#sfw repost

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Fight Through the Pain (Part 1)

Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, f!reader

Word Count: 1335

TW: Angst, Whump, Plane Crash, Burns, Injuries, Pain, Love Confession

Spoilers for Top Gun: Maverick

Part 1, Part 2

Top Gun Masterlist

Everything hurt. Your world was currently nothing more than pain on top of more pain as every bone, every muscle, every molecule in your body screamed out. Large sections of your skin felt as if it was on fire while other parts felt like it was frozen solid. As you tried shifting slightly, a low moan reverberated in your chest as the pain intensified. But the attempt did provide you with some information. It made you realize that the coldness seeping into you was from the snow you were laying on. But why were you laying in the snow?

And then it came rushing back to you. The team had been sent on their mission to blow up the uranium enrichment plant. At the last minute, it was decided one additional single-person plane should accompany the group, and much to Hangman’s chagrin, you had been selected. As everyone was saying their goodbyes and good lucks, Rooster had pulled you into a hug that was tighter and lasted longer than you expected. And when you finally pulled away, he had stared at you with such an intense look on his face that it sent shivers down your spine in the best way. It finally gave you the courage you had been needing to tell him how you felt about him, yet just as you opened your mouth, Maverick had interrupted you. So instead of telling him, you had hurried off to your plane.

The mission had gone perfectly…. Up until your planes escaped Coffin Corner and activated the SAMs. The Surface-to-Air Missiles had quickly filled the sky and as much as you all tried to react, there were just too many of them. As you had done your own evasive maneuvers to avoid disaster, you watched Rooster fire countermeasure after countermeasure from his position above you, narrowly escaping the missiles. But then his panicked voice cried out through your coms that he was out of flares, and you watched in horror as two more missiles trailed behind him.

You hadn’t thought, you had just acted. Instantly pulling up into a steep climb, you positioned your plane directly between Rooster’s and the missiles. Across the expanse between you, you had managed to catch Rooster’s eye for just a moment. His face drained of all color, and you saw him shouting at you to get out of the way. But you had just given him a sad smile as the missile slammed into the tail of your aircraft, sending a fireball roaring through the cockpit.

You screamed in pain as your hand had yanked the ejection lever, but it was too late. Even as your seat jettisoned into the sky, you could feel the burns scorching your skin in a dozen different places. Then as you drifted to the ground, your parachute had gotten snagged on a tree, slamming you into the trunk and causing you to plummet the other 50 ft to the ground. As you crashed into the snow below, you had mercifully slipped into unconsciousness.

But now, something stirred you from your sleep, something other than just the pain. Voices. Slowly, you realized that your helmet was still on, and you could still make out your teammates' voices as they tried to reach you on the coms.

“Bumblebee! Do you copy?” Phoenix’s frantic voice came into focus. “Bob, do you see anything?”

“That’s a negative,” her WSO replied, equally as panicked. “I can see the smoke from her plane where it crashed, but I lost sight of the parachute.”

“I saw it for a minute, but it was smoking pretty heavily.” Fanboy chimed in anxiously. “I don’t know…. I don’t know if it would have been able to remain intact until she reached the ground.”

“Bee! Answer me! Please!” Rooster. You struggled to open your eyes at the sound of his voice. Maybe it was the distortion from the coms or your pain-addled brain, but it almost sounded like he was crying. But that couldn’t be….

“Bumblebee!” he screamed again. “Damn it! Why did you do that! Why did you- I’m not worth it. You shouldn’t have done that. Not for me. Please, Bee. You have to be okay.”

“Rooster,” Phoenix said softly. “It’s not your fault. She was just protecting her wingman.”

“Well, she shouldn’t have! It should have been me down there instead of her. We need to find her!”

Maverick’s voice suddenly broke through the chatter. “There’s nothing we can do right now. Without her location beacon turned on, we have no way of finding her. We need to get back to the ship and we can try to figure out something after that. But for now…. I’m sorry.”

“No!” Rooster screamed again. “I’m not leaving her! Bee! Listen, you need to turn on your beacon. Please! I promise I’ll find you, but you have to give me something.”

“Rooster-” Maverick started but the younger pilot cut him off.

“No! She’s still out there, I know it! And she would never leave any of us behind! So, please, Bee. Come on, you can do this. Just turn on the beacon.”

Both of your hands were currently laying by your sides and the locator beacon was on your shoulder. The amount of pain that was shooting through your body just with every breath was almost unbearable, so the thought of trying to move, to cross that impossible distance to reach the beacon, was almost inconceivable! But you knew you had to try. If not for you, for Rooster. You might have saved his life, but if you died, you knew he would blame himself and it would haunt him for the rest of his days.

So, ever so slowly, inch by agonizing inch, your hand began its vast journey up towards your shoulder. Even the smallest of movements was torture, and you were fairly certain that your arm was broken in at least one place. But Rooster’s pleas and cries still sounding through the coms urged you on.

When your fingers miraculously brushed against the dial of your beacon, you realized you were in for a new level of pain. In order to turn the beacon on, you had to twist the dial. Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem but because of the fire, your fingers were pretty badly burnt, and your joints were swollen. It was going to take everything in you to turn that dial and you just didn’t think you had the strength left to withstand that level of pain.

But then, Rooster’s voice called out to you one more time, calmer yet more tender than before, “Bumblebee…. Please. I know you’re there, I know you can hear me. Please, come back to me. I-I love you.”

He loves me? You had been in love with your wingman for years, starting back when you had first been at Top Gun together, but you never thought he could return your feelings. It was why you had chickened out on the tarmac from confessing how you felt. But if Rooster loved you back….

It was just the motivation you needed. Taking a few deep breaths (and ignoring the spikes of pain that were sent through your chest with each one), you screwed your eyes closed and twisted the dial.

The surge of pain that followed traveled down to your very bones. Every nerve ending and muscle in your fingers and up through your arm screamed out in agony, but you heard a faint beep as the beacon activated. At the sound of your success, you allowed yourself to drop your arm once more as the pain became too much for you to bear.

As your world started to grow dark around you, you could faintly hear a voice that sounded like it was coming from the end of a far-off tunnel, “Bee?! Guys, I have her signal! Bee, just hang on. I’m coming for you, baby.”

And just as you slipped back into unconsciousness, you managed to whisper a single word, “Rooster…..”

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

One Bad Day....Jason's Death

AI-Less Whumptober 2023: 8. Panic Attack, 12. Character Death, 23. Begging, 31. Crying, Alt. 13. Grief Fandom: Batman, Batfam, Batmom, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd Summary: Before Red Hood rescued her, before she was in prison, before she killed The Joker, Batmom experiences one of the most devastating losses of her life. Word Count: 5587 TW: Canon Character Death, Mentions of Torture, Brief Description of Injuries, Grief, Breakdown, Tears, Anger, Character Picks Up Reader Note: This is part of the One Bad Day.... series but can be read as a one-shot (though best to be read after Part 3) Part of @ailesswhumptober's whumptober event.

