue just like Stormfly behind her. Stormyfly perked up at the sight of (Y/N) and Stardust, trying to take a few steps towards the pair to greet them. At the sound of her talons scraping along the stone floor, Stardust's head snapped towards her, and a flash of teeth and a wrinkle of her nose deterred Stormfly from getting too much close. (Y/N) placed a hand on Stardust's head, lightly pushing it in the direction of where a mass of darkness sat patiently and with his chest puffed out slightly as its one-legged rider smeared paint across his head. At the sight of the other fury, Stardust went gracefully over without a second question, leaving (Y/N) to fend for herself.

"Hi, Stormfly. Looking good," (Y/N)'s voice rose as she ran her hands under the Deadly Nadder's chin, earning an elated hum from the beast. A bubble of joy rose from the pit of (Y/N)'s stomach to her chest, lighting her up until her soft laughter rang out around the arena. Astrid soon joined in on the laughter as she followed after her wayward dragon. "You ready for today, Astrid? Been feeding Stormyfly as much chicken as possible?"

At the mention of chicken, Stormfly lit up. Rising from (Y/N)'s grip and stomping her feet lightly in excitement. Astrid raised both her hands to try to calm the Deadly Nadder down, shooting (Y/N) a feigned annoyed glare. "We've definitely been getting some extra practice in, though I wouldn't say… you know what is needed to beat all these knuckleheads. What about you? Got any secret flights in with Stardust in preparation for today?"

(Y/N) ticked her head to the side, the corners of her lips lifting. Her body language showed indifference, but Astrid could tell something was going on that (Y/N) wasn't telling her. "Stardust and I will do just fine without any extra help. We always have a few tricks up our sleeves."

"We'll see about that once we get in the air," Astrid comments as she leads Stormfly back to her painting station. She dabbed a small sponge into the bowl filled with orange paint before lifting her arm to run it along Stormfly's outstretching wing, leaving a trail of paint behind that she would later go over to make the colour brighter and the lines steadier. "I took the liberty of setting up your station near Hiccup's. I hope the colours are to your liking."

"I'm sure whatever you picked out will make Stardust and I stand out amongst the rest of you," (Y/N) called over her shoulder with a laugh ringing through her words, choosing to ignore any undertones of teasing that she could find in Astrid's voice. (Y/N)'s eyes now landed on a new target. A target that she wouldn't be able to reach as quickly as she would have hoped to.

"(Y/N), I need your honest opinion–well, not too honest, or I might cry–about my battle paint!" Tuffnut called out as he saw the (H/C) haired girl walking past. As (Y/N) turned to take in the mix of colours on his face, she jumped back at the closeness of the boy. Tuffnutt had run up to her and was standing with his face pushed outwards with his eyes widened. On it was a yellow skull with the rest of his face blacked out. "Is it too much? Too little? I think I should add more paint but Ruff disagrees."

"It's, uh, very you," (Y/N) said slowly, her palms extended in front of her and faced up as she acknowledged the thought-out design. (Y/N) took half a second to think out her answer before she was closing a fist and lightly punching Tuffnut in the shoulder with it, "You know, I think you should go with your heart. If you think you should add more, then by all means, add more."

Tuffnut stared at her for a few seconds before he threw both hands into the air, "This is one of the many reasons you are my favourite," He exclaimed with a large grin overtaking his feature before he was spinning around and walked back towards his sister, arms still in the air. "You hear that, Ruff? (Y/N) thinks I'm brilliant!"

A smile displayed itself on (Y/N)'s face as she watched Tuffnut happily run back over to his paint station, his half of Barf and Belch looming over as he watched Tuffnut happily smear more paint on his face. The groan that rang out did little to wipe the smile off (Y/N)'s face as she turned to see Ruffnut glaring at her with her arms crossed. "Great, now I'm going to have to deal with the aftermath of all that."

"If it makes you feel any better Ruff, you get to dunk water on his head later. Maybe even repeatedly," (Y/N)'s words got an evil grin stretched across Ruffnut's face as she rubbed her two hands together, shooting her twin brother a sideways glance as she imagines the future that awaited for her.

(Y/N) didn't stick around for too much longer after that since she was losing time. Everyone else had finished painting at least themselves or their dragons and were now either going in for more details or working on whatever they hadn't done yet while she was still yet to even see the colour of her paint. Her hope for getting started didn't stay around for long as a short Viking called out to get her attention.

"Oi, (Y/N)," Snotlout yelled as he waved a large hand at her. Hookfang stood behind his dragon rider, sporting some red and yellow paint along his wings and a little bit on his jaw and cheeks. (Y/N) quickly walked over to greet the boy, not one for ignoring anyone. "You mind helping do my face? I would use the mirror normally, but the twins shattered it earlier while trying to call dibs on it."

"Are you sure you weren't in on the shattering of said mirror?" (Y/N) questioned with a grin as she came to a stop in front of Snotlout. The shorter boy's shoulders dropped as he tried to fight to string a sentence together to defend his honour. It only ended up causing a laugh to rise from (Y/N). "I was kidding, Snotlout. I totally believe it was just those two causing their normal ruckus."

"Good, because you know I would never stoop so low to join in or whatever it is those two get up to," Snotlout puffed out his chest as he said this, earning another huffed-out laugh from (Y/N) at his actions. "Now, about that face paint?"

The laughter slowly died down as the question was brought up for a second time. One of (Y/N)'s arms was raised as she wrapped it around the forearm of her other arm. Trying to let the boy off gently, she spoke softly, "I don't know, Snotlout. I haven't even started on Stardust or my own paint, so I don't think I have the time."

"It will only take a second, I promise," Snoutlout said as he tried to push the bowl of paint into (Y/N)'s hands.

But at the sound of a second horn (Y/N) shook her head and pushed the paint away from herself and back to Snoutlouts chest. "I'm sorry, Snoutlout, but I don't have time. How about if I finish myself and Stardust and still have time afterwards, I'll come back over and help y

The offer was a good one, and the best (Y/N) would be able to give as she could already hear the first group of Vikings arrive early for the race later. Snotlout seemed to ponder the offer, taking his time in weighing it out in his head before giving a single nod of his head. "But I want you coming straight back here once your done. No faffing around with Hiccup afterwards."

One of (Y/N)'s hands shot up to her forehead in a salute as she looked down at Snotlout. "Hearing you loud and clear, soldier."

(Y/N) could hear the huffing of Hookfang, along with some muttering from Snotlout, as she turned away from the flaming duo and tried, once more to get to her desired destination. This time she thought she'd finally be able to. She had gotten through nearly all the dragon riders, and Fishlegs wasn't one to socialise much before a big race, having some pre-race ritual he had to forgo. But as she started walking once more, a Gronckle-loving dragon rider attempted to get her attention.

"Ooh (Y/N)! (Y/N)," He called as he left Meatlug behind, the Gronckle happily snacking on some rocks. Fishlegs held a card in his hand as he made his way over to the (H/C) haired girl, a nervous grin on his face as he came over. (Y/N) came to a stop even though she was a little annoyed at being stopped for the fourth time. She tried to hide that annoyance as Fishlegs hadn't done anything wrong. "I stayed up late last night trying to finish this new card I made for Lightfury's. I thought we needed a newer version since we've found out so much more about Stardust and her species."

A smile fought its way onto (Y/N)'s face as she saw the carefully drawn Lightfury on the small trading card. (Y/N)'s eyes widened as she swore she could see every detail on the small picture that replicated her very own dragon. "Wow, Fishlegs, I don't know what to say. It looks amazing."

"This one's for you," Fishlegs quickly said, placing the card in (Y/N)'s hand before she could decline. "And before you say anything, I have a second one at home. I made this one just for you since I know you love everything and anything dragon related."

"Thanks, Fishlegs. I don't even know what to say," (Y/N) grinned as she stared at the small card before delicately placing it in a small pouch she had attached to her belt so it wouldn't get ruined while she was racing. As she thought about the race, she realised how much time she lost between getting to the arena late and having to talk to all the different dragon riders. "Good luck with the race, yeah?"

"I'll see you out there," Fishlegs concluded as they both turned away from each other.

This time, (Y/N) was finally able to get to where she needed to be.

"Hi, Hiccup," (Y/N) said as she trailed her fingers along the brunette's arm. The taller boy looked up at (Y/N), a soft smile on his face as he watched the girl dance around him. "And hi, Toothless. Red is such a good colour on you."

A gargling noise quickly erupted from Toothless' throat in his way of saying hello. Stardust was wrapped around the other dragon, head resting under his chin as she was careful not to smudge any of the red paint, mainly because she didn't want any of it getting onto her scales.

Before (Y/N) could take another step forward, she felt two arms wrap around her waist and pull her backwards. As she fell back into Hiccup's chest, a bubble of a laugh rose from her chest as she felt him pull her down to sit on his lap as he rested his head on her shoulder. At the action, Stardust let out a small growl. Her nose scrunched up as she threatened to take a step forward, the gentle coaxing from, Toothless stopping her from doing so.

“I was wondering when you were finally going to make your way over here,” Hiccup said as he rocked the both of them back, completely ignoring Stardust’s warning as he was already used to the untrusting behaviour on her part. He was sure he was slowly starting to get a breakthrough with the dragon. Having Toothless around certainly helped with that. “Once Stardust over there came bounding over, I knew it was only a matter of time before you would follow. I didn’t know it would take that long though.”

“All the other dragon riders seemed to want to keep me as far away and for as long as possible,” (Y/N) said as she wiggled out of Hiccups grips to the Viking's annoyance. She quickly turned around however and stood between his legs, forcing the Viking to look up at her from where he sat as he extended both of his arms so they could gently rest on her hips. “I’ve got a lot of time to make up for. So, if you could help me by painting Stardust with me, I’d appreciate it.”

At the mention of her name, Stardust stood and stalked a few steps away from Toothless, getting ready to be coated in paint. But when she heard her name in the same sentence as the Viking (Y/N) likes to keep around, her head shot around so she could watch Hiccup with a heated gaze.

“I’m not too sure Stardust likes the sound of that,” Hiccup said slowly. Rising from his seat, he followed after the shorter girl as she moved over to where three bowls of paint sat. Of course, there was the bowl of red paint that Hiccup had used for Toothless, but the other two bowls were left untouched.

“Nonsense. Stardust will stand still as you help me,” (Y/N) announced confidently as she picked up a bowl filled with light blue along with a sponge that sat near it. As she turned back around she sent Stardust a warning look, silently telling her to behave. “I want to do a sort of spiral along Stardust’s back where the colours intertwine with one another. But I don’t know what markings I want to do on her wings or face yet.”

Hiccup came up next to (Y/N), a step or two away from Stardust as he watched (Y/N) dip the sponge into the paint and slowly start to trail it along Stardust’s back. A soft purring began to emit from the Lightfury as (Y/N) worked her way down, her other hand gently trailing along with her. Hiccup took this as his chance to step up beside her now that she had gravitated further down Stardust’s body. At the sense of his presence, Stardust’s head whipped around while the rest of her body stayed eerily still.

“Easy girl,” Hiccup reassured gently as he raised a slightly shaking hand for Stardust to sniff. The dragon however scoffed a bunch of air out of her nose, the wind smacking against Hiccup’s hand as she turned away from him once more with a grumble. As if on cue, Toothless waddled over to them and stopped in front of Stardust to keep her busy while Hiccup worked.

When a hiccup got about halfway, (Y/N) left his side as she walked over to Stardust’s other side. Patting the white dragon on the edge of her wing, Stardust extended it for (Y/N)’s use. (Y/N) started to run the blue paint over the groves of Stardust's wings. As Hiccup walked over to help finish off the wing, he got a similar response to when he stepped up to her once more.

(Y/N) didn't pay too much mind to her, shushing her as Hiccup watched what she was doing. "I want this done on the other wing but in reversed colours. Also, can you fill these in with pink? And trace the back of her wing with it as well before you start on the other side with me?"

"Sure I can," Hiccup agreed, quickly doing what the (H/C) haired girl had asked him to. Again, (Y/N) was able to finish and move on to Stardust's other wing as Hiccup fought to catch up, trailing behind her as he copied her work. When Hiccup finished, he could see the girl crouched in front of Stardust's face while the dragon leant her face down low. Coming to a stop behind her, Hiccup saw the two bands of blue wrapped around Stardust's front legs while she now trailed some paint up her face. Looking at the close proximity between the two, Hiccup said, "I think you should finish Stardust off."

Once the final stroke of paint was drawn, (Y/N) turned back to smile at Hiccup. "Come on Hic, you know Stardust won't bite."

"That's the thing," Hiccup unwearily said as he cautiously stepped forward, an immediate response rising out of Stardust. (Y/N)'s head instantly whipped around at the noise emitting from her dragon. A light scowl was on her face, slowly making the rumbling calm down. "I'm not completely sure she won't."

(Y/N) took a second to think over what she was going to do before she reached a hand back for Hiccup to take, waiting patiently until she felt the steady weight of it. At the contact she pulled him forward, the light ring of his metal foot hitting against the stone floor as (Y/N) pulled him to crouch down next to her. Stardust's face twisted at the sight of the other dragon rider but tried to stand still as (Y/N) was still crouched in front of her.

Grabbing onto Hiccup's other hand, the one that had the bowl and sponge held in it, she pulled it forward before making another grab for his previous hand. Together they dipped the sponge in the paint before trailing it along Stardust's front legs, having two rings on each alternating leg. Since (Y/N) was doing most of the work, Stardust couldn't find it in herself to try and scare them off. She still however made her annoyance known as she glared at Hiccup, the boy only being able to give her a throaty chuckle in response.

As they moved onto Stardust's face, (Y/N)'s hold on Hiccup's hand loosened, giving him the chance to back away if he wanted. But the boy's hand stayed where it was, trying not to seem too keen to get closer. As the sponge dipped back into the paint before moving up to the Lightfury's face, Stardust slowly closed her eyes, allowing the paint to trail across her face. Hiccup could feel a smile slowly starting to etch across his face. Never before had he been able to get this close to the Lightfury with Stardust's willingness. Even if there wasn't much of it right now.

"All done," (Y/N) happily cheered as she pulled Hiccup's hand away from Stardust's face. The dragon's eyes instantly shot open, a smile starting to stretch across her face as she turned to find Toothless to show off the finished work. (Y/N) watched happily as the dragon bounced over to Toothless, spreading her wings as she pranced around Toothless, forcing him to turn to follow her as he showed one of his famous toothless smiles.

"Now it's time for something more important," Hiccup said as he stood. Balancing the paint in one hand, he pulled (Y/N) to her feet before tugging her slightly closer.

"What could be more important than painting Stardust?" (Y/N) questioned, smiling softly up at Hiccup as she waited to see what he might do.

"This," He said as he dipped his thumb into the pink paint and brought his hand up to (Y/N)'s cheek. He waited half a second before running his pink-coated thumb across her cheekbone, making sure he curled the paint up the higher he got. A laugh rang out of (Y/N) as she pinched close one of her eyes when Hiccup ran his thumb underneath it. Once he was done with that half of (Y/N)'s face he wiped his thumb into the palm of his hand, trying to get rid of as much of it as possible before he bent down to place his bowl down and pick up the one (Y/N) had put down earlier. "Nearly done."

"You have to let me do your paint after this," (Y/N) demanded with a grin, leaning forward as she bounced forward on her toes.

"Absolutely not." Hiccup was careful not to mess up the swirls he was painting onto the girl's face. "What I want is simple and I can do it myself. Plus, I know you're going to try and add something to the design if I don't keep a close eye on you."

"Alright," (Y/N) said as a hum in return. She stood still as she waited for Hiccup to finish. "Here, I'll take the paint back over."

At the offer, Hiccup handed the bowl of light blue over, watching as (Y/N) turned to get the pink bowl off the floor before walking over to the table it had originally rested on. Dipping a thumb into the blue paint, she let it coat her thumb before grabbing the bowl of red paint for Hiccup and bringing it over for him. "Thank you, (Y/N)."

"No problem, my love," (Y/N) said as the bowl was handed over. Hiccup's eyes flashed up at her, trying to hide a smile as he dipped his pointer and middle finger into the paint. While Hiccup was distracted by his own paint, (Y/N) reached her thumb up and smeared the blue paint she had gotten on it across her lips until they were completely covered in blue. Hiding her face by knocking her head down, (Y/N) circled Hiccup until she stood behind the dragon rider. Wrapping both of her arms around the taller boy's waist, she rested her chin on Hiccup's shoulder like he had done to her earlier. As Hiccup dipped his two fingers into the paint again so he could drag them along his face, (Y/N) lept forward and placed a small kiss on the boy's jaw.

"What was that for?" Hiccup asked as he lifted his hand up to draw on the paint, ignoring the sensation of the paint (Y/N) had left behind.

"Nothing," (Y/N) grinned, hiding it behind Hiccup's head as she moved to his other side before placing a longer, drawn-out kiss on his cheek. The blue paint wasn't as vibrate as the first kiss but still was a clear outline of her lips. "Am I not allowed to kiss my boyfriend?"

"I never said that," Hiccup said as he twisted in (Y/N)'s arms. His eyes locked on the colour of (Y/N)'s lips too late as he had already dived forward to catch her lips with his own. (Y/N) smiled at the sensation, keeping her arms tightly wrapped around Hiccup's midsection while the boy's brows pinched together. His tongue edged forward, waiting for (Y/N) to part her lips when the taste hit him quickly. Just as (Y/N) was about to grant him entrance, Hiccup pulled back, staring confusedly down at (Y/N)'s lips. "Why is there paint on your lips?"

"No reason," (Y/N) quickly said, feigning nonchalance. Maybe she spoke too quickly or should have been quicker since when she surged forward to try and leave another kiss mark on Hiccup's face, the boy planted both hands on (Y/N)'s shoulders, a groan leaving his now blue-coated lips as he hung his head onto (Y/N)'s shoulders.

"Please don't tell me your blue kisses are all over my face." (Y/N) didn't respond, causing another groan to rise from Hiccup as he lifted his head again, scowling lightly at the shorter girl when all she could do was smile. "You know what?"

"What?" (Y/N) asked, her brows furrowing at the lack of reaction from Hiccup. Once she saw Hiccup's thumb dip into his red paint, her eyes widened at what she knew was coming her way. Dropping her hands from Hiccup's side, she tried to wiggle back and out of his grip.

"No, you don't," Hiccup quickly exclaimed as the bowl of red paint dropped from his hand and spilled across the stone floor. Not to matter though since Hiccup's lips were already coated red. (Y/N) tried to fight Hiccup's arms off her as she backed away with a laugh. Hiccup's arms shot out and tightly secured themselves around (Y/N), trapping her arms to her side in the process. (Y/N) tried to lean back as far as possible but Hiccup only followed after her. Leaning up and forward, Hiccup placed a large kiss on (Y/N)'s forehead, marvelling at the red that was left behind. "There. Now we match."

(Y/N) pretended to be annoyed as she felt Hiccup's arms loosen around her. She wasn't doing a very good job at hiding her true emotions as a large smile blossomed across her face. At that moment, (Y/N) didn't have to worry about anything. Certainly not about the betting that was going on above her.

“My money’s on Snotlout,” Spitelout said as he stood neck to Stoick. Spitelout was looking down at his son as he pointed an all-knowing finger towards him.

“You sure he ain’t gonna throw it all away again?” Gobber asked from the other side of their chief as he scratched his beard with his fake wooden hand, looking down at Snotlout with a less then keen eye.

Spitelout flashed Gobber a glare, both of his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he said, “I’m sure he has it this time around.”

"What about you Stoick?" Gobber asked, turning Spitelout's glare away from him as they both turned their attention to the man sitting down. "Who have you got your eyes on for today's race?"

Stoick didn't even need to think about his answer as he brought a large hand to rub against his chin while saying with a bellowing voice, "My golds going towards my daughter-in-law."

"Oh? Hiccup's popped the big question?" Gobber asked he turned back to look at the pair still wrapped in each other's arms. He could see the splatter of paint they had been leaving on each other's faces, but Gobber was more than content to let them stay in their own little bubble for a bit longer.

Stoick's face pulled downwards at the question. In a grumbled-out response, he said, "Not yet."

"If that boy doesn't hurry up, she's going to do it for him," Spitelout stated, getting silent agreement from the Vikings he was conversing with."Now, back to business. Not putting your gold on Hiccup, eh?"

"Not today, no," Stoick shook his head. "(Y/N) and her dragon have been looking promising recently."

"We'll see if your judgement has grown clouded soon enough," Spitelout teased, grinning as he heard the final horn ring out. Some of the dragon riders got on their dragons as soon as possible, flying up to where they stood on their baskets, waiting for the race to begin. "Normal amount?"

"Hm? Sure," Stoick absentmindedly said as he stood from his seat and walked a few steps forward, gaining the silence from the crowded arena stands. The silence urged the remaining dragon riders to mount their dragons and get to their starting positions. "Vikings and dragon riders, today we join for the first race of the year. On the Gronckle we have Fishlegs, the Monstrous Nightmare being flown by Snotlout-"

Stoick was cut off by a loud cheer from Spitelout, the man yelling, "That's my boy!"

"Yes, thank you for that wonderful display Spitelout," Stoick deadpanned as he turned briefly to face the other Viking as he calmed himself down. "The twins, Ruffnut and Tuffnut of the Hideous Zippleback, Astrid on the Deadly Nadder, and my son of the Nightfury."

Stoick paused as he got to (Y/N)'s part, drawing the crowd into suspense. "And on the Lightfury we have my hopefully soon to be daughter in law, (Y/N)!"

(Y/N) turned and grinned at the Viking chief, her face light and full of joy as she laughed along with the other Vikings watching from the arena stands as Hiccup gave off a slightly sheepish smile. At his smile, Gobber banged his wooden hand on the arena's railing before pointing accusingly at Hiccup and saying, "We see you, Hiccup and we're all waitin' for that question to be answered."

"Moving on," Stoick yelled as Hiccup threw his hands in exasperation. "I hear now begin the first dragon race of the year! Release the sheep!"

