#the right has like. appropriated the yellow shirt so i can't look at it and not wanna throw up anymore pleaee TAKE IT OFF DKSNSOSK

[dontmixpaintinyourcoffee]

EAH was one of my very favorite cartoons as a kid, and I've been enjoying it's renaissance very much, so REDESIGNS!!! (I've done a bunch over a couple months and put them on Instagram, but I figured I'd move them here cause Instagram sucks, so if you've seen them before over there that's why)

I think the original designs are aesthetically pleasing, but they're not super practical for the characters- case in point! Gay icon Darling Charming

I'm gonna put all my design notes under the cut so if you don't care about that carry on, have a nice day

Darlings original design is fun, but it doesn't serve an obvious purpose, at least not that I can see. She clearly wears armor on the outside of her outfit, the Marie Antoinette poof is a bit strange to me, and she has very little visually tying her to Dexter and Daring. I wanted to emphasize her secrecy, but also her passion for puzzle solving, riddles, combat tactics, ect. when she's around the people she trusts (as if the queer metaphor wasn't obvious enough)

Here are some details that just make me happy

-First, the hair. I knew I wanted to give the White Knight a more unique look, and I wanted to simplify it overall. I LOVE the original armor, but it would be a huge pain to animate, and I don't have the patience for that, so I went for a masquerade-ball-three-musketeers-vibe. The braided bun is still a fancy, regal style, but it's a lot easier for her to manage in her uniform

-I tried to synthesize the color schemes of the Charming siblings. They all have a pit of yellow, a bit of pinkish red, a bit of blue. The twins lean heavy into yellow and blue, with splashes of red where thematically appropriate. Darling doesn't really communicate with Daring much, so she has the least amount of red. I think having more muted colors in comparison to her brothers also emphasizes the fact that she's hiding herself. She is very much defying her family with her ambitions, and she has to work hard to keep it under wraps. Sort of related, I gave her a tooth gap, because it's a cute design detail, but also to act as a "flaw" to contrast with Daring. Daring's primary physical trait is his ungodly perfect teeth, so I thought it'd be fun to give her an "imperfect" trait, like Dexter and his glasses. There's nothing actually wrong with them, but it's a failure to reach the insane expectations that the Charming family has cultivated over the generations. Basically the Charmings are petty and I feel bad for the youngest generation.

-Speaking of concealment! There are a couple bits that I thought would be fun to hide throughout her outfit. First, the skirt is flowy enough and the shirt is positioned just right so that you can't tell, but she has pieces of leather armor on at all times. She saves the plates for wonderland. She also wears gloves to hide the callouses on her fingers from swordfighting! She also probably keeps knives in her hair somewhere. Pulling a small switchblade out of the base of her bun just seems like something she would do

-Final thing, I gave her a scar! From what I can tell, she's always been very rough-and-tumble, so I gave her a scar over her brow. She likes to pretend it's from a Mysterious Incident to mess with her friends, but really she was wrestling Daring when they were like, 4 and 6, and she bonked her face into a table. She got over it real fast, but Daring got a long lecture about it, and that's when he started getting over-protective about her

[delopsia]

Tied To Your Body | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 5,000 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, Fem!Reader, unprotected sex, mentions of Rhett having a popcorn fixation (in other words ~mentions of food~), sex in a truck, a little bit of running from Maria, and mentions of Rhett recently losing his virginity to the reader ❤

They never talk about the beginning of the rodeo season.

No, no, they always talk about the end of it. 

When the stakes are at their highest, one wrong move can cost you everything you've been working towards. A bracing breeze half-heartedly nipping at your skin, crisp with everything Autumn. Leaves painted in their favorite warm tones, yellow, red, and orange, when the local farmers are harvesting their corn and soybeans, and the days become shorter and shorter.

They never talk about how the season starts in the Spring. The air always deceptively cold. One week, there's snow on the ground, and you're shivering up in the stands; the next, it feels like a hot summer day, and you're sweating through your clothes. When unexpected showers can come at any time, without warning, and when the pollen gives your allergies a run for their money, reminding you of your own mortality. 

The weatherman said it would be quite warm tonight; the temperature appropriate for a t-shirt and shorts. But here you are, freezing your ass off because you took his advice and wore a short skirt.

Talk about the mistake of your life.

Pacing next to the fence line, jumping up and down, daydreaming about snuggling up next to a nice, cozy fire, nothing is working. In fact, it only serves to make you even colder, and when you step away from your spot along the fence for the briefest of seconds, your spot is taken. Some large, older man who scowls at you when you so much as breathe in his direction.

From across the rodeo grounds, hidden behind the elderly asshole who just spit tobacco on the ground next to your feet, you're staring daggers into the side of Rhett Abbott's skull. How has this unsocialized, pale cowboy dragged you all the way out to a rodeo three hours outside of Wabang? Where in your life did you make the turn that led you down this old dirt path? 