Series Masterlist

It has been three days since you have heard from either Bruce or Jason and you are starting to get worried. Actually, you are way past worried—you are terrified. Something is wrong, you can feel it in your gut. A gnawing queasiness deep in your stomach that has you unable to eat or sleep while you wait for some sort of news.

Usually, you wouldn’t give this radio silence a second thought. While Bruce tries to send some sort of word as often as he can while out of town, it just isn’t always possible. Especially when he is away on this kind of work. Batman is a force of secrets and mystery. He can’t always risk finding a way to call his wife to tell her he is alright. 

You pull the blanket that is draped over your shoulders tighter around you and continue pacing. Alfred had placed it there a few ago, the last time he had come to check on you. When you had first begun to worry, the butler had remained by your side providing constant reassurance and support. But after a while, once it became clear you wanted to be alone, he retreated upstairs. Occasionally, he returned to the Batcave to bring you some food, water, or something to keep you warm, but otherwise, he had been keeping his distance. However, you know the second you call for him, he will instantly be there to get you whatever he possibly can. If only he could get you the one thing you truly wanted right now….

As if summoned by your silent wish, you suddenly hear the distant roar of a familiar engine growing louder by the second. Whirling around, a huge smile of relief on your face, you turn just in time to see the Batmobile burst into the cave and come to a stop in its usual spot. For the first time in days, you feel like you can breathe again as the driver-side door opens up and you catch a glimpse of Bruce, still in his Batman costume though he has removed his cowl and gloves.

Throwing your arms open wide as you approach the car, you exclaim, “There’s my boys!” Bruce doesn’t look at you as he climbs out of the Batmobile and walks slowly over to the passenger side. “I was just about to send out a search party. How was Ethiopia? Did you find–”

You stumble to a halt, your smile slipping from your face. An icy vice clamps down on your heart as you see Bruce lift something out of the Batmobile: a small limp figure wrapped in a torn yellow cape that reveals small glimpses of the red suit underneath through the holes and tears. Though the cape is also draped across the person’s face, you know immediately who is under it.

“No….” you gasp as your blanket slips from your shoulders to pool at your feet. “No, no, Bruce, no. Please, no.” 

As you wait for Bruce’s response, you cling to that last fragile shred of hope that it’s not what you think, that maybe he’s just hurt under there or sleeping or…or…….

But as your husband silently walks past you and lays the body on one of the nearby tables, the drawn, pained expression on his face coupled with the tender care he takes carefully arranging it is the final confirmation you need. 

Dropping to your knees, you let out an almost inhuman wail as the truth of the situation slams into you like a nuclear blast. Your baby’s gone. Jason is dead. And you have lost yet another child. 

You collapse forward, your forehead pressing hard against the cold cave floor as another wail tears through your chest. No. It can’t be true. Jason has to be alive. He has to be. Oh please, God, please don’t tell me you’ve taken my baby from me. Not again. Please.

As you continue to sob—worldless howls of grief and pain—you feel Bruce drape himself over you as if trying to shield you from this agony….but it’s too late. The damage has already been done and you have been irreparably broken.

In what seems like hours later, once you have exhausted yourself to the point you no longer have the energy or tears left to cry, Bruce sits back and pulls you carefully into his lap. As you lay curled in his arms with your head resting on his chest, you can feel his heart beating beneath you—so strong and steady—and it hits you that you will never again feel Jason’s heartbeat or hear him take a breath. All of those little signs of life you take for granted are just gone…and so is he.

Lifting your head to gaze up at your husband, you force your words through your aching throat, torn raw from all your screaming, and you ask, “What happened?” 

“The Joker,” Bruce says as he brushes a tear off your cheek. “He used Jason’s birthmother to lure him in, then he placed both of them in a warehouse that was rigged to explode. I arrived just as the bomb went off. I….I was too late to save him.”

The sound of Bruce’s voice breaking and the tears in his voice sends another jolt of pain into your heart and you nuzzle your head into his neck as you squeeze his hand. He silently squeezes back and you have to stifle a groan as you feel the bones in your hand shift and crack in his grasp, but you don’t say anything. You just let him continue to squeeze your hand long after the point it turns numb. 

You haven’t seen Bruce fall apart since the two of you lost the baby. Regardless of what heartbreaks or fights had come your way in the years since, Bruce had remained calm and stoic through it all. It’s just who he was. He was your rock, your lifeline in the roughest of waters, your source of comfort when you needed it the most—so the sight of him breaking adds another layer of grief to your own.

When he finally loosens his grip and you can tell he has regained some of his composure, you whisper, “Did he…. Did he hurt him before…?”

Bruce hesitates for a moment before murmuring, “You don’t need to know the details.” 

Which means yes. The Joker had probably tortured and beaten your baby bloody before blowing him up. Another sob threatens to tear from your lips, but you manage to quell it so it is just a whine deep in your throat. You had cried enough for the moment. Right now, you need answers and to come up with a plan. But first…you need something else.

Untangling yourself from Bruce’s arms, you unsteadily get to your feet and begin walking over to the table. Bruce leaps up when he sees what you are doing and he gently grabs your shoulders blocking your path. “Don’t. Sweetheart, just…just don’t. Trust me.”

“Let me go. I need to see him.”

You try to shrug him off but he holds you firmly in place. “No. You don’t. Don’t let that be the last image you have of him—I wish it wasn’t mine. He’s gone and seeing him like that won’t bring him back. So, I’m begging you, don’t.”

“Get out of my way, Bruce,” you growl as you glare up at your husband. “I need to see our son. I need to see what that monster did to him.”

For a moment, you aren’t sure what Bruce is going to do. His eyes flit across your face, trying to find the slightest hesitation he can grasp onto. But when he doesn’t find any, he sighs and slowly lowers his hands as he bows his head and whispers, “Please…Don’t look.”

But you have already pushed past him before he finishes his sentence.

You approach the table with a determined stride, yet you hesitate once you reach it. Jason was always a slight kid, even verging on scrawny, but he had never seemed smaller or more vulnerable than as your hand hovers over the cape still draped over him. Even that first night Bruce brought him home to you, he had so much fire and spirit in his little twelve-year-old body that his presence filled the room. Now, three years later, that fire and spirit had been extinguished and it hits you all over again how young he truly was—how young he would always be.