Once the horn rang out, all six dragons took off. At first, it was a battle of speed as they all raced straight up before breaking away from each other so they could scower Berk for any of the painted sheep they needed to win this. There were twelve sheep that they needed to find before the black sheep worth ten points would be shot to the sky.

As (Y/N) guided Stardust a bit closer to the huts when she noticed another fury trailing behind her. Looking over her shoulder with a grin, she saw Hiccup flying not too far behind them, the paint from earlier still smeared across his face and lips. "Love that colour on you. Is it maroon?"

"Oh, laugh all you want," Hiccup waved her off as he leaned forward on Toothless's back a bit more, his hands tightening on the saddle as Toothless tried to speed up.

(Y/N)'s head quickly turned back around, copying Hiccup's movements as she leaned down to Stardust's ears. "Come on girl, it's time to disappear."

Stardust let out a soft mew at (Y/N)'s words. Spreading her wings wide, speeding up as much as possible in the time to heat up a plasma blast in her mouth. Without warning her wings shot inwards towards her body as she turned into a nosedive. As the shot rang out, (Y/N) buried herself as close to Stardust's body as possible. As the both of them dived through the blast, the same cloaking that took over Stardust danced across (Y/N) and the few white scales she had woven into her clothes.

"Whoo!" (Y/N) yelled as they vanished without a trace, the only lingering part of them being her voice. It took a while for (Y/N) to spot her first sheep, the fluffy animal trying to hide under the hut of some Viking. But when both her and Stardust's eyes landed on it, they changed paths without a thought and swooped down. Twisting her body so (Y/N) sat upside down on her back, Stardust flew upside down so (Y/N) could hang down and pick the sheep up from where it lay. Pulling the sheep to her chest, Stardust helped to right them up as they burst back into the sky.

To everyone else, it looked like a sheep had somehow been granted the ability to fly but those who truly knew could just see the ripple in the air as (Y/N) and Stardust tore through the air.

Taking a sharp turn, the two of them with their extra passenger dived back towards the training arena, careful to keep out of sight of any other dragon riders. As they swooped in, the crowd cheered as they faded back into view to drop the sheep into the Lightfury's basket. Taking a quick look at the other baskets, (Y/N) could see that Astrid already had two sheep while Hiccup had three, meaning there were only six more sheep to find before the black sheep was released.

Pulling back on Stardust's saddle, the whistle that commonly was handed to the Nightfury rang out, filling the air as she shot away from the arena. The two of them didn't have time to waste as Stardust looked out for any stray sheep while (Y/N) looked for any dragon riders in the air with sheep.

As her eyes landed on Berk's Nightfury, a grin spread across her face. "Stardust, we need to go after Toothless. Make sure he doesn't see us coming."

Stardust shot out another plasma shot, cloaking them as Toothless looked back as the noise echoed. The dragon's eyes narrowed as it searched for Stardust but eventually had to look away when nothing turned up. Hovering above him though was Stardust as (Y/N) began to climb from her back. (Y/N) kept a hand situated on the saddle as she got ready to drop. Her feet touched down on the leathery back of Toothless, a confused yelp escaping him as his head shot back once again. As the feeling began to climb along his back, he tried to hiss out a warning to Hiccup.

"I'll be taking that," (Y/N) yelled as she tore the sheep from Hiccup's hands before launching herself off and over Toothless's head. Toothless gargled as (Y/N) went falling off of him, diving through thin air as she waited for Stardust to catch her. She continued to fall for a few seconds before she saw a floating sheep hurtling towards her in the claws of Stardust as she faded back into existence once more. (Y/N) landed on Stardust's back harshly, her bones rattling as one of her hands unlatched from the sheep to grab onto Stardust as she turned to the arena, a Nightfury on her tail.

"I'm going to need that back, (Y/N)," Hiccup called as he tried to keep up with (Y/N) and her Lightfury. Adjusting his metal foot, Toothless's tail changed directions, giving them a gust of speed. The soft grunts of a Monstrous Nightmare behind him were slightly startling with how close Snotlout and Hookfang were to catch up to them. Stating his thoughts, Hiccup said, "We can't let that happen, bud."

Toothless made his agreement known as he flapped his wings once, shooting away from Snotlout as they grew closer to Stardust. But no matter what they seemed to do, Stardust had an impossible lead on them. So there was no stopping it when Hiccup watched as both sheep were dropped into the Lightfury's basket. Hiccup and her were now tied. Astrid still had two but the twins had been able to score themself a sheep of their own. Nine sheep found, three to go.

(Y/N) and Stardust shot up once more, hoping to make one final round before the black sheep could be found. They didn't bother to vanish again, shooting through the sky as they tried to find more sheep. It was when a commotion could be heard above them. Meatlug had a sheep clutched in her claws while Stormfly and Barf and Belch tried to herd the sheep towards them. Fishlegs was panicking from atop the Gronckle, a perfect opportunity for (Y/N) to steal it.

Barf and Belch slammed into the side of Meatug, making the Gronckke growl as the sheep was dropped from her to retrieve the fallen sheep already gone after it. Stormfly was close to grabbing it within her claws when Stardust shot forward, sweeping the sheep from the air as she spiraleD up. “You’re going to have to be quicker than that if you want to win this!”

"Stormfly fetch!" Astrid yelled and the excited growl that erupted from Stormfly was anything to go by, (Y/N) was going to be in trouble.

"Fly Stardust, fly," (Y/N) screeched as the Deadly Nadder's eyes locked onto the both of them. Stardust's head shook as she shot forward, taking sharp turns to try and lose Stormfly as they were chased down. (Y/N)'s eyes landed on the last two remaining sheep. Patting on Stardust's neck, the Lightfury's eyes also landed on where (Y/N) was looking. "This is going to be a close one."

Dropping down, Stardust got all of her claws ready, planning on holding one sheep in each pair. As they reached the sheep, Stadust's front claws were able to score the first sheep but as she started to lift, her black claws pointing out to latch onto the sheep's fur, something snatched it out from under her. "I think it's only fair that I get this one after what happened earlier."

It was Hiccup. Both Stardust and (Y/N) were left slightly dumbfounded as they followed after the Nightfury. The others had caught onto their catchings and were trailing after them, making a train of dragons and dragon riders. As Hiccup threw his sheep down, followed by (Y/N) and her two, a final horn rang out, signalling the black sheep as the scores rested five to (Y/N), Hiccup at four, Astrid at two and the twins at one. Whoever grabbed this sheep would seal the victory.

"It's just one more sheep, Stardust," (Y/N) whispered to her dragon, the two of them shooting away from the arena along with all the other dragon riders. (Y/N) could hear them also muttering encouragements to their dragons. "We've come far enough to win this all."

As she spoke, she heard the launch of the sheep, the subtle clank of the chains smacking against wood as the black sheep went flying. It was a fight of flames and talons as all eyes locked onto the black sheep. It was a certain Nightfury that was able to shoot forward and steal the sheep into his clutches. That's when the chase broke out again.

Toothless had an advantage with speed, taking a small lead as Stormfly and Stardust were close behind. Both dragons were trying to shoot forward in front of the other, the riders on their back yelling jeers at each other as their dragons did the work. It was only when Stardust was able to push herself forward in a burst of speed that Astrid let out a frustrated yell. "He's right there Stardust. It's now or never."

As her agreement Stardust flew under Toothless, getting close enough that (Y/N) could reach up and snatch the Blacksheep from his claws, earning a snap from the dragon. "Right, let's go."

As they lowered themselves even further, Stardust let out a roar as they flew. The arena could be seen coming up, crowds of Vikings hitting each other and jumping up to see who had the black sheep as they all rode in.

It didn't stop there though. As they began to dip into the arena, Snotlout came hurtling around from the other side of the arena, an axe in hand as he tried to swing it toward (Y/N)'s head. Stardust already acted as (Y/N) yelled, "Dive, dive, dive!"

Nearly falling from Stardust's back because of the lost grip she had, a not-very Viking-sounding squeak as she fought to grip onto Stardust's saddle. Stardust rumbled from below her as she knocked her tail up, bumping (Y/N) further up her saddle as she swung around the arena, weaving in and out from the different dragons as they tried to steal what was theirs.

As the black sheep made contact with the Lightfury's basket, the sheep getting squashed in with the other ones, a ripple broke out through the stadium as the race ended.

"Yes," (Y/N) yelled as she threw both her arms out, Stardust throwing her own call to the wind as they sailed across the arena perimeter, close enough to the stands that some of the Vikings could read out and congratulate her.

"That's my girl," (Y/N) heard the yell from Hiccup as he flew up next to her, the tips of Toothless and Stardust's wings overlapping. "I almost thought I'd be able to win one over you."

"That is where you must have gone wrong," (Y/N) called back before Stardust was steering her to Stoick's seat, the man waiting happily with a grumbling Spitelout not too far away from him. "Have I won you enough gold, Stoick?"

His booming laugh shot around. "You have this time."

"Placing bets again Dad?" Hiccup questioned as he fell from Toothless's saddle, climbing over to (Y/N) where he pulled her from Stardust's saddle and placed a kiss on the side of her head.

"Of course I was Hiccup," Stoick said as he watched the two. "Picked the right dragon as well."

Turning around to face Hiccup, (Y/N) grinned up at him. "You want to go on another race?"

[atinylittlepain]

Prologue

no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!oc

series masterlist

series warnings: dark themes surrounding history of domestic violence, dark themes in general, heavy emotions (hope can also be heavy)

a/n: hello, folks. this is a very important piece of writing to me. i won't say much else, just a huge thank you to my twin, my friend @wannab-urs. thank you, man, for pretty much walking alongside me for the entirety of this story, and loving these two as much as i do. and thank you, reader, i look forward to hearing your thoughts.

.........................................

This is not a ghost story. But it is certainly a story about ghosts. 

There is a man. He lives in a town that stays forgotten by most, held in the merciful cradle of a crooked spine of mountains. The people in town know everyone’s names. They say hello to each other in the grocery, and they sigh about the weather that is always flirting with change, and maybe with something darker. 

The man is alone. An alone that was chosen, wanted. His daughter worries for him, after him, staticky phone calls upon which she laments alone. He assures her that he is fine every time, and that he is looking forward to having her for the holidays.

The man works nights. A highway patrolman, silver star in his back pocket making it real. He enjoys the silence, the way the night’s ink slips and spills down the road, the murmurings and giggles of coyotes reveling in their evening feeds and follies. The mountains, nothing more than a smudged bruise in the sky. 

There is a woman. A woman in a car that is not hers. She has nothing with her save a book in the passenger seat. Her knuckles turned white as infant phantoms over the steering wheel. She is a blistering comet, daunting and daring down the highway. Fast enough that it starts to feel like floating, like relief. 

The woman is alone. And it is a mercy that she is alone, at last. She had to fight for alone. She had to flee for alone. The car that isn’t hers rumbles and groans with alone, and she presses the gas pedal harder to make it shriek a little more. 

The woman is driving too fast. She knows it. She wants it. Headlights, force and flood, are a wicked wash down the highway. It is heard before it is seen.

The man hesitates. Shocked by the fierce blur of machine that whines by, winged and wretched, hands stuttering on the shift, on the wheel. His body curls tight in pursuit. 

There is a man and there is a woman. The man will think he is seeing specter when he pulls the woman over. He will blink once, twice, waiting for her to dissolve like smoke, like the steam that rises from the writhing dirt every morning. The woman will still be there when he opens his eyes. The woman will be afraid. 

There is a man and there is a woman. Alone was never going to last very long.

...................................

tagging folks i think might be interested (lmk if you want added or dropped): @hier--soir @darkroastjoel @northernbluess @tieronecrush @trulybetty

[nayziiz]

Stay | LN4

Summary: A new romantic prospect puts things into perspective in the best and worst ways possible.

Pairing: Lando Norris x OC (Cara)

Warnings: Angst

Masterlist

CHAPTER 4

As Cara entered the kitchen, the tantalising aroma of bacon and scrambled eggs enveloped her senses, drawing her closer to the source of the delicious scent. She exchanged her usual attire for a comfortable pair of sweatpants, her unruly hair pulled back into a lazy ponytail as she prepared to start her day.

In the kitchen, she found Lando at the stove, his skilled hands expertly stirring the eggs in the pan, the sizzle of the bacon filling the air with a symphony of enticing sounds. Max stood nearby, leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee in hand, his expression relaxed as he took in the scene before him.

“A-ha! One of the witches has awoken from their slumber,” Max teased, catching Lando’s attention.

Cara rolled her eyes playfully at Max's teasing, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips as she stepped closer to the counter where Lando had placed the plates.

“Wow, it's a bit early to be attacked like that, Max,” she groaned in mock indignation, her tone laced with amusement as she reached for a plate. Max chuckled at her response, his grin widening as he leaned back against the counter.

“Morning,” Lando greeted her with a warm smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he glanced over his shoulder.

“Hey,” she replied, returning his smile with one of her own as she approached the stove. “Smells amazing.”

Max nodded in agreement, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he took another sip of his coffee.

“Lando's quite the chef,” he remarked, his tone teasing yet appreciative. Lando chuckled modestly at the compliment, his cheeks tinged with a hint of colour as he continued to tend to the food cooking on the stove.

“Just trying to make up for last night,” he quipped, his voice light with humour as he glanced back at Cara.

Cara's heart skipped a beat at his words, a faint blush rising to her cheeks as she met his gaze. Despite the lingering awkwardness of the previous night, there was an undeniable sense of warmth and camaraderie between them, a silent understanding that spoke volumes without the need for words.

“There's painkillers on the counter,” Lando informed her and nudged his head in the direction of the bottle of painkillers.

“Painkillers?” Cara and Max asked in unison.

“Vodka the next morning usually kills me, so just in case,” Lando explained.

"I think you had way more than me, but thank you," Cara smiled gratefully, her expression softening with appreciation as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

As Cara busied herself with her coffee, her back turned to Max and Lando, Max seized the opportunity to shoot Lando a questioning look, his brows furrowing with curiosity. Lando met his gaze with a knowing smile, his expression conveying a silent reassurance that everything was fine.

But despite Lando's attempt to brush off the unspoken inquiry, Max couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air between them. There was something about Lando's behaviour that didn't quite add up, a sense of mystery that left Max wondering what secrets his friend might be hiding beneath the surface.

Nevertheless, Max pushed aside his concerns for the time being, choosing instead to focus on enjoying the simple pleasures of breakfast with his friends. After all, there would be plenty of time to unravel the mysteries of Lando's behaviour later.

“So, what are the plans for the day?” she wondered aloud, her voice filled with anticipation as she turned back to face Lando and Max. Lando paused for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered their options for the day.

“I have to pick up Flo and her boyfriend from the airport,” he replied, his tone casual yet tinged with a hint of responsibility as he busied himself with the frying pan on the stove. Cara's eyes widened in surprise at the mention of Flo, her curiosity piqued by the unexpected addition to their plans.

“Flo's coming too?” she exclaimed, her voice tinged with excitement at the prospect of spending time with Lando’s sister.

“Mate, your place is not big enough to accommodate everyone,” Max interjected, his tone laced with concern as he glanced around the cosy confines of Lando's apartment.

“I could take the couch, then they can have my room,” Cara offered.

“No,” Lando quickly countered, “there's no way you're giving up your room. They can have my room and I'll take the couch.”

“Here's an idea - now just bare with me - how about you two share a room and they get the free room?” Max suggested with a playful smirk.

Cara's pulse quickened at Max's suggestion, her cheeks flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement as she exchanged a tentative glance with Lando. She had suspected for some time that Max harboured feelings for her and Lando, his attempts at subtly nudging them together becoming more apparent with each passing day. And now, as he proposed that she and Lando share a room while their guests took the spare room, she couldn't help but feel a surge of nervous anticipation at the prospect.

Lando's expression mirrored Cara's, a mixture of surprise and uncertainty flickering in his eyes as he processed Max's suggestion. He had always valued his friendship with Cara above all else, their bond a source of comfort and stability in his life. But at the same time, he couldn't deny the flutter of excitement that coursed through him at the thought of spending the night alone with her, their shared moments of intimacy and closeness igniting a spark of longing within him that he couldn't ignore.

“Okay, so how about when you two go pick up your sister and her boyfriend, you discuss the sleeping arrangements? P wanted to go do something this morning anyway,” Max suggested, his eyes flickering between Lando and Cara. He noticed a slight hesitation in their expressions, a silent exchange of uncertainty.

Max finished off his coffee with a satisfied sigh and pushed himself up from the table to go find his girlfriend. With Max out of sight, Cara took a thoughtful sip of her coffee, breaking the silence.

“Where's Maya today? I'm sure she'd like to go with you to pick up your sister,” Cara wondered.

“She has friends visiting from out of town, so she's spending the day with them,” Lando shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “So, I guess if you're up for it, it's just the two of us today.”

“Should be fun,” Cara commented, meeting Lando’s gaze with a warmth in her eyes.

As he handed her a plate of food, she felt a surge of gratitude for his thoughtfulness, a reassurance that despite the uncertainties, they were in this together.

Later that morning, the sleek lines of Lando's Lamborghini Urus gleamed under the lights of the underground parking as he opened the passenger door for Cara, his movements graceful and effortless. She hesitated for a moment, feeling a wave of self-consciousness wash over her as she stepped into the luxurious interior. The soft leather seats enveloped her, the scent of wealth and privilege lingering in the air, reminding her once again of the stark contrast between her world and Lando's.

With a gentle hand, Lando helped her settle into the seat, his touch comforting yet tinged with a hint of something unspoken. As he slid into the driver's seat and started the engine, the powerful roar reverberating through the car, he leaned over her to retrieve his sunglasses from the glove compartment. Cara couldn't help but feel a pang of discomfort, the proximity between them accentuating the divide she felt, the sense of being an outsider in his world.

Despite Lando's reassurances and genuine warmth, Cara couldn't shake the nagging feeling of inadequacy, the constant reminder that she didn't belong in his world of extravagance and privilege.

As they pulled out onto the street, the gentle hum of the engine providing a backdrop to their conversation, Lando turned to Cara with a playful smile.

“You want to play some music?” Lando offered. Cara's eyes lit up with anticipation.

“Any requests?” she teased. Lando shrugged, his smile growing wider.

“Your favourites,” he insisted.

With a nod, Cara reached out to the sleek interface of the car's sound system, scrolling through her playlist with practised ease. As the familiar melody of one of her favourite songs filled the car, she settled back into her seat, a sense of comfort washing over her.

“You can take my room,” Lando offered suddenly, his tone tentative yet sincere as he glanced at her.

“Lan, you can't give up your room in your own apartment,” Cara's eyebrows furrowed in surprise.

“I want you to be comfortable,” He was adamant, his gaze unwavering. 

“The couch is fine, seriously,” Cara insisted, her tone firm.

“My mother would kill me if she knew I let a girl sleep on my couch when there's a bed available,” Lando shook his head, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

“I will fight your mother if I have to, but I'm taking the couch,” Cara couldn't help but laugh at his insistence, but her resolve remained unwavering.

Lando sighed, knowing better than to argue with Cara when she was being stubborn. He made a mental note to find a compromise, determined to ensure that she would be comfortable and cared for, even if it meant bending the rules a little.

As Cara lay on the couch, tossing and turning in the dimly lit living room, she couldn't shake the feeling of discomfort that clung to her like a stubborn shadow. Despite her insistence on taking the couch, she soon realised that Lando had been right – the unfamiliarity of the couch and the echoes of silence in the apartment made it difficult for her to drift into slumber.

With a resigned sigh, Cara rose from the couch, her steps soft against the polished floorboards as she wandered through the apartment. The soft glow of streetlights filtered through the open curtains, casting a gentle luminescence over the familiar surroundings.

Her gaze drifted towards the closed door of Lando's simulator room, a flicker of curiosity igniting within her. With a sense of quiet determination, she pushed open the door and stepped inside, the warm light of the lamp bathing the room in a soft, comforting glow.

Cara's eyes lingered on the array of helmets displayed on the shelves, each one a testament to Lando's passion and skill. She couldn't help but feel a sense of awe as she traced her fingers over the sleek curves and intricate designs, her mind filled with images of the exhilarating races and fierce competitions that Lando had experienced.

Without conscious thought, Cara found herself drawn to the streaming chair at the centre of the room, the familiar scent of Lando enveloping her like a comforting embrace. She settled into the chair, cradling his Singapore helmet in her hands, the cool metal a reassuring weight against her palm.

She closed her eyes, and with the rhythmic hum of the simulator room and the scent of Lando's presence surrounding her, Cara felt herself succumbing to the embrace of sleep.

Restless and troubled by thoughts of Cara sleeping uncomfortably on the couch, Lando tossed and turned in his bed, the weight of guilt gnawing at him. Unable to bear the thought of her spending the night in discomfort, he finally relented, rising from his bed with a determined resolve to convince her to take his place in the bed.

Stepping into the living room, Lando scanned the room anxiously, his heart sinking when he found it empty save for the soft glow emanating from under the closed door of his simulator room. A sense of unease pricked at him as he approached the door, his hand trembling slightly as he reached for the handle.

Quietly pushing open the door, Lando's breath caught in his throat as he beheld the sight before him. There, bathed in the warm light of the lamp, was Cara, curled up in his streaming chair, her head resting gently on his helmet. A surge of tenderness washed over him at the sight of her peaceful form, a flicker of something deeper stirring within his chest.

For a moment, Lando simply stood there, entranced by the sight of Cara finding solace in his favourite place to be. It was as if in that moment, the walls that separated them had melted away, leaving only the raw honesty of their shared connection.

Gently, he approached her, the soft click of his footsteps barely audible against the quiet hum of the room. Kneeling beside her, he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch light and reverent.

Lando's heart swelled with tenderness as he gently lifted the helmet from Cara's hands, careful not to disturb her peaceful slumber. Cradling her in his arms, he felt her instinctively wrap her arms around his neck, her warmth seeping into him like a comforting embrace.

With careful steps, he carried her to his room, the weight of her against him a reassuring presence. Gently, he laid her down on the bed, tucking the covers around her form with a tender touch. As he turned to leave, ready to retreat to the couch once more, Cara's voice, soft and sleepy, stopped him in his tracks, her hand grabbing hold of his.