A blaring horn has you turning your gaze back to the left, just in time to catch glimpse of a black and white bull as it bursts out into the ring, his unfortunate rider already soaring through the open air. Your eyes flick back to where Rhett was once standing, waiting on his final ride of the night.

But he's not there.

What's worse is that you can't figure out where he could have made off to. Leading you to stand on your tiptoes and glance around in hopes of catching glimpse of that not-so-unique cowboy hat. So many brown hats in this crowded place. None of them attached to Rhett Abbott.

God, you hope he's not off buying popcorn. 

It's hard to recall how it came about. It may have gotten its start when he bought a Christmas popcorn tin because there was an adorable litter of golden retriever puppies on it, didn't know there was popcorn inside until later. Or, it could have been that time you took him to a proper movie theater, introduced him to the concept of sneaking snacks in via your purse and the wonders of theater popcorn.

Maybe it's both, but whatever the case, you can't seem to get the fool away from it. Every event ends with a surprise appearance of popcorn. 

"Ya look cold." 

It takes you a moment to realize that the voice is coming from your right, concealed by an unfamiliar group of people shuffling past. But you'd recognize that old denim jacket from anywhere, the dark blue one with the flannel lining inside, just barely peeking out. No popcorn in hand. 

"Because I am," you grit, barely concealing the chattering of your teeth, "what gives it away?"

Rhett hums, like he's deep in thought, "everythin'."

Maybe you would have a witty comeback to grill him about his lack of descriptors, but the beginnings of it are snuffed out as he settles next to you. Opening up big, inviting arms,  encouraging you to snuggle into him, and you do just that. Stepping closer, you tuck yourself right into his side, head resting against his shoulder, where you can hear his heartbeat the slightest bit.

It may be cold outside, but Rhett's a goddamn heater. Warm enough to melt the invisible frost from your poor skin, your own little bundle of fire to keep you from getting frostbite. 

"Shame we're in public," he muses as he presses his astoundingly frigid nose into your temple, "can think of much better ways to warm ya up."

You've created a monster.

You knew that being his first would unleash something, but good lord, you did not expect him to become a downright addict. Ready to drop to his knees at the drop of his own hat, the slightest notion of sex has him 

Rolling your eyes as if you're not squeezing your legs just a little tighter, "you need to go to a rehab."

For no reason in particular.

Yeah.

No reason at all.

"Not sure how you expect me t'go 'bout that, doll," a scruffy chin scratches your cheek as he presses a kiss there, "'please help me, doc, I can't take my mind off my girlfriend's tight lil' pussy'."

"Rhett!" 

This place is far too loud for anyone to have heard him, but you still catch yourself glancing around, fully expecting to catch sight of the horrified eyes of an eavesdropper. You find none. 

A second kiss is pressed to your jaw. Then a third, right where your neck meets with your jaw bone, trailing sloppily toward the soft spot beneath your ear. His favorite spot to nibble on, threatening to leave a mark but never quite following through with it. That poor heart of his can't handle the embarrassment of his momma noticing and putting two and two together. 

"Y'smell nice," He murmurs against your skin, "much better than 'em ol' bulls."

You'll take his word for it; he reeks of the very bulls he speaks of, "gee, thanks," squirming, unable to escape the cowboy-shaped glue trap you've mistakenly snuggled up into, "your compliments are impeccable."

The world tilts. Something hard hits your ass.

Just a second ago, you were face-to-face with Rhett. Now you're at eye level with a pair of scuffed cowboy boots. An ache already blossoming in your right shoulder. 

Rhett's yelling something, but you don't know what or at who. What you do know is that there are hands appearing in front of you, big, familiar, encompassing yours as they warily slide into his grasp. 

"Y'alright?" There's a stiffness to his concern; you don't know what for.

You're still processing what just happened, but you're nodding, "yeah." Your ass hurts. 

It's hard to focus on, though, because Rhett's gingerly releasing your hands, hovering, as if you'll fall again if he moves too quick. You don't see it until he turns; just a few feet away stands a familiar, broody old man rubbing his shoulder like he's smacked it on something. 

"Don't you think you owe somebody an apology?" 

Oh.

The guy is too far away for you to hear what he says, but it doesn't look like any apology you've ever seen. What you do see, though, is a right hand reaching for something on his hip. 

"Rhett," your hand is shooting up on its own accord, catching him by the shoulder; it's not a firm grip by any means, but he stops regardless. 

You want to say something more; not here, not now, not when you've still got your final ride coming up, but Rhett's already backing off. Odd to think that this has happened so many times that you've practically got him trained.

"Prick just knocked you clean off your feet," he hisses, hands coming down to cradle your hips, loose, as if they're made of glass, "y'gotta let me make 'n example outta somebody, one of these days."

"I will," you probably won't, "but right now, you've already got two jobs on your plate."