You feel Bruce come to stand just behind you but he doesn’t say a word. He has tried his best to stop you so now all he can do is wait for you to live with your decision and be there for the aftermath. Knowing he is right there for you gives you a renewed sense of strength and as you take a deep breath, you pull back the cape to look at your son. 

Bruce was right. You shouldn’t have looked.

Some of the damage you are expecting based on what Bruce told you. Burns litter Jay’s face and neck as well as his hands. In some places, they are light, almost invisible unless the light catches them just so. However, in other spots, the burns are so severe you can almost see down to the bone. His hands are the worst, so charred and blackened that you fear touching them despite the longing in your chest to hold his hand once more in yours. Looking at the burn patterns, it seems heartbreakingly clear that Jason had tried to protect himself from the blast by throwing his hands in front of his face…he had seen it coming.

Yet as horrible as that realization is, far worse is the damage you weren’t expecting to see on your son.

Beneath the burns and debris from the bomb, Jason’s body is broken, bruised, and bloody in ways that an explosion couldn’t have caused. One arm and leg jut out at odd angles and there are dark bruises all over his face, neck, and the parts of his torso you can see through his ruined suit. One eye is swollen and black, his nose is bent sharply to one side, and his lip is split open wide. You have seen enough blunt-force trauma up close and personal to understand what had to have caused all of this. 

Casting one last longing look at your son, you turn to face Bruce. You are visibly shaking, and when you speak, your voice is dripping with venomous fury, “Where is he?”

“Clark is tracking him down and he’ll alert me the second he finds him.”

“And then?” Bruce glances away, unable to look at you. Disbelief washes over you and you step closer to your husband. “Bruce, don’t tell me you are thinking of letting him live.”

“It’s not our place to–”

“He killed our son!” you hiss as you point to the body of the child you both loved. “Jason is—Jason is dead because of that maniac! We can’t let The Joker get away with this!”

“We won’t.” Bruce takes your face between his hands and bends over so his forehead is almost touching yours. “I swear to you, we will find him and throw him back into Arkham where he belongs.”

Wrenching from his grasp in disgust, you snarl, “For how long? A few weeks? A month if we’re lucky? Then he’ll just find another way to escape like he always does and he’ll hurt more innocent people, more people we love. How can you not see that this has to end? That it should have ended years ago.”

“My heart—” Bruce tries to take your hand but once again you snatch it away from him. “I know you don’t always agree with it, but we have a code. A code you agreed to follow when you joined me. And that code means that no matter what The Joker or anyone else does, We. Don’t. Kill. Otherwise, what makes us any better than them?”

“Maybe I don’t care about being better than them anymore. We’ve done things by the book, followed your rules, and where has that left us? Two dead children and a third who barely survived being shot. And you still talk about trusting the same system that allowed it to happen in the first place. Well, who’s next, Bruce? Who will be the next victim in your moral war? Alfred? Dick?....Me? Whose death will it take for you to realize that this won’t end unless we make it end?”

Bruce stares at you as if he is looking at a stranger and not his wife of ten years. Shaking his head slightly, he says, “I understand you’re hurting right now and you’re not thinking clearly. But once some time has passed and the feelings aren’t as raw, you’ll—”

“I’ll what? Forget my son is dead?” you snap.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Well, what did you mean? Give it time and things will just go back to normal? That this pain will fade and I won’t care that my son was murdered?”

“Our son.”

“What?”

“Our son,” Bruce says. His voice has a sharp edge to it that momentarily takes you aback. “You keep saying ‘my son’ like you’re the only one who lost him. I know what you and Jay had was special but that doesn’t mean I didn’t love him too, or that I’m not in agony right now. I had to watch, helplessly, as that warehouse exploded knowing I was too late to save him. Then, I dug with my bare hands for almost an hour through the wreckage praying for a miracle only to find—” Bruce presses his hand over his eye as he takes a long, slow, shaking inhale then continues “And then I had to fly home watching vigil over our son’s body, all the while dreading this moment. Knowing I was coming home to shatter the woman I love. But the only thing that made that thought bearable was knowing we could mourn together and lean on each other for comfort. Yet all you can focus on is revenge and murder!”

“No, Bruce. I’m focusing on keeping the family I still have safe. I’m focusing on protecting this city just as you swore to do. I’m focusing on ending terror and chaos in the streets. And if that means one psychotic clown has to die to make that happen, then so be it.”

“We do not cross that line. Ever. No matter who we think deserves it. That’s just how things have to be.”

“Don’t you get it! Jason would still be alive if you had just—” All of your fury evaporates instantly and you inhale sharply as you realize what you were about to blurt out. Bruce’s expression hardens into a stone-cold mask usually reserved for the most lowsome of criminals and, stumbling back, you stutter, “I-I mean…I—”

“If I had what? Say it. Say it!” Now it is your turn to not meet his eye yet he pushes on. “You were going to say that if I had just killed The Joker years ago, Jason would still be alive!”

“I didn’t mean it. It just slipped out,” you whisper. “I know this isn’t your fault, Bruce. You told him not to go but I encouraged him to do what he thought he had to do. That I would support whatever decision he made.” Your voice cracks as you choke out, “I sent our baby off to his death, not you.”

It is the thought that has been nagging at the back of your head since you saw Bruce lift Jason’s body from the Batmobile. The unbearable truth you’ve been unable to face. Bruce had known something felt off about the situation and he insisted Jason stayed home. But when Jason came to you saying he had found his birthmother and needed to go see her, you put your foot down and forced Bruce to take him. If you had just listened to Bruce, if you had just really examined the facts instead of wanting to show Jason you were supportive, your son would still be alive.

Suddenly, it felt like the walls of the Batcave were closing in on you and you couldn’t catch your breath. Stumbling back a few steps, you say, “I-I can’t do this. I have to get out of here.”

The anger in Bruce’s face disappears as quickly as it appeared. He reaches out to you with a soft, “Sweetheart—” but you continue to back away.

“No. No, I need to go. I-I need to be alone.”

Bruce nods slowly. “Alright. That’s okay. Why don’t you go take a long shower and lay down and I’ll take care of things down here. I’ll come check on you when I’m done.”

You nod back and hurry over to the stairs leading up to the manor. But just as you begin to climb them, you pause and mumble, “I’ll be in Jay’s room.” then flee up the stairs before Bruce can stop you.

Once back in the manor, you move in an almost trancelike state towards the bedrooms. As you pass the kitchen, you hear a soft sniffling and you realize Alfred must have come down into the Batcave at some point and seen what happened. You have been so preoccupied with your own grief, you completely forgot about the butler who loved Jason almost as much as you and Bruce did. 