“Stay,” she murmured, her words barely more than a whisper. Lando hesitated, his gaze lingering on her peaceful face, the vulnerability in her plea tugging at his heartstrings.

“Are you sure?” he asked softly, uncertainty colouring his voice. But Cara's grip on his hand tightened, her eyes fluttering open just enough to meet his gaze. 

“Please, stay, Lan,” she pleaded, her voice a gentle plea filled with a longing he couldn't ignore.

As Lando nestled in beside her, pulling her closer with a tenderness that melted any remaining barriers between them, Cara felt a sense of contentment wash over her. With a gentle touch, she ran her fingers through his curly hair, savouring the intimacy of the moment.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, Lando's head found its resting place on her chest, his breaths steady and even against her skin. Cara couldn't help but smile, a soft chuckle escaping her lips at the warmth and familiarity of their closeness.

“Much better than an ice cold helmet,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. Lando lifted his head slightly to meet her gaze, a playful glint dancing in his eyes.

“Much better than an ice cold bed,” he replied, his voice laced with warmth and affection.

As Lando lifted his head to lock eyes with Cara, a tender warmth passed between them, an unspoken understanding lingering in the air. With a soft smile, he pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, a silent gesture of affection that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

Pulling away with a sense of cautious restraint, Lando settled back against her chest, his heart feeling lighter than it had in ages. As Cara's steady heartbeat echoed in his ears, a sense of peace washed over him, soothing his restless thoughts and guiding him into a deep, restful slumber.

Wrapped in the comforting embrace of each other's presence, Cara and Lando drifted off into the night.

[hiramaris]

Kiss It Off Me

CHAPTER 2

Chapter Summary:

And what does Haley do when things don't go her way? She sabotages. So it wasn't a surprise when Haley's mouth opened and the next words that came out were ones she never intended to say. It was a defense mechanism, a way to push people away before they could hurt her. "If it weren't for those horrendous clothes, you might actually be pretty," she blurted out, regretting it as soon as the words left her lips.

Pairings: Haley x Fem!farmer

Disclaimer:  I do not own Stardew Valley or any of the related characters. Stardew Valley is created by and owned by ConcernedApe. This fanfiction is intended for entertainment only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of the original Stardew Valley story belong to ConcernedApe.

Warning: None so far? Just Haley being her usual self

Notes:

Okay, so originally in my AO3 this is meant to be a Haley x OC and I have already created a solid description for my character. However, I thought it would be much better if I changed it to a reader-insert instead tho I'll probably keep some physical descriptions that I had already inserted, so sorry about that. Also, if some of y'all have already read this in my AO3, expect some minor changes.

Gif from loriedarlin.tumblr.com

Spring 1

Haley rises with the grace of a blooming sunflower that she is. It's finally Spring!

No longer will she suffer from the icy chill that makes her toes feel like they're about to fall off, none of that ridiculously nasty snow that forces her to use that Yoba awful boots she had hidden at the deepest part of her wardrobe, and just as equally terrible gloves that hinder her from using her camera let alone her phone when she finally got that once in a blue moon occurrence of perfect lighting outside.

And most importantly; no more dry, frizzy hair.

AND.

She could finally continue her tan!

Oh, the endless possibilities that await her in this new season. So much to explore and experience. Haley is positively bursting with excitement, eager to dive into all the joys, and wonders what something new Spring has planned for her.

****

When Haley expected something new, She didn't mean new 'new' like a new person but new as in something exciting like a freshly arrived parcel from the shop she ordered online, or perhaps a new conditioner that makes her hair bounce and makes it shinier that Yoba could mistake it as the sun. 

Her expectations were already at rock bottom with Pelican Town being the dullest place on earth.

But why oh why did she even bother to expect?

"The new farmer's coming today, just so you know," Emily casually mentions as she washed their dishes that morning.

Haley scrunched up her face. She had already forgotten about it. Why bring it up again?

"Oh, goody. Another reason to avoid the Townsquare today."

Emily turned to her with her typical condescending look she learned to hate. "Hay, you don't have to become BFFs with her right off the bat. Just say hello and try not to be your usual mean self. You'll thank me later."

"And I don't have to introduce myself within the day, Em." Haley crossed her arms, standing her ground. "This is no classroom where you need to acquaint the new kid on her first day." 

"I know." She sighed as if she was having a conversation of repetition with a toddler and she's running out of patience. "Just be nice to her, yeah?"

Haley didn't answer. With camera tucked carefully between her hands, she left the kitchen without a word. Emily never fails to make her feel like a child being taken care of by her. Like she's in dire need of a babysitter and without her guidance, Haley would be nothing.

It's infuriating really. 

No. 

She wouldn't let this ruin her day.

Today was going to be a good day. Emily's incessant nagging couldn't change that. Besides, she probably wouldn't even meet the new farmer. It was already past 10, and the girl was most likely already mingling with the locals or resting in that old cottage of hers.

She can still take pictures back in Marnie's ranch. then she can hang out with Alex in his place. Go back home exactly during Emily's shift on the Saloon and then she'll have the whole house to herself while she can finally cook something edible without Emily breathing down her neck.

Yes, that would be ideal. Today is a good day.

****

Wrong.

Just as Haley stepped foot outside 2 Willow Lane, she was greeted by a tall, unfamiliar woman strolling by her house at an infuriatingly slow pace.

You held a whole map of what she assumed was the town's which was big enough to hide your whole face, and as well as hinder your vision to notice Haley on the side, much to her relief.

Are you the new girl?

All that she can tell is that you have the darkest hair she has ever seen in her whole life. It was shiny, and ridiculously long, too which kinda compliments its wavy nature. 

Also, why the hell are you in a dress shirt and a tie?

Haley may be a bit far behind the books but she's sure as hell that isn't the right attire for someone who'll work on a farm.

If Haley didn't know Lewis is the mayor, she'd probably think you're the new mayor with your totally immaculate wardrobe— a dress shirt and a tie, perfectly flattened slacks, and a pair of leather shoes that probably look expensive.

Shit. Are you really the farmer? Or just a visitor?

Oh, no. Are you turning around? Oh, Yoba, she is!

Haley scrambled to her feet. Not sure if she should bolt inside the house, run to the Townsquare, or what. 

With her probably last brain cell that saves her from the utter embarrassment of being caught checking out the new farmer (absolutely not, the disgrace), her own body moves on its own. She grabbed her camera and positioned herself like she was taking a photo of the least appealing subject she had ever captured in her life— Emily's cactus.

Please not now, Yoba. Not now.

She found herself praying to the deities she no longer talked to when she felt your eyes burning into her back. She had probably taken a load of mediocre photos of Emily's plant when she finally felt the farmer leaves.  

She breathed a sigh of relief when she turned around and found the street empty apart from her. Only then did she notice how fast her heart was beating against her chest.

Thank Yoba for saving me from that mortifying introduction.

Why is she even nervous anyway? She didn't even see me. Even so, that was so embarrassing.

Wait, no.

Embarrassed, not nervous.

Only embarrassed, nothing else.

The word nervous and Haley doesn't fit. In fact, it should never ever be used in a single sentence. Haley doesn't get nervous, ever.

She was just caught off guard, that's all. 

Next time, she'd prepare an introduction so fantastic that you would be left with the impression that Haley is too good for you— kind and never mean, but still way out of your league.

Just you wait, stranger. She thought determinedly, trying to ignore the voice at the back of her head that sounded suspiciously like Emily, asking her if she was really sure it was going to be a good day.

Haley doesn't really know.

****

"Did you meet Y/n?" was Emily's first words when she arrived home from her shift.

Haley remained sprawled on the couch, flipping through the pages of her fashion magazine for this season. The struggle was real, trying to choose between the blue skirt or the pink shorts.

"Who?" she asked, her eyes still glued to the glossy pages.

"The farmer, Hay." She can feel Emily rolling her eyes at her.

"Oh," Haley feigns interest, barely lifting her gaze. "That not-so-tall, dark-haired farmer with a fashion taste of an old woman ready to retire from her corporate job?"

Emily gasped, and Haley turned to look just in time to see her scandalized look. To be fair, you don't look that bad. You also tower over Haley for a couple of inches and your fashion sense isn't the worst that she has seen in her life. Haley wouldn't be caught alive admitting that aloud though, especially not in front of Emily.

Lies are an easier language to learn after all.

"Don't tell me you just insulted her on her first day?"

"Of course not." Haley protested, magazine long forgotten. "I saw her but I didn't even talk to her nor she even tried. The doofus was so busy with her stupid map to even see me."

Looking back at the scene made her feel embarrassed, relieved, and offended at the same time.

Like how could you not notice a true beauty in front of you? Her face alone was enough to catch the attention of all the people in the area. She's not crowned flower queen for nothing yet you just walked passed her like she's just an average woman!

How dare she?

But on the side, it would have been embarrassing otherwise for Haley to be caught alive staring at the newcomer with wonder in her eyes.

Would anyone really blame her though? It was perfectly natural to size up the competition in terms of beauty.

Right?

Right?

And it's not like she noticed how broad your shoulder was or how your lean physique perfectly suited your chosen profession. Not at all, pft.

"Still, you could have said hello," Emily tries to reason with her, oblivious to the internal conflict turning on the gears of Haley's brain. 

"Why should I? I'm not the new girl, aren't I?" She shrugged indifferently, turning back to her mag once again. "And what kind of lame name is Y/n, anyway?"

"Haley." There's that tone again.

"What?" she snapped.

"Don't even start. Y/n is actually nice." Emily chided softly, her eyes boring into Haley's like a disappointed mother. "You said it yourself, this isn't high school anymore. Being mean doesn't get you anywhere."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Haley bristled at the insinuation, standing up to face Emily with a fierce expression. "Are you saying I'm directionless just because you have a job, and I don't?"

"I'm saying that being kind is always the right choice," Emily's calmness only fueled the anger she felt. "And trust me, it doesn't cost you anything to be nice to someone. But being mean can cost you more than you think."

Haley remained tight-lipped, not wanting to argue with her sister anymore. Emily seemed to mistake her silence for compliance.

"I'm just trying to look out for you, okay? Sorry if I came on too strong," Emily consoled her, giving her a pat on the head. "I'm off to bed now, gotta wake up early tomorrow. Goodnight, sis."

As Emily headed off to bed, Haley was left to ponder the events of the day—

No fantastic photos in Marnie's ranch because the nasty smell of animal waste was enough to drive her back to her entry steps, and the risk of running across the new farmer is greater there so, no.

As for Alex, forget it, she didn't have the stomach to endure his stench after playing with his ball all day. Her only option was to head back home.

Emily left early which is a good thing but when Haley went to the kitchen to finally practice her baking skills, she only found out that they had no more eggs. She could have run to Pierre's to get some but she isn't really keen on doing the shopping herself. That's Emily's forte, not hers.

And now, she's been lectured by her sister like she's some rebelled teen.

What a good way to start the year, huh?

Yeah, today is not a good day. 

****

Spring 2

Haley was out with her camera in Cindersap Forest just by the river. Unlike yesterday, it seems Marnie was just as bothered by the smell of her animals and decided to deep clean her ranch or whatever. So, the air was fresh and crisp, allowing Haley to breathe deeply without cringing.

The weather was ideal for taking photos— partly cloudy with a gentle breeze that carried delicate flecks of pollen through the air.

Despite her aversion to dirt and anything that possibly has germs in it, Haley loved taking pictures of nature. Behind the camera lens, she felt a profound connection to the world around her. She was in her element, lost in her own world, and nothing else mattered. Once she found the perfect subject, she was determined to capture it, no matter how dirty or injured she might become.

At this time of the year, the river looked especially magnificent in the soft light, and the falling pollen added a magical touch to the already enchanting scenery.

Just as Haley was about to snap the perfect shot, she heard a little squeak that was impossible to ignore. She turned her head to locate the source and was delighted to discover a...

Squirrel!

The little creature was the cutest thing she had ever seen, second only to the bunnies she had spotted at Marnie's ranch last year.

Haley raised her camera, ready to capture the moment forever. As if sensing her intent, the little guy let out another adorable squeak before darting off toward the deeper part of the forest where the weird old guy with the tower lived. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if it was worth it to follow the squirrel, but her impulsive nature won out in the end.

With ragged breath and hair slightly disheveled, Haley finally caught up to the squirrel. And then, as if time had stopped, she stumbled upon a sight that took her breath away.

There you are, the farmer— Y/n, she reminded herself, with your back hunched over as you fed the little guy a handful of wild walnuts that you had foraged from the forest.

No longer did you look like the poised and polished woman in your dress shirt, tie, and slicked-back hair. Instead, you wore a well-worn jumper over a faded farmer's shirt, with your hair loosely tied up in a haphazard ponytail. 

You looked... different.

It was as if you belonged in this community far more than Haley ever could.

Maybe it's the clothes, or maybe it's the way the little squirrel was so comfortable in your presence.

Before she knew it, Haley's body moved on its own, and she instinctively raised her camera to capture the moment. It was a picture-perfect moment that spoke to her soul, one that was raw, genuine, and brimming with vulnerability.

For years she hadn't seen something as picturesque and just raw and so vulnerable as this.

Suddenly, you whirled on your spot with wide eyes.

Wide, so gray, very surprised gray eyes, and your just as dark eyebrows rose so high it disappeared behind a thin curtain of bangs. The little squirrel darted behind a bush in fright, startled by the sudden flash of Haley's camera.

It felt like ages before Haley's fried brain decided that maybe it was time to finally move and stop making a fool out of herself for the second time around. You are just as frozen, your hands still holding three walnuts suspended in midair.

"Uhm," you started, voice soft and hesitant. Finally standing from your place, Haley could just stare at how tall you are in this proximity. You let out a small smile. "You're the girl with the camera yesterday, right?"

Haley could only nod. The words dying on her tongue. Her brain is still short-circuiting in all ways possible. 

"Oh..." Haley breathes out, her heart racing as she takes in the sight before her. "You're that new farmer girl or whatever, aren't you?"

Just how the hell did the gray get so green though? She wonders as your eyes bore into her with piqued curiosity. Was it the lighting and the green scenery that did it?

Good Yoba.

Is it possible for someone to be blessed with a nose this fine, so shapely up close? And don't even get her started on how a farmer could have such luscious, shiny hair when Haley has to spend hours just to get that shine and bounce that she likes.

What kind of mouth is that even? It's so small yet so plump. It doesn't look chapped though. You don't seem to be a lip gloss type, so you must be using chapstick regularly. That's good.

And wait, were you talking?

"Huh?" she mutters to herself, catching herself from zoning out once again. "Oh... I'm Haley." She manages to respond in what little she had caught up from your ramblings. 

She only understands the word grandpa, Zuzu City, Y/n, and new. 

You smiled and that's all that it took for the accumulating embarrassment to flush on Haley. It was too bright, too happy, too much and Haley couldn't handle all that.

For the first time, she's at loss for words, flustered, and was that her being nervous? 

In a desperate attempt to regain control, Haley shook her head vigorously, hoping to shake off the ridiculous embarrassment that was consuming her.

And what does Haley do when things don't go her way?

She sabotages.

So, it wasn't a surprise when Haley's mouth opened and the next words that came out were ones she never intended to say. It was a defense mechanism, a way to push people away before they could hurt her.

"If it weren't for those horrendous clothes, you might actually be pretty," she blurted out, regretting it as soon as the words left her lips.

Your smile evaporated in a split second and Haley almost missed it immediately.

Almost.

"Excuse me?" You looked offended, and Haley could easily admit that she didn't like your eyes when they were darkened like this. 

"Actually, never mind." She replied, steady and fast. Hoping the farmer didn't really hear her stupid comment. 

Just what the hell is wrong with me anyway?

You pursed your lips and went silent for a second or two as you turned and rummaged on your rucksack which Haley hadn't noticed before. "Here," you held out a freshly picked daffodil, and Haley almost swooned. Almost.

Her lips parted in a soft gasp. "For me?"

"Hmm. It kinda looks like you." 

Haley's lips curved into a small smile. "Thank you."

You hummed in acknowledgment, but you didn't return the smile. Had Haley gone too far with that comment earlier?

Haley rarely feels guilty. She always tells herself that she doesn't have anything to apologize for. Her parents didn't, so why should she?

But right now, that dreadful feeling came resurfacing. It's suffocating. 

The silence is suffocating.

"It's my grandpa's." After what seemed like forever, you turned to her with a small, almost nostalgic smile. You must have noticed Haley's questioning look. "These clothes are his," you clarified. "I moved here with nothing but myself after I decided spontaneously that I can't live a life as I had in Zuzu's." You gave out a low chuckle.

Oh.

That's why you looked like that yesterday. It makes sense now. The guilt now creeps on her like a palpable living force. Emily's words came echoing at the back of her mind.

Being mean can cost you more than you think.

The apology is at the tip of her tongue yet a small part of her, the mean one, kept telling her it was just a harmless comment and that she meant nothing of it. How could she know it was your grandpa's? Or that you suffered back in your old city and you're finding a fresh start here?

Because you didn't even give her a chance to know her before you judged her. This Emily conscience of hers is really starting to scare her. But she's right, she did judge you immediately. 

"I—"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be so grim." There's that smile again. "Uhm, sorry to cut this short but" you stared at your watch. "I still have to tidy the farm up; you know it's not exactly the cleanest place right now. I just took a break to feed the little guy. I'll catch you later, Haley."

Haley didn't even have the chance to say goodbye.

Or even apologize.

She sighed as she watched you retreat back to your farm.

****

"How do you say sorry?" Haley asked hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper. She never saw Emily abandon her sewing machine that fast. In record time, she sat beside Haley who chews her bottom lip, clearly troubled. She barely even touched her fruit salad and that's something.

"What did you do?" was her only question yet Haley found herself telling her sister everything. 