Like a puppy, his head tilts to the side, the sweetest of subconscious habits, "whaddaya mean?"

"Keeping me warm," leaning upward as you speak, brushing the tips of your noses together, "and winning this rodeo, so we can have something to celebrate tonight."

His left eye twitches. What blue was left in those already dark irises is gone in an instant, as black as the night sky. "Celebrate, huh?"

It's probably just a coincidence.

There's absolutely no way that your little pre-ride remark triggered Rhett to jump from position number nine to number one. But he's spinning around in the ring, searching for your face, grinning from ear to ear when he spots you. Proud. 

Those eyes are still black when he disappears behind the chutes, easily becoming lost in that endless sea of bull riders. Whether or not one of those riders will beat his score before the night is over is anyone's guess, but to you, he's already won. The show's over, ready to be packed up and for everyone to hit the road.

All you can think of right now is your warm bed. How cozy it'll be when you cuddle up in it together, freshly showered. You can already feel his chin hooking over your shoulder, arms loosely draped around your waist, watching what videos play on your phone, curious. So eager to learn what the hell a Tumblr is because his phone is so ancient that he can't download apps anymore. 

Just the thought of it has you yawning; this concrete sidewalk might as well be a bed because you're considering taking a nap right here and now. 

A heavy chest bumps into your back, hard enough to startle your yawn. There is only one man who kisses up your neck like that, starting with the skin peeking out from your shirt collar. All the while, the edge of his hat bumps into you. "Was I good 'nough for ya, doll?" 

One of these days, he'll figure out that the answer is always going to be yes. 

Teeth nibble on the shell of your ear, toying with it like a teething puppy. In this chilly Spring air, his breath tickling your skin feels like fire, burning everything it touches in the most delicious of ways. But it's nowhere near as hot as the palms that are sliding beneath your shirt, pressing firm against your soft belly. 

"Well, hello to you too," your words are meant to be louder, but they're lost to the wind the moment his tongue darts out to soothe over his little bites. 

On their own, your hips wander backward, finding a familiar tent in his old jeans. The ones that are a size too small, leftover from his high school days, worn with the intent of ripping them up during a ride, but the material too stubborn to actually do so. Horrible for him but wonderful for you to watch him jump until it squeezes over his ass. 

"So goddamn p'rty when you're standin' over 'ere," voice a few octaves deeper than usual, rough, gravelly, like how it sounds when he's just woken up, "y'got a dozen riders makin' heart eyes back there."

You just can't help the question boiling on your tongue. "Are you one of them?" 

"Always," and that is definitely his dick pressing into the curve of your ass. Riled up, and all you've done is stand here and shiver. 

Tied to your body, this one is. 

Leaning into him, you tilt your head to the side, your nose bumping into his as you do so, too close for your own good. Pearly white teeth sink into his thin bottom lip, dragging it into his mouth as if reigning himself in from acting out in public. But oh, those bitten lips look so kissable. One little kiss couldn't...hurt...

"Rhett!" That's not your voice, and it's certainly not Rhett's. 

If he hears it, he doesn't react, too focused on closing the gap between your mouths to do much else. One brush, and already you can taste the buttered popcorn he's splurged on. You're sure you'll find a fresh bag in his—

"Rhett!" There it is again. On your left. Closer this time. 

This time, he draws away, narrow eyes darting across the rodeo grounds. It's not confusion that contorts his face; it's recognition. A visible, 'aha!' moment, concealed in the widening of his eyes. 

"Rhett!"

"Shit." 

It's not until the third step that you realize you're moving, escorted away by the thick forearms that secure you into his side. There's a temptation to stop, dig your heels into the ground until he explains what the hell's going on, but you doubt he'd even feel your resistance. Built like those bulls that he rides for fun. 

"Who was that?" You squeak, stumbling along in tandem with his step. Asking where you're going is pointless when he's already got you directed toward the parking lot.

Rhett's head swivels, peering over his shoulder. Whatever he sees has him moving a little quicker. "Maria." 

Now that's a name you haven't heard in a minute. You forget her last name, but you can recall enough to know that he had quite the crush on her back in high school. His momma never quite shuts up about it, convinced that since her first love worked out, Rhett's will, too, even if he's moved on. 

That being said, you don't know how many people quite literally run from their so-called first love. 

"And we're fleeing the vicinity because...?" Voice bouncing as you speak, your skirt catching in the wind and smacking against your thighs with every step.

"Once she starts a-talkin'," steering you left; his truck sits on the very end, sticking out like a sore thumb compared to all the pavement princesses in this town, "she'll never stop."

And here, Cecelia wonders why the topic of Maria never bugs you.

Unlike these other vehicles, Rhett's farm truck doesn't come with the luxury of a key fob. Too old for such technology, doesn't even possess powered windows. Instead of carting you towards the passenger door, he stops on the driver's side, jamming his key into the tiny lock. He's got no choice but to open it manually, and yet, you still find your heart fluttering in your chest when he opens it for you.