Part of you wants to go back and join him. After all, Alfred always knows how to fix anything and everything and maybe, somehow, he can fix this too. Yet as much as it pains you to admit, there are just some things even Alfred Pennyworth can’t do. So you continue walking.

When you reach Jason’s room, you don’t even pause before opening the door and shuffling in. In one fluid movement, you collapse onto your son’s bed and roll over, dragging his comforter with you until you are cocooned beneath the blanket. 

It seems impossible that just three nights ago you were sitting on this very bed with Jason next to you as he told you about how he had been tracking down his birthmother. He had been so scared to tell you for fear he would hurt your feelings. But you had just gathered him into your arms and pressed your lips into his hair as you promised him you would always be his “Ma” regardless of what happened on his search. That you would always love him….

Tears you did not think you could still cry began slipping silently down your cheeks. What would you have done differently if you had known that was the last time you would see your son? What else would you have said to make him understand how much he meant to you? How he had saved you from your grief once before and how you still needed him now?

You bury your face deeper into his pillow as you finally allow yourself to ask the question that you know will haunt you the rest of your life:

Could I have saved you if I had been there?

For the next twelve days, little changes. The only time you leave Jason’s bed is to go to the bathroom, but otherwise, you lay curled in the center of his bed wrapped in his blankets and staring at his wall. Bruce and Alfred take turns coming to check on you several times a day, usually bringing food or drinks and trying their best to coax you into consuming something. You take a little nibble here and there or take a few sips of water, but it isn’t long before you return to your near catatonic state. 

Even when Dick arrives a few days after you learned of Jason’s death, it doesn’t make much of a difference. You do allow him to climb into the bed with you where you wrap him in a bone-crushing embrace, afraid if you let go you’ll lose him just like your other children. But eventually, he has to leave and you resume your solitary existence.

On day seven, Bruce slips into bed behind you and wraps his arms around you. For a long time, the two of you just lay there in silence. Then, softly, his lips brush against your ear as he whispers, “Please, sweetheart, please come back to me. I know you’re hurting. So am I. But I just lost Jason and I can’t….I can’t lose you too. Please, let me in. Let us help each other through this….Together.”

You know he’s right, and it kills you to know you are only adding to his heartbreak, but you just don’t have the strength or the will to be what he needs right now. So, you remain motionless in his embrace, your eyes never shifting their unseeing stare at the wall.

Eventually, Bruce accepts nothing is going to change. Pressing his lips to the nape of your neck, he whispers, “I love you. Please never forget that. And I’ll be waiting, as soon as you’re ready.” Then he slips from the bed and you are alone once more.

The next major change in your routine comes exactly two weeks after Jason’s death when Bruce and Alfred walk into Jason’s room holding a simple black dress. Silently, you allow them to put it on you before they lead you downstairs where Dick is waiting with the car. No one has to tell you where you are going. You already know.

For the short drive, Bruce sits next to you in the backseat, holding your hand tightly as he presses his lips against your temple with whispers of encouragement and love. You squeeze his hand back but make no other acknowledgment of his presence or support. You catch Dick glancing back at you in the rearview mirror a few times, concern etched on his face, and you wonder what he sees when he looks at you. That thought makes you withdraw even further into yourself in shame.

As Alfred pulls to a stop, you make no move to exit the car. Alfred and Dick both glance at Bruce for some sort of guidance as to how to proceed, and he motions for them to get out. Once you are alone, Bruce pulls you into his arms. “If I could spare you from this, you know I would. But we have to make some sort of public show or it’s going to look suspicious. And people are already asking questions. But I promise, the second we’re done, I’ll take you back up to the house. Okay?”

You nod, knowing he is right however much you despise it, and he smiles softly. Placing his finger under your chin so he can tilt your head back, Bruce kisses your forehead as he whispers, “That’s my girl.”

Then sliding his hand into yours, he opens his car door and steps out before helping you out. Immediately you are met with flashing lights and the whirring click of hundreds of cameras all pointed in your direction. You try to ignore them as Bruce leads you down the path lined with photographers and reporters, your face a blank mask void of any emotion. 

But that mask becomes harder to maintain as you hear the slight tittering of whispers passing through the crowd. And though you have over a decade of experience being the subject of Gotham’s rumor mill to get used to the kinds of things people say about you, these reach a new level of cruelty: 

“Look at the heartless whore. Can’t even spare a single tear for that poor boy Bruce so kindly took in.”

“I heard she didn’t even want to come today but Bruce insisted. Can you imagine? He deserves so much better.”

“She wasn’t even there when he died. Bruce planned a family trip overseas and she refused to go. She would rather stay here to be waited on hand and foot by that butler of theirs than spend time with her supposed family.”

“I bet she had something to do with the boy’s death. Probably didn’t want to share the Wayne fortune with anyone else. Bruce and the older boy should watch their backs. They could be next.”

You remember a time when you would have gone off on these people. Snapped back about how they didn’t know anything about you or your relationship with your family. Caused such a scene Bruce would have had to sheepishly drag you away while his face glowed bright red. But not today. Today all you want to do is curl up in a ball in front of them as you sob, asking how they can be so cruel or heartless to not see your pain or the devastation at your loss. How they could come here—here of all places—just to add to your suffering.

But you don’t. Instead, you allow Bruce to continue leading you forward until you stop in front of the freshly dug grave with the casket placed beside it.

Bruce (well, probably Alfred) had worked out all the details while you were locked in Jason’s room. A plot had been selected in the small graveyard on the edge of the Wayne estate, right next to where Bruce’s parents were buried. The casket is closed so you can’t see how they dressed Jay, but Bruce had promised you in the car that he tucked Jason’s Robin mask into his pocket like you asked. It was the only input you had given on the whole ceremony but it did make you feel a little better knowing he had it with him. 

To the world, this may just be the funeral of Jason Todd, but in reality, today you are burying two people, and you wanted to honor that.

Dick comes to stand next to you so you are sandwiched between him and Bruce. Though you don’t as much as glance in his direction, you are grateful to have your remaining son beside you. It is a calming reminder that not everyone has been taken from you. At least…not yet. 

As the ceremony starts, you hold your head high and stare straight ahead. It is harder than you thought, the weight of a hundred eyes boring into the back of your head, but you manage to remain calm and composed throughout the sermon.

It isn’t until they begin lowering the casket into the ground that everything goes wrong.

Unable to take your eyes off of the box containing your son as it disappears into the dirt, your body begins trembling violently as your knees give out underneath you. Luckily, Bruce catches you before you hit the ground but his touch does little to ease your trembling. 

