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#they're so MEAN i HATE them :wail:

wovenstarlight · 1 year

Text

(on ao3)

Before Yoohyun even opens his door, Junhwan’s raising his head, ears flicking. Yoohyun eyes him; while he can’t hear anything himself, Junhwan’s ears are still sharper, so he trusts him—but whatever emotion his daemon is feeling, it isn’t alarm. If anything, it reads as pleased surprise.

Yoohyun opens the door to hyung’s laughter and understands immediately. His and Junhwan’s footsteps are cat-light as they enter their house, padding silently through the living room towards… Is the sound coming from the Horned Flame Lion’s enclosure? Yoohyun’s told hyung not to go in there unsupervised for a while! …But hearing him still laughing like that, he can’t be too angry. Not when the little beast has apparently managed to achieve what he hasn’t in the last two days. A curl of jealousy flares inside him, Junhwan’s lips pulling back to bare his teeth in the start of a growl as he presumably arrives at the same thought, but then there’s a soft, breathless giggle-snort from noona and that-

That makes them both very quiet.

They slow down as they get closer. Hyung isn’t immediately visible through the glass walls of the enclosure; Yoohyun dares to get closer, keeping to the side with some of the thicker foliage, and peers through the gaps.

Ah. There. Hyung’s lying on his side on the soft grass, the Lion perched on his hip and staring wide-eyed at… Noona, who’s up on a tree?

Yoohyun doesn’t understand. What’s so funny? He squints at the Lion, who’s doing… a grand total of precisely nothing. It’s just staring at noona and swishing its tail back and forth, the tip occasionally flicking over hyung’s side. Is it tickling him? But hyung isn’t ticklish, as far as he remembers… And even if he was, what’s noona laughing about? She’s halfway up one of the trees—Yoohyun takes a heart-stopping second to study it and make sure it’s not a Gillotinae, even though he knows objectively that she wouldn’t be stupid enough to get close to those—and peering down at hyung, wearing a silly smile.

She shifts as he watches, turning to jump across to another tree close by and scrambling up its branches. “Reckless,” Junhwan mumbles almost inaudibly, and Yoohyun agrees. There’s something almost childish about the fumbling, uncontrolled way in which she climbs. Like she’s not used to all her limbs being where they are. He remembers it from back when she’d first settled—for two weeks after that, Yoohyun and Junhwan had watched her jump off high spots and panic because she’d forgotten she couldn’t fly. (She was a cat, she’d always landed on her feet, of course, but that hadn’t stopped Junhwan from moving to catch her. Just in case.)

She’s climbing really high right now, actually. Yoohyun frowns as she clambers to the top of one particularly tall tree. Shouldn’t that be stretching their distance limit? Even if hyung’s Awakened now? She barely seems to notice, and the same goes for hyung, who continues lying there, watching her affectionately. Noona crawls out to the edge of the branch closest to hyung, peeks down at him, then hunches down and—

Her feet lift off the branch. Yoohyun and Junhwan lunge for the door. There’s rustling of cloth and grass and fur and creaking hinges and then—

And then, Yoohyun and Junhwan are staring at hyung lying on his back on the ground, noona pillowed safely on his chest and the Lion on his knees, all three of them staring back.

“Yoohyun-ah?” Hyung sits up, noona hopping up to his shoulders and winding around his neck. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Yoohyun blurts. It was only in case— “Nothing. Are you okay?”

“I… Yes…?”

“Okay.” Yoohyun nods quickly. “Good.”

There’s words at the tip of his tongue—be careful, didn’t that pull hurt, why are you in here when I said—but he never gets to say any of them, because noona narrows her eyes at Junhwan and says, “Well, in that case, let them talk, I-wanna-play-tag-you’re-it!” and flings herself at him.

Junhwan bolts entirely on 17 years’ worth of reflex, and noona chases him in circles around them, yowling when he goes too far from hyung for her to follow. Hyung snorts when Junhwan sheepishly approaches them again, only to dance away from noona’s batting paws.

“Oh, that’s no fair,” hyung wheezes, and coaxes the Lion off his knees before bracing his hands against the ground, pausing for a moment (…?), then rolling to his feet—no, foot, all his weight is on his left leg (??) for a split second before he relaxes, balanced once more. “Let’s give her a fighting chance, huh?” he says, and Yoohyun's eyes belatedly flick up from his leg to his face when he starts jogging after Junhwan. Noona gleefully gives chase with the new extension to her leash, and Yoohyun’s forced after them as they cross to the far end of the enclosure.

There’s a pleased smile on hyung’s face as he goes, childish glee in noona’s cackling as she runs, and Yoohyun watches them for a moment before deciding to drop it. He can bring up the question another time; it hardly seems fair to ruin their fun now.

He can't stop himself from smiling as he follows.

#star.txt #my writing #my sranks #sranks daemons #han yoojin #han yoohyun #dilemma: do i tag daemon names when they're inextricably attached to their humans and im tagging for those already.#anyway! i had the Leg Agonies yesterday and was possessed to write this #also had someone leave wailing and weeping and screaming and crying tags on the last daemons post so i was like. well i owe you reparations #so here! siblings play tag now that two of them can run again :D #first pass at this was shj pov but i realized hyj would never be so relaxed in front of shj unless this was set in 250s-ish at the earliest #and again. i owed you guys han bros getting sillay #....actually... was this sillay enough.... i fear i need to write more fluff #but yes. please join me and hyj in giggling at the sight of big scary tiger fleeing for his fucking life from tiny cat two handfuls big #i think haeun gets mean with tag. because junhwan is very hard to catch but if he tries to make it easy for her she gets mad #so he goes at full capacity and she keeps up by going crazy going stupid as a chaser #girl probably almost broke a tv once in trying to catch him #but yeah. she's very happy to be able to play with her baby brother again :-)#also i wont lie i find it kind of funny how its like #hyh: do my elder siblings hate me even now that we've reconciled... it'd make sense...#hjh: damn they hate me fr </3 [only not sobbing his eyes out because he is a tiger]#hyj: :-) wow it sure is nice to be back with my baby brothers / hhe: I WILL LOVE THEM AND SHOWER THEM IN KISSES AND PLAY WITH THEM AN #hyj: hey can you dial it back a little you're making us look desperate. / hhe: YEAH CUZ WE ARE? THEY DIED IN OUR ARMS / hyj: ok. fair. but

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suguru-getos · 6 months

Text

୨・┈﹕✦﹕ Kinktober Day 24﹕✦﹕┈・୧

-> Event Masterlist

Geto Suguru x F!Reader -> Size Kink

Summary: After returning from your trip, you found out your boyfriend is not okay. Maybe a vacation (To Venice) ;) would help. (Mentions of Deppressed!Suguru, angst, breakdowns, toothrotting fluff and comfort, Satoru being a wonderful best friend, Suguru healing) ❤️‍🩹 Basically hurt-comfort with size!kink 😭