"Up, up, up," by the time you register his voice, you're already squeezing past the steering wheel. Spurs jingle behind you, the truck shaking as Rhett all but throws himself into the vehicle. 

There's a large bag of popcorn in your seat. A bag that certainly was not there a little bit ago.

He sees it. 

You see it. 

He sees you see it. 

Kisses pepper along your cheek. One after another, insistent, doing their absolute best to distract you from the snack he's become so horribly obsessed with.

"Rhett," you warn,  scooting away, but he follows. They tickle, his breath disturbing all those sensitive spots along your cold skin, forcing the corners of your lips to turn upward. "What're you doing?"

"Nothin'," but you can feel his smile as he continues to drown you with them, slowly but surely making his way to your lips. Pausing just before your mouths meet, darkened eyes flitting up to meet with yours, unsure, searching. 

Nothing, your ass.

It's hard to tease him over his eating habits when you've got him looking at you the way he does. Awestruck that you're real, sitting right here in the middle of his beat-up farm truck. All those kisses he's given you, and yet, he waits for you to seal the gap. 

One kiss couldn't hurt, right?

He knows it's coming, and yet, he has the audacity to give you that little, surprised inhale when your mouth meets with his. Always so shocked by your kisses, like he's never had them before a day in his life. Lips feather-light as they mold to slot with yours, have never known a kiss other than yours.

Only one kiss. Only one. You know what more can lead to, and a rodeo parking lot isn't the time nor the place for that. Tentative lips snatch a second kiss away from you, a mere peck, something meant to be fleeting, but it's all you can even think about. 

Maybe...maybe a few more couldn't hurt. 

The brim of his hat bumps into your head as you come back for more; if your eyes were open, you're sure you'd laugh over how it's barely hanging on, but you couldn't open them even if you wanted to. Fingertips graze the side of your neck, drawing up to curl around your jaw, anchoring you there. 

It was you who didn't want to kiss him more than once, and yet; it's you who greedily leans into him, chasing his touch. But is it chasing if he's meeting you halfway? Always on the same page, tilting his head whenever you do, matching your angle, following your quickening pace. 

A big hand takes hold of your waist, pushing, urging you to lie back against the seat. These cloth seats are anything but high quality, but after sitting on bleachers until your ass went numb, they feel like they've been hand-crafted by the gods above. 

Your head hits something soft, crunching under your weight. "Is that what I think it is?" 

Rhett's ears flush red, as vibrant as the car parked next to you. Without a word, he reaches behind your head, sliding the bag of popcorn out and setting it on the floorboard. You'd tease him if it weren't for the crippling realization that he's slid between your legs. Tattered jeans rough against your bare thighs, legs split wide to fit around his hips. 

Curious, they tilt forward, clothed bulge rubbing over your thin panties. You have to fight the urge to push yourself up against him; it feels so right, but you're in public.

"Ain't nobody fixin' to come lookin' for us," and the uncouth bastard does it again, dragging his clothed hard-on right where you want him. Still stretched from your rendezvous in the shower this morning, then again when you had a few extra minutes after you visited him on the ranch. 

"That's not what I'm worried about," you don't think Maria would follow you all the way out here anyway, "I'm worried about the potential public indecency charges."

Calloused hands run up your inner thighs, and those worries downright evaporate from your brain altogether. They drag back up, then back down, continuing even when you unintentionally squeeze your legs together, heat blossoming there. 

"Ain't this the kind of thing you read 'bout in those...smuck stories you like?" His eyebrows furrow; knows that's not the right word, but he can't quit pin it.

He might as well be illiterate, but he's pretty damn good at remembering what you read. 

"Have you been taking notes?"

"Just a few." His head drops, hair falling out from behind his ear, barely concealing those bashful eyes as he tries to look anywhere but at you. Unable to meet your eye after such a confession. Sometimes you forget that just a few weeks ago, he'd never done anything like this before. 

As you reach up to curl your hands around his cheeks, scruffy but remarkably squishy beneath your palms, you recognize that you're creating a monster. Once you start doing something, it's hard for either of you to stop. But maybe that's not such a bad thing. However, if he keeps looking at you like that, all soft and shit, you're not going to be responsible for what happens next.

"Those notes had better be good, cowboy," and then you're drawing him down to steal a kiss off those swollen lips of his. Lingering, not quite ready to let go now that you've closed that gap. 

This close, you can feel his mouth turn upward, contorting against yours, unable to hide it in the slightest. "Only one way to find out," another peck, "right?"

Perfectly mirroring the ones he peppered up the back of your neck, he leaves open-mouthed kisses down your throat. Pays special attention to the sensitive collarbones that lie just below, peeking out from your top. Teeth nibbling on the bones, enough to elicit a gasp from you, then soothing over his marks with a warm tongue. 