Still staring at the casket, you begin repeating, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…” 

Bruce pulls you tight against his chest, allowing you to bury your face into his jacket to muffle to sound. You claw desperately at the back of his suit, your chanting becoming more frenzied by the moment despite no longer looking at the grave. It’s just too much. All of it’s too much. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…” 

Mercifully, Bruce gently lifts you into his arms and carries you back to the car. You cling tightly to him, your arms around his neck, even as you continue shaking and babbling, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…”

“Shhh….” Bruce coos gently. “It’s alright, sweetheart. You did so good. I know he’d be proud of you, just like I am. But it’s over now, and I’m taking you back to the manor just like I promised. It’s going to be okay.”

You nod into his neck as you finally manage to quiet down some. The words are still swirling in your head but at least they are no longer spewing from your lips. You thought you were stronger than this. You thought you could at least hold it together for an hour for your family’s sake, but you were so wrong. 

Even though it had been a closed casket funeral, knowing Jay was in there, seeing it disappear into the ground forever…it finalized everything in a way you hadn’t felt yet. All those days laying in Jason’s room, numb and disconnected from the world, you had distanced yourself from the reality of the truth. But there was no escaping it now. Jason was gone and there was nothing you could do to change that.

When you reach the manor, Bruce once again lifts you into his arms though you half-heartedly tell him you can walk on your own yet part of you is glad when he ignores you and continues to carry you up the stairs. You are somewhat surprised when Bruce returns you to Jason’s room without even asking. For some reason, you had assumed he would try to take you to the master bedroom to be with him.

You expect him to climb into bed or kneel down beside it, but once again he shocks you as he simply turns and walks to the door. He only pauses a moment to say, “I had Alfred put a fresh change of pajamas on the dresser.” Then he walks out and closes the door behind him.

You aren’t sure what to think about this. Has Bruce finally given up trying to reach you? Was he more embarrassed about your behavior at the funeral than he admitted? Or has he finally accepted you need time alone to deal with your loss? 

Still pondering his behavior, you climb out of bed and slip off the black dress you are wearing. Tossing it to the side, you walk over to the dresser to look for the clothes Bruce mentioned. The sooner you get them on, the sooner you can return to your blanket cocoon and lose yourself to your fog of grief once more. 

But as you spy the pajamas and you reach for them, your eyes land on something on the wall. Despite the fact today is May 11, Jason’s calendar is still turned to April. Since he left for Ethiopia on April 25th and was killed on the 27th, he never got the chance to change it. He would never know which classical author’s picture had been selected for May. Instead, Jason ran out of time and now it will forever be stuck on William Shakespeare.

Time….If only you had more time….

Three and a half years. That’s all the time you had with your son. It seems insane that someone who was in your life for such a short amount of time could leave such an impact on you, but there is no denying it. You know deep in your soul that you could not have loved Jason more if you had given birth to him or known him since the day he was born. He is your son just as much as Dick is, as much as the baby you had lost is, and now he’s gone too.

And it’s all because of The Joker.

For the first time since you had crawled into Jason’s room that first night, something besides sorrow stirs in your gut. The red-hot burn of vengeance that you have let your grief extinguish suddenly flares to life in your veins and your hands clench tightly on the edge of the dresser. 

Memories begin flashing through your mind: Sitting next to the bed, begging God to save an 18-year-old Dick as he clung to life after being shot by The Joker while on patrol; Monitoring the Batcomputer in horror as The Joker released his laughing gas throughout the streets of Gotham; Listening to Lt. Gordon’s sobs as he told Bruce what The Joker had done to Barbara;  Watching Bruce lift Jason’s lifeless body out of the Batmobile as your heart shattered in your chest.

He is responsible for all this death and this pain, year after year after year. He is the reason other villains think they can get away with whatever deadly scheme they have up their sleeves. He is why Arkham Asylum has become a swinging door deterrent that no one fears. He is the one who killed your son.

And he’s not going to get away with it any longer. 

Every cell in your body knows what has to be done, yet you also know the consequences if you do it. Is stopping this lunatic really worth destroying what’s left of your family? Can you really give up everything to ensure no one else ever feels this pain you are feeling?

You think about if your places had been reversed and it had been you who had been killed instead and there is absolutely no doubt in your mind that Jason would have burned the world down if it meant stopping The Joker. And if that’s true, how could you do anything less for your son?

With a newfound purpose driving you and a clear goal in your sights, you flip the calendar to May and pin it in place. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle stares back at you as you press your finger to May 27th; 16 days from now and exactly one month after Jason’s death. That will be the day. The day you do what you should have done long ago. The day you will kill The Joker.

Taglist: @loverhymeswith, @mayhem24-7forever, @hjgdhghoe, @dazaisleftballsack, @simp027, @animefan3223, @mysticchopshop, @eternalharry, @edgycatx, @lanatheawesome, @yandere-batfamfan, @zsalvatore-mikaelson, @constantshitposter, @lauramb7, @thedumbgirl, @leonielaufeyson, @ultraxavbo, @chrismarium, @joceymoo, @shanksfav, @leyleyinpijamas, @notwonderlandsworld, @redsakura101, @outdated-titty-milk101, @lariclifford, @seoulnights5, @makhaia, @tardisin221bst, @imurdaddypromlems, @kesskirata, @roro707-blog, @scrappybear89, @homosexualjohnwayne, @dweeb-central, @sunshineflowerchild789, @happinessricardotapia, @nefariousghostbabe, @mikyapixie, @angelicadiabolus, @hotleaf-juice, @saltedcoffeescotch, @hermosavidagg, @iveofficiallylostmymarbles, @avengersftspn, @pantasticalcat, @staynctzen127, @yunho-leeknow, @blue-aconite, @leyleyinpijamas, @y-napotat, @jadynchronicle, @redrydersrequiem, @violet2507, @venomsvl, @time-shardz, @kimmib13, @sapnapbitches, @thedazzlingburglar, @yunho-leeknow, @nina-isabelle, @melancholicmooosic, @rayofsarkasm, @deppresseddyslexic

[slythesky]

°•`Hii ! Your blog seems nice ! Could I request : ``Mikan tsumiki first date at a park`` ? Thank you a lot and have a wonderful day !

Hi!! I'm so happy like your my first request, and yes- I can! (Sorry this might be late, but it might not- I can't see when this was sent LMAO Anyways! I hope you enjoy it!) Gender Neutral reader!

Y/n Pov:

I walked hand in hand with Mikan as we approached the park that we picked to go on our first date. I couldn't hold my smile, she on the other hand, was nervous. Her being nervous was not out of her nature but, I am determined to help her let go and enjoy this date without being nervous! I smiled even more and puffed out my chest in pride. We walked though the gates, the trees and greenery hits us first before I spotted the icecream man that I hired to be here for the day was waiting, he gets much more profit doing this because other people stop by and I had to pay him being here in the first place. I turn my head toward her.