Yep, today isn't a good day, too.

~~~~

Previous

Next

A/n: had to delete the other one due to some minor changes again.

[fleet-of-fiction]

Jake Kiszka x Narrator & Sam Kiszka x OC.

Chapter One

Summary: The Jones Family are new additions to the sleepy community of Beech Run. A tight knit scattering of rural houses, where everyone knows everyone. Deeply religious and overbearingly strict, the daughters of the family are kept under lock & key by a fanatical Father and submissive Mother. They watch from bedroom windows as their neighbours, The Kiszkas, draw intense curiosity and desire to be free. Madness of youth , hope & obsession collide to bring the danger of forbidden love to poetic ends. (Era A/U)

A/N: I want to dedicate this fic to all my beautiful friends who have loved and supported me through what could only be described as a difficult time. Their belief in me as a person, who tries to be good even though I'm prone to making hellish mistakes, has been unwavering and as such I wanted to create a piece of writing that I felt they would enjoy and immerse themselves in. So, this ones for you @writingcold @sanguinebats @thewritingbeforesunrise @takenbythemadness @edgingthedarkness @katuschka @lvnterninthenight @its-interesting-van-kleep @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @gretavangroupie and everyone else who has been with me on this journey.

Warnings: Religious trauma. Parental trauma. Intense emotions including desire, obsession, grief and yearning. Loss of virginity. Explicit sexual activity. Heavy praise kink. Severe edging. Oral sex m/f. Fingering. Masturbation. Dirty filth talk.

Summer 1984

The Kiszka's were like catching that scent of freshly cut grass on warm summer air. Nostalgic for something I'd never had. Books that I dare not open because my love for the cover meant that I was too afraid to start something I knew I'd never be able to put down. They were Sunday morning distractions, like I'd never known a day without putting my hand to glass and letting their chaos drift in through the open window.

The first time I saw them I didn't know the sound of laughter could make my heart want to die. The sort of rambunctious envy I felt was a thief to any joy I might have found, standing in the dust as I carried boxes into the new house. Theirs was a summer of freedom. And mine was like trying to find solace in the darkness.

The girl was pretty when she smiled. I thought, perhaps, in some other life she and I could have been friends. Sometimes I imagined it, that she would knock on our door and ask for me by name. A delusion I centred within myself whenever I saw her ride by on the yellow push bike that was always leaning against their porch steps. The boys weren't like that, though. No part of me could imagine myself in that wild entanglement. Fires and swearing, ripping their shirts off in the midday heat to wrestle in the dirt. Guitars littering their garage door, riffs that drifted in on the wind making me want to rise from the doldrums.

It just wasn't like that for us. Any hope that I'd carried into Beech Run was dashed the moment my Father shook hands with the patriarch of our neighbours, and immediately insisted that we weren't to go near those people. Godless and bohemian. Without decency. Without enough fear of a faceless, impalpable being that seemed to rule over nobody save for us.

He was a pastor and we paid for that dearly. With our curfews and our diligence and our punishments if we didn't honour God precisely how we should. I stopped believing that an almighty power would have chosen this life for me a long time ago, but nothing felt more certain until we moved to Beech Run. Only the devil would have put us next to the Kiszka's.

"They're so pretty."

Jolene was sitting on the windowsill, playing with her hair as she admired them. She had that faraway look in her eye that most girls had when they were seventeen. Romanticising them, giving them entirely fictionalised morals and wondering what her name would sound like on their lips.

"Come away from the window." I warned, the torture of it something I had already decided I would not endure all summer.

She would bite down on her lip and sway against the glass. Insufferable. Lost in a sea of their sweaty bodies tearing across the front lawn, having water fights and jam sessions in the garage. All the things we were denied. She and I, lumbered with reading lists and prayer groups that made me want to rip out my immortal soul and offer it to the highest bidder.

"The tall one, he looks as if he might sweep you off your feet. He keeps tucking his hair behind his ear, I think I'd like to do that for him."

No good would come of it. I could see the whispering angels and demons perched on my sister's shoulders. Consorting with her. The fathomless ages of young girls who had come before her in their tragic echoes, doomed to desire and the shadow of a breaking heart hanging above her head.

"Come." I encouraged, "Sit and read with me a while. And then shall we see if Ben will take us into town?"

The freedoms allowed to our brother were tantamount to our lack of it. He was the eldest and therefore had the privileges of that. He was male, and existed in a world that Jolene and I did not encompass. Sometimes he would take pity on us and drive us into town to get an ice cream or watch a movie. Sometimes he would be cruel and drive there without even telling us.

"I'm fine here." She sighed, and I suspected she wanted them to see her.

I was far too practical to follow her into that folly of romance. I thought myself immune to it, happy to just read about it in books that would remove me from my present circumstances. Something which had made me a target, previously, for underhand comments as I walked down the school halls or sat in the library just turning pages.

"Fine, until you send yourself silly with all this nonsense." I sighed, putting my book aside and shimmying to the end of my bed.

"I want to know what it feels like, don't you?" She was a dreamer, a conjurer of a fate I could already feel the chill of spilling down my back. "To be taken for a ride in a car, and have them open the door for you. And kiss you goodnight, making you feel like you're the prettiest thing they ever saw. Don't you want that, Bonnie?"

If I had ever wanted it, the moment had passed. Perhaps I was hopeful once, but then hope could be so easily dashed. My sister was beautiful in an uncommon way. Simple and understated, the sort of beauty that was caught at the right angle and once perceived, it was devastating. With long auburn waves and a set of dreamy blue eyes, she had lips that were full and round in complete contrast to what I had to offer.

"No." I replied without hesitation. "I don't want deal with any foolishness, least of all from a man. Don't we put up with enough of that from our own dear brother?"

She rolled her eyes in contention. "It's not the same, and you know it's not. Brothers are nuisances. In the same way Dads are."

With that, I couldn't disagree. Ours was a formidable creature who liked to keep us so pure it was as if any man would contaminate us by breathing the same air. Something which had begun to take it's toll. I had given up, and Jolene was merely awaiting her chance to break all the rules.

"Oh, but not these boys." She sang, returning her gaze to the frivolities unfolding across the street. "These boys are handsome and good. I just know that they are sweet and kind and up close I bet they have all these little nuances that only stand to make them even more handsome."

She would walk into a pit of fire if it promised to love her and adore her. Willing to walk to her heart break like ascending to the gallows with a smile upon her face and would willingly do it all over and over again just for a taste of something like passion. A part of me envied her.

"Maybe you're right." I agreed, deciding it might be worth a peek. "Maybe they are handsome and good. And maybe they will take you riding in a car and kiss you goodnight. But that doesn't change the fact that Dad would never allow it."

There were three of them. The elder of the twins was a lithe and charismatic thing. With a mop of curls and a penchant for wearing his pants low enough that my Dad had balked at the sight of him upon introductions. The younger twin was a little more reserved, hiding behind a curtain of long dark hair. His smile was entirely unexpected just by looking at the depth and darkness of his eyes. Neither of which were mirrored in their younger brother, who had all the hope and exuberance of a puppy dog that hadn't been trained on how to behave around company.

And Jolene was right. They were so infuriatingly pretty. All three of them with the same magnetic curse that had drawn my attention whether I wanted it to or no. I was no better than she, leaning my hand against the glass so that I might see them better. Rolling my tongue around in my mouth as I tried to appear calm.

"I'll jump out of a thousand windows before I ever let Daddy tell me who I can or cannot love."

I believed her. There was something in the way she stared out of that window that made me truly believe she would never let such a thing come between her and her desires. And as I looked down at the object of her affection, he saw me for the very first time.

Shirtless and sweaty, his hair wet and slicked back. He raised a hand to his brow and stared directly into our bedroom window. His brother, coming to see what had distracted him, followed his line of vision. Raising his hand, the two of them drenched and flushed pink as they stood at the end of their driveway regarding us. And we, against our better judgement, stared back.

I often stood in front of the mirror alone, wondering how I might be regarded by another. It was a terrible thing to be young and have innocence imposed. I would trail my fingers down my breasts and imagine that the handsome boy who had peered into my window was standing in the darkness behind me.

I couldn't see him. He wasn't a perfect image. His face was blurred from the distance of where he'd stood in my memories of that day. But it was him that I summoned whenever I touched myself. There was no other who came to mind. It was always the younger twin, the one with the long hair who had dared to stand and watch.

Perhaps it was his boldness that had made him stay with me. There was something bookish about his demeanour, like he'd been written by a woman for other women to fantasise about. Simply by standing there in the summer heat, taking note of me. Like I wasn't a ghost, after all.

"Open the door, Bonnie."

His voice ran through me like the prickle of a stinging nettle against flesh. To hear it whilst I stood there, naked, made my skin crawl.

"Just a second." I replied, pulling on my robe and hurrying to obey.

My Father was on the other side, standing there with a sourness that questioned precisely why I had been in the bathroom quite as long as I had. He would ask if I had been partaking in a sin, but at the same time he wouldn't speak it into existence. He simply cleared his throat and nodded at me.

"Your Mother and I were thinking, for the service this coming Sunday, that you and your sister would like to say a few words about how welcoming our flock have been since we arrived here."

His suggestion drew an audible sigh of disappointment. That I would be expected to stand in front of our neighbours and peers as if I were somehow grateful felt like a deception in the house of God. I could imagine their faces, thinking us good little Christian girls and what perfect examples of the lord's word. A credit to our loving Father. And our Mother, who would sit there in her perpetual silence and allow it to unfold without so much as an uttering against it.

"Of course." I replied obediently, "As you wish, Daddy."

He nodded his approval, clenching his jaw as if he'd anticipated a different response.

"I'd like the congregation to see what lovely girls we have." He mused, the grey flecked moustache that sat above his upper lip twitching. "They need to see that their pastor is the head of a good, solid foundation."

I had already agreed to his demand. There was no requirement for him to stand there and justify it any further. I was consciously aware of my state of undress, and felt it necessary to continue to nod my agreement as I scurried back to my room.

"Oh, and Bonnie?" He caught my arm, firm but not enough to cause pain. "Please make sure your sister stays away from the window tonight."

He would feel superior and I would feel beholden to it. As I smiled and nodded, as if I somehow held the reigns of my sister's deeds. He was smug and I was left wondering how he even knew that she'd been standing there.

"Yes, Daddy." I muttered, knowing it would have been futile to try and convince him otherwise.

She was feigning sleep as I came into the room. Making rudimentary noises and shuffling about as if in dream. I dressed quickly and quietly and it wasn't until I had switched off my lamp and laid my head down that she decided to end her performance.

"Bonnie?"

I flicked the lamp back on. "Yes?"

"Do you think Daddy will let us go to down to the creek this summer? I heard the Kiszka's talking about it outside. They said there was going to be a heat wave and all the kids from Beech Run and the next town over would be heading there. I sure would like to go."

There was an effervescent hope in her voice. That somehow, if she could only say it out loud, it might make it come true. I ruminated on the right way to tell her I couldn't see it being a possibility, not wanting to shatter her dreams entirely.

"Perhaps, if Ben is there escort us, there might be a chance." I offered, knowing that our brother had no intention of escorting us anywhere during his first summer in a new place with all the freedoms and folly of a youth that was extended to him.

She was leaning on her palm. Playing with a thread on her pillow case, her mouth all smushed up as she contemplated what I'd said.

"I just want to be like all the other girls." She sighed, before turning over and signalling the end of her part in our conversation.

"Dad wants us to say a few words at service this Sunday." I told her, plunging the room back into darkness, "Maybe we'll tell them all how he keeps us here like prisoners."

I heard a small, almost indiscernible titter from Jolene's side of the room. But I let her be. Sinking into my bed sheets and trying to imagine I time where I'd ever been satisfied.

He was there, again. Standing in the darkness. Haunting me. His imperfect face just beyond where I could see, the shape of him calling out to me. A set of deep set brown eyes appraised me, squinting through sunlight to get a better look at me. And I replayed it over and over until it was scratched into my memory like an old cassette that had worn it's self down to white noise.

I just wanted to know his name.

It was a Thursday evening. When the wall clock in the kitchen stopped. Summer rain began to fall. My Mother lost her most treasured thimble whilst sewing a set of curtains in the chair by the front window. And my Father was berating us for a less than exuberant attempt at writing a speech for the up coming church service.

He had us standing there like sentinels. Brushing his disappointment over us as if we were his canvas. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck begin to prickle, a deep rooted need to protect my little sister from this sort of tirade starting to bubble away beneath the surface.

"I don't feel your gratitude, Jolene." He scorned, scrunching her script up in his hands like it was a tissue he'd used to blow his nose. "Try something a little more heart felt."

She was on the verge of tears. I could see them welling up in the corners of her eyes. I looked over at my Mother and felt a sense of abandonment whilst she was still in the room as she searched for the thimble she had lost. Silently willing her to step in, to say something. Anything.

"We'll have something appropriate drawn up by Sunday." I assured him, waiting to be dismissed.

His dominance was always at it's most ferocious when I dared to even tread into defiance. Sometimes I wondered if he took pleasure in it. The way Jolene trembled beneath his word and I tried and fought in vain to protect her. I wasn't the one prone to rebellion and yet it felt as if I always took the brunt simply because I always tucked Jolene behind me, safely squirrelling her away from his overbearing eye.

"See that you do." He simply replied, waving a cursory hand that allowed us to leave.

I heard my Mother rejoice as the lost thimble was found. My heart sinking that this was her biggest joy. That she had barely taken note of her daughters and our pain and the way we were slowly sinking into oblivion. Why was I even trying to obey?

Perhaps I closed my bedroom door a little more aggressively than I'd intended. It caused the pictures on my wall to shudder. The bottle of perfume on my nightstand rolled over. And Jolene fell into her pillows, leaving the stains of tears in the folds of fabric.

"They'd never convict him a court of law because he doesn't beat us." She sobbed, screaming silently into blankets.

Perhaps he would have if the marks would've been translucent. I often wondered if my Dad had ever thought about beating us into submission. Sometimes the bloody veins in the whites of his eyes and the tiny speck of spit in the corner of his mouth as he raged at us made me wonder if he curled his fist up at just the right moment if he would strike.

"I thought, when we moved here, that things might be different." I dared to wonder, "But if anything, he's worse."

Jolene's face was all blotchy and pink. Sodden with tears and her hair stuck to her wet cheeks.

"He knows, Bonnie." She sniffed. "He knows that if we were given half the chance we'd be across the street. With those boys."

Would it have been so bad? To have known a summer of love? I was eighteen years old. Never been kissed. Never been taken on a date and had a door opened for me. I had tried so hard to ignore it, but I could no longer look away from it. The way I'd been spending more time on it, touching myself and imagining him in the place of my own hand.

"You don't care, anyway." She added, with a little more malice. "You don't want any of it. You're always trying to stop me from looking at them. You're always burying your head in a book, as if that will help."

Perhaps I deserved that. I didn't dare tell her that I'd had a change of heart, of late. That my usual stance had begun to shift. Where once I'd thought the wanting had passed, it had started to become an insatiable curiosity. Even my waking thoughts were plagued by it.

"That's not true." I confessed, laying a careful hand in her hair. "I'm sorry if I ever made you feel alone in this. I promise, you're not."

Her nose wrinkled as she looked at me. As if seeing me for the first time. Allied in our awakening interest in the boys across the street.

"I can't stop thinking about him, Bonnie. Every night before I sleep and every morning when I wake up. I wish I could wash him out of my mind. But he's there, all the time, looking up at our window."

"I know, I know..." I soothed, "I've tried to forget that they exist, too."

I'd forgotten to draw our blinds. In our haste to appease our ever demanding Father, I'd left the curtains open too. From the corner of my eye I noticed a light flicker on outside, drawing my attention. I turned and took note of the Kiszka house, the glowing square in the upstairs left quarter was like a beacon against the rural darkness of our street.

"Look." I said, waiting for my sister to follow my gaze.

It was the elder of the twins who appeared. A towel sat snugly around his waist as he ruffled another through his hair. He was lean and perfectly cut, not dissimilar to his counterpart. I felt a sudden shame at watching him, but there seemed to be no care for his close proximity to the window.

He was talking to someone. His mouth moving in soft intervals, as if engaging in a conversation we could not hear. I was enthralled, nonetheless. Wondering what he was talking about. Who he was talking to. He carefully ran his hands through his curls, making sure they were perfectly sculpted. His stomach taught and his arms raised above his head, but it was only inquisitiveness that made me continue to look.

I felt nothing until he appeared. Tossing his brother a clean t-shirt. Doing nothing of value. Padding around and making me feel like the most detestable of voyeurs.

"He's the one, isn't he?" Jolene asked softly, taking note of my how my breath hitched as he appeared. "We can't just pretend like this isn't happening."

"They don't even know we exist." I dismissed her, forcing myself to look away.

"That's not true." She replied fluidly, her voice rising like a song. "We were introduced when we first moved here. They've seen us watching them. Even if it's the only thing they know, it's that we exist."

I wanted so badly for it to be true. I watched him stand there poetically in the window, talking to his brother and running a hand through his long hair. Casual. No care within the world for him. And I envied not only the fact that I couldn't be close to him, but also that I ached to be him.

I didn't settle at all that night. Fretting, feeling as if I held all the anguish in the world in the pit of my stomach. Jolene had nodded off as soon as the light across the street went out. But I continued to stare at the void a while longer. Silent tears streaking my cheek, the salt on my lips like a bitter reminder that it was all I could do to let it out.

I could see my reflection in the glass. A spiritual spectre that didn't have a voice. I stood there in my white linen night gown, ruffled at the sleeves and thought myself truly a ghost. The window was cold to the touch. The night was cool and calm whilst within me raged a tempest.

I didn't want to go to bed and lay down and have my thoughts ruin me. It would have been nightmares that came to me, ones about being locked in a cage. And so I stood there, in the window I had promised not to let my sister stare out of.

That warm glow from across the street reignited. It almost made me flinch. The way the darkness was all consuming, and then there it was. The light on in the room upstairs. I held my breath, as if somehow they'd be able to hear me. Lip trembling as he reappeared, this time alone. A look of forlorn sadness in his face as he went to pull the curtains closed.

He thought he could see something. He thought himself mad as he peered out further, squinting into the darkness as he caught the sight of me. It was in my mind to turn and disregard him, but I was rooted to the spot. Afraid that if I moved I would never feel again the way I felt right then in that moment.

I knew that he could see me. Certain as I knew that he was watching me right back. I could feel the pull of my heart strings dragging it down, into a flurry that churned my stomach like butter. He stood there, his forearm against the glass as he rested his head against it. Staring at me as if he couldn't quite believe I was real.

And then he raised his hand and waved. And I, inexplicably, waved back.

I sat in the choir loft as parishioners began to filter in. Gripping my insincere little speech in my hand, the paper felt as heavy as granite as I turned it in my hands.

I'd barely slept. Keeping vigil the past two nights, waiting for Jake to appear. That was his name. So graciously given to me, scrawled on a piece of paper as we exchanged messages from our respective windows.

It felt like poetry in motion. The first time he held up a crude scribble and asked for my name. It felt like I had been truly seen. I'd hastily scrambled for a pen and a notebook, holding it against the glass whilst he nodded his understanding. Waiting with my heart beating a muffled drum within my chest as he wrote something back.

He asked me why we never came to the creek. Why we never seemed to linger in the wide open spaces all around us. Why we were always in town with our brother. He seemed intrigued. Telling me about his passion for his guitar through page after page of rushed sentences.

The last of which had told me to wait for him in the choir loft before Sunday service.

Only a fool would have agreed to this. To sit there in my Sunday best, knees clicking together in consuming nerves of what I was about to do. Keeping a watchful eye on my Father as he stood at the podium and graciously welcomed his congregation. I'd never seen Jake or his family at church on any Sunday since we'd moved there. I questioned why he'd asked me to wait for him up in the rafters, but not enough to stop myself from agreeing to it.

"Bonnie?"

I clutched the hem of my skirt, knuckles white and my cheeks pale as I swallowed hard. He slid into the seat behind me. Graciously foregoing the seat beside me, I kept my eyes focused forward and felt as if I might melt into the very grain of the wooden pews. He leaned forward, resting elbows on the back of my pew, his breath warm and silken against the curve of my neck.

"Jake." I replied, my mouth suddenly ravenously dry.

What did I even anticipate that the pay off of this risk would be? Just to feel my own heart beating so wildly in my chest that I thought, perhaps, that I might pass out? To have a moment of stolen sin? I could smell the soap he'd used to wash with that very morning and the hint of coffee and toothpaste in the warmth of his breath. Was this ever going to be enough?

"You don't know how long I've wanted to talk to you." He confessed in hushed tones that forced me to close my eyes against the sincerity of the words. "Ever since you moved here. You've been somewhat of an enigma."

Nobody had ever spoken to me like that before. With careless want and an honesty that threatened to choke me. I could feel my palms grow sweaty, a compelling heat rising in my cheeks.

"We're not allowed to talk to boys." I replied earnestly, opening my eyes to a reality I did not want nor could I any longer tolerate.

He scoffed at the insinuation that he was a boy. "I'm twenty years old, I'm hardly that."

There was an innocent playfulness in the way he chased his brothers around their front yard. Their boyish natures belying their true age. I envied more than ever that they'd been granted that. Feeling naïve that I could have ever considered him a mere boy. Now that he was sitting so close to me, I could feel the urge to sin like effervescence bubbling off his skin. Something only men could feel.

"Forgive me." I faltered, bowing my head in solemn regret that I had been so fruitless in my estimation.

But he didn't berate me. "Oh, you're a caged little bird aren't you?"

If I could have let myself cry, he'd have witnessed a dam bursting. I sat there twisting my skirt, almost ripping the paper against it, letting hatred and regret and desire course through my veins. I hoped, more than anything I'd ever hoped for before, that he couldn't see the anguish.

"Are you ridiculing me?" I dared to ask, turning my head ever so slightly to catch him in my periphery.

I could see his lips parted as he lingered at my ear.

"No, never that." He reassured. "But I've seen the way he keeps you behind glass. I've seen you standing at the window watching us. And I tortured myself wondering if you knew that we had been watching you, too."

My breath stilled. "We?"

He boldly leaned a little further forward. Joining me in my gaze as I stared down at the growing crowd below. His chin almost rested on my shoulder, his hair almost brushed against my cheek. I couldn't stand it, the close proximity and the way I felt as if I couldn't move an inch.