A tongue that you have become far too familiar with as of late. 

Hands creep up your shirt, his nails dragging up the sides of your waist, stopping just below your ribcage. It tickles, sends your back arching under his touch, unsure if you want more or to get away from it. 

If you were anywhere else, he'd work you out of every article of clothing that clings to your body; but you're still somewhat in public. Instead, he settles for pushing your shirt upward, showering your belly with the same love and affection he blessed your neck with. 

"So pretty," his words punctuated by kisses, "can't believe you're real, sometimes." 

Boots bump against the door; he's gone as far back as he physically can. His face falls, looking backward to try and find more space, but he has none. Still unfamiliar with the logistics of jamming two bodies into the front seat of this old GMC. 

Gingerly, he pulls your panties to the side, but he doesn't touch you like you expect him to, "can y'check if you need prep, doll?" 

Certainly not what you'd expected him to say in the slightest. "Did you break your fingers while you were out there?" But your dominant hand is already rising to his mouth, two fingers nudging at his lips. 

"Nah," tongue rolling out like a welcome mat, he welcomes them inside, carefully wetting them, "but they're too dirty for me to be touchin' ya here." 

One of his hands rises, revealing the dirt that's collected beneath his nails and in the wrinkles of his fingers. You don't want to know what you could catch from that. 

Pleasantly, you're surprised to find that there's hardly any resistance when you press your wet fingers inside. You'd been expecting more, something that required a little effort to take care of, but then again, you've had little time to recover from the last round. "I think I'm good." 

Magic is the only way you can explain how easily he undoes that buckle of his, clasped one second, unclasped the next. You could spend an hour practicing and still never get that same result, but Rhett makes it look so easy that it's almost infuriating. 

He's the one to pull his zipper down, but it's you who reaches past the confines of those jeans and fishes him out of his boxers. Heavy in your palm, twitching the moment you've got him within your grasp. Not quite as scary as it looks when it's fighting against the material of his too-small pants.

"Hands always so goddamn soft," he breathes, bracing a hand against the seat.

It's too easy to guide him down, tapping that plush head against your entrance for the third time today. And yet, still, that forward tilt of his hips has you gasping, like it's been weeks since the last time you felt this.

"Shit," you can't help but swear, you're going to be so sore come tomorrow morning, "Rhett."

It's hard to understand why you're saying his name in the first place. So taken aback by the drag of his blunt head against your walls that you can't focus on what's coming out of your mouth. Rhett drops back down, forearms bracing on either side of your head as he presses your noses together. 

His cockhead bumps against that sensitive bundle of nerves, and your thighs clamp down around his hips. It's annoying how slow he is with you, how gentle, even when he's aware that you can take him without batting an eye at this point. Stops midway to see if you give him any indications to stop.

"Rhett, if you don't get your dick all the way in me, I swear to—"

His hips quirk upward, and all of a sudden, he's bottoming out. Punching the air from your lungs, stars sparkling behind your eyelids. You've gotta start watching what you wish for.

"What was that?" Smug, grinning against your cheekbone. "Hm?"

Like you said, you're creating a monster. 

But now that you've shattered that initial slowness, he's completely abandoned it. Hips drawing back, then pushing right back in, a short stroke, but offers you no opportunity to gather your bearings. Gives you no chance to prepare yourself for the obscene squelch that he works out of you.

"Asshole," your voice is strained, barely there. 

Again, he repeats it, recreating the same deliberate motion that has you reaching up to grasp his bicep. Need something to hold onto because that sound coming from between your legs is going to send you straight to hell. Over and over, until you're contemplating starting the truck just to blast the radio, drown out that awfully wet noise altogether. 

Teeth nip at your jaw, "touch yourself for me, doll."

He doesn't need to tell you twice. 

Your hand bumps into his belly on its way down, not enough space between your bodies for it to fit. But then he's leaning up a bit, unintentionally changing the angle of his hips and—

"Fuck," you just about jump out the goddamn window. One little alteration, and he's kissing that abused, oversensitive spot again. 

"There she is," he hisses directly into your ear, "this where you wanted me, hm?"

You almost don't think you need to press your fingertips to your exhausted clit, but they do so anyway. Spiraling in tandem with his motions, a slight tremor hidden in your hand. Now that Rhett's found it, he's not letting up on it. Even as his pace gradually quickens, thrusts becoming harder as he gains his confidence, it's never left alone. That fat head bumps into it on every fucking drag. 

"And to think you couldn't," hiccuping, "couldn't find it a few weeks ago."

You're powerless to stop him from massaging that gooey spot. With every stroke, you find yourself clamping down around him a little tighter, a fluttering vice around his cock. Milking those deep, guttural sounds right out of him, sweet noises gracing your ears like tiny blessings. Makes your hand tremble even more, unable to keep your fingers on your swollen clit.