"Hey wanna get some ice-cream?" I ask, pointing to the ice-cream stand. She nervously fiddles with her fingers before speaking again.

"S-Sure..." She tries her best to give me a smile as to say 'not to worry'. I blush a little bit at the gesture and pull her along to the ice-cream stand.

"Ahoy there! My name is Steve and I'll be your caption on this sea of flavors! What can I get cha?" I look at her, shes very focused on picking a flavor so I pick first.

"Hi Steve, I'll get a F/F (Favorite flavor!)" He nods and does mine, by the time he finishes Mikan has made up her mind on what she wants.

"U-Um... I-I'll have the U-ube please..." She points at it and Steve nods again before going to scoop it up for her. I smile as he hands her the cone, before we continue on our date.

"It's a lovely day out isn't it?" I say gazing up at the sunny skies

"Y-Yes, It's very good for y-your health... coming out s-side..." She speaks adding onto what I just said. I look back to infront of me before looking around. I eye up a little hill before grinning.

"Hold onto your ice-cream!"

"W-What- EEKP-" She was cut off by me dragging her to the top of that hill, since we got here around 5 PM the sun is setting now. I make it to the top of the hill and shes clinging onto me, with her eyes glued shut. I giggle before saying.

"You can open your eyes now!" She looks out across the skyline, it's a purple-ish color like her eyes, but just a shade lighter.

"O-oh... I-Its very pretty...!" She gazes out onto the purple sky.

"Pretty, yeah... Like you" I say without thinking about it, she turns a shade of red. I smile.

"Y-You really t-think so?" She looks away shyly.

"Y-Yeah! Your very pretty and I love it when you talk about things you like! It's very cute when you ramble on." I with a close eyed smile.

"Ah-aha" She laughs it off, still red.

Soon after the sun sets I walk home with her, making sure she gets home safe before I go home myself.

HI! I hope this was good as I've never really written for Mikan, so I did have to study on her character a little! But thank you again for being my first ever request! - Skylar

[teenythings]

cozy stuff !!!! nem nem nem 🥹

[tnybinkybun]

wnted to show off my pacis!! i made dem all myself an i love dem so much ^^

[jamiesgotchu]

this is Skunk (they/them), an oc I came up with a couple days ago and I have not stopped drawing them SINCE. they're so squashy and angsty hehe little angry guy

(ppsst!!!! rbs appreciated if you like my art:3)

[lavenderplushie]

october 1st picnic for my baby bats! what did you choose? 🖤🦇✨

[frootietoots]

art trade with yosi/cherry !!! i love their art n stuffs so i was glad to take up the offer ... a month ago (DRAWING IS HARD !!!)

[pynkpommy]

💙🔹 don’t drop me 🔹💙

(ft. @b0tster 💗)

[shhtickerbook]

Coloured in bingo and Bob Bilby!

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

You Shouldn't Kiss Me Like This.... (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Fandom: Outer Range, Rhett Abbott, f!reader Summary: You and Rhett have a unique friendship. Every time you go out with a group, you end up getting drunk, dancing, and making out with him only to then wind up going home with other people. But what happens when Rhett asks you to dance before either of you has had a drink.... Word Count: 3744 TW: Fluff, Kissing, Love Confession, Drinking, Mentions of drunk making out, Mentions of drunk dancing, Language Notes: For @ohtobeleah's Galentine's Day Special based on "You Shouldn't Kiss Me Like This" by Toby Keith (RIP 😔💗)

Despite the relatively early hour, the bar was busier than usual even for a Saturday night. You had forgotten there was some big sports thing that weekend the next town over so the overabundance of unfamiliar faces blending into the sea of regulars was a bit of a shock when you first arrived with your friends but—miraculously—the six of you managed to stake your claim on a table not too far from where you usually sat. 

However, you had struggled to squeeze through the crowd and since everyone else was already sitting when you finally caught up, it was unanimously decided you should fight your way back up to the bar to get the first round of drinks. You put up a brief mock protest before surrendering to the peer pressure, but secretly, you didn’t mind. It gave you a chance to scope out the space and see if any of the out-of-towners caught your eye. Your town wasn’t small per se, but even in a medium-sized pond, there were only so many fish. So when there was a chance at some fresh blood, why not take advantage?

What seemed like an eternity later, you pushed your way back to your friends and practically threw the beers onto the table before collapsing into the booth. While you had enjoyed watching all the new potential hookups around you, you had also been relentlessly jostled, had beer spilled on your boots, and had three separate guys grab your ass before claiming it was an “accident” due to the crowd. And all just to get a crappy $7 beer. Ridiculous.

As you took your first drink, you finally realized only five people were sitting around the table instead of six. Nudging Parker who was sitting next to you, you leaned over and shouted above the music, “Where’d Rhett go?”

She shrugged dismissively, her attention locked on some douchy-looking frat bro eye-fucking her from a few tables away. “I don’t know. He said something about going to help you with the drinks or something.”

“Well, I never saw him.”

“He’s a big boy. He’ll find his way back. Or not.” She pointed at the frat bro, signaling the end of her interest in your questions. “What do you think about him?”

Without glancing back over, you deadpanned, “I think if you let him even touch you, you should get tested in the morning.”

She rolled her eyes at you before sitting up straighter as she bit her lip and coyly waved at the frat bro, clearly dismissing you. 

You caught Alec’s eye over the top of Parker’s head and you both tried to suppress a chuckle. Parker infamously made the worst choices when it came to men and she only dug her claws in deeper when any of you tried to talk her out of them, so it was better to just let her do whatever she was going to do and help her deal with the consequences afterward.

Relaxing back in your seat, you took another long drink from your beer. It was now almost half empty and just the thought of wading back through the crowd for another one made you internally groan. Though you could probably convince Alec to go since you got the first round but that would involv–

Your internal conversation was cut off as you spotted Rhett pushing his way through the crowd towards the table. Sitting up, you smiled at him. “Oh, there you are. I thought you might have gotten trampled by the mob of people or something. Your beer’s getting war–”

“Come dance with me.”

You were taken aback as he thrust out his hand to help you up from the table. 

It was a given at this point that by the end of the night, you and Rhett would end up hammered, uninhibited, and viciously making out in the middle of the dance floor. It’s what happened every time you went to the bar: You’d both drink, you’d both dance together, you’d both get all hot and bothered, and you’d both find someone else to take you home for the night. It was a strange system but it worked. Parker once joked that you were each other’s fluffers, just getting things ready for your real targets for the night. And while you would prefer to phrase it somewhat more tastefully, she wasn’t exactly wrong. Plus, you had found that a lot of guys (and girls in Rhett’s case) loved watching you making out with someone else, rubbing your body all over theirs, just for you to go home with them instead. It seemed as if the two of you weren’t the only ones getting fluffed in this situation.