Warnings: Angst, breakdowns, Suguru’s deranged and suc!dal and has murderUrges, Reader (us) comfort him and pull him out from it. Mentions of reader’s breakdowns, cus I mean— 🤷🏻‍♀️ Look at him!!?? Nipple-play, breeding, softsex, sensual, FLUFFY AND NICE AND SUGURU’s so Spoiling towards us it’s just 🙈

A/N: Guys I had sm fun 🥹😵‍💫🩵 writing this I swear!! Hurt-comfort is like my favorite thing in the whole wide world <33 I love to characterize Suguru & to play around with his character. *Screeches and screams* 🍨🍦 I made him yummy thank me later xx Also can we look at the images of him above 🥵 size kink BRRRR

"If you really think, you can do everything, take everything in, save people, and somehow save yourself along with the deceitful thinking that you will protect me. Then you're wrong!" Tears welled up in your eyes, the pain clearly imminent in Suguru's eyes. He looked dead inside, and no mourning was soothing your ache for your older Suguru. You just, missed him beyond beliefs… even when he was right beside you. You hoped he would response to your cry of pain, your bleeding words, but he didn't have it in him anymore. Suguru had almost, given up on himself.

Your hands found themselves clasping onto his collar, pulling him closer to you. "Suguru, look at me, I am telling you something. Can't you fucking see how much it hurts!" You screamed, losing your calm, your temper. It felt ironical to complain to him about how much it's hurting you. You can see he's got it worse; the nights full of terrors and the days full of decaying cursed spirits. You were an empath for your lover, and it was clear staying near him was subjecting you to everything he felt. He doesn't want to see you this way, desperate and hurting…

"I'm sorry, Angel." Suguru sighed, wrecked with the way you burst into tears and hugged him. Voice choking onto sobs as you earnestly tried clutching onto him for dear life. "Sugu, come back to me please come back…" You cried, wailed and eventually dropped onto your knees. The incomprehensible feeling, the heaviness of the things Suguru was going through was making you breathless.

Suguru's heart was only breaking further apart, watching you slowly scrape away in front of him. "I want to kill myself." He finally spoke up, "No, truth is, I want to kill everyone."

This was the first time Suguru was opening up, and no matter how brutal it sounded, his eyes were still kind. Maybe because it was you, in front of him. "You are a sorcerer, too, I shouldn't say this to you, but I hate those monkeys." He radiates pessimism and negativity through him. Yet, you smile a little.

"Come with me, go away with me." You held his hands, squeezing them tightly as if you were grateful they're not cold. You truly were. They were warm, they were still your Suguru's hands.

"Please, Suguru, let's go away for some time." You urged, and he knelt with you, hugging you tightly, not caring about the whimper that escapes you because of his firm grip.

"Running away, won't solve anything." He echoed, and you felt your stomach sink. Soft sniffles echoing in the room as you shook your head like a tantrum-y child. "No, we will solve everything. You and I, we can solve everything. No matter what it is." You cupped his face, becoming stronger for him. "It's okay to feel like this Suguru, it's okay. I'm here." You nudge, watching his eyes showing signs of at least, some life in them. "Can you, not give up?" You meant on himself, you meant on everything.

To make sure, he understands… you hummed again, "makes me feel like, I'm being abandoned."

Suguru blinked at that, letting your words settle deep within. "Makes me feel like, I'm not even worth fighting for." You looked down, not having the guts to say this to him while making eye-contact. "Please, let's elope somewhere Sugu." You crooned, babying him almost. "I will follow you to the ends of the earth anyway, even if your path is changed." You hum, and with the way your pupils fixated on your hands intertwined, Suguru knows you mean it.

"Okay, maybe… I do need a little get away." Suguru smiled tenderly, partial charm returning to his eyes.

Oh it felt like rain in famine, "Good, thank you, I love you."

"I love you too, my Angel."

---

The next thing was you booking tickets to go to Europe. You urged Satoru and Yaga to not assign any more missions for Suguru. It was hard, you and Suguru were both powerful special grade sorcerers; but hey- you both had Satoru to rely on. "I told you the moment he lost weight, he wasn't doing okay." Satoru scoffed, rolling his eyes, tapping at his feet impatiently in the café you decided to meet him in. "What the fuck is up with being the one to hide things?" Satoru was pissed, why would his best friend not communicate? "Makes him feel less of a man?" You chuckle at that, you knew Satoru loved him almost as much as you did. "I've persuaded him to go on a trip with me." "You did?" Satoru was… amazed. These days, Suguru wasn't even joining in for any normal outings. Wasn't going out of his house for weeks, wasn't even meeting you. Things worsened when you left to Korea for a mission longer than 3 weeks. You had to stay there for some Jujutsu School Collaboration initiative. That's when Suguru was off his leash, truly at his worst. Taking missions more than he should, succumbing to the darkness of his mind and the curses.

"Just, want you to handle things while we're gone." You sipped onto the iced frappe you've ordered. Meanwhile Satoru ate a mochi, seemingly absent-minded and bored. "You don't have to worry about that, you know I'd do that in a heartbeat for him." He bratted, raising a brow at you. "And you…"

You smiled at that, nodding gently. It felt good to have the 'Strongest' so whipped for your boyfriend, and platonically you, as well.

The higher-ups posed a threat, as always. 'Why is Suguru Geto not on missions?' ; 'Did he get off the job of a Sorcerer?' especially the cunt-faced Principal of Kyoto. You and Satoru personally paid him a disrespectful visit at his school. Nothing he can complain against, wouldn't sit well to anger two special grades, will it? Despite showing that the Sorcerer world is only filled with people who are willing to take on the role- example: Nanami switching from corporate jobs to a sorcerer job… it was still, at the end, a disgusting, foul powerplay hidden beneath shackles of rules. If you are a special grade sorcerer, they'd do anything to hold on to you. Even blackmails are not far off the list. Emotionally draining…

---

"I have booked us a flight to Venice, baby." You sat cross legged on the swing chair Suguru's house has, fondling with your iPad and searching for hotel venues. "Venice huh." Suguru was still numbed, but at least, not he couldn't avoid you because practically you lived with him now. "Yeah, we can go to Switzerland, and also wherever you want. I hear Germany this time of the year is beautiful." You croaked excitedly, swaying your legs as he walked towards you, sitting on the chair in front of you. "Satoru told me you and I are on a vacation for months." He came directly on the point. "The trip isn't that long, is it?" He manspreaded, raising a brow.

You gulped, smiling softly, the last thing you need is him feeling 'weak'. You had to approach this carefully. "Suguru, I think you and I have done enough missions for a while. I want us to spend some time together, to ourselves." You added some degree of truth, "Also, I don't want you to keep eating curses and letting them eat you from the inside and I don't want to lose the person I love the most in my fucking life." With the way you affirmatively snapped, there was no way, Suguru would battle against it. A soft nod was all you got as a response.