The motions of his hips are starting to lose their rhythm, cock jerkily plunging into your wet heat with reckless abandon. "But now y'can't get 'nough of me," his words are so jumbled together that he sounds drunk, "lyin' back 'n lettin' me take care of ya." 

If his crumbling rhythm isn't enough of a hint, those breathy grunts are. Never seeming to fall from his tongue until he's teetering over the edges of bliss; one of these days, you'll get him to sing you a melody the whole way through. Your fingers barely have the capacity to swirl around your clit, knocked away by your mutual deterioration. 

"Y'gonna cum for me?" He murmurs, toying with your earlobe, "hm?"

Distantly, you're aware of the truck shaking, rocking back and forth with his motions, like you're laying out in the open sea. Heat tightens in your belly, and in tandem, your thighs clench around his hips, giving him no room to pull away. 

"Rhett," you warn, but it's pointless. Already there. Warning a few seconds too late. 

Your head feels like it's been filled with sand, unable to comprehend much more than the wave of heat that washes over you. Fluttering around air, distantly aware of a sudden wetness at your entrance that you can't quite place. Can vaguely hear the pitchy gasps that tickle down your neck as he cums, such wonderful noises that drag you back down to Earth. 

It's dark.

Even as you realize that your eyes have closed and find the strength to open them, you can still hardly see a thing. Rhett's silhouette is the only thing you can see in this dark truck, hovering above you, curls bouncing as he fumbles through the glove box. Was it this dark the whole time?

A light flickers outside, the streetlamp kicking back on.

Oh.

Rhett's softening cockhead bumps against your swollen cunt, only serves to spread the thick, white cum he's left along your puffy entrance and clit. You're not sure where you'd rather him cum, but you still weren't expecting him to pull out. 

"How's a bath and a movie sound, hm?" He muses, plucking a napkin from his hellishly organized compartment. It's rough, and you're pretty sure that it's from Mcdonald's, but it's better than nothing.

On its own accord, your hand reaches up, pushing loose hair back behind his ear. "Can't handle a shower?" 

"Can you?" 

You hate that he's got a point. But, you've been graced with a three-hour drive home to recover. Plenty of time for you to gather your bearings, convince yourself you can do it, and then give up halfway through and ask him to carry you.  

"Is the popcorn going to be a part of the movie?" Your legs ache as you sit up, exhausted from being split apart so often. 

He hums, long and dramatic, like your question requires more than a half second of thought, "maybe." Then he's leaning over, the tip of his nose bumping into yours, "but it'll cost you a kiss."

One kiss couldn't hurt. Right?

You're grinning too much for it to be a proper one, but still, your lips meet for the briefest smooch of the night. A kiss is a kiss. 

There's movement behind his head. The head of a dark-haired woman stepping past, opening up the door to the red truck parked just beside you. 

Maria.

Rhett sees her.

You see her.

He sees you see her. 

Keys jingle, and with a rather unhappy grumble, Rhett's truck roars to life. 

"Are we still running from her?" You find yourself asking, halfway between buckling yourself in. 

The answer comes in the form of the truck lurching forward, angry, ready to get on the highway and embark on that ridiculously long drive home. 

"Yes, ma'am," Rhett still finds the opportunity to reach over and squeeze your knee, always has to be touching you, "and this time we're running all the way back home and never coming back out."

Here you go again.

[waiting-on-a-dream]

𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦 𝐨𝐜𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐓𝐰𝐬𝐭 (𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞)

Author's notes

I'm pretty sure these two are a special product that can only be made by their original picrew because no other picrew I've found so far can replicate them. I was dying while trying to recreate Noa on the SD picrew. Why doesn't it have yellow highlights? Why doesn't it have light pink as a main eye colour? 😭

Rin ♡

Homeland: Rose Kingdom

Dorm: Enaskota

Family:

Unnamed father

Unnamed mother

Unnamed older sisters

Appearance

Eye colour: Asparagus green

Hair colour: Mauve with one dark violet streak

Race: Human

Uniform: He follows the dress code, with appropriate black sneakers and a white hairclip to pin back his bangs.

School information

School year: First

Best subject: Animal languages

Club: Animal Care Club

Fun Facts

Dominant hand: Right

Likes: Feminine stuff, squirrels, old video games

Dislikes: Being scolded, being teased, most people

Favorite Food: Dango

Least Favorite Food: Steamed vegetables

Hobby: Playing the diabolo

Talents: Solving rubik cubes

Unique Magic: Pinky promise - Anyone who makes a promise with him must fulfill it. Its like a contract, sealed when their pinkies link together. What happens if said someone can't fulfill it? Even Rin himself doesn't know yet. Can he force someone to make a promise to him? That's a mystery to everyone as well.

Trivia

His hair looks so goofy I-

A cute yandere like him deserves a dangerous UM, haha. All the more reason for him to stand out in a school like RSA.