However, neither you nor Rhett ever stepped foot on the dance floor until you’d finished at least three or four beers. He was fairly shy and reserved when sober and you both were very self-conscious of your dancing before getting at least slightly buzzed. Yet you were currently only halfway through beer number one and his first beer still sat unopened on the table next to you. Rhett might have pre-gamed on his own before you, Tara, and Spencer picked him up, but he seemed completely sober so you couldn’t imagine what he was thinking. 

“I–but we–I mean…”

Rhett smiled as he leaned in close to be heard over the music. “It’s just a dance, sweetheart. It ain’t anythin’ we don’t do every week.”

“Bu-but what about our drinks?”

“I’m sure Parker—” he took one glance at your friend sitting next to you still making “do-me” eyes at the frat boy and corrected his statement “—Tara wouldn’t mind keepin’ an eye on ‘em.”

“You two go,” Tara said, smiling from where she was sitting with Spencer’s arm draped across her shoulders. “Your drinks will still be here when you get back.”

“Well…maybe,” Spencer muttered just loud enough to be heard over the music as he eyed Rhett’s untouched beer.

Tara elbowed her boyfriend with a scowl before turning back to you and gesturing for you to go. Still confused about the change in your routine, you took Rhett’s hand and let him help you to your feet. As he led you towards the dance floor, you turned your head just in time to see Tara and Spencer laughing and shaking their heads as they watched the two of you leave. Then Spencer reached for Rhett’s beer but Tara slapped his hand away. 

You knew your friends didn’t understand this weird arrangement you and Rhett had fallen into—hell, it barely made sense to you. They were all convinced as they watched you week after week that the two of you were falling in love. They never believed you’re just friends having a little drunken fun.

Not that you hadn’t ever considered Rhett as a potential love connection. The first night you met him, that was where you thought things were headed. He had finally had enough of his toxic home life back in Wyoming and was looking for a fresh start somewhere new. So when a contact from his time bull-riding who lived in town offered him a job, he jumped at the opportunity. 

You met him a few days later in this very bar when you saw him sitting all alone in the back corner. Of course, you noticed his classic-cowboy good looks, but what really caught your eye was how nervous and shy he seemed, his eyes mostly trained on the beer in front of him except when they occasionally shifted around the bar uncertainly. It wasn’t as if he were scared of someone seeing him or that he was on the run from something. No. He looked like a kid on his first day of school who wasn’t sure of where to sit at lunch.

So, you had gone and sat down at his table with two beers and a friendly smile. It took quite a bit of patience and coaxing, but Rhett eventually began to open up to you. Then, just as you were going to make the move to his side of the booth, your friends found you and asked for an introduction. By the end of the night, Rhett had slipped naturally into the gang and it felt weird pursuing him in any romantic way after that. After all, you could see how much he needed a support system in this new town and you didn’t want to take that from him for a one-night fling. 

Which was why when you found yourselves sloppily making out in the middle of the dance floor a few weeks later and he just brushed it off like it was nothing, you didn’t push it or question it. And when it happened again, and again, and again, it just felt like a routine or a tradition and you never looked deeper into it.

But now Rhett had suddenly changed things up and you still had no idea why.

Once you reached the dance floor, Rhett pulled you in close and the two of you began to dance. There were so many people around you that you couldn’t move more than a few inches in any direction, but since you usually just rubbed against each other while making out, it shouldn’t have been an issue. However, without the usual buzz from the drinks, you were way too in your head about every move you made. Your usual fluid, natural movements felt stiff and robotic, and all you could think about was where Rhett’s hands were or what part of him was pressed against you at any given time. It was a disaster.

The song ended and a soft, melodic tune began to play. Slow songs were pretty rare but they were always the perfect opportunity for another drink, and boy did you need one. You turned to brave the crowd around the bar once more, however, Rhett’s fingers slipped into yours and he spun you back into his arms.

A half grin pulled at the corner of his mouth as he saw your surprised face and he asked, “You rushin’ off already? We just got out here.” 

“In case I’m the only one who has noticed, I’m not really feeling this right now. And besides, we don’t do slow dances.”

“Tonight we do.” He must have seen the hesitation still on your face because he squeezed your hand. “Come on. You can tough it out for one song, then they’ll play somethin’ fast we can move to and you’ll get into the flow of it. Otherwise, you’ll just be waitin’ in that line for the rest of the night.”

Even pressed against him and over the softer melody of the slow music, the deep timbre of his voice was still difficult to hear but you knew he was right. By the time you made it through the crowd of people to reach the bar for another drink, many upbeat songs would have passed and there was a good chance you’d be ticked off by your waiting experience just like the first time. Instead, you could just stick it out here with Rhett and you’d be back to your usual dancing in mere minutes. And he was probably right. Given a few more songs, you’d probably figure out this sober dancing thing and actually enjoy yourself. So, somewhat reluctantly, you nodded to signal you’d stay.

Apparently, many of the people around you had the same thought you originally did because the crowds around you began to thin out giving you and Rhett a little more room to maneuver. The two of you were swaying together slowly and you have to admit it’s a nice change from your usual high-energy grinding. 

Then as the music began to swell, he surprised you by spinning you out and when you twirled back into him, Rhett placed his hand on the center of your back and pulled you tight until you were pressed firmly against his chest. You looked up–unsure of what he was doing–just as his other hand brushed across your cheek to settle on the nape of your neck. One of the colored lights flashed across his face, illuminating the intensity deep within his eyes as he stared at you, and you felt your heart skip a beat as time seemed to freeze around you. 

But that was silly. This was Rhett. You shouldn’t feel this fluttering in your chest or tingling where his skin brushed yours. He was your good friend, someone you had made out with every week and barely gave it a second thought. So why was there this different feel about him tonight? Why couldn't you take your eyes off his lips, why was your head spinning, and why were your knees growing weak? And why didn’t you want it to stop?

Then, using the hand on the back of your neck to tilt your head, Rhett’s lips were suddenly on yours.

Electricity shot right through you as every nerve in your body seemed to light up at once. It felt like you had just jammed a fork into an electrical socket but in the best of ways. This was unlike any kiss you had ever shared with Rhett—with anyone—before. Usually, your kisses with Rhett were drunken, and sloppy, and uncoordinated. But this…Rhett was as sober as you ever see him, and every curl of his lips, every swipe of his tongue, it all felt so fluid, almost choreographed. As if he had planned for this moment for ages. 