"Alright, I will handle the packing. Don't want you screeching like a wild animal when you discover you forgot your charger." He leaned in, giving you a chaste peck & you giggled. "Of course."

---

The packing, the preparations, the dressing up and going to the Airport, the flight where you slept leaned against his shoulder. All went by in a tender haze of beautiful memories. Inflicted and infected by his sadness, still. Though you wouldn't mind. You're ready to accept him rotten if needed.

When you two reached Venice, the Victorian style hotel with the boats and the beautiful lakes was in fact, refreshing for him; and you. You knew it because Suguru had stopped going to your shared balcony of the house, now here he was, standing there, observing the people. The couples giggling and kissing each other, the boat rowers singing in their native Italian language, the streets with so much hustle and bustle… yet calming. You hugged him from behind, breathing in his scent. "Like it?" "Love it, my beautiful baby." He crooned back, turning towards you and pulling you closer to him by your hips. "I love you." He chanted, almost in a way that he used to when he first asked you out. These past few months were hard and rough, but if you were able to have him back, even infinitely slowly… you'd dedicate it to eradicating all his sadness.

"If you want, I can dress very Lana Del Rey today and we could make steamy love." You giggled, leaning in and kissing him softly. Suguru and you… yeah, haven't made love in a while. You'd never push him when he isn't feeling it, and naturally, someone who's suffering so much would have it at the last thing on his mind.

"You're right, how disappointing of me… I don't remember the last time I treated you, I worshipped you." He thought out loud, and you pouted. "It's okay Suguru, don't think about it like that. Think about how you're gonna make it up to me." You stuck your tongue out, giggling.

It's the way he looks at you, like he's starving and you're delectable. It's the way his eyes are loud enough with their projection of love that it quiets the world down for you. It's the way Suguru Geto breathes, that makes you love him so much you'd break.

Right now, he's doing the same thing… being himself. Hands wandering to your sides and helping you wrap your legs around his waist as he walked towards the shared bedroom of the hotel. Leaning in and kissing you passionately, shoving his tongue just to show how much he's been deeply yearning. Admiration coated in every action. "So lucked out that I have you." He smiled to himself, kissing your forehead deeply once you were nestled into the succumbing softness of the mattress.

"Same," you grin back, watching him undress you with his eyes first, and then his hands followed. You mimicked the same movements.

"I can't handle the fucking hotness!" You whined, once he was left in his pants, upper body naked for you to devour. Suguru chuckled, heat rushing through his cheeks and core as he cupped your face, kissing you once again.

The thing about you and him is, Suguru is big. He's built like a bulky man. Stretched to 6'3'', broad shoulders that'd hold two of you, hands big enough you miss almost an inch if you were to compare his with yours. Yeah, Suguru was big and you were tiny. Something that only aided to you being subbier and smaller to him. Letting him manhandle and take all the control that he wants to.

"Who do you belong to, darling?" He cooed, watching you instantly answer. "You, forever and always."

It warms his heart when he hears that, spreading your damp pussy lips with his fingers and thrusting a finger into you. It's been… long. He knows it with the way you're clamping for dear life, just on his digit. "Sh-i-t," You croak out, while Suguru hushed you with a soft kiss, slowly moving his finger in and out of your pussy. Once he felt you had accepted his finger's girth, he inserted another one. "AH god-" You whined, mewling at the delicious stretch of his thick and long fingers being coated with your essence. "You want to make sweet love and you're so worked up with the fingers alone." He chuckled to himself, stretching you out so good, curling them against the familiar sensitive spot.

Your back arched, the way your pussy clamped as if she was a slave to his hands and cock.

"Oh she's close." He cooed, "Go on, cum for me then I can ruin you with me." He kissed your pelvis, holding it down as your orgasm raked through you, approaching fiercely and shuddering your body against him as waves of pleasure took over you. "Good girl. Good little girl." Suguru praised, riding it out for you. Once the orgasm's high settled, Suguru took out his fingers and suckled onto them, eyes never leaving yours.

"Want you, so bad!" You gasped out, pulling him closer to you by wrapping your legs around him, feeling the imprint of his cock into you. "Alright alright, impatient little girl." He smirks, pushing the tip of his pre-leaking cock into you in one swift stroke. Mean, Suguru Geto is mean sometimes… especially when he wants you to be scream at the stretch only he can give you. No one else, he wants your pussy to know only how he feels. Damn he's big, and when he pushes himself balls deep, your pussy is strained beyond its limit. "Shit- s- so big Sugu." You whimper out, tearing up at the ache.

"Ssh, it's okay darling. I'm still. Adjust to me, go on." Suguru patiently waits, kissing your face all over, leaning in and kissing your breasts, suckling onto your nipples while you clamped and waited for the pain to settle in.

"Move, please…" You glance at him now, doe-eyed and insatiable.

"Of course, took you some time to adjust to me huh? Tiny little baby." He smiles, thrusting into you without relent. Your womb stops him from going in any further, your insides torn apart deliciously at the feeling of being ploughed by him. "Oh- G- oh God," words fail you, the air choked out of your lungs with how good it hurts, with how pleasureful it feels.

Suguru's hand laced around your pelvis, pressing on it gently. "Got you," He smirks cockily, holding your hand and keeping it on your pelvis, enveloped by his own as he pressed.

A shrill scream filled the room, "Oh you can sense it, can't you sweetheart? Sense how deep I reach?" You moan at the pressure, pushing you closer and closer to the edge as you hopelessly nodded. Gasping and choking on air. "God yes, Sugu- AH please- oh my- g'nna," You whimpered, while Suguru was at a rhythmic pace now. Sometimes pulling all the way out and pushing back all the way in. He loved seeing you walk the rope between pleasure and pain.

"Good girl, with the way you're holding onto me, I can sense you're close." Suguru hummed, grounding you with his kisses, his spoiled little praises.

"Go on, show me how much you missed me."

"Just like (thrust) I (thrust) missed (thrust) this (thrust) pussy-" Suguru toppled off the edge right with you, painting your insides white with his warmth. "Oh god- fuck-"

You shudder, spasming around his cock and milking him further.

"That's it, I got you. I got you." Suguru reminded, leaning in and kissing you softly, tenderly, as if you'd break if he were to touch you wrong.

"I missed you, I missed this." He mused to himself, blushing a little at the sight of you fucked out and half-lidded. You nodded, still taking ragged breaths. "I love you"

"I love you too, Angel."

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cherry-cola-on-ice · 21 days

Note

Hello! if you accept requests, can I make it?