"My brother Sam, and I." He confirmed. "He thinks your sister is damn near the prettiest little thing he's ever seen. But I told him no, that's not true. There's more grace and beauty in the older sister. She is where my mind runs to when I look towards your house."

To consider that he had thought of me made the centre of my chest begin to throb with a yearning I had never endured before. It filled that empty space between my ribs. Aching to crawl out and consume the rest of my body. I could scarcely breathe. My hand instinctively dropped the hem of my skirt and flew to my collar bone. Resting there as I tried to calm my beating heart.

"I didn't think you knew we even existed." I whispered, letting his confidence shine down on me, a part of me feeling fearless enough to make these confessions.

"On the contrary." He replied, sweeping his breath across my cheek bone, quite unintentionally as he lingered close to me. " I've thought of you often ever since you arrived. Wondering if you were ever going to make friends with my sister so that I could have the opportunity to talk to you. It was the greatest disappointment when we realised it wasn't meant to be."

His dream had been mine. The two of us worlds apart, and yet staggeringly close. Wanting the same wants. Needing the same needs. Laying his head down each night with that same blurred image of me that I had kept of him, too. God had finally answered my prayers.

"There is nothing more that I want that that." I replied wistfully, "But he would never allow it. We'd be punished. Called wicked. Or worse."

Jake shook his head and slinked back, taking away the heat of his body and leaving me cold.

"There's nothing wicked about the desire for connection." He surmised, tucking his hair behind his ear and pulling out a cigarette from his shirt breast pocket. Putting it between his lips for later. "You tell that air headed brother of yours to bring you down to the creek tomorrow."

"Ok." I replied quietly, feeling the essence of hope leave with him as he scurried away.

He didn't linger. I couldn't see his face in the crowd as I stood at the podium. He'd slipped out as easily as he'd slipped in, and I was grateful. I didn't want him to see me up there. Making a breath full of lies for ears that would have listened to any old garbage I could have come up with.

It was all I could think about as I talked about how the sanctity of strong family values held our bonds with God together. Something about honouring thy Father. As I pictured Jake sitting behind me, hot breath on my skin and the scent of his cologne still in the air I breathed. If I was wicked, I was already going to hell.

Ben was sitting in the car, his arm draped casually over the back of the passenger seat. His hair was neatly combed to the side, his shirt tucked into his slacks as he checked his teeth in the rear view mirror.

"We don't want to go into town today." Jolene complained, slumping into the back seat with a pout that she would never let our Dad ever see. "Why can't you just take us to the creek?"

He turned and pointed an ominous finger. I was inclined to bat it out of my way as I slipped in beside Jolene. Knowing she wasn't going to take no for an answer.

"You're going to town. I got a date with Harriet Dinsmore. I've been trying to pin her down for weeks. So don't start with all this going to the damn creek nonsense." He spat, carefully running a palm down the perfectly sculpted slicked hair that made him look uncannily like our Dad.

Jake had been unflinchingly correct in his estimation of our brother. For Ben, life meant never having to use much intelligence. He would fly off the back of our Fathers coat tails. No doubt becoming a pastor himself. Not for God but for the glory of it. But whilst he still held the keys to the car in his hands, I'd be smart.

"Oh, come on." I rallied, "You don't want your little sisters moping around while you try to court a pretty girl. We're better off at the creek. You can pick us up after."

I caught him roll his eyes in the mirror. "You would have me lie to Dad?"

Jolene popped her bubble gum, smirking as she stared out of the window over towards the Kiszka's house.

"It's only a lie if you tell Dad you're taking us into town with you. Has he asked where you're taking us?"

She knew there'd be a presumption made. But would use the semantics to her advantage. I felt a cool sense of pride in her, exchanging a knowing look as Ben rolled the thought around in his tiny little mind.

"Harriet Dinsmore? Isn't she the girl who works at the ice cream place?" I feigned interest. "She sure is pretty."

All it took was a few soft words about her hair. Her eyes. The way she served ice cream so deftly. She never spilled a drop. I wondered if he'd been so pliant before, if we'd had opportunities missed because we were so afraid of what our Father might do if he found out.

I was fuelled by that simple demand. That we get our air head brother to bring us to the creek. For what purpose, I didn't care. But I knew that if I didn't try I would reek of regret. And once Ben agreed to take us, I felt a sense of accomplishment that I'd never managed before.

Jolene was ratified in her excitement. Staring out of the window, beholden to a freedom so rarely afforded to us. We were given fair warning, of course, to keep to ourselves and not talk to any interested boys. To be on our best behaviour and not give him him any cause to have to tell Dad where we had been.

I did wonder what went through his mind as he dropped us at the side of the road, where the gate that lead down to creek stood open against a rickety old fence. I could hear voices in the distance. Jovial ones. And suddenly I was stricken with the stupidity of what we were about to do.

"Did he really say that?" Jolene asked, pulling down her little linen shorts and pulling fingers through her loose curls. "Did Sam Kiszka really say that I was damn near the prettiest thing he'd ever seen?"

If not for her, then for who? I set aside my reservations. Flattened down the pleat in my sun dress and pulled down the edge of my hat. I would make a fool of myself if it meant that she got to have just five minutes talking to the boy she liked. No more standing at the window wondering.

"That's what I hear." I replied, taking her hand as we sauntered through the gate and down the incline of the field towards the river bank at the bottom.

The tall grass weaved between my bare legs. Brandishing sleek little kisses against my inner thighs. The tips almost brushed against my crotch, each step like a feather dancing against my flesh. And it did not serve me well. I could see him standing on the embankment. Shirtless and long hair blowing in the warm breeze. I felt my stomach tie itself in knots over the sight of him, feeling as if the grass itself was inviting me to arousal as I walked towards him.

"Are you nervous?" Jolene asked, her hand still clutched firmly in the curl of my own. "I'm real nervous."

"Just stay close by." I soothed, "Don't leave my side, and we'll be just fine."

There were pockets of people dotted up and down the tree lined incline. Some were splashing around in the creek bed, where it met a wide opening that created a shallow pool, others were bathing in the sunshine. An array of colourful bathing suits on display. It was hot. The sort of hot where everything felt sticky and wet. There were balls and frisbee's being tossed around. Music playing from a boom box hanging from a broken tree branch. Beers sitting in coolers. Cigarettes and a sense that perhaps I'd bitten off more than I was willing to chew.

They were all there. All three of them and their sister, sitting in folding chairs and on blankets dotted around the clearing next to the water. There were a few faces I didn't recognise, too. Friends, no doubt. I didn't know where to look. It felt as if perhaps we were intruding, on account of the fact we weren't dressed appropriately for the occasion. We didn't even own bathing suits. It was apparent that we'd made a mistake.

Everyone was staring at us. Eyes boring into us as we approached. Jolene's hand squeezed mine. A silent plea for whatever we had walked into to stop feeling like a trap. Why did it feel as if I was feeding not only her, but myself to the wolves? They appraised us like creatures who belonged in a zoo. Eyes widened and sun shades slipped down their noses to get a better look at the Jones sisters.

"You came." Jake said breezily, greeting us at the edge of his little pocket. "I didn't think you would."

It was still in my mind to turn around and head back. But there was something in the way he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand that made me willing to stay.

"You said to come." I hedged, every inch of me burning from the curious stares.

He was wearing a pair of denim shorts, cut at the knee. With a waist band so low I could make out the edge of whatever he had on underneath. With his body on unapologetic display, I didn't know where to politely look. There was only his eyes that could have accepted my gaze appropriately. And they were so intense I could feel myself wanting to back off.

"I did." He agreed, "And here you are. Let's get you introduced."

We accepted the seats we were offered. But declined the beers. Jolene sheepishly grinned as names were thrown at us and I tried so hard to commit them to memory. There was the Kiszka's; Jake, Josh, Sam and Ronnie. Danny Wagner and another friend from school, Lewis Dinsmore. Who's poor sister was stuck on a date with our unbearable brother. I was grateful for it, regardless. It provided an initial talking point which ingratiated us into the group, enabling me to calm my nerves as I sat there trying to act as if I didn't feel like a duck out of water.

"So, Bonnie. Are you a senior or did you graduate?" Ronnie Kiszka asked, hands on her hips as she supped on a bottle of beer and eyed the length of my dress.

"Umm, I graduated." I replied, "At our last school, in Ohio."

"So, what's the plan? College?" She continued, her questions posed innocently enough. But I felt like I was under the microscope. "I'm going to Michigan State in the fall."

"Oh, that's great." I tried to keep my voice steady and casual. "I'd love to go to college, but I'm needed at home to help my Mom."

Josh was sitting on a blanket, resting on his palms with his chin tilted up towards the sky. Languishing in a similar state of undress as his brother.

"Oh, is she sick or something?" He asked, pushing his shades up into his mess of curls as he looked over at me.

"No." I replied, looking down into my lap. "No, nothing like that..."

Jolene was more than happy to answer their questions. The intrusion didn't seem to phase her, she lapped up the attention like a neglected pup as I sat there wondering what they must have thought of us. Uncomfortable at the idea of it. Of them knowing our Dad would keep us at home rather that receiving a college education. That we were supposed to be somewhere else, and I wondered if any of them would know to keep our being there under wraps.

I couldn't hide my disdain. I smiled and nodded where required, but offered nothing in the way of conversation. I sat in the shadows whilst my sister took the reigns. Her desire to be part of something beyond our house was being fed to bursting and I could see the colour rise in her cheeks the more they enquired. Especially when Sam addressed her directly, their eyes finding each other in undeniable attraction. And all I could do was witness it unfold, hoping that my silence wasn't being mistaken for ill manners.

"You wanna get out of here?"

I looked up. Jake was standing at my feet, his hand extended for me to take.

"I probably shouldn't leave Jolene." I fretted, seeing how much she didn't need me.

"Probably shouldn't." He echoed, keeping his hand firmly offered. "Or is it because you're afraid of what might happen if you do?"

He'd been so kind. So humble. Introducing us to his friends and family. Like we weren't the spectacle we'd been when we first arrived. He'd been hospitable. Making jokes and including us in them. He'd made me laugh. Not just a giggle, but from my belly upwards. Making me radiate a smile that had been hidden for so long I hadn't even known I could smile like that.

"Afraid, of what?" I asked, although I suspected it was what he'd wanted.

He didn't say it out loud. There was only a hint of it in the way he curled his fingers up and urged me to go with him. I thought, perhaps, that he could see my uncertainty etched there in my face as I tried to fit in. All the things I wouldn't confess to. That I was afraid I'd spend my whole life never knowing what it truly felt like to be adored. Afraid that I'd always be a vessel for thoughts and feelings that would never be allowed to be expressed. Afraid that I'd never get to explore what it meant to be a woman. Fears that seemed to go unspoken. And yet, he heard me.

Jolene was sat with her chair practically on top of Sam's. Their heads bowed together in a conversation nobody else was invited to. I could see his hand edging towards coming to rest upon her knee, but he kept graciously stopping himself. Peering into her eyes instead, letting her ramble on about nothing in particular. Enchanted by her. And she, in turn, seemed entirely smitten with him. Blushing every time he tucked his hair behind his ear. Every time he threw his head back and let out the most infectious laugh I'd ever heard. He was being gentle with her.

"Come on." Jake said, "I know a spot we can go to."

Nobody seemed to care as he took one of the blankets and began to lead me away. Jolene looked over, silently watching as he took my hand. Too afraid that if she made a comment she would break the spell between her and Sam. I tried not to think too hard about it, grateful that people had finally gotten bored with our presence.

I would have let him take me anywhere. It felt like a sonnet that hadn't been written yet. The way he held my hand so casually, leading me back into the tall grass. All I could do was watch the way his hair moved in the breeze. Dancing against his flexing shoulder blades. His hips moving gracefully as he stepped between the long blades, blanket tucked under his free arm. The afternoon sun was beating down so hard, my cheeks began to burn. Grateful when he finally led me to a shaded area of tree's a little further down the creek where nobody else had bothered to venture.

I watched him as he laid the blanket down, flattening the grass and making sure we were shrouded by it. Inviting me to sit with him, the sound of flowing water and leaves moving in the dull wind as our soundtrack.

"You ever just lay in the grass and look up at the clouds?" He asked, rolling onto his back and placing arms behind his head.

I wrapped the hem of my dress around my knee's, conscious of the breeze as I laid down beside him. Through the canopy of the tree's around us, I could see wisps of cloud moving slowly against the brilliant blue.

"Not since I was a little kid." I replied, trying to remember the last time I'd done anything quite like this.

He was quiet for a brief moment. But it didn't feel like it needed to be filled.

"I hope you didn't get in any trouble yesterday. I don't think anyone saw me talking to you." He said, pulling out a small bottle of something honey coloured out of his pocket. "Sometimes people can't see what's happening right under their noses."

There was a flash of something in his grin as he lifted his head to take a swig, offering me some before dashing it onto the blanket at his side when I declined. I liked the way his side profile looked as I turned my head to look at him. There was something about the way his nose pointed at the tip, the way his mouth had the most enigmatic curl at the corners. It was obvious that he hadn't brushed his hair that day, but it didn't matter. It only served to suit him well.

I started to feel as if I could climb on top of him. The way he laid there, the muscles in his arms flexed as he laid them behind his head. I'd never been close enough to ever drink him in. I tried to commit to memory all the little nuances that were entirely him, knowing that I'd think of him later in more detail than I ever had before. It made me nervous.

"Clever." I surmised, impressed by his critical thinking. "Do you often do things right under people's noses?"

He smirked and turned his head, knocking me off my steady perch and into a panicked mess as his eyes met mine. I didn't dare look away. I didn't want to make the obviousness of my gaze even more obvious. I hoped that he couldn't tell I could hear the great whoosh of my own pulse when he looked at me. But I suspected that he did, letting his eyes fall down the rest of my body before coiling back up.

"Not everything." He damn near whispered, leaning up to rest on his forearm. "Some things I prefer to do where no one else can see."

It was getting hotter. The air felt warm in my lungs as I breathed. Even in the shade, it was sticky and sweltering. My dress was becoming increasingly drenched, beads of sweat pooling between my breasts. He was glistening in the sun light, his neck saturated as sweat ran down the peak of his adam's apple. Both of us tangibly giving in to the impetuous heat.

"Like what?" I asked, reaching for the bottle to quench a dry thirst that was forming in my mouth.

It tasted like fire. Did nothing to alleviate the dryness, only served to almost choke me and make me cough. Much to his delight as he placed a hand to my back and waited until I'd composed myself before offering his arm for me to lay against as I sank back down.

"Wouldn't want your Daddy catching us here, like this. Would you?" He asked, the sweat of his arm sliding against the back of my neck. "Wouldn't want anyone catching us here like this. I like being here, with you, just the two of us."

The weight of what was transpiring between us almost felt too heavy to bear. I could feel it, travelling up and down my body in waves of undulated panic and arousal. He wouldn't stop staring at me. Making it harder for me to deny myself.

"I like it too." I confessed quietly, allowing him to curl his arm up, making me inch closer to his face.

All the hours of wonder couldn't have stood up to the reality of him. The sweet and gentle nature of him coveting me, with nothing more than a simple gaze and the support of his arm beneath me. He made no attempt to touch me further, and I almost felt like begging him would have ruined the moment.

"Don't you get lonely up there sometimes?" He asked, grazing his bottom lip between perfectly set teeth. "I see your face sometimes and I can't stand the way you look so sad."

Oh, he'd noticed. My heart soared and broke all at once. That he had known not only that I existed, but taken the time to notice my mood made me feel as if our lives were not merely shadows.

"Not lonely." I shrugged, settling on a different word. "Perhaps, sometimes, it's a little melancholy."

He wrinkled his nose and thought about it. Reaching for a blade of grass behind him and ripping it from the ground in order to satisfy his need to keep his hands busy.

"If you were mine I'd never want to see anything but a smile on that pretty face of yours forever more." He said, running the blade of grass against my cheek playfully.

I shrank away. The sensation of it too intimate for me to appropriately deal with. I giggled, but my unease was there in the way my eyes couldn't settle back on him.

"I'm sorry." He apologised, throwing down the grass and trying to settle the vibe between us back into something a little more innocent.

But it was too late. I could feel a familiar throb begin to beat away between my thighs. Latent misery in being unable to satisfy my desires kept me tethered to the blanket, unable to confess that I wanted him to do it again.

"Don't be sorry." Was all I could say, a little more passionately than I'd intended. "I'm just...well, I'm no good at this sort of thing."

He seemed to go quiet all over again. Looking down at our bodies side by side. Swallowing so hard I could see his throat flex. Like he, too, was lost in a sea of words he so desperately wanted to say but couldn't.

"You're not like the other girls." He gulped, pointing out one of my deepest flaws. "I don't want you to be like the other girls. They aren't worth the risk like you are."

How could he have known my worth? Beneath that starry eyed exterior, was he just as nervous as I was? It seemed to me that he could scarcely hold himself back as his eyes moved between my lips and my gaze. Flitting up and down as if in conflict.

"All I've ever wanted was to be like the other girls." I sighed, noticing for the first time that he had moved closer. "Other girls get to be taken out on dates and have doors opened for them. And have goodnight kisses."

The subtle shake of his head intimated that none of that mattered.

"Other girls don't write their name for me in notes I can only see from my window." He said earnestly. "Other girls don't drive me crazy every time I see them come out of their front door on a Sunday morning wearing those pretty little dresses."

I felt like I'd fallen asleep and I'd woken in a dream. I could smell the liquor on his breath he lingered so close. The heat of the day dissipating as the heat of his body took over.

"Other girls don't make me write songs for them, before I've ever even spoken to them..." He stopped, right before his lips would trespass against mine.

"You...wrote a song...for me?" I breathed into his mouth, fingertips digging into the blanket folds at either side of my stilled body.

"For a good Christian girl, you sure do make me feel damned." He posed, speaking with his lips a feather light touch away from mine. "Damned to write songs for a girl I can't ever have."

Was it not enough that I dwelled beneath his touch? Whatever madness made him think he could not have me, I wished for such a fallacy to be gone from his mind. If God had put the attraction that was so palpably clear between us within our hearts, why would God punish us for acting upon it?

True. I was a little apprehensive. Not for the punishment of God, but from a Father who truly believed his word and actions stemmed directly from the all seeing eye above. But, like Jake had already so pointedly said, we were here alone. Just the two of us. No other man nor God in sight.

"Have me." I whispered.

I heard him hold in his breath. Already so close to my mouth, all he had to do was let it happen. Nobody was ever free from temptation, and I was sordidly aware of my need to walk directly into it's aching path.

If God truly did exist somewhere between this mortal coil and the thereafter, I believed that he would not blindly lead me to be tempted beyond my ability. That I may be able to endure it. My spirit and my body in unison for the very first time.

"You would hate me if I did." He whispered back, "I'm wicked, Bonnie. So much more wicked than you could ever imagine."

I didn't believe that anyone quite so beautiful as him could ever truly be wicked. Perhaps wicked in the ways that only brought pleasure, if you were so inclined to allow yourself to enter into that sort of thing.

Was I? That sort of person? He was only two years older than me but exuded an experience which far surpassed mine. Even with his boyish charm and child like nature, he was a man nonetheless. A man that held me in his arms on a hot summer day with the wind chiming through the leaves above us and the softness of the ever trickling water as it ran over rock and earth.

Heaven.

"I ache to know wickedness." I pleaded, feeling insanity wash over me as he still refused to kiss me. "It's not for anyone else to decide."

That one sentence brought him to his conclusion. I could see it there as his brow knitted together delicately, his gaze intensifying.

"You don't know what you've done."

Perhaps not. But I didn't have space for regret. Not when he let our worlds collide. At first, there was nothing but the gentle feel of his lips as they brushed against mine. Softly venturing, exploring what depths he could take with me. A solemn pull back as he checked in with me, I could feel his hand against my balmy cheek. Alabaster turning pink as the blood began to pump harder in my veins. I was breathless without even having to move.

When he'd ascertained that I wanted it, he returned to me. Pressing his lips against mine a little harder. Letting his head tilt to the side, our noses pressed flush into each others cheeks.

I don't know what it was that I expected. Certainly not the rush of adrenaline as he opened his mouth. Nor the moisture gathering between my legs that was certainly not due to the weather as I felt the slippery tip of his tongue converge into my mouth. It was soft and slow, only brushing against mine with subtle intimation that he wanted more.

I suspected that this was purposeful. Nobody had watched us as closely as he had and not drawn the conclusion that I had never been kissed before. I suspected that he knew this was my first time. And he treated it as such. Sweeping his thumb against my cheek bone, letting me whimper softly into his mouth as he pulled away only to slake his hand around the back of my neck and pull me up into an embrace that had more meaning behind it.

And then he stopped. Forehead rested against mine, breathless and lips drenched in each other. He didn't let me go, clutched me harder in fact. Made me wonder if patience truly was a virtue.

"I have thought about this moment over and over." He swallowed, kissing me again so briefly I barely had time to reciprocate before he'd pulled away again. "And always, I'm painfully aware of your virginity. I don't want to hurt you, Bonnie."

Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was something else. I let my knees unfold, the hem of my dress crawling up my thighs. Immediately I was aware of just how tightly I'd been clenching them, my body immediately softening in his grasp.

"Take it." I offered. "It is yours."

He would have it. Retrieving his senses at the shock of such a thing, he ran a gentle palm down my stomach and his hand came to rest at my waist.

"You're not a good Christian girl at all, are you?" He ventured, kissing me with a little more fervence.

Although the presumption was made based on my willingness to part with my virginity and give it up to him, I knew I'd been a sinner for far longer than I cared to admit. My thoughts had been impure before we moved to Beech Run. The levels of depravity increasing ever since Jake had made his presence known. I wasn't a good Christian girl at all. Not behind closed doors. Not anywhere where thoughts were free.

"I've committed all manner of sins in my mind." I replied honestly, my tongue lilting against my teeth, prepared for another kiss. "Wouldn't you? If you couldn't do anything? Have anything?! Wouldn't you imagine what it felt like?"

"Oh, I would." He replied, licking into my mouth with all the urgency of a man who had been granted his greatest wish. "But I don't want you to imagine anymore. I want to give you everything you've ever wanted."

He laid me back down. Sinfully slow. Taking in the sight of me, hair fanned out on the blanket and my lips swollen. My breasts sitting comfortably beneath a modest neckline, my sun dress being something I would have worn to church. Wondering if he felt the same fear that I did.