If Xenon knew about him, he’d be called Temperance.

If Slyvan knew about him, he’d be called Rhodonite.

He has a huge soft spot for the squirrels running around on RSA grounds. He feeds them nuts often.

He's discovered that he's quite good at dancing and sword fighting in RSA. Good, he's starting to feel like a real "prince".

Noa ♡

Other names:

Clownfish (Floyd)

Mademoiselle Coffee (Rook)

Azurite (Slyvan)

World (Xenon)

Homeland: Isle of Lamentation

Dorm: Ignihyde

Family:

Unnamed father

Unnamed mother

Unnamed younger brothers

Appearance

Eye colour: Bisque pink

Hair colour: Coffee brown with flax yellow highlights

Race: Human

Uniform: She doesn't wear her blazer because she doesn't like it, but she keeps the blue vest so others will know which dorm she's from. Her shirt is buttoned up fully, with her tie tightened nicely. She also wears a black skirt, tights, and loafers.

School information

School year: Third

Class: 3B (Student no. 9)

Best subject: Practical magic

Club: Gargoyle Research Club

Fun Facts

Dominant hand: Right

Likes: The sea, collecting seashells, reading social commentaries

Dislikes: Feeling like a burden, society, PE classes

Favorite Food: Tiramisu

Least Favorite Food: Tempura

Hobby: Watching drama movies

Talents: Guessing the plot twists of dramas

Unique Magic: Healing potion - As the name suggests, she can conjure up magic healing potions as long as she understands what problems her target is facing. It has been demonstrated to work on bad moods too, emulating the high of a drug, only faintly.

Trivia

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa the picture is not it but it is what it is.

Rook calls her Mademoiselle Coffee because she's always drinking coffee whenever he sees her. (Ah, the good old days before she turned to alcohol as a coping mechanism.)

Being in the same class as her dorm leader Idia, she finds herself relating to what he says a lot. Not the superiority complex part, but everything else.

She joined the Gargoyle Research Club because all of its members seemed lonely... Maybe she'd be able to befriend them?

[vicsdeangelis]

i know the yellow cbf shirt is like. Iconic. but i really wish they would wear the blue ones instead ndksnsosjsosn

[neenahnah21]

Find my Way Back Home V

Summary: Bucky Buchanan Barnes is smitten to a four insignia military officer—you. How do you think things will unfold? 

 Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader 

 Word Count: 1,654

Warning: Swearing? 

You were cleaning your guns when you heard a knock on your door. You glance at the clock right just above the door frame and when you saw what time it is, confusion plastered on you face. 24:30.

Who would be up this late? and most importantly knocking at your god damn door?

No one.

Never did you have someone to visit your room especially at this god forbidden hour, that's why you were hesitant at opening the door, but then you realize, what's it that you have to be afraid of? If it is a friend then what a surprise then if it a foe then surprise mother fucker because you ain't backing down shit.

You held your gun tightly why you're walking discreetly to your door and when you open it you quickly held you gun right at the person's face while slightly backing up, away from his reach.

When you saw who it was your bewildered state become more visible.

"Bucky?" you intended it to be a firm statement but it came as a questioning one. Bucky only plastered you a hesitant smile while holding his hand up.

"Geez, do you usually point a gun in every person on your doorstep?" he remark, amuse but then keen and on his defence stance. You on the other hand were still baffled. Why the hell is he here? and when you further study him you noticed what he was just wearing— a plain pj's and a black fitted shirt. Who would of have thought that the Winter Soldier could look this domesticated. And then the bag in his hand caught your attention. Your brows knitted at further perplexity.

"What the hell are doing in here?" you asked directly. Is he lost? because that's the only logical thing you could think of, that must be the reason why he found his way to your chamber. His answer says otherwise.

"Uhm, I brought you coffee?" was that a question? or a statement. But then it occurred to you it must be a statement and your demeanour probably factor the way he delivers his speech. Your colleague would often comment at how intimidating you were that it sometimes makes them unsure of themselves.

"Oh" was your only response, for a moment there was silence between the two of you not knowing what to say, it then register to you how Bucky was still standing outside. There's two cups in his hand. Should you invite him inside? was that necessary? but then is keeping his outside an ethical to your side? would it be appropriate?

You followed your guts.

"Uhm do you like-uh want to get inside?" since when did you fucking stutter and become unsure? Well yeah, probably under Buchanan's gaze. Geez!

Now you grew flustered, was it really wise of you to invite a person who's in opposite sex of you inside your chamber? at this hour? You don't want him getting any wrong idea, would he?Fuck, since when did you become such an overthinking twat ?

Luckily your invitation brightens Bucky's face an gladly took your invitation.

"Yeah, sure, of course please" he answered, and he quite wince at how he stumbles on his words. Steve would trip. You didn't pay any attention to it though, to his great pleasure.