I hope the answer is yes🙂‍↕️

I really, really, REALLY want to see the situation with Thomas Hewitt when he was too affected by Hoyt's joke. Thomas was offended by him to the point of tears for the first time in many years, and Y/N calms him down.This only makes Tommy cry harder, since no one has calmed him so tenderly before. They spend a long time together like this until Tommy stops crying. (I ESPECIALLY WANT MORE DESCRIPTION OF TOMMY’S EMOTIONS. You can even write on his behalf if you wish🥺)

thank you very much, and have a nice day!

Someone to fall back on

It was a joke. A mean joke, but a joke nonetheless.

Thomas Hewitt heard them all before. The mean jokes, snide comments and straight up merciless teasing. From strangers, from victims. From some of his own family.

Hoyt's words towards him has always had a underlying tone of hate. Talking down to him like he was a child. Criticizing everything he's done to keep his family safe. And this only seemed to escalate when Thomas met you.

Brave, beautiful, wonderful you. He never imagined that he could love one person so much.

But not everyone thought your love was beautiful.

"Why the fuck else would someone stay with him?!? It ain't definitely for his looks!"

"That bitch is just waitin' for him to fuck up like he always do!"

"You must really fuck 'em good if they're willin' to put up with your ugly mug, eh Tommy? "

It hurt. It hurts.

There was so much nasty thoughts swimming around Thomas's head, that he didn't feel that first tear fall down his cheek. Or the one after that. Or the one after that.

He didn't feel his hands gripping his hair so tightly, he was pulling out strands. He couldn't hear anything else but the pounding of his own heart and his uncle's voice replaying like a broken record. His body shaking, breathing coming out in short puffs.

Anxiety ate away at him, piece by piece. Despair tore through his heart like a freight train.

Everything was wrong. He was wrong. He was the monster keeping you in this hell hole for his own selfish reasons. He kept you because he loved you.

And you stayed because you feared him.

Thomas could feel his consciousness slipping away. Good, maybe he'd never wake back up.

But what would happen to you?

"-Mas? Thomas? Tommy!"

Your hands grabbed his, prying them off his abused scalp. He was scared to look at you, not knowing what look would be on your face. Disgust? Fear? He couldn't handle any of those.

He heard you sigh, then could feel your body sit next to him. When did he get down on the floor?

"Tommy, baby, are you okay?" You scoffed "Of course you're not. Your uncle's a asshole."

You grabbed his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. His teary eyes reluctantly met yours. You smiled "There's my handsome man. With his pretty eyes. "

Slipping on to his lap, you ran your fingers through his hair "You can't believe everything Hoyt says, Thomas. He's a bitter, old man."

"I love you, Thomas Hewitt. And I'm sorry if I haven't told you enough, showed you enough. And I'm sorry that Hoyt's words hurt that much. But nothing he says is, or will ever be, true."

With the upmost tenderness, you removed the beaten leather mask from his face. Placing a kiss on his forehead, you continued "I'm here because I love you. I stayed because I love you. Not because I'm scared, not because of pity. I love you, Thomas. Just you."

Thomas let out a broken sob and you brought his head to your chest "Tommy, please, there's nothing wrong with crying. I'd rather you get snot all over me than you kept all this in."

The quiet sobs turned into quiet wails as Thomas's arm pulled you closer to him. You hummed, some song he couldn't place a name on. Maybe it wasn't real, Thomas thought, you had a knack for random melodies.

But you were real.

This was real.

#slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher headcanons #thomas hewitt headcanon #thomas hewitt x y/n #thomas hewitt x reader #tcm the beginning #texas chainsaw the beginning #the texas chainsaw massacre #thanks for the ask!

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dashofmonsters · 5 months

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Dreamers & Delusions- Pt. 1

Male Merman x Female Reader

You didn't like the idea of moving to another state and having to have a new life, but you hated the idea of staying even more so. There was nothing left for you but misery and you were just so tired of it.

When you moved to the west coast to live with your grandmother things seemed different. For the first few months there you felt like you could finally breathe, but that was short lived. Little by little things started to get worse.

First your grandmother kept making little snide remarks about your lack of interest in you not wearing make up. Then your job at the local diner had you working double shifts on the weekend. Your ex blasts some stupid shit about your break up all over social media and two of your close friends ghost you. Oh and then you discover a beautiful little slice of beach.

The last one wouldn't be so bad you tell yourself, if it wasn't for the same old stalking creeps who bother you at work. The only bright side was the mean mugging merman lifeguard who was built like a fucking god and had the attitude to back it up. In short, he's an asshole. But you know the difference between the good, the bad, and I'm just doing my job assholes and he's a weird mix of all three.

At first going to the beach was like free therapy for you. You could relax and get away from your judgmental grandmother and the creepy customers from the diner, it was like heaven. But just like moving here, things got worse over time. Somehow your three stalkers found your slice of heaven. Somehow you couldn't get far enough away from them. Somehow the beach became another slice of hell.

So you decided to sit as close as possible to the lifeguard when you wanted to lounge or swim out as far as possible. And that seemed to work, until today.

"Come on, I'm just asking you to have dinner with me," Kevin hovers over you, his arms crossed like an indignant child.

"For the last time man she's obviously not interested in an asshat like you. She'd rather go for drinks with me," Martin chimes in, his overly tattooed body stinking of cheap cologne and lack of deodorant.

"You two are fucked if you think she's going with either of you. She needs a real man, someone who can take care of her," Sam pushes the two aside and kneels down next two you. "Ain't that right sugar?" The accent, nickname, and bad breath nearly combined has you retching.

That response unfortunately spurred an impromptu fist fight. Kevin and Martin started wailing on Sam and then Sam the fuckboy threw punches filled with sand and Martin got punch so hard he moaned which made Sam hit him below the belt and the-

"I SAID ENOUGH!"

The scene died immediately. The nearly seven or eight foot tall merman lifeguard prowled towards the three idiots and parted them like they were curtains. Sam was the first to flee followed by Martin and Kevin who kicked up a ton of sand as the skedaddled towards the parking lot.

Mr. Asshole lifeguard stares you down hard now, his yellow eyes burning into you.

"Why is it whenever you're on my beach those three headaches are sure to follow?" he asks, very very pissed off.

You've had a similar question come up at work whenever those three would cause a ruckus on your shifts.

You roll your eyes, "Unfortunately some guys don't understand the definition of the word 'No'."

"So that means they have to follow you around like a group of parasites trying to latch at fresh meat?" he asks.

His question throws you off so much and the image it implies makes you giggle.

He's a merman from another realm who's acclimating, I should cut him some slack.

"That uh isn't too far from the truth but in all honesty, they're trying to bother me so much that I eventually have to say yes just to get them to stop bothering me," you explain.

The lifeguard crosses his arms and looks to the ground in serious contemplation before looking back up to you.

"And is this normal courting behavior," he asks.

"Unfortunately it is for some, but it's bad and wrong. For me it's annoying and I get no peace. They bothered me at work and now they bother me here when all I want to do is relax," you sigh, feeling oddly relieved to have gotten this off your chest albeit in an educational way.