"Give it to me, then." There it was, that little beg that had been threatening to spill out of my mouth ever since he'd put the blanket down.

His hand travelled further south. Parting my knees. He ripped another blade of grass and settled it between his thumb and index. Teasing it above my face in the air, making me nuzzle into his chest as I tried to run from it.

But he didn't run it against my cheek. I soon realised it was for a far more nefarious purpose. I dared to peek out from his embrace. A look of total devotion there as he swept the blade up my inner thigh. The almost breath like touch of it reminded me of how it had felt as I'd walked towards him. I held my breath. My dress sat just below where my underwear could be seen, everything else on display. And he unashamedly caressed me, using the blade as his guide.

"Soft little babygirl." He crooned, "It'd be almost cruel to ruin you."

I didn't need his protection from it. The inflection of annoyance at his suggestion that my virginity was something I wanted to keep was hard to hide. My expressions betraying me as I looked up at him.

"Lucky for you, I can be cruel." He added, marking his territory on my heart. "Would you like me to be cruel?"

"If the devil so wishes." I replied, "I fear I'm already ruined by my own intrusive thoughts."

The tip of the blade ran down the fabric which sat between it and my naked flesh. At it's most vulnerable spot.

"You don't have to be virtuous with me. Not anymore." He promised, "I'm not your Daddy."

It was clear invitation to step into my desires.

"Tell me I'm a good girl, Jake." I needed it. "You can be as cruel as you like, just tell me I'm good."

I don't know why I needed to hear it. Maybe there was a part of me that still dwelled in the church where I needed to be holy in order to exist.

His eyes widened at my demand. Staring at me, like I was Jesus on the cross and he had come to worship. He let the blade of grass go. Preferring to run his hand up my thigh instead. I shuddered. Let my lip curl into my teeth. Never taking my eyes off him as he brushed a fingertip against my moist crotch.

"Such a good fucking girl." Partnered with the curse word, his praise left me bound to him. "Does my good little girl want to get fucked?"

The abruptness of his question left me open mouthed. I wasn't shocked because it offended me, I was shocked because the answer was an unequivocable yes. They way he claimed me with that one, solitary use of the word my left me dizzy. Of course I was his. And all I could do was nod my consent.

"You tell me you're innocent and beg to get fucked with the same mouth." He breathed against my lips, hooking a solitary finger around the fabric of my panties, his knuckle brushing against my slit. "That's my extra specially good girl, isn't it?"

He was playing with me. Strumming me like his guitar, like a song written just about me. Pulling down my underwear until they sat at my knees, I was completely at his whim.

"I'm not going to fuck you, though." He said softly, raking those same calloused fingertips that had held my face as he kissed me through the sodden valley of my pussy lips. "Not yet."

I knew it was futile to beg. Not when he so gently and pliantly planed his fingers down the edges of what I could tolerate. He would bring me to the brink and tell me it was what I needed. Dancing with the devil, my sinful thoughts brought to light. I'd never been happier than I was right there on that blanket in the tall grass. In the shade of the grove of tree's that surrounded us, in the hottest summer I'd ever recall.

"You're so fucking beautiful." He said, leaning back into a kiss that was now familiar, his tongue edging into my mouth enough to send a flood onto his fingertips. "You tempt me so..."

"Anything, Jake." I breathed, "Anything you want, just tell me what to do."

He softly ran the pad of his thumb over my aching, swollen clitoris. I moaned, let my eyes close, turned my face away in fear that I would look ridiculous to him. I'd never dared to venture to that part of myself before. Letting the throb ebb and flow whenever I was aroused, never allowing myself a moment to indulge in it.

"Pull my zipper down." He instructed, rutting his hip into my side. "It's kinda uncomfortable down there."

In the furore of him touching me, I'd failed to notice his maddening bulge. I felt foolish and girlish, stupid for not realising he was aroused too. My hand wasted no time in releasing him. Pulling down his zipper and opening the button of his denim shorts. I didn't dare put my hand inside, still feeling a little trepidation of touching him back. But the relief was there as he eyes rolled back, grateful just to be free of the constraints against his hard on.

"I want so badly to sink my fingers inside you and ruin this pretty little pink thing." He murmured against my ear. "Tell me it's ok. Tell me I can feel you from the inside."

I couldn't bear it. The need to be penetrated coupled with the fear of whatever pain might accompany it. But he was too beautiful to deny. The tip of his nose pressed against my cheek, his breath warm and like fire.

"I'm ready." I replied, even if my mind had not been quite up to speed with my body, I still would have let him have his way.

Not simply because of the way he turned me on. But the way he made me feel so cherished whilst doing it.

"Relax for me, sweet girl." He whispered, lips pecking kisses against my temple, hands opening my thighs a little wider. "Just let me take care of you."

The sting of a single digit cast aspersions throughout my body. He was slow in his intention, hissing back a soft moan as he let it slide all the way to his knuckle. I fought against my body's responses to cry out in pain. It hurt. But everything else was a welcome distraction. His voice. His scent. The feel of his body next to mine. All of it.

"Look at you." He praised, railing his kisses back down to my mouth. "The goodest of all girls."

He began to slowly pull it back, savouring the way my mouth opened at the sensation of him sliding it back inside. He didn't attempt to add more fingers, or ruin me the way he'd promised. He simply enjoyed the way I felt. The way I showed him my devotion in simpering moans and errant panting. His middle finger buried deep inside, palm pressed against my wet clit. Completely at his mercy.

"You've bewitched me, Bonnie." He confessed in soft whispers, "With your tight little innocent pussy. And that fucking smile, I can't stay away from you..."

No church girl could ever do witchcraft any justice. But I believed him.

"Then don't" I urged, not knowing what it would mean when the time would come for us to pick up this blanket and leave.

"Never..." He buried his tongue into my mouth, venturing deeper than he had before. "Will you cum for me, pretty little sweet thing?"

I didn't know what he meant. And I wouldn't spoil whatever spell I had managed to weave by asking him. If I were a flower I could feel my petals begin to wilt and fall. How could I tell him that I didn't know what he asked of me? I didn't want him to stop until I was completely deflowered. And whatever it was that he meant by cum, I hoped that I could do it for him.

"Anything...anything you want." I moaned, louder, arching my back to feel his fingertips deeper.

"That's it, oh, you're close..." He said, curling his finger up inside me, in a beckoning motion that almost sent me over the precipice. "You'll know when you get there, my little Ingenué."

His use of another language was unexpected. And his face said it all as I bashfully smiled into another insatiable kiss. He was right, though. I did know when I arrived. There was nothing about it that was anything I could have expected. With no knowledge that such a thing even existed, I was ebbed towards it like I was blind and seeing for the very first time.

At first it was like a muffled song I could hear from another room. The melody was there, I just couldn't pick up the lyrics. All I could see was those beautiful, deep brown eyes of his with the dark circles beneath watching me in wonder as it cascaded over me. The song no longer muffled, the crescendo of a great symphony in my eyes as I finished against his palm. The way he looked so satisfied letting me know that I'd done good.

"Ssssh...sssshhh..." He soothed, "It's ok sweet girl, I promise...it's ok."

I didn't know that there were tears falling down my cheeks until I tasted the salt of them on my lips. The sweet relief of something I hadn't known I'd needed filling me up from the soul upwards. He slipped his finger out and pulled up my panties, making sure that I wasn't hurt.

"I feel so foolish..." I cried, "How could you want me? When I'm like this?"

"It's because of this that I want you." He reassured me, grabbing the length of his aching cock beneath his boxer shorts and adjusting himself to a more comfortable position. "Don't you get it? It turns me on. The thought of nobody before me. That you'd be mine, entirely. And I can promise you here and now, I will protect you no matter the cost."

I couldn't wrap my head around what the cost might be. Only the way he didn't expect me to touch him back in that moment. He started to soften eventually as we laid there together, his hand running gentle strokes through my hair as I calmed. And he tucked himself away, promising that he would save it for another time.

The afternoon was growing late as we packed up and sorrowfully left our quiet little spot. The grass where we had laid all flattened in the perfect shape of where our blanket had been. A sorry reminder that the moment had fleetingly passed. I kept catching his eye as he tucked it underneath his arm, and he reached out to take my hand again.

"What now?" I asked.

"I don't know." He replied, with equal sadness. "But something tells me it'll be worth it."

We walked back in contemplative silence. Content just to be together a few more moments until it would be cruelly snatched from us. I could see that some of the crowds had already begun to disperse as we headed towards the plunge pool. A little less heavy on the noise. I could see Josh and Danny standing by their little group, deep in conversation whilst Ronnie packed up the boom box and cooler. Lewis was idly folding chairs, stacking them up ready to be carried back to the road.

"Where the fuck did you guys go?" Josh asked, watching us approach hand in hand. "Was about to send out a search party. We might have to, if Sam and Jolene don't get back here soon."

I had no concept of the time. I could feel the coolness of late afternoon on my skin, where once it had burned. The sun was still beating down as earnestly as it had been, but it was a little further towards the west.

"Shit, what time is it?" I asked, bile rising in my throat as I began to wonder if Ben was waiting for us up by the gate.

"It's a quarter to six." Josh replied, shaking his wrist as he checked his watch. "Why?"

I let go of Jakes hand. Circling the area for a visual of my missing sister. I couldn't see her anywhere.

"No, no this can't be happening...Ben will be here to pick us up in fifteen minutes..." I panicked, visibly shaking as I ran down towards the creek edge.

I called out her name. But there was no reply.

To be Continued...

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@caprisunsister @thewritingbeforesunrise @takenbythemadness @katuschka @its-interesting-van-kleep @lvnterninthenight @writingcold @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @edgingthedarkness @velveteencatch @lyndz2names @nina-23-45 @itsafullmoon @vikingisthenewsexy @char289

[persephone11110]

Hot and Cold

J.S x Reader

Warnings:quiet reader/happy/confident, protective j.s, mention of past oc death, soft jake seresin, fake date->real dating at the end, bad date, medical inaccuracy, naval inaccuracy, ooc j.s a bit, curse words

Summary: two times jake seresin was secretly in love with y/n l/n and the one time he made sure you knew too.

ofc: Y/n“Mouse”L/n

AN: This is so random, this is me taking a break from Fallen Angel. I’ve read 5+1 b4 from different fandoms but make mine 2+1 bcus i don’t have the brain cells to do that. I don’t know if I like this ENJOY ❤️

—

1. the hard deck

“Kiss me baby”

“Ooh, that feels good”

You leaned against the bar alone sipping on your sparkling water quietly. As much as you loved Rooster’s singing— it was loud and made everyone around you in bar loud. You flinched at the shouts that echoed throughout the bar— you knew everyone was just having fun—something you didn’t quite understand yet.

“You hate Bradshaw’s voice too?” a southern drawl calls out to you. You look back to a man with set of gorgeous green eyes. Holy shit he’s fine.

“H..Hi Seresin” your voice suddenly stuttering—nervousness was rising at the sight of the man.

You instantly recognized the man Hangman, the man that leaves everyone in his dust cloud. He gently puts his hand on your back guiding you to a pair of seats outside.

After pulling out your chair Jake gently smiles at you—“Sorry about that Y/n I couldn’t hear over that chicken shit”. He full on smirking, back at home Jake has a little brother Riley who has the exact same tendencies as you. Shy and Quiet-pratically acts like a ghost.

“Jake” you shot him a disapproving look. “Be kind to Rooster”.

“Why should I Mouse?”, he glances at you, your not dumb you could feel and see the deep hatred the two men have for each other. He sips at his beer before putting it back down on the table.

You sighed,“Because whether you like it or not Rooster might be the one up there with you”. You say easily, you know what it feels like to lose someone up in the air. The feeling of someone’s death weighing on conscious day and night— the infamous What If’s.

He shrinks back—“Who, if you don’t mind me asking ya sweetheart?”. He reaches over and grabs your hand lightly—there’s no heat behind his words, his face is soft and gentle— you could see the real him and not his facade Hangman.

Icarus flew too close to the sun. a teardrop fell from your face.

Painful memories crashed your mind, the day Y/n died, having to listen to banshee like cries of his mother and wife combined. Watching his casket get carefully laid into the ground.

“Me and my wso were shot down in enemy territory”.— it’s classified can’t give to much away. “I know I don't why you and Rooster have differences but all i’m saying is that the last thing you both need is death weighing you down”.

“Thank you Y/n”, Jake cards his fingers over your knuckles.“But I need to get back to terrorizing everyone around me”.

Jake wishes he could stay longer, leaving you is the last thing he wants. But if he stayed longer Jake might confess his feelings for you. Cant have that before a big mission, can we?

“Bye Hangman”, you waved him away.

He stood up and gently dropped a kiss onto your head.

“Bye Mouse”

I think I’m in love with her.

—

2. record store

Leave it to loudmouth Phoenix to tell the daggers you had a date tonight. And if you remember correctly Jake had look like he taken a bite into a lemon, sour and confused of why you had a date. When you could be dating him.

“Come on Y/n, your going ditch takeout with me for a random date tonight?”, His eyes fan over to you, as you stood at his kitchen sink.

“Well excuse me Seresin some of us weren’t grace with beauty like others”, you snapped, throwing your lipstick in your purse hastily.

“Goodbye Jake”, you turned on your heel not daring to look back to see if Jake even cared enough to come after you.

You lonely walked the aisles of the record store alone, it was too good to be true, why would a man like Jordan waste him time on you. Maybe you weren’t destined for love—maybe your life would end with you being old cat lady who’s suffered from a broken heart decades early.

You found yourself standing infront of various records Ready to Die, At Last, Enter The Wutang—36 Chambers. All of your favorites album.

“Well at least I know music taste”, God damn it you recognized the arrogant accent from anywhere.

You counted to five before turning around to see Jake. “H-Hello”, you stutter out, Jake was in a three piece suit, with a bouquet of lily’s in his hand. Your favorite flowers, the suit you helped him pick out weeks ago.

“Hey there darlin”, he leans over you—dropping a kiss onto your hair. “I’m sorry for being a bastard”, Jake softly apologizes to you. Your taken back at the softness of his voice.

“How did you—”, you cut yourself off unsure if really wanted the answer.

“Easy, Bradshaw told me that jackass was at the hard deck with a girl hanging off his arm”. , Your shoulders deflated with sadness, you were right- no man is going to spend time with a woman like you. Tears trickled down your face—“Hey, Hey sweetheart whats with the tears?”. His voice more softer.

Your shoulders bounce with sadness at your face found it’s self into the crook of Jake’s neck. “I just wished someone loved me”, you mumbled, to him yet he could hear how much emotion filled your words.

“Come on sweetheart, what do you think i’m doing down here”, he pulls you from him—“You don’t need that jackass to have fun, you have me?”, he whispered into your ear.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah” he promised, “I booked us a reservation at Gio’s, and besides Bradshaw and Trace tossed Jordan on his ass after they caught him”. A bit of laughter came out your mouth as you smiled. “Two black eyes and a suit don’t mix well together”, he lightly poked at you.

“Fine Seresin”, you interlocked arms with him, “Lead the way”.

He could feel his heart throb with excitement.

“Alrighty Y/n you win”. you and Jake walked arm and arm to his car before he opens the car door for you, ushering you into his car. You flashed a smile at him.

I think I’m in love with her.

—

3. uss?(day of the mission)

“I came to see Lieutenant Jake Seresin”, your tone wavering with fear, logically you knew he was fine—you saw him and Bradley shake hands and smile at each other. But that didn’t mean anything to you, not after you lost Hunter in the air.

“Lieutenant L/n” the doctor tone drenched with stress, “Seresin is busy—”, she was cut off by a southern accent filled with arrogance.

“I’m very good. In fact, I am too good to be true.”, the doctor scoffs-sidestepping, granting you access to Jake.

The cocky son of bitch was laid out on the cot with a grin on his face. “Haven’t see you in a bit sweetheart”. He was laying there as if he hadn’t almost lost his life.

You must’ve allowed some type of emotion to cross your face because the next thing you knew a brusied Jake was pulling down with towards him. Your head tucked under his chin, as you both laid in silence.“Feeling that Y/n?”, he drawled out.

“Yeah I do”, your voice is gentle. “J..Jake I thought I lost you”, your voice wavered.

“I know sweetheart I thought I did too”, he sits up with you in his lap.“I had to save Pops and Rooster you know that right?”.

“Without a doubt”, you managed to run your fingers through his hair. “And you did amazing job of that too, whilst also scaring the shit outta of me”.

“I’m surprised Cyclone isn’t here yet, tearing me a new one”, Jake tells you—adding a kiss to your hand.

“He’s coming soon for a debrief, and the last thing he needs is two of his top lieutenants laid up in bed together Jake”. you tried moving from his embrace.

Jake easily held you back“Y/n I really don’t give damn right now”.

“Jake”, you said.

“What sweetheart?”.

“Kiss me”, you playfully puckered your lips out.

“God damn darlin took you look enough”, his hand cupped the back of your head.

“I’m in love with her”

[the1975attheirverybest]

A Strange Encounter

A/N: requested Matty X writer OC is finally here. Sorry about the delay. Idk if this is a longer fic soft launch or not. Just a thing I wrote

Warnings: none

———-

Matty swore he could feel the sweat running down his back. He glanced around the room, his anxiety rising as he failed to spot any of the faces that he’d expected to see here tonight. He’d spent the better part of the year wearing ties onstage, but, for some reason, in this moment, his tie felt suffocating. He loosened it slightly but quickly fixed it back up, feeling like a fish out of water at this charity event.

Scanning the room for a quiet place to take refuge in, he spotted the open bar and rushed towards it.

“Thank fuck,” he mumbled to himself rushing in the direction of the free alcohol. As he approached the bar, he became aware of a solitary person, a woman, sitting atop one of the barstools, her back towards him, drinking alone. She turned around as she felt him get closer, giving him a polite nod.

He nodded in return, flashing her a quick smile.

“What can I get you, sir?” the bartender offered.

Matty almost ordered a glass of wine, but, on a whim, he turned towards the woman instead, “what’re you having?” he gestured towards her glass.

“A Cherry lime tequila.”

“is it any good?”

She nodded.

Matty turned back to the bartender. “I’ll have what she’s having, please.” He sat at the other end of the bar, losing his battle against the tie.

Moments later, the bartender returned with Matty’s drink in hand. The woman watched, out of the corner of her eye, as Matty whispered a polite ‘thank you,’ and took a sip of his drink. She noticed his face scrunching as the drink pour down his throat.

“How is it?” She asked, pressing her lips together to hide her amused smile.

“G- uhh- good.” Matty lied. “I’m Matty, by the way.” He moved one bar stool closer.

“Claire.”

He smiled softly, thinking of the next thing to say.

“So…Claire, what’s your vibe?”

“My- vibe?”

Matty swore he could see her skin physically crawl. He giggled, embarrassed. “That- is the dumbest thing that I’ve ever said in my entire life.”

Something about the way that he could instantly poke fun at himself without looking self-conscious softened her towards him.

“Let me try this again. Like an adult: you hear for the writers’ charity thing?”

“I am.”

“Me too!” His tone was a bit more enthusiastic than he’d hoped. “I’m a songwriter.” He offered up, calmer now, adjusting his demeanor. “Never been to one of these things before. To be honest, I kind of hate them. Fuckin rich people trying to make themselves feel better about the dystopian world that they’re partly to blame for by hosting fuckin fundraisers and chairing charitable foundations.”

Claire took a sip of her half empty glass, nodding as Matty spoke.

“So, what about you. You a writer too?”

She smiled, “yeah, I am. Fiction, though.”

She could see a light flash across his face. He leaned in closer, “that’s fuckin cool. Anything I might have read?”

“No.”

Matty frowned at her immediate, emphatic answer. “Why- not? Are you not any good?”

“Oh, I am. I just…” she adjusted her feet underneath her, sitting up straight.

“Just what?”

“Just don’t think it’s the kind of fiction that you would read.”

Matty’s lips parted, ready for a retort, but none came. After a moment of silence, he finally thought of something. “You’ve only just met me. You don’t know what kind of fiction I read.” His tone has an edge to it, but he remained composed.

“Oh, but I do- guys like you- the hair gel, the

loose tie, the general aversion to formal settings…you probably read Jack Kerouac and Kurt Vonnegut, and, like, David Foster Wallace.”

“Ha! Jokes on you. I’ve never read Vonnegut.”

His response caught her off guard, making her laugh.

“But, yeah I’ve read On The Road….and yeah I like David Foster Wallace.”

She had a triumphant look on her face. “Pale

King?”

“No, Infinite Jest, actually.” Matty watched her expression shift again. His turn to feel triumphant.

“You’ve read all of Infinite Jest?” She whispered, as if the revelation were some kind of secret.

“Twice.”

She studied him closely, pleased with the unexpected turn of their conversation.

“And…” Matty took a sip of his drink. “For your information, I also like Joan Didion, and Virginia Woolf, and Flannery O’Connor.”

She giggled, taking Matty aback by the effect that the sound of her laughter had on him. He looked away from his drink instantly, eyes focused on her.

“So you’re saying you’re not a complete cliche?”

He nodded. “Well, what about you, then? What kind of fiction do you like?”

Her lips curved into a smile as she heard his question, she leaned in to meet him halfway, but before she could speak, a well-dressed member of the venue staff approached her and whispered into her ear, pointing to the watch on his wrist.

She nodded, turning back to Matty with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, if you’ll excuse me, I- I’m afraid I have to go. It was a pleasure meeting you, Matty.”

For the second time tonight, Matty found himself speechless. He wanted to say something, anything at all, but when his lips parted, no sound came out. Instead, he watched her walk away, getting smaller and smaller the further she got away from him.

***

The rest of the night droned on as Matty attempted to make polite conversation with screenwriters, journalists, and authors of various kinds around his table. He couldn’t help pulling out his phone to check the time, every time there was a lull in conversation.

In front of him, the event organizer stepped onstage announcing that the last speaker of the night was up next. It would be the host of the fundraiser and chair of the organization, Claire Jones.

Matty’s head whipped around, looking up from his phone and watching as Claire took the stairs from the side of the stage, walking towards the lectern.

He recalled the snide comments that he’d made to her about his disdain for these kinds of events and the people who organize them. He felt embarrassed. She must think he’s a complete asshole. Unsure if he should be looking at her, or how to control his facial expressions appropriately, he decided he’d be better off staring at his shoes until her speech.

Matty thought that, realistically, her speech couldn’t have been more than a few minutes long, but it felt like ages. He struggled to even register her words as his own echoed in his head. He sat there, wondering if he should apologize, wondering if it mattered, if she cared one way or the other, and wondering why he cared so much.

The sound of applause filled the room, Claire Jones stepped off the stage, esteemed guests began to move around tables and mingle, shaking hands with each other, hugging, catching up, and exchanging numbers.

By the time that Matty had made his way to the other end of the room, Claire was nowhere to be found. He walked the perimeter of the room a couple of times, hoping to spot her, but when he failed to find her, he defeatedly meandered towards the exit, sticking his hand into his pocket and pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

The nighttime breeze was merciful on his face. He hadn’t realized that he’d felt suffocated until he’d made it outside. He stood on the sidewalk, leaning against the building, smoking his cigarette. He was surprised to find himself disappointed that he’d never see Claire again.

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Using only lyrics from music, convey the dreams of each of your oc’s

You said OC’s, so in addition to the Until I Found bois (which I’m not so sure count as original characters so much as re-envisioned versions of the characters) I’ll also be doing songs for my babies from The Future and a Robot

UIFY

Leon: "But I have a plan... and I will be remembered -- I will be great -- Just wait and see! You'd better wise up, 'cuz I'll rise up! BRING ON ANY CHALLENGE! And someday soon, I swear -- I don't know how or when -- but I promise you, I'll never be invisible again! Someone will notice... me."