Your eyes drifted closed as you let yourself sink deeper into his embrace. You could no longer tell if you were standing still or spinning around and around and around as a dizzying fog enveloped your mind. For a few seconds, you didn’t even know where you were at. All that existed was you and Rhett and the kiss. 

But then you shifted, the top of your head bumping into the brim of his hat almost knocking it off, and the spell was broken. Rhett pulled away, fixing his hat, and leaving you clinging to him for support as the world came rushing back to you. The slow song was still playing and crowds of people around you still occasionally bumped into you as they danced, And yet, from the moment Rhett’s lips touched yours, everything had changed.

But had he felt it too?

With your face still just a few inches away from his, you chuckled softly. “You know, you really shouldn’t kiss me like this.”

“An’ why’s that?” 

“You might give a girl the wrong impression. Make her start thinking lots of crazy things.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. He just gave you that same intense stare he had just before the kiss and you felt your heart begin to speed up once more. Then, in a voice you could only just make out over the music, he asked, “What if that’s the point? What if I’m tired of waitin’ for her to figure out how I feel?”

All the air was sucked out of your lungs as his revelation drove into your chest like a fist. “Rhett…”

“No…No…” Before you could process what he was saying, he shook his head and stepped back, letting his hands fall to his sides as he released his hold on you. “’m sorry. I shouldn’t—I’m doin’ this all wrong. But I couldn’t take another week of you wrapped in my arms, your lips on mine, just to then watch you go home with someone else. I just…I just wanted you to know. ‘m sorry.”

He started to hurry off the dance floor but this time it was your turn to grab his arm to stop him from leaving. His eyes flickered up to yours and you saw that all the confidence and certainty that had been there before had been extinguished, leaving only fear behind. You knew it was the same fear you were feeling right now: fear of this changing everything; fear of this ruining your friendship; fear of what came next. 

Sliding your hand into his and linking your fingers, you muttered, “Come here” before leading him off the dance floor and back towards the rear of the building. There was a separate concert area back there that they only opened for shows so you knew it was one of the few places in the bar that would give you some semblance of privacy.

Once there, you ducked into the empty space and shut the door. You could still feel the vibrations from the music and hear the dull thumping, but it wasn’t as overwhelming as it had been before. In here, at least you and Rhett wouldn’t need to shout to be heard. 

Now that you were alone, neither one of you seemed to know what to say or how to start. You both shifted slightly as you glanced at each other. Finally, Rhett rubbed the back of his neck and said, “Listen, can we just forget any of that happened? I don’t want things to be weird between us and ‘m sorry if—”

“No, I’m sorry,” you said, cutting him off. “I was just a little surprised by that kiss and what I said didn’t come out right. But what I should have said, what I meant to say—” you stepped forward until you were brushing up against him, placing your hands on his chest. “—was ‘you shouldn’t kiss me like this…unless you mean it like that’.”

Rhett’s long eyelashes fluttered several times in quick succession and you saw his Adam’s apple bob wildly out of the corner of your eye. Licking his lips, he hesitated for another moment then asked, “And if I do? If I–If I mean it like that?”

Leaning forward, you whispered, “If you do, then, baby, kiss me again.”

The moment that his lips touched yours, the world once again fell away. If anything, now that you were returning his kiss with the same tenderness and enthusiasm, it was even more intoxicating than the kiss on the dance floor and you never wanted it to end.

Both of Rhett’s large, calloused hands slid up to cup your face, his thumb softly rubbing back and forth across your cheekbone. He used this leverage to drive you back a few steps and you soon felt your back bump against the wall. He pressed closer, sandwiching you between the cold, rough concrete and his warm, firm body. Another spark of electricity shot through you and you wondered if he felt it too as you felt the growing bulge in his pants jerk against your hip. 

Through the haze of the kiss, you briefly considered how far you should let this go. A small part of you wanted to undo his belt right this second and drop to your knees before him, or to slide down your jeans and let him pound into you against this wall. After all, the two of you were still alone and no one would see you. However, the bigger part of you knew no matter how amazing you felt at this moment, this was all very new and you shouldn’t rush things. You and Rhett still needed to figure out what this meant for the two of you moving forward, and adding sex right now would just make things even more complicated.

Rhett must have come to the same conclusion because he shifted his hips so they were no longer pressed against you. Then he reluctantly pulled his lips off of yours. His hands slid off your face onto the wall behind you, one braced on either side of your head as both of you stared at one another panting as you tried to catch your breath. All you could do was look at Rhett’s lips and imagine them pressed against yours once more. And from how he stared at you, a hunger pulsing in his blue eyes, you felt he was thinking the same thing. 

“Why didn’t you do that sooner?” you whispered.

“I wanted to since that first night we met. When I saw how kind, and funny, and incredible you were, I was smitten. But then the rest of the gang showed up and for the first time in a long time, I felt accepted. I was afraid makin’ a move on you would ruin all a that and I figured havin’ you as a friend was better than not havin’ you in my life at all. For a while, I settled for our dances and kisses, but I finally realized I didn’t want to be just your friend anymore. So, I took a chance.”

“I’m glad you did because I felt the same way.”

Rhett grinned. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You leaned forward and pressed a kiss into his cheek. “Thank you for being the brave one.”

Rhett’s cheeks grew red in the dim light but he nodded as he let his hands fall from the wall behind you. Standing up straight, he glanced over his shoulder. “Um, I guess we should probably get back before we get in trouble for bein’ back here.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Besides, I wouldn’t be surprised if Tara’s sent Spencer out to find us yet.” You pushed off the wall, but as Rhett started to open the door, you stopped him. “Rhett…what happens now? Where do we go from here?”

He thought for a moment before a sly grin spread across his face. Walking up to you, he plucked his cowboy hat off his head and placed it on top of yours, pulling the brim down low over your brow.

Since the night you met him, you had never seen Rhett let a single person wear his hat, let alone touch it. So for him to give it to you, even temporarily…

You squeezed his hand tightly as you gazed into his eyes, loving what you saw reflected there. “How do I look?”

“Damn, sweetheart, looks like it was made for you,” Rhett’s voice was thicker than normal as he stared at you. “I shouldda given it to you the night we met, as soon as you sat down at my table with that smile and a beer.”

Now it was your turn to feel the blood rushing to your cheeks. Glancing shyly at the floor, you asked, “I love it, but I’m not really sure how this answers my question about us?”

“What do you know about Cowboy Law?”

Taglist: @luckyladycreator2, @nik2blog, @dumb-fawkin-bitch

[the-ramona]

"Fardeau agréable" by Maidith/KristinaGehrmann, 2012

[teenythings]

self indulgent moodboard :}

[rosethorn-zz]

online friends

[lavenderplushie]

foraging story game! reblog with your answers! 💚🍄🌿