"I see," he nods. "So you are not attracted to those parasites?"

"Not. At. All." you nod back.

"Noted," he grimaces and turns to walk back to the guard tower.

"Hey wait! What's your name?" you call out.

"It's Tao," he says, stilling walking towards his destination.

You smile and shout your name back to him but instead of dismissing you like you thought he would he waves back before ascending up the tower.

So it's Mr. Tao, mean mugging asshole lifeguard and crusher of parasites.

~~~~~~~~~

Things seemed calm for the first few days after Tao broke up the fight between the creeps. They didn't pop up at the diner nor at the beach but you still kept close to the guard tower. Well as close as Tao allowed it. He gave you a strong lecture that you needed to sit at least seven feet away from the tower for safety reasons.

Your grandmother even relaxed on her remarks for a little bit but moved from makeup to your weight. Something about working with food adding some extra pounds. It was a new hurt, but you'd numb to it eventually.

Getting numb was your specialty at this point.

And somehow finding new ways to bother Tao, though that was more unintentional. At first it was the sitting too close to the tower, then it was swimming without suntan lotion even though it was cloudy. Then it was not having an umbrella for shade which he oddly enough provided one for you a day later along with a lecture and a half. It would have been super annoying to anyone else but you found it oddly cute.

He'd henpeck at some of the parents over their kids running amuck or scold some of the too rowdy teenagers but no one could say that this guy didn't take his job seriously. No one got hurt or even so much as sunburnt under his watch.

Until they came back.

You had worked a long ass shift Sunday and all you wanted was to go to the beach and lounge. It was a short walk from your grandmother's house and you always enjoyed tuning the world out on that little trek.

It wasn't sunny but it wasn't too cloudy either. It was the perfect day to take a nice beach nap, watch a couple episodes of your favorite cooking shows, and maybe bother your favorite lifeguard for a bit of suntan lotion that you seem to keep forgetting.

You saunter down to the beach and lay out your favorite tie dye towel and stretch. Scanning the scene you notice that it'll be a very very calm day, that is since it's a Monday after all.

As you're about to walk over to the guard tower a familiar and annoying voice stops you.

"Hey babe, it's been a while!"

Ughhh Sam.

You ignore him and keep heading towards the tower. You hear him run towards you so you pick up the pace but are dragged back as he catches your arm.

"It's fucking rude to ignore someone talking to you," Sam spins you around and holds you in place.

"Like you'd fucking listen you fucking parasite. How many times do I have to say no or I'm not interested for you to get it through your thick fucking skull you goddamn idiot!" you yell at him, hoping Tao will hear.

Sam shakes you before jerking you around, "A pretty thing like you shouldn't be talking like that, come on and be sweet."

You start kicking your legs and land squirming violently before headbutting Sam as hard as you can right into his nose. He curses but doesn't let go so you decide to go to bite his hand until you're suddenly being ripped out of his arms.

Thinking it might be Tao you turn to smile only to be assaulted with that nasty cheap cologne smell. You grimace and try to pull away from Martin only to get yanked away by Kevin.

To his credit, Kevin doesn't hold on tight and he actually turns his back to the others before they try to continue their game of tug-a-war with you.

Sam kicks Kevin in the shin but somehow Kevin is able to stand long enough to push you in the direction of the tower. Without saying anything he turns and decks Sam in the face. You're frozen in horror for a moment then turn to run to the tower only to be met with a brick wall called Tao.

"I see the parasites are back on my beach," he seethes before looking you over. He looks furious.

Before you have a chance to say anything he stomps over and grabs Sam by his neck and hoists him in the air. Kevin and Martin fall back on their asses before scrambling to get out of the way.

"When someone says no, they mean no. It is not an invitation to continue your inappropriate courting behavior," Tao tightens his grip around Sam's neck.

"F-fffuck you fish boy. I will get you fucki-ing deported for this! I saw er first," Sam grits as he flails about, face turning all sorts of shades of red.

Tao tosses him to the ground like a ragdoll and before Sam can catch his breath, Tao holds him down by just a foot alone. He kneels down till his knee is almost digging into Sam's throat and says something that makes that asshat still.

You feel your heart still when Tao turns to you and beckons you over. Taking little steps at a time as your feet feel like lead you come to a stop next to Tao and Sam.

Sam is pale as a piece of printer paper.

"Tell her," Tao snaps at Sam.

"I-I-I am sorry. I won't bother you here or at the diner again. I promise you'll never see me again," Sam stutters and shakes like a leaf in a hurricane.

"And?" Tao presses.

"I-I'm a lowly parasite unworthy of your time and presence," he cries.

Tao nods then looks to you, "Anything you want to add?"

You're taken back by the soft look on his hard face. His eyes look worried even though his expression is still pissy offy.

You shake your head and cross your arms to hold yourself.

Tao moves off of Sam and forces him up and threatens to call the cops if he ever shows his ugly face on his beach again. Sam quickly scampers away, tripping several times as he makes his way to the parking lot.

There's a strange numbing feeling building in your chest that is suddenly washed away when Tao gently touches your shoulder.

"Come on, let me go look over those wounds," he nods towards the tower.

All you can do is follow him silently, still shocked about what just happened. You're so used to just going with the flow, dealing with whatever life gives you and fighting when you can. You've never had anyone come to your rescue. Not once.

"I have something that will clean the cuts where they got you with their fingernails and some band-aids. Unfortunately there will still be some bruising from when they were tugging at you," he says, a tinge of regret in his voice.

He leads you to the steps of the tower an has you sit down while he climbs up and grabs his first aid kit. You silently let him fuss over you as you try your best not to cry. Even though it's his job it's the first time anyone has treated you with this much kindness in a long while.

"Thank you," you mutter, finding it hard to speak.

Tao sighs and rubs some more antiseptic ointment on your arm, "I had thought my last conversation with those three would have been the last. Those males really are thick in the skull... I'm sorry."

"Don't be, you still came to my rescue," you try and smile but a stupid tear slips down.

Tao stills his hand, "Did that hurt?"

You shake your head, "No no, just uh got some sand in my eye. I'm fine."

He glares at you but sighs, "Alright then. Try and stay out of trouble and for the love of the goddesses please tell me if those parasites bother you again, in fact tell me if anyone bothers you while on my beach."

"Why?" you ask, feeling a bit strange that he'd go that far for your safety.

"Why?" he repeats, almost not sure of himself. "Because I like peace and you come here bringing chaos, more so than the kids whose parents are stuck to their devices or the teens who shoulder fight in the ocean."

"You mean chicken?" you ask, trying not to laugh.

"Whatever it's called! You humans have a major lack of self preservation and it's a wonder you've lasted this long," Tao stands, sounding frustrated as hell.

You dust yourself off and stand up too, "Well it's a good thing you're here then Mr. lifeguard... Because if it wasn't for you-"

You cut yourself off when the realization finally dawns on you. If it wasn't for Tao, things could have gotten a lot worse, you could have been hurt or dragged off the beach.

"If you weren't here, I might have been hurt a lot worse than just some bruises and cuts," you finish.

"If I got to you sooner you wouldn't be hurt at all," he replies, his face riddled with guilt.

"Yes well, what happened happened but you still saved me so stop blaming yourself for something that was out of your control dammit, " you kick some sand in his direction making him roll his eyes.

"You are too forgiving and far too kind for your own good," he shakes his head.

Too forgiving? No, he did nothing wrong. Too kind, maybe. You always hated confrontation when you could avoid it so you just smiled through things and mustered on. What was the point in getting upset when anger never solved anything.

"You might be right about the kindness thing, but forgiving," you pause to laugh. "I wouldn't say I'm forgiving at all, probably more spiteful if anything."

Yeah that felt right but not in the correct way. If you were going to prove a point it was usually in the worst way possible.

"Noted," Tao raises a jet black brow. He has such an interesting look with his tan skin and white hair with black streaks on one side. It was like if a Hollywood action star and a kpop idol had a baby or something. He has black bands on his arms that start right after his shoulders and stop right above the elbow. His hair is slicked back most of the time but right now it's messed up from his one sided fight with Sam.

"So uh, I'm just going to go back over there and do what I was going to do and relax," you give him your most nervous goofy grin.

Tao, in his ever so Taoness just nods.