‘Phael: "I can't be what you expect of me... and I'm not what I seem... but I would love to know you --! Is it dangerous... to dream??"

DvD: "I will make you proud! I will make you have faith in me. I will prove that the way I used to be is all in the past. I will save the day, and come back here triumphantly! 'Cause I long for that look of surprise when you see your son rising at last! The pride in your eyes when you see your son rising at last!!"

Michael: "Just let me give you the freedom to dream and it'll wake you up, cure your aching, take your walls and start 'em breaking -- now that's a deal that seems worth taking! ...But I guess, I'll leave that up to you."

April: "One normal night, that's all I want, that's all I need from you. One normal house without a mouse to feed a plant or two!”

Karai: "As a child you would wait and watch from far away, but you always knew that you'd be the one that worked while they all played. In youth, you'd lay awake at night and scheme of all the things that you would change, but it was just a dream... Here we are, don't turn away now - we are the warriors that built this town!"

Draxum: “The rule of the land, it's so crucial to obey… Believe in yourself, or you won't be appreciated -- Don’t you overthink it, JUST DO WHAT I SAY!! Lay the politics out before me, whatever it takes to get my glory!”

Big Mama: “Money, money matters most! Money, money I can boast -- Money, money, make a toast to -- Money! Money! Money!” OR "Come live with us in the garden… there’s a room waiting for you… come on, come on, come on! Just let us adore you…”

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

TFaaR

Lloyd: “So now I'll sing for you 'til I can't talk! I've been teaching myself to speak for when the music's not enough. I'm gonna be just like you and never stop, mm-mm. But since I'm made from you, do you think I could be someone like you?"

Julia: "And when I find my hope Imma bring it on home!”

Harris: "I don’t know when… I don’t know how… but I know something’s starting right now! Watch and you’ll see, someday I’ll be part of your world!”

Imogen Love: “What good’s a dreamer without a believer? We all just need someone to care! One who might listen and root for our wishes, someone to simply be glad that we’re there — what good’s a hand if nobody needs holding? When everything else falls away… if no one believes her, what good’s a dreamer, anyway?”

Ms. Delilah Emelyn: “One way, or another, I’m gonna find ya -- I’m gonna getchya, getchya, getchya!”

Dr. Alger J: “Can't wait to meet you! So join the animatronic family! We open real soon; try your best to hold onto sanity.”

If you can guess the songs the lyrics are from, you get 10 points

[crowsandturtlesandbatsohmy]

Project: Give the Rise Boys a Mom

basically I was minding my own business a while back when I got the idea to make an AU where the boys had a mom growing up as well as Splinter.

So I made an OC. Her name is Araminta, but she goes by Mint. She’s a curly-haired mouse and she’s the boys’ mom.

She has zero impact on the plot because we all know nothing can stop these boys from causing/getting into chaos. She’s just there to be a stable adult presence in their lives.

anyways here’s a couple snippets of her and the boys interacting.

————————————————- “Oh Mother Dearest! It is I, your favorite child.”

Mint looked up from her book. “Donnie, you know I don’t have favorites.”

Donnie pouted. “Funniest child?”

“Donnie.” Mint gave him a pointed look.

“Dejected sigh. Fine. It is I, Donatello, your not favorite child.” A pause, and Donnie’s eyes narrowed. “Who took my spot? Because if it was Leo he stole the last of the pudding cups and didn’t tell anyone.”

Mint rolled her eyes affectionately. “Did you need something Donniecule, or are you just digging for nonexistent clues about my nonexistent favorite child?”

“One day I shall prove you have a favorite and that said favorite is me, but alas, this is not a research visit.”

—————————————————

“Oh Mamá!”

“Mom-Mom!”

Mint looked up from the pot of soup she was stirring as Leo and Mikey raced into the room.

“Mom-Mom, Leo and I had this idea—“

Leo clamped a hand over Mikey’s mouth. “I’m explaining it, I’m the face man and it was my idea!” He looked up at Mint. “So Mamá, I had this great idea— Yeuck!” Leo cut himself off and shook his hand, then wiped it off on Mikey’s shoulder. “Really? We’re that immature now?”

Mikey gave Leo a smug grin, then turned back to Mint. “As I was saying, we had this idea! There’s an abandoned skatepark on the outskirts of the city and there’s never anyone there!”

“Yeah, we’ve been staking the place out for like a month now and no one’s ever been there! So we were thinking, why not have a family picnic at the abandoned skate park? Then we can show off our moves and have dinner and be outside!”

Donnie, who had quietly been cutting vegetables the entire time, spoke up. “So that’s where you’ve been sneaking off to. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you both disappear at the same time for roughly two hours every day.”

“Why didn’t you just use your trackers and figure it out?” Leo folded his arms across his chest. “Since we know you put them on us.”

“What? No! I most certainly did…n’t. Put trackers on you. That does not sound like something I would do.” He turned back to the carrots. “You must be mistaken.”

Mint shook her head in exasperation at the twins, then met Mikey’s gaze. “You’re sure there’s no one around?”

“Positive!”

“Did you check for cameras?”

Mikey and Leo grew silent and turned to look at each other.

“No,” Mikey said at last, turning back to Mint.

“I did.” 

All three of them turned to look at Donnie, who slid his precisely chopped carrots off the board and into a bowl of other carrot slices.

“Raph and I followed you there once. I made sure there weren’t any cameras. It’s safe.”

“Hey!” Leo pointed an accusing finger at Donnie. “Then what was that remark about finding out where we were going for?”

“Ensuring that you both know I was aware of your being gone the entire time. You’re not sneaky.”

“I don’t need to be sneaky to wipe that smug grin off your face!” Leo lunged towards Donnie.

Mint caught him with her tail. “Let’s not do that while Donnie’s holding a knife, hm?”

“Evil chuckle,” Donnie said quietly.

“Donnie, that does not mean you have permission to stab your brother.”

Donnie paused and cocked his head, metaphorical gears turning. “Which one?”

“Any of them.”

Donnie’s sharpie eyebrows drew together and he stuck his tongue out in disappointment as he turned back to the carrots.

—————————————

So that’s Mint :) I might drop some more snippets featuring her every once in a while.

[throwawaywritingstation]

I wrote this for my OC. Now you can have it as a not really edited insert reader. No beta, we die like.

Characters are imagined to be around 20-25. They were teens when I was a teen, and now I'm older, so they are too. Don't like it? Don't read it.

18+. Smut lies ahead. MDNI.

Rise Raph x Reader

Pronouns aren't used, but reader is afab and has body parts as such.

You were frustrated. Understanding, but frustrated. It had been just about a year since you and the behemoth snapper had become an official couple, and while the past (almost) 12 months made you happier than you had been in years, there was just one concern that kept floating in your brain. Your boyfriend wouldn't touch you. Sure, the two of you had made out plenty of times, but as soshe you'd try to escalate the situation, he was quick to fluster and move his (or your hands) into a more chaste position.

You sighed as you laid on Raph’s bed. You and your beau had been locking lips before he very abruptly had to rush out with his brothers to a villian attack. Even just light kissing was enough to get you worked up these days. To say you were sexually frustrated would be an understatement.

You'd been with him long enough that it was normal to start being intimate, right? You certainly wanted to be. As big as your boyfriend was, he was always gentle. You wanted to know what it might be like to have him touch you, to feel you, in ways far more intimate than a hand on your hip or shoulder. You groaned and rolled onto your back, snuggling one of the various plushies on the bed as you tried to get your body to stop aching. Were you doing something wrong? Was he not attracted to you? What if he just wasn't into you anymore but was too nice to break it off? You didn't even want to consider that last option, but you was running out of excuses. You weren't going to force him to do anything he didn't want to do, but you desperately wanted him to make some kind of move.

After about an hour, the red clad turtle had returned, though you hadn't noticed. You had fallen asleep in your boyfriend's bed, cuddled up with his array of stuffies. Raph smiled softly at the sight. He never considered that he'd ever be in a position where someone, anyone for that matter, would willingly be with him. He put his weapons and heavier gear aside and made his way to where you were dozing. He sat next to you, causing the bed to dip, but you still didn't stir. Softly and gently, Raph stroked her cheek with the back of his giant three fingered hand. The fur on her face was so soft, a huge contrast to his rough scales. Your face scrunched a little, before she opened her eyes. Upon registering that it was in fact your boyfriend's hand on your cheek, you nuzzled into it.

“Took you long enough. Guess it was a big fight, huh?” You placed your hand over his, before intertwining your fingers as best you could. Raph let out a low chuckle.

“It wasn't great, I can tell you that. But those baddies are no match for Raph. And my brothers too I guess.” He grinned and leaned down to kiss your forehead. You responded with a kiss to the tip of his beak in return.

“Of course they're no match for you,” ypu began to scratch at Raph’s jaw and under his chin, “My boyfriend is the toughest guy around. Trust me, I'm an expert on this.” A low churr began to vibrate from his chest. The comforting scratches he was receiving doubled with the praise made it easy to fully relax. Before he knew it, he was fully leaning into your hands and his tail was slowly swaying from side to side. He was truly and utterly whipped for the person in front of him. Not that he minded, of course. He scooted in closer before laying down fully beside you.

“So, what did you do while I was out? Anything interesting?” He slid his arms around your waist and nuzzled the top of your head, leaving a few more kisses there. You nuzzled back into the crook of his neck as he pulled you close.

“Eh. I kind of just thought to myself and took a nap. Nothing crazy.” You tapped your fingers on his tough plastron.

“Thinking? What about? Raph’s a pretty good listner’.” The snapper smiled down at you, but you seemed a little…worried? Upset? He couldn't exactly tell.

“Hey, is everything okay? If I didn't have to skip out on you earlier you know I wouldn't have, right?” You nodded, but your expression didn't change. The snapper fretted, “Did I do something?”. You sighed. It was now or never. Healthy relationships were built off of good communication after all.

“It's not that you did anything… moreso… Ugh! this is embarrassing.” You left your boyfriend's grasp and sat up, placing your face in her hands. Concerned, he followed quickly, placing a large hand on your back in an attempt to comfort his clearly upset girlfriend.

“Hey hey it's okay! I'm sure it's not that bad. Just tell ol’ Raphie what's on your mind.” You took a deep breath to gather your thoughts.

“We've been together for almost a year and I just…I guess I'm worried you aren't attracted to me…?” You looked away as your face began to heat up. Raph's eyes widened, clearly shocked at such a concept.

“What? You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen! If anyone should be worried about appearances, it should be me! Why would you think that?”

“Well it's just… We uhm. We makeout but we never really take it further than that…? We're both adults and I know if you're not ready, you're not ready but I just…I really want you to…you know… touch me. I guess I thought that maybe the reason why you haven't was because you didn't find me attractive…” Now it was Raph's turn to flush.

“O-oh. Well.. uh… I promise you it's not that! I just… well…I don't got a lot a’...um…experience on that front.” Before he could try to elaborate, he found you almost sitting in his lap, hands on his chest. He blinked up at you, suddenly feeling very small.

“Well I mean…practice makes perfect, right? Unless you uhm…really don't want to…” You tried to be as confident as possible, but faltered a bit. You didn't want to come on too strong, but you also couldn't ignore how much you wanted your boyfriend to finally touch you in ways that weren't chaste. Raph cleared his throat, cheeks fully flushed.

“I uh…I would like to, but what if I end up hurting you? Raph is kinda a big guy.” He shivered a bit as he felt soft hands start to rub along his arms. The atmosphere was completely different from earlier.

“You're not gonna’ hurt me Raphie. You worry too much. Just…follow my lead, okay? And if you don't like something, we'll stop.” You placed a soft, slow kiss to his beak and sat back, allowing him a moment to think it over before he nodded in the affirmative. Finally. You was finally going to move past first base. “I want you to touch me Raph. Wherever you want? Okay?” You brought her hands to his cheeks, thumbs brushing over the spikes there, before bringing him into a deep kiss.

With a little hesitation, you felt his hand drift to your hip, and then slowly but surely, down to your ass. His touch was feather light. A small improvement, but not enough. Groaning into his mouth, you backed your ass into his hand.

“C'mon Raphie, you're not gonna hurt me. It's okay to grab me a little. I'm not gonna break, I promise.” You gave his beak a nip and started kissing down his neck. He shuddered before letting caution to the wind and gripping your ass firmly. He squeezed the soft flesh in his hand, drinking in the new sounds coming from you. While he wouldn't say it out loud, he could smell you. He could smell you now, and he had smelled you many times before. A scent that, frankly, drove him crazy. He always tried to push it away, for fear of losing control and being a bit too rough with you, but now with you basically offering yourself to him, he couldn't help himself. He latched his lips onto her neck, nibbling at her before lifting his hand and bringing it back down on your ass. You let out a soft yip, before groaning into his neck where you continued to nip and suck. Your scent had spiked just then. Fuck. Why hadn't he just done this earlier?

Just from a simple grope and spank, you was in heaven. For so long you wanted to see this side of him, and you were going to make the most of it. You leaned back before brazenly taking off your shirt. Her bra that day wasn't anything fancy, but it wasn't anything too plain either. By the look on his face, you figured your boyfriend didn't mind. With his free hand, he ran his fingers along your side, stopping just short of your breasts. Even now he was still considerate. You simply placed her hand on his, bringing it over her chest. Your tits weren't small by any stretch, but under your beau’s massive hands, you could have been fooled to think otherwise.

“You're so beautiful..” He experimentally rolled the soft flesh in his hand. How did he get so lucky? Not only to have someone interested in him, but a partner that so clearly desired him. You whimpered as his thumb traced over your nipple through the offending bra.

“You're not too bad yourself, you know?” You continued to let his hands wander as you took in each sensation. You felt his thumb slowly brush under the fabric. “Want it off, big guy?” He nodded before placing a few kisses between your breasts. Carefully, you unclipped it and tossed it aside. Before you could react he was on you. His tongue lathed over your chest before he brought one peak into his mouth while teasing the other with his thumb. You squealed and brought your hands to his head, encouraging him to continue. He was definitely getting more confident, and you wanted to encourage that behavior. You moaned out for him as he continued to circle your nipple with his tongue, switching to your other breast so as to not leave any spot untouched.

“Raphie~ That feels so good…You're doing so good for me~” You had heard him churr before, but this was different. It was deeper, louder. It vibrated outwards from his chest and you could swear she felt it transfer to your own. He continued to lick and nip and suck at your chest as his hands found her hips once again. With a confidence previously missing, he gripped tightly and pushed your now throbbing center down onto his thigh. You cried out, already starting to get overwhelmed with sensations. You rocked herself back and forth, creating a delicious friction over your still covered cunt. You were soaked, but you knew that already. What you didn't know was that you wasn't the only one. Raphs own slit was leaking under his shorts. He wanted so badly to drop, but he held his composure. You was his main focus, but you had other ideas.

“You've been–ahn! Making me feel so good Red, I want to make you feel good too. Show me? Please?” Were you panting? When did you start panting? You didn't know.

“Y-you sure? I uh…what I have is a bit different…” He was panting too. When did you both get so worked up? You backed up and lifted yourself off his lap.

“Of course I'm sure. It doesn't matter what you have going on. I just wanna’ make you feel good. Let's get those shorts off of you. You can take mine off later.” You tugged at the hem of his joggers, stretching it and letting it snap back against his skin. Raph swallowed thickly, before nodding. You being demanding was…way hotter than he expected. Bashfully, he moved to take the joggers off, before sitting back down, and settling into a comfortable position. He felt your hands on his thighs as you made your way in front of him. He allowed you to push them apart; his tail twitched in anticipation. The slick from his slit was dripping out of him. You eyed his cloaca curiously, a finger gently reaching out to stroke the tender, swollen flesh. Raph let out a moan and hid his face in his hand. He could have dropped from just that touch.

“Oh. I mean…this isn't that different? I guess I just thought you'd have a…well…you know. I don't mind though.” You smiled and continued to use her now slick coated fingers to rub teasingly along his slit.

“I-I do. It's just–anh! Inside. Fuck, I don't think I can keep it in much longer.” Oh. The cursing was new. You wouldn't mind hearing that a bit more, especially if accompanied by the sweet whimpers your usually intimidating boyfriend was making.

“That's okay Red…I don't mind. Let me see you?” Tentatively and ever so gently, you pressed a finger inside him, bumping against something hard and hot. Raph let out what could only be described as the sound of a wounded animal. Before you could react, your fingers were forced out. Your boyfriend's cock dropped out of him with a lewd squelch, before falling onto his thigh with a wet plap. The first thing you noticed was the massive size of it. In both length and girth, it was a monster. You sheepishly looked from his dick, to his face, then back to his dick as if to do a double take. You let out a low whistle.

“Under normal circumstances, I'd ask how you manage to hide that thing. Fuck, Raph…” All he could do was chuckle a little. Half out of pride, half out of embarrassment. You wanted to touch him, and reached out a hand. You looked at him, and he nodded, giving the green light.

Grasping his length in your hand, the first thing you noticed was how heavy it was. You couldn't fit your entire hand around him. How were you supposed to blow him, you weren't sure. You'd figure that out at a later date. The color of it was interesting. It was a pinkish red, with it getting redder towards the tip. The tip itself was flared out, almost like that of a flower. He was dripping, and you hadn't even started. Slowly but with purpose, you began to move you hand up and down the slick appendage. Raph's head lulled back as he let out a deep moan. You smiled at your boyfriend with half lidded eyes. This is what you wanted for so long. This level of intimacy. You snapper was falling apart right in front of you. You resisted the urge to slip you hand into your shorts to circle your clit.

“Fuck fuck fuck! I-I don't know how long Raph’s gonna’ last. I've never felt so–mmph! S-sensitive before…I'm sorry if it's too quick but your hand just feels–haah! So good.” You hummed and picked up the pace, causing another strangled moan to come from him.

“It's okay Raphie. If you need to let go, let go. I want you to feel good. Do you wanna cum for me Raphie~?” For fucks sake, could you get any hotter? How long had you hid this side of you from him? Why didn't he just make a move months ago? Raph was reduced to a moaning, whining mess and you were to blame. He couldn't keep himself from begging even if he wanted to.

“Yes, please babe, please…! Please please…Fuck!” Your hand sped up further, and Oh God you're leaning down and running your tongue along the tip of his cock. He's gone as soon as you tell him to cum. There's so much. It coats your tongue, your hand, even your cheek. Some of it even reaches his plastron. You ease him down as his thighs shake, nothing had ever felt that intense for him before. His own hand? Ruined. There was no way he could feel better than he did at that moment. Oh. You just swallowed the cum that had shot into your mouth. Guess he could feel better. In his post orgasm bliss, he felt you crawl up towards him as his cock retracted back into himself. You placed a small kiss on his cheek, but hecwasn't having any of that. He grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you in for a deep kiss on the lips. The taste of him was still there as he shoved his tongue into your mouth, but he didn't care. Not one bit.

“Feel good?” You asked, the smugness evident in your voice. He just rolled his eyes, sitting up and pulling you back into his lap. You laughed, and the smell of you hit Raphs nostrils again. The scent of your arousal was even stronger and more intoxicating than before. It was your turn, and he'd be damned if he didn’t make you feel just as good.

“I think you know the answer to that already, pip-squeak.” he kissed your forehead. “If I remember correctly, you promised I could take these off of you.” He fingered at the waistline of your shorts the same way you had done to him. You giggled again.

“I did promise that, didn't I? Well, go ahead big boy. Strip me.” you were going to be the death of him. Your smug confidence was going to make him drop again if he wasn't careful. With a bit of effort, he managed to wrangle off your shorts and panties. You were cradled into his arm, a firm hand finding its way to your ass. With his unoccupied hand, he spread apart you legs just like you had done to him. You were beautiful like this, Raph thought. Your cheeks flushed, your breasts exposed, your cunt dripping. All for him. With feigned confidence, he lowered his hand to your mound, before lazily dragging a finger along your weeping slit. You let out a content sigh, and allowed him to caress you at his own pace.

“You're soaked. All this for me?” He dipped his finger in further, listening to how your breath hitched.

“Only for you Raphie. O-only for you.” You squeaked as the pad of his finger came into contact with your swollen clit. “Right there Raph…Right there feels so good.” You whimpered and let your head fall back into the crook of his shoulder as he circled your clit once more.

“Like this?” He pressed a little harder, and continued to rub at your clit. You could feel even more slick leaking out of your center; you wondered if any of it would end up dripping onto his lap. You legs twitched and your moaned, probably louder than intended.

“Y-Yeah. Right there. Just keep rubbing my clit like that. You're doing so good.” Raphs tail wiggled. He didn't think he'd enjoy being called a good boy, but he was happy to be proven wrong.

“I'm gonna’ take good care of you, babe. I'm gonna’ make you feel so good.” He nuzzled his beak into your neck, nipping and sucking as he continued to work your clit. Growing bolder, he dipped his finger between your folds, circling around your opening, before sliding a finger in. You gasped, feeling yourself clench around his thick finger. It stretched you more than two of your own and reached deeper than you could. You twitched as he began to pump his finger into you at a steady pace.

“Fuck your finger is big Raph. Damn…” You continued to babble on, and Raph drank up every sound.

“If you haven't noticed, everything about me is big.” He chucked, earing a frustrated groan from you.

“Don't get smart with me Red–Ahn!” The snapper had started to curl his finger inside of you as he kept a steady pace. “Fuck, you're a fast learner…Just keep that up…” Raph felt his chest puff out a little at that as he continued to work you open. Before long, his second finger began to prod at your entrance.

“Think you can handle a little more, babe?” He bit at the crux of your neck and shoulder as you whined.

“Yes please…” you huffed, sliding your own hand down to circle your clit as he continued to fuck you on his fingers. It was just his hand, but you could feel yourself getting drunk on his touch. He pushed his second finger in, stretching you even wider. If his fingers filled you like this, you couldn't even imagine what the stretch of his cock would feel like. The fingers on your clit sped up, and Raph did his best to keep pace. Your moans were getting louder and your legs were starting to shake. He could feel your hot center clamping down on his fingers. You was close, right? He was going to feel you cum on his fingers. He was going to make his partner cum for the first time. He could feel slick begin to drip from his slit again.

“Keep going Raph I'm so close! Please please please!” your shaking intensified, and with a few more flicks to your clit, you was pushed over the edge. You cried out, your pussy clenching around Raphs thick fingers as you came hard. He continued to finger you through it, fucking you through wave after wave of intense pleasure. Eventually the stimulation became too much and you tapped at his arm. His fingers remained inside you as you caught your breath, pulsing around the digits. It was like you were trying to keep him inside, but alas, it was not to be. He removed his fingers from you with an obscene squelch.

“Fuck…Look at that.” You groaned, your entire body reduced to jelly. He brought his fingers to his face, observing the shine of your cum costing his fingers. Before he realized what he was doing, he had taken a deep huff of the digits before cleaning them with his tongue. You whimpered as he tasted you on his fingers. “Damn babe, you taste amazing. Next time I think I'll need to get you on my mouth.” You just groaned in approval, a satisfied, lopsided smile on your face. The snapper laid back, pulling you next to him for a much needed cuddle.

“You alright?” He asked. All you could do was nod and cuddle into his plastron. He smiled, giving you one more kiss on your forehead. “Good. We gotta’ do this again soon. I should have never kept you waiting.”

Finally you had both taken the next step, and it looked like even more steps were soon to come.