You step aside and open your door further to let him in and when he stepped inside that is when he notice the different guns laying at the top of your table and couch, scopes and usual materials in artillery.

"Oh you were busy" he said out loud, you just shrugged and told him that not really, and that you were just passing your time. Bucky knitted his eyebrows, passing time? at this hour?

Well he's really not the one to talk especially since he's also still wide awake.

You proceed at doing your task before Bucky knock at your door, Bucky then quietly examine your room, it was extremely organized like how he pictured it, your bed was neatly made, the books at the your nightstand where organised, even how your pens were laid at the table were put in order then his glanced dropped at you physique.

He took his time at examining your feature, savouring every detail of your face. Then he noticed it, for the first time your hair was down, different from the up do that he was accustomed to, not that he's complaining. You're wearing a mustard yellow shirt and—oh you're just wearing a shorts. He could feel the heat rising at his cheeks. He has to sip on his coffee to hide his embarrassment. Geez, he's not usually like this, he thought.

Despite of it all, he can't help the butterflies growing in stomach, the quick thomp thomp of his heart and the unnerving desire to scoop you over and embrace you with a hug, snuggle with you till you both see the sunlight beaming at the curtain. He can't help it. So once again his gaze fell on your form, he decided that he has to keep his gaze on your face and never to travel it down or it might continue to affect him and some other parts of him, he doesn't want to get himself any further embarrassment.

"You know Barnes, staring could be rude" and that snapped him out of his trance, he was quick to pull out his gaze and look at anything but you. He was like a child caught doing something he shouldn't.

"But don't worry I don't mind" you said smugly and despite his embarrassment he can't help but smirk at your remark. Why does he feels like you usually have this playful manner. That behind your stoic and uptight manner you were actually a goof. He didn't dare to voice it louder though.

"Oh uh- sorry" he apologized not really knowing what to appropriately say.

"I-uh I don't really know what kind of coffee you like so I just follow my guts, something's telling me you like Black and strong one you Uh-" Bucky was mentally cursing hisself, he was not usually a stuttering mess under any dame's presence. In fact he was a lady's man because of how subtle and smooth he is. Always charming and not a mess. It must have something to do with time, he blamed.

You seeing Bucky's predicament, you decided to put an end to his tense demeanour, his blubbering mess were quiet cringing you.

"Good choice" you said, and that put an halt to his talking.

"Great instinct, I like Black and strong coffee" you added and you could hear him muttering really?. When you glance at him you saw his beaming with joy as if he just perfected his exam and got an A on a test.

"Yah, keeps you awake" you added, and then Bucky notice it, how everything in you looks so perfect but then your eyes looked so tired and worked up. It doesn't make you any less beautiful but it clenches his heart thinking you were not getting any enough rest.

"Were you even getting any enough sleep" he asked, you were just about to take another sip at the coffee he just offered when his comment drew your attention. The sudden display of concern flips your stomach but you decided to ignore and shrugged it off.

You don't want Bucky to see he was affecting you, so you pull out your usual defense mechanism against this kind of stuff. Being a sarcastic and coy.

"Why, do I look like shit Barnes?" the alarmed look on Bucky's face would of have make you laugh, only if you were not pulling this act. The prior concern look on his face were replaced with a panic one.

"What?! No!" he quickly denied "of course not, what I mean is just— no uh-of course you're pretty- I mean you're always pretty but—I, I always find you pre—shit!" he curse and you saw him taking a quick breath seemingly collecting hisself before talking again.

"What I'm trying to say is that, you look pretty" amusing were now dancing on your face and that sends Bucky more on edge "but I'm not saying in a way that you're pretty pretty more on a — I mean yeah you look good but not that" he's mentally beating hisself for this.

"So are you saying I'm not pretty then?" you beamed

"Of course you are!" he answered way too quickly.

"Shit it's all coming out all wrong!" he exclaimed with frustration.

He wanted to say that you looked great without creeping you with the thought that he was finding you attractive or at least he doesn't want to scare you off. He wanted it to come out as a genuine and platonic compliment but it's all coming out and sounding like he's head over heels smitten with you—not that he's not, but he doesn't think he wanted to come out like this.

In the midst of bubbling mess your heart felt laugh echoed in the room and snapped him out of it.

"Geez Barnes, calm the foxtrot down" you laughed off.

"You can just say that I look good and you found me attractive and that would save you from the stuttering mess you are" you said smugly, Bucky would of have denied it, smeared the smugness off your face but then he would be lying.

Bucky just laugh at how straightforward you were. Didn't know you could be this vulgar.

"and I won't bite" you added while laughing with yourself.

"Instead of digging yourself a bigger hole, geez"  Bucky laugh with you this time, no longer holding hisself back. You were right, why is he still denying it to hisself and to you. What's the point.

So he gathered all his guts and admitted it.

"Yeah, yeah you look great, exquisite in fact" he mused.