~~~~~

True to his word you never saw Sam at the diner again or Martin, but Kevin did come by ever so often. Kevin was less on the creep side now, apparently very very sorry for his behavior and how he made you feel uncomfortable.

It didn't excuse what he did even though he tipped extra now to make up for it whenever he did come in.

Your grandmother though started to get worse again. From your make up, to your weight, and now your resistance to wearing booty shorts to catch a man's eye.

"I'm not going to wear it and that's final. I told you time and time again I'm not comfortable wearing shit like that," you raise your arms and try to stomp off.

"You ungrateful bitch are you afraid of looking like a slut? There are models and actresses who wear this! Are you slut shaming them," your grandmother shouts at you as she practically walks on your heals.

"God no! I just don't want to wear! Can we just drop it please," you beg her.

"I'll drop it once you try it on and walk outside in it for awhile," she tosses the shorts at you and crosses her arms.

"FUCK. NO." you crumple them up and toss them back at her feet.

"You're supposed to humor me remember? That was part of our deal for you to live here," she crinkles her face and slaps your arms.

You crumple back a bit and bite your cheek as you curse yourself for ever agreeing to live with her.

"Not at the expense of my comfort. I'm not your fucking dress up doll," you say through your teeth.

"You're insufferable, fine we'll make a trade deal. Don't humor me, but you owe rent now. two hundred a month. I believe that's more than fair," she throws up her hands and kicks the shorts to the side.

"Fine, that's fine. I can do that much," you exhale in relief. "I gotta get ready for work ok?"

"Yes yes and... I'm sorry, you know I get hot real easy. It's why I'm alone. I just don't want you to be. I just want you to be happy and well," she sighs and picks up the shorts.

"I know," you respond, the numbness starting to set in at her very stereotypical response.

"I love you," she coos as she forces you into a hug.

You give her a limp hug so she won't have something else to bitch about and tell her you love her too.

She's always like this after you two fight, so loving, so caring like she used to be when you were a little kid. She's changed to much after granpop cheated on her. No one saw it coming, they had such a great relationship but that was just what they showed everyone. In private, they both ran hot and your granpop was no saint. He cheated since the dawn of their marriage, he just didn't get caught until ten years ago.

Ever since that happened you tried to keep yourself better guarded so you wouldn't have to hurt like your grandmother. Unfortunately you're a hopeless romantic with a record of getting your heart broken very easily. That's part of the reason for the drastic move.

~~~~~

"Fuck I hate these dead shifts," you groan as you clean your section for the third time this evening.

"Enjoy it while it lasts sweetheart. Once summer hits, you'll be begging for a dead shift," Denise says as she lounges against the door to the kitchen.

"I know, I barely survived the ass end of it," you roll your eyes.

Working here was a breeze to be honest, but working under Mikey the shift manager was hell. He loves playing Russian Roulette with shifts, especially close to holidays or birthdays. Jessica bitched him out so bad in front of everyone that if he scheduled her on her birthday or her son's birthday one more time she would burn this place to the ground.

Needless to say when your ex-wife raises hell to a full diner, you listen.

You've stuck onto her like glue ever since, you needed an angel here.

"Any plans after you cut out," she asks.

Oh yeah, you have plans. Change and skip your happy ass down to visit your favorite lifeguard. You can't help but smile at the thought.

"Mmm you do have plans," she grins back and wriggles her drawn on brows.

"It's not like that," you roll your eyes.

Yes Tao is attractive but you hardly know him. He's nice and predictable. Safe and just wants things to be at peace. He's someone you respect for that for sure, but you can't see yourself crushing over him. It would ruin the faint friendship you've slowly but surely built with him.

"It really isn't it. He's like you. The only other friend I have here and I don't need more than that right now," you explain.

She gives you a sad smile and nods, "I know baby girl, you're still resetting from all that bullshit."

Jessica is the only one who really knows your situation as you spilled your heart out to her a couple weeks ago after she took you out for drinks for your birthday. She held you and patted your head as you ugly cried for a solid hour.

"How about you, anything new and exciting," you quickly change the topic and Jessica beams.

"Oh you know, just a little date with Mr. Perfect," she grins.

"This will be date number five Jes, you're really serious about him aren't you," you tease.

She crosses her arms and tosses her hip a bit and smiles, "Listen, if you asked me a few years ago if I ever saw myself dating a wild fae with a beard that would make every biker in the states jealous then I'd say you're crazy. But here I am, about to go on my fifth date with my wild man and I'm as happy as a bee in a bouquet."

She goes over her past dates with you until Mikey interrupts saying that you both need to get back to work. His interference was cut short by Jessica poking him in the chest and lecturing him about how there's no reason for the diner to be fully staffed during a dead shift and got the both of you off hours early.

"There will come a day when neither of us have to come back to this shithole ran by assholes. Just assume that if I never return that I got swept off my feet to the fae wilds to have crazy hot wild fae sex everyday," she laughs as she shimmies into her leather jacket and lights a smoke away from you.

"And if I never return, assume that I magically saved up enough to start my own restaurant," you smile back.

That's been the big dream. A small tapas style restaurant that catered to humans and the fair folk. There are so few establishments opened that cater to their palettes and it's not fair. Food brings people together and you see it as a great way to mix the fair folk into your world. Problem is, you don't know a lot of fair folk aside from Tao.

Suddenly the lightbulb in your head goes off.

"That's it," you say under your breath before hugging Jessica goodbye and running towards the beach.

I can ask him what he likes to eat and start from there. This is doable! I just hope he doesn't mind playing a million questions.