[agentmarcuspike]

"All My Casualties of Love"

pairing: joel miller x reader/oc (third person, unnamed) cw: descriptions of injuries, unprotected piv, painful sex (it's not supposed to hurt!!), murder (they had it coming), flashbacks, tess is dead (rip), no ellie wordcount: 5k a/n: i've spent too long editing this and i'm still not happy so... please just take it

Joel had decided to never love again. His brother left to find a different life, he lost his partner to the horrors, and now he finds himself wandering, gathering courage to end it all, secretly yearning for a reason not to. And then he finds her. And she ruins everything.

The smoke rises thick and black from the burning house as Joel passes it from a safe distance, the fire emitting some light to the surroundings, but not enough to reach him. He has his rifle on his chest, fingers on his handgun, in case the fire attracts anyone, even though the thick dark and the snow covered ground muffling his steps feels like protection enough. The rare winter storm had narrowly avoided him, but a stray bolt of lightning must have found the house, he gathers. 

It’s been months since he’s seen another person. Walking through the deep forest, the sound of only crunching leaves and screaming birds driving him insane before the snow came and softened everything, and he swears he has started hallucinating. Even now, as he moves a little closer to the burning house, stealing some warmth from the flames, he swears he hears something. It must just be his lonely mind playing tricks on him though, and he’s about to turn and walk away when he hears it again. 

A scream.

The sound is all too familiar, and his breath hitches in his throat. Driven by instinct he starts running towards the noise, but stops himself to think. It could be a trap. It could also be someone in need of help. But that’s not his problem. Not in this world. And yet, when he hears the yell again, he can’t stop his feet from running.

In the orange glow of the flames, about ten meters from the house, Joel can barely make out the contours of a person, face down in the snow, crawling in the opposite direction. Rifle pointed forwards, he takes a few more steps. 

“Hey!” he bellows. The figure freezes, and as he gets closer, gun still pointed at them, he can tell it’s a young woman. No older than 30. She doesn’t look sick, but he asks anyway. No response. He moves to stand in front of her, the butt of his rifle still pressed firmly against his shoulder. 

“I asked you a question,” he repeats. “You infected?” 

The smoke moves heavily around them, and he pulls her to her feet, dragging her towards the road where he came from. When they’re clear of the smoke, he throws her to the ground, pushing the gun back in her face until she scrambles up on her knees and meets his gaze.

Something in her eyes reminds him of the past. A something he’s buried deep down. Six feet to be exact. The look of fear. An emotion he hasn’t had much of for the past fifteen years, because he hasn’t had anything to lose. He lost everything long ago.

“If you’re gonna turn it’s better I end it for you right now.” He still hasn’t looked at her without the weapon between them.

“I’m not,” she finally manages, not breaking eye contact. He doesn’t want to believe her, but he does. 

“Good for you,” he replies, finally lowering the weapon a bit. 

He doesn’t admit, to her or himself, that he wouldn’t actually mind too much if she did turn, thinking it might be an okay way for him to go. Maybe saving her even if she was already doomed might give him some extra karma points before he goes himself.

While the dark makes it hard to see anything at all, his aging eyes not helping, he can see enough to give her a quick once over, making sure she isn’t too hurt and be on his way. But he doesn’t move. The way her eyes never leave his, how she never raised her hands in surrender like people usually do when he aims at them. He’s not sure what it is he sees. Whether it’s just the reflection of the fire in the distance, or something else sparkling, something resembling a will to live, a thirst for life. Which it can’t be, not out here, not anymore. Right?

She doesn’t move until he does.

Desperate, impatient, gulping, choking down the water, thirsty from the smoke she inhaled. He has given her his water bottle, knowing he can easily melt more snow later. They’re walking side by side in the forest, out of sight, but with the road they’re following almost visible through the trees. 

She gives Joel the bottle back, and he briefly considers letting her keep it, but accepts it with a nod.

He clears his throat before speaking. 

“So…” He looks in towards the thick forest. “If you just follow the road, you should get to some old cabins. Just… keep an eye out for people and…” He looks at her briefly, giving a nod to signal he doesn’t really have anything else to say.

“Where are you going?” she asks, voice breaking a little. 

“Setting up camp for the night.” 

“Oh.”

They stand about two meters apart, both looking at the ground. 

“Well…” he begins, as he takes a step away from her.

“Thank you,” she cuts him off, throwing the words out like she wants to get rid of them. “I owe you one.”

Joel huffs. “You don’t owe me anythin’.” The last thing he wants is for someone to be indebted to him. That would involve some sort of connection, and that’s the last thing he wants.

“Well…” she mimics him. They give each other a nod, taking a few steps backwards, while turning and walking their different ways.

When he gets far enough into the thick woods to lay his ragged sleeping bag down on frozen ground rather than snow, curling up inside of it, waiting for sleep, he catches himself wondering if the woman has found a safe place for the night, somewhere warmer than the forest floor. But then he reminds himself, she’s not his responsibility to worry about. He already saved her once. 

She’s slipping through his fingers. The scorching tongue of the fire licking his arms as he’s clutching her to his chest like when she was a baby. She used to love nuzzling into the crook of his neck. As she got older, she’d pretend she didn’t, but whenever she fell asleep on the couch, his arm around her little shoulders, her unconsciousness would still guide her face into him, and his calm breaths would rock her to sleep, exactly like he had just a few, and yet so many, years ago.

She’s not sleeping now. He’s running but his feet aren’t moving. The fire is catching up, surrounding them. He can see her mouth moving, a silent scream as the flames engulf her, and there’s nothing he can do. He yells, and screams, his muscles aching and burning from reaching for her. But she’s lost in the fire, and he’s untouched, hurt not from the inferno but the loss. 

The fire crackles, a taunting sound, saying, “I have her now. And I won’t take you.” 

Gunfire. Joel knew the sound all too well. He had heard it up close and personal. But the bullet that had once grazed the side of his head, at the hands of none other than himself, had made sure he’d never hear it again with more than one ear. He had learned to lean into conversation with his left side, always sleeping on the right.

But people make mistakes, and waking up with his good ear down and the sound of gunfire reaching through his bad one was a good indicator that he was also a person capable of fatal error. 

Throwing himself around to look for the source of the sound, Joel is immediately confused by what he finds. On the ground a good fifty meters away from him, a body. But more confusing than that, right next to his head, a pair of boots. Connected to a pair of legs, it seems, and looking up, there she is, staring down the barrel of his own rifle. But it’s not pointed at him.

Another bang, and another body to the ground. Before he can wrap his head around the situation and reach for the handgun on his hip, a third gunshot rings out, followed by silence. 

Walking side by side, Joel hasn’t uttered a word since he was suddenly awoken an hour or so earlier. Neither has she. He’s grateful they’ve equaled the debts now, and secretly wishes that would mean they could go their different ways without being duty-bound by karma, but he also figures he owes her a thank you.

“S’pose we’re even now,” he mumbles finally, eager to be done with talking. 

“Guess so,” she replies with a half-smile. 

A few more steps in silence. Joel’s breaths come more easily, relieved and ready to move on. 

“So I’m–

“So where you headed?” she interrupts him. 

He’s taken aback for a second, confused by the sudden change of pace in conversation.

“Uhm.” He debates with himself for a second. He’s not even sure he knows. “Just… west,” he lands on eventually. 

She nods. “Just west,” she repeats. 

More silence. He doesn’t know why, but Joel feels an intense urge to fill it.

“Did you follow me?” he asks eventually.

“Not at first.” 

She tells him she was too shaken up and cold to sleep, so she stayed awake near the cabins he’d mentioned to her, which is where she heard a small group of people.

“One of them talked about seeing someone sleeping by themself in the woods, and they all went to check it out, so I followed them, assuming it was you they’d seen.”

She leaves out the part where she managed, armed with only a big branch and a pocketknife, to hit the one standing guard over the head without alerting the others closing up on Joel, and used the unconscious man’s weapon to gun down another one before getting to Joel and his rifle, but he can fill out the blanks himself.

The gun is now strapped to her hip, and she gives it a squeeze. It feels foreign, and it is. She had her own gun with her when she sought shelter in the house, the one she’d had with her for years, but there was no need to go back and look for it under the ashes now. Either way, this one she had preyed straight from a dead man’s hands. She’s done worse, and yet she feels bad about it.

“Thank you,” he says, eventually looking up at her. “For… that.”

She nods and gives him a half-smile. “I owed you one, didn’t I?”

She doesn’t give him much, and it’s not like he wants anything either, but he still feels compelled to ask. To know. 

“You traveling alone, then?” 

She doesn’t answer for a while. 

“My sister…” she begins. Silence again. Joel thinks he understands. He’s about to tell her she doesn’t need to say anything when she continues.

“She was a baby when it began. I was basically a kid too, but when our parents got sick, it was just the two of us. I raised her I suppose. And then a few months back, we had a falling out. We ran into some people, they wanted to join us, she wanted them to join as well. I said no, felt too risky. So, she…” The woman takes a shaky breath. Joel wants to put his hand on her shoulder, show her he understands. He too has felt the pain of a younger sibling leaving. “She, uhm…” 

“S’okay, niña,” is all Joel can muster. “You don’t have to go there.”

She sniffs quickly, and he thinks he sees her wipe a tear away, but then she huffs.

“Niña…?” 

He looks at her with raised brows. “Somethin’ wrong with that?”

“Nothin’ wrong, viejo.” 

A quick huff escapes him. She did not just… 

“Oh, fuck off,” he groans, but he can’t hide his smile while she sneers.

The air feels lighter, and Joel takes a deep breath before speaking again.

“Guess we could share the road for a bit,” he grumbles to his feet, but he catches the smile she can’t contain in his side vision. 

Avoiding the cabins Joel had suggested earlier, he didn’t think they would come across any more houses for a while.

But there it is. In the middle of the woods, covered in moss, surrounded by trees standing so thick the windows seem unnecessary as no light is going to seep through the branches anyway. It can barely be called a shack, but it has walls and a roof, and seeing as the trees stretch to cover the door as well, Joel guesses it must have been left alone for years, untouched. 

He pulls out his knife to cut the branches covering the door, and his new companion takes out the pocketknife from her jacket and starts uncovering the windows on the same wall to see if it’s possible to have a glance inside.

“Wow…” she whispers from beside him, when she uncovers a sliver of glass and peeks inside.

“What? S’it look like anyone’s been in there?” 

“No, it’s… Just get the door open.”

She goes to join him. Even with all the branches and roots and snow covering the bottom of the door removed, it will barely open when they both pull at it. Joel counts to three, and when they yank together it comes off its hinges, parts of the rotten tree of the frame coming with it. He moves it to the side, pulls his handgun out, and takes a step indoors.

As the daylight spills into the room, years of abandonment become glaringly evident. The shack, untouched for a long time, has gathered layers of dust and is swathed in an air of nostalgia. Cobwebs, like delicate lace curtains, hang in forgotten corners. A mysterious stillness prevails, only disrupted by the distant howl of the cold wind outside.

He understands her immediate reaction now. Wow, indeed. It’s like a time capsule. Clearly well lived-in, but not for years. Not since it all began, Joel thinks. It’s a tiny place, one room only. The floor hidden by the thick layer of dust, and the walls covered in frames and postcards. There’s a twin bed in one corner, and a loveseat in the other end of the room. The other corner houses a kitchenette, with a wood burning stove and jar on top of the bench that reads “cookies” in a quirky font. 

“Wow…” The exclamation falls out of her again. Joel looks at her, once he’s certain that the place is safe. She’s looking at the pictures on the walls, touching their frames with a careful hand. He lets her have a moment and moves to open one of the two kitchen cabinets.

There’s not much there. A bag of microwave popcorn, despite there being no microwave, or seemingly any electrical outlets at all. Two cans of beans. A pack of instant ramen. It’s food until tomorrow, he thinks, puts them on the counter, and reaches to open the other cupboard. 

He instinctively ducks as a swarm of black moths fly out. The sound of their collective fluttering wings has her turning as well, and she startles, gasping, the dark swarm moving straight to where she stands in front of the room’s only light source. She screeches, throwing herself to the floor and rolls around as the moths encircle her. Joel runs to waft them towards the open doorway, shimmying his jacket off to help. 

She’s covering her head, laying completely still, as if she’s being attacked by stinging wasps and not gray butterflies, and when the moths finally scatter, he reaches out to carefully touch her back. 

“You alright, chica?” he asks jokingly, squeezing her shoulder lightly. “They’re just moths, you’re okay.”

It’s another thirty seconds for her breath to slow. She sits up slightly, looking around, as if the moths are waiting for her. “I hate bugs so much,” she whispers. Joel can’t help but snicker. In a world full of zombies, and this girl is scared of insects. He grabs her hand, helping her back up to her feet where she wobbles for a second, clutching onto his sleeves.

“I got you.” The consolation just slips out of him. She looks up, mouth slightly open in surprise, before she bursts into laughter. The sound feels like oil in a rusty motor to his ears, and he can’t help but hold back a giggle himself. They stand there for a moment, letting their laughter fill the room, tears pressing out of her eyes.

Caught up in the moment, Joel reaches out to brush away a stray tear escaping her eyes and running down her cheek. He lingers a second too long, and her laughter softens quickly at the intimate gesture as she finds her breath again. She’s the first to look away.

“Look at this,” she says, clearing her throat and walking back towards the picture she was studying minutes ago. Joel walks up behind her, straining his eyes to see the details, his chest brushing her shoulder as he leans in closer.

The dusty gold frame, now a little shinier after her fingers brushing against its sides, wraps around an old faded photograph. Two people sit on a porch in front of a house, bigger than the one they’re in now but not a mansion. The little girl sits between the man’s legs, and they’re both grinning, the young girl seemingly in the middle of a guffaw. Neither of them looking at the camera, both too busy with each other.

A memory awakes in Joel, one he’s been shoving down again every time it’s threatened to spill out. But this time he lets it come. He’s sitting on a porch similar to the one in the picture, with his own little girl laughing in his lap. She was too ticklish (as was he), it was so easy to coax a laugh out of her, even if it always made her tickle him back, both refusing to stop until neither of them could catch a breath. His brother standing patiently behind the camera, wanting initially to get a proper portrait of the two, but ending up with dozens of silly candids, which was a better representation of the duo anyway. 

“She looks like my baby sister.” Her words pull him roughly back to reality, a ringing in his head as if he’s just been slammed to the ground. He hasn’t noticed he’s been holding his breath, and a little gasp escapes him as he finds his way back to the present. The soft sound has her turning to him, and his head snaps to her when she carefully grabs his arm.

“You okay?” Her brows are furrowed, it’s a familiar grimace, even though he hasn’t looked in a mirror for months. Their eyes lock, and neither look away. Joel’s hand moves up to touch her elbow, letting her know she can let go of him, but she doesn’t. She keeps his gaze, and this time, he looks away first.

“There’s some food here. S’pose we could stay for the night.” 

She looks to the one bed, and he quickly adds: “I’ll take the couch.”

“Don’t be stupid, man. You won’t even fit. You take the bed.”

He hurriedly sits down on the sofa, leaning his head back and crossing his arms determinedly.

“Already took this one. Too late.”

She sighs diligently, and rolls her eyes at him, moving towards the open doorway. 

“Whatever, tió. I’m setting a trap or something,” she says as she exits the cabin.

Joel bites his tongue for acting so childish, he’s not sure what’s gotten into him, and he fights with himself to find an excuse that’ll stop her from going.

“Whaddya mean ‘or somethin’?” 

But she’s already left.

They’ve eaten the beans and noodles cooked on Joel’s camp stove in silence. Stubbornly he’s made his way back on his couch, spine already aching from the springs poking through the cushions, and he’s watching his company take in the pictures she’s been staring at all evening. 

“You said she looks like your sister,” he prods carefully when neither of them have said anything for what seems like, even to Joel, too long.

“Yeah…” she answers absentmindedly, back still turned to him.

He gives her a minute before he prompts her again. “She anything like you?”

That gains him a snort. “Polar opposite.”

“How so?” He likes listening to her. Never been much of a talker himself, Joel is surprised to find he’s missed this. Casual chatting, getting to know new people. No pressure prattle, new input. Something to talk about, a break from thinking. Remembering. 

“Well for one,” She turns to him, and saunters over to sit on the armrest of the couch. “She’s a bitch.”

“Hm.” Joel purses his lips. “Thought you said opposite of you.”

A laugh. “Wow! Okay!” She nods, impressed with his audacity, charmed by his cheek. “Malo…”

He smiles at her crude Spanish vocabulary, reminded of his own sibling. “Sorry.” He doesn’t mean it.

She shimmies down from the armrest onto the couch next to him, knees to her chest, leaving half a pillow of space between them. “Who did it remind you of?” It takes him a second to understand what she’s referring to. His eyes glide from hers, questioningly, across the room to the picture on the wall.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. I just…” She searches for her words, the right way to put it. “Felt you tense up behind me. Like you were somewhere else for a second.”

She’s right, of course. He was somewhere else. Across the country, 20 years ago. Memories flood his brain as he fights to hold the tears back. Her laugh, still loud in his ears, but weaker by the day. He clears his throat before speaking.

“M’daughter.” 

An understanding silence. She doesn’t ask more, just waits patiently for him to go on. If he wants to. 

“My daughter,” he says again. “Sarah. The girl in the photo reminded me of her.” 

It’s the first time he’s shared from that chapter of his life in years. Only Tess knew the words, and she was in the frozen ground now too. Only Tommy remains, as his family and keeper of Sarah’s memory. And he’s moved on, made a new family. It feels right, Joe thinks, to talk about his daughter with someone now. So that when it’s his turn to go, someone knows.

“It’s funny, about the moths earlier.” She watches him, his brows furrowed just like hers were earlier, and she’s careful not to move, not to startle him, like she’s trying to gain the trust of a scared or wounded animal. She holds her breath until he continues, seemingly lost in thought.

“Sarah loved butterflies. Would draw them everywhere. She’d chase them when she was little, and when she got older, she said they bring good luck.” He laughs an empty laugh and shakes his head. “As if seeing a bug with pretty wings decides your future.” 

“She hated moths though. Terrified of ‘em. Just like you.” His head turns slightly at that, dark eyes meeting hers before he continues.

“Whenever one flew into her room at night, she’d scream for me to come get it out… And they’re not even that different from the butterflies she loved. When you think about it. Just… grayer.” 

All the more reason to love them, he thinks, but doesn’t say.

Joel wakes with her memory over him. He had yet again pulled her from the fire but been unable to save her. His breath is hitching with each inhale, ears ringing loudly, and it takes him a second to realize she’s there. 

“Joel?” she whispers softly. “I didn’t know if I should wake you, you were yelling, and I–” 

She’s rambling, voice unsure, but the hand clutching his upper arm is assuring, grounding him, bringing him back. With her support he sits up slowly, groaning. It feels as if he's been body slammed, every bone and muscle aching, his forehead damp with sweat. 

“S’okay,” he guarantees her, voice coming back to him slowly but surely. “Happens all the time.”

Her hand moves from his bicep to where his neck meets his shoulder, massaging him lightly, and he tenses up again under her touch. Sensing he’s on edge, she lets go of him, making his eyes snap up to find hers at the loss of her touch. 

“Joel?” she whispers. He blinks at her slowly. “Will you let me take care of you?” 

The breath he releases makes him slump over, burying his head in his hands. 

“I don’t need taking care of,” he responds, but he believes it as little as she does.

So her arm finds its way back around his shoulders, palming big circles over his flannel. With the other hand on his knee, she continues the motion until his breathing slows to a comfortable pace. His body falls forward, elbows on his knees, and she lets her own body fall on top of his, covering his back like a heavy blanket. 

She gives a gentle squeeze to his arm, and as if on cue, he sits up slowly, giving her time to lift off from him. He’s not sure what comes over him when he leans in and presses the softest of kisses to the side of her mouth. She gives a soft gasp at the surprise, and he only pulls back halfway so he doesn’t have to look her in the eyes. 

“Joel,” she whispers again, begging him to look at her. And then he does. And their heads crash together in a kiss that’s more teeth than lips. No matter how much she thinks he deserves softness, no matter how much he wants it, it’s not in their nature. Not in this world. Softness, kindness, empathy is a rarity. It’s so hard to be tender in a world that’s so brutal.

So they give each other what they can, what they know. Teeth, bones, and the dull aching hunger of desperation. It’s no more pleasurable than sucking on a lollipop knowing a razor blade is waiting in the middle, and yet they devour each other. 

Joel sits back on the couch and pulls her into his lap. His hands firm on her hips, grinding her into his growing hardness. Their tongues fight for dominance, taking turns in each other’s mouths. A groan escapes him as she pulls hard at his curls, which are damp with perspiration. His fingernails paint red lines up and down her back underneath her shirt. 

After grinding against and moaning into each other for less time than either would have liked, Joel flips her in his lap, arms around her stomach, holding her flush against his chest. They both reach for the front of her jeans at the same time, and while she pulls them down, he tugs on his own, pulling his cock free. 

Neither of them really ready, they still crave the contact too much to wait. Holding her breath, she leans her head back on his shoulder, and he pushes two fingers into her mouth, wetting them before reaching down to palm himself. He wiggles the head of his not fully hard cock between her barely aroused folds, and they sigh in unison as he pushes in. She doesn’t mind the sting, and neither does he. Pleasure isn’t enough to keep the pain of existence away. You can only fight fire with fire, so it has to hurt.

The little moans and gasps slipping from her where she sits on top of him send waves of want from his ears to between his legs, and he grows harder inside of her. Her fingers claw into the skin on the sides of his hips as she holds herself in place, making him hiss as he pushes in and out of her, not quite sure whether from the burn or the bliss. 

Joel pushes her legs closer together with his own. She moans at the feeling of him filling her up, and she tries to turn her head to put her mouth on his, but he speeds up his thrusts, and she’s forced to hold onto his thighs for leverage. The pads of her fingers dig into his flesh, pinching him, leaving bruises to ignore in the morning. He does the same to her hips and holds her in place.

He plunges his cock clumsily into her a few more times before he reaches his climax. His arms wrap tightly around her, one across her abdomen and the other over her chest, squeezing her breast with his fingers so hard she chokes out an “ouch”, for the first time, just as his release shoots into her.

She can feel him pulse all the way in her core, almost in time with his heaving breath, chest rising and falling against her back. The only sound comes from outside, a distant howl, which she attributes to the wind, but which makes Joel freeze beneath her. Without warning he stands up, arms still supporting her, but he quickly lets go to tuck himself away, pick his gun up from the table, and he moves slowly towards the door which stands balanced against the doorway. Before he does anything else, he turns to her, brow furrowed, finger to his lips. 

With his gun pointed forwards, he peeks out the window she cleared earlier in the day.

Nothing.

He shuffles silently and efficiently across the floorboards and pushes the door open. For a second he just stands there, gun in hand, staring out into the dark, only his shoulders moving up and down with his quick but careful breaths. Almost a minute goes by where she doesn’t dare move either, before he puts the door back in place, and turns to her.

Nothing. They’re alone. 

a/n: well.......