~~~~~~~~~

"Hey Tao, are you up there?" you shout as you round the tower.

Without so much as a word Tao drops with a sandy thud.

"What did you forget now? It's too dark for sunscreen and too warm for a shawl. Water perhaps?" he guesses and turns to climb back up the tower but you quickly stop him.

"No no, none of that. I uh um... What do merfolk like to eat?" you ask.

"Why do you want to know? Is a male courting you or something?" he asks back.

"What? No no. It's just that one day I want to run a restaurant that serves food for the fair folk and you're the only one I know so...," you shrug to him and he blushes.

This big ass god like brick wall just blushed?

"Ah, I see," he clears his throat. "Well in that case I can create a detailed list of ingredients and dishes that suit a saltwater diet."

"That... That would actually be amazingly helpful. Wow... Thank you!" you grin but then remember that thing about courting.

"So what was that thing you meant when you asked if I was being courted?" you raise a brow.

Tao's eyes go wide and he has this nervous look on his face that you've never seen before. "It's uh, customary for the males of my kind to present a feast to a female they are courting. Usually a female has many suiters and picks whoever has the most impressive spread the privilege to continue courting her."

"Oh, that's interesting. I haven't heard much on mer culture and traditions so this is new to me. I'm sorry if the question made you uncomfortable," you apologize.

"No, no. It's just that no one has asked or even seemed a bit interested in my people's ways. They're just interested in me," Tao waves up and down to himself.

"Well if they were truly interested in you, they'd try to get to know you," you cross your arms, upset for him.

Tao nods and you can tell he's thinking really really hard about something until he shakes his head.

"How can you tell if someone is wanting to get to know you for reasons other than trying to get me to their... uh what is the human word for nest again," he snaps his fingers trying to think.

"Bed?" you ask.

"That's it, how would I know," he repeats.

"Hmm, that can be a tough one. Some people will really put in a lot of effort to make you think that they care when they just one a night of fun. Some will check in on you everyday till they finally get you into their bed and ditch you when they're done," you explain.

Tao looks disgusted, "And this too is normal behavior?"

"For the people who just want a good time and don't give a rats ass about someone's feeling, yes," you grimace.

"Is this from your personal experience or observation," he asks.

Tao's famous curveball question hits you right in the gut. You look away from him and hold yourself for a moment as the numbness builds.

"Yes," is all you manage to say.

"I am sorry. It seems my question was insensitive," he bows.

"It's fine, you're just curious. I'd rather help you not make the same mistakes that I had to. You're like the only other friend I have here," you admit.

Tao looks shocked when you say that, like you slapped him with a wet towel.

"You consider me a friend?" he finally asks after a long moment of silence.

Shifting a bit in the sand you bite your cheek and nod, "You're the only guy friend I have. I feel safe when I'm at the beach and you don't make me feel uncomfortable at all. I just... some things are hard for me to talk about ok?"

He nods and although his expression doesn't change much, there's a brightness in his eyes you've never seen.

"Is that ok? I mean if it's against your culture I understand it can be o-"

"No, it's alright. I just didn't think a human would want to be friends with me," he run his hand through his hair and stares at the ground.

"Well, I mean you do mean mug just about everyone you talk to but I know deep down you're probably just being on your guard and it's hard to be nice sometimes," you tell him.

"I see, so not being expressive keeps people away? Hmm what could remedy this without me having to give up my uh... mean mug," Tao cocks his head and crosses his arms.

"I'm not sure. Most people tend to like it when you're more welcoming and less upset looking all the time. Is your stoicism like some cultural thing?" you ask in turn. Turns out Tao is playing a million questions with you now.

"Yes. Typically we're only expressive with close friends, family, and our mates. They're the only ones who are supposed to see your true face," he replies.

"That actually sound reasonable and nice," you smile.

"Do humans not have something like that," he settles against the tower later, full into the conversation now.

"Yes and no. Some of us rely more on friends than family and vice versa. Some will rely on their mates alone if their family or friends aren't available. It can be all sorts of combinations really," you shrugs and lean against one of the pillars holding up the tower.

Tao looks up thoughtfully before his gaze settles out towards the ocean. There's a comfortable quiet between the two of you as the sun sets behind a cluster of grey clouds.

"Looks like rain," you comment.

"It's been smelling like a set of storms all week. Probably about to usher in some cold weather," Tao sniffs the air and sighs.

"Not a fan of the cold?" you shift in the sand and turn a little more towards Tao.

He shakes his head, "I grew up in a much warmer climate. If it ever got too cold we would sleep in our clusters or migrate. I can't do either here so I've just been adding more layers to my nest with every paycheck I get and buying the warmest clothes that fit me."

"I gotchya. I like some good mild weather myself. Not too hot or cold. By the way what will you do once winter hits? Beaches are usually closed once winter hits," you ask, realizing you might have to find another safe haven of sanity during that time.

"I'm not too sure, I haven't given it much thought," he admits. "At least I have a little time to consider a winter job so I don't have to hibernate."

"Yeah that would be... wait what?"

Part. 2>

#monster boyfriend #monster x girl #monster x human #monster x reader #monster lover #merman #Tao the merman #merman x reader #monster romance #merman boyfriend #monster love #merman x female reader #monster boyfriend oc #monster bf #slow burn #slow burn romance

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bruciemilf · 2 years

Note

I'm sorry but. Aunt Diana. With the baby batkids. Dick's the oldest at fourteen and Damian’s like three.

Damian bites her once, she doesn't flinch and he feels a sudden intense amount of respect for her. He stomps over to Bruce and demands that he introduce Diana to his mother (Talia) because "they are both mighty warriors, Baba."

Steph's almost nine and has the biggest and most obvious puppy crush that she denies with her whole heart, only for Diana to smile at her and she trips over air, lands flat on her face, and chips a tooth. Diana finds it amusing and very adorable, Steph is mortified.

"It's fine, Stephanie, it was an accident," Bruce reassures as he holds a crying Steph. "Diana thinks it was cute."

Steph wails. "She thinks I'm a baby!"

Dick sticks his head in, snickering. "She won't be really wrong-"

"Go die in a HOLE, Dick!" Steph yells, shoving her face farther into Bruce’s shoulder and sniffling.

Tim's eight and content to simply watch her from a distance like the little stalker (affectionate) he is

"Bruce," Diana says worriedly, "young Timothy has been following me all day, yet whenever I turn to look at him, he runs away. Have I upset him in any manner?"

"He's observing."

Diana blinks. "What?"

"It means he likes you," Bruce explains. "He did the same to Dick, Jason and I during his first few weeks in the Manor."

"Oh." Diana beams. "I'm glad."

Cass is (probably) almost twelve and very happy to just stare at her in wonder. She takes mental notes while Diana tells her her powers and nods very politely.

"I would die for her," Diana tells Bruce seriously.

Bruce nods. "As would I."

Jason’s eleven and in awe. Complete and utter awe, like serious hero worship. Can't be in a room with her without vibrating out of his skin with nerves.

Diana thinks he hates her. Jason thinks she hates him for avoiding her. Dick thinks they're both ridiculous and drags Jason begging and kicking to come say hi properly.

"This is Jason, my oldest little brother," Dick says cheerfully, as if Jason isn't actively clawing at his arms to get away. "Say hi, Jay."

Jason, pushed forward by his older brother's steel grip on his shoulder, is beet red. "Hello. You're Wonder Woman, and, um. I think- think you're really cool."

"He's very shy," Dick says. He pushes away Jason’s face that attempted to bite his hand. "Ew, Jay, gross! Don't be like that in front of the princess!"

Diana is touched and immeasurably relieved that Jason doesn't hate her. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Jason."

Jason shuffles his feet. "...Can I have your autograph?"

"Of course."

"You're so cool," Jason whispers.

Duke is six and turns invisible the first time he meets her out of nerves.

"Oh my God, that was so embarrassing," Duke frets to Tim later, on the verge of tears.

Tim pats his back. "At least you didn't avoid her for almost a month like Jason did."

Duke sniffs. "That actually makes me feel a lot better."

"I thought it would."

Dick's fourteen, has known her since he was four, and is very amused watching the other batkids freak out about his Auntie Di.

"I'm the best big brother ever," Dick says proudly to Bruce.

"You sure are, chum," Bruce says fondly.

AUNT DIANA WITH THE BABY BATKIDS

AWWWW THIS IS SO ADORABLE! Damian works harder than God when he tries to parent trap Diana and Talia together. Sadly, they're permanently in " I'm In love with Bruce Wayne and I'll never truly erase it" mode

(Seriously, let Talia be pathetic ex husband coded!! Give her the Harvey Dent treatment, cowards)

Diana with her sunstream smile, carrying bandages, uniquely themed, for the batkids, because one of them will almost always injure themselves when they play.

Jason's are pink with flowers. Always on his nose and knees. Dick hurts his elbows a lot when doing flips, so blue bandages with little birdies for him!

Cass can be spotted showing an amused Bruce her sunflower bandages, soaking up her bleeding eyebrow after Jason pushed her off a swing by accident, " I hope - I, get... Cool scar. Like papa."

" You're always cool."

Damian tries his best to be still under Diana's loving hands as he proudly receives his frog bandages like they're a medal and he's a soldier who earned them bloody. " You saying it makes it uncool."

" I think you're the coolest, then."

" Baba!"

Years later, when they almost all outgrow her (short Diana rights, unfollow me about it. or pin me against the nearest surface with a dagger and make out with me. Execute me or shut up.) It does not change.

" Does that feel better? Dick?"

" Chillin' like a pepper, mommy-o!"

" Steph?"

" I'll live, mother."

" Cass?"

A thumbs up.

"Timmy?"

" Just a scratch, mom, jeez. You're worse than dad."

"Duke?"

" All fixed up, Mrs. Batmom."

" Damian?"

Damian sniffs, because god damn it, it stings. He can't wait for Baba to kiss it better. " I've had worse."

" Jason?"

" All good, Wonder Woman."

Diana raises a brow, folds her arms and taps her foot. Jason, full red hood get up, slumps his shoulders as bubbles of ' Oooo' from his annoying siblings surround him.

" Wanna repeat that?"

" No," he sighs, " I'm alright. Thank you, momma."

" Good. You'll be joining us for dinner tonight."

" Yes, momma."

" And you'll spend the night."

" Okay, momma."

Diana finally smiles and pulls him down to press a kiss on his forehead as the others snicker.

#bruce wayne #diana prince #wonderbat #wonder woman #batman #dick grayson #jason todd #damian wayne #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #batfam #batfamily #text post #text #writing #moots!!

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thestarfishinjootsoffice · 9 months

Note

Slashers x child!reader… except it’s CHILDREN, because they are TWINS

HMMM WOWW THIS IS SOMETHING NEW YAHOO!!

Uhm I made the twins energetic hope you didn't mind it 👉👈

Warnings: mentions of murder and luring. Idkk??? Fluff??

Characters in this : Michael Myers, sinclair brothers and Bubba sawyer SORRY SO SHORT.

Relationship: Platonic! Father/uncle/older sibling figure? Yes?

Slashers x twins! Reader

Michael

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

*immense sigh inserted from Michael*

How he'll take this is a matter of how they act.

Just two quiet timid little munchkadees and he shows a thumbs up.

But two little sly mischievous pranksters are a big no no from him. But let's go with that for the rest of the oneshot.

One was already hard enough for him but two?? He's gonna be breaking them spine and knees a little earlier... You can just imagine him sitting on a chair while two little children run around him and you can see the exhaustion behind his mask.

They can mess with him and ask him who is who and most of the time he gets it right or says idgaf. But if it's peepaw Michael he's a bit more willing to play along. Orr says idgaf too and points to whoever.

He doesn't necessarily hold those two but if they ask reeeeaaaallllyyyyy nicely he might. When he did though he thought it felt weird holding two children in his arms and intended to drop them after 10 seconds but seeing how happy and excited it made them he extended it to a few minutes. (And moved around the house a little since they asked really nicely about that too.)

If they get into an argument and get mad at each other and they turn to him for help he's panicking inside because he doesn't know wtf to do. He just grabs whatever their favorite food or drink is and hopes they make up.

One moment he goes into another room and comes back to find the twins throwing things around and screaming and he glares at them and gave them a little bonk on their heads and made them clean up.

If he finds out the twins had a bully he's ready for bone breaking or stabbing but if he also finds out the twins are tormenting the bully back for revenge and he just- he's so proud. (He came up to them and gave them a thumbs up.)

Overall he doesn't really love it nor does he really hate it. And he wouldn't say he wishes one of them to disappear cause he doesn't. I guess he kinda loves likes the both of you equally.

Sinclair brothers

Bo looks at the both of them together sometimes and smiles because they lowkey remind him of him and Vincent when they were younger. (The children twins get along wayy better) he tries not to mind and lash out when they're acting especially chaotic but you know the romantical relationship between him and anger so he yells at them. But then he later feels super guilty and tries to apologize with ice cream or something. Actually he's pretty lenient on them cause there's two of them and in his sense that means if one is in trouble then the other one will get them out of it. Boy was he wrong. He found them both wailing in a ditch with leaves as bait somewhere that they dug up because they wanted to catch animals for food but they forgot it was there. He also bonked them in the head after lifting them up. You can see him a lot with the twins and lure tourists in like 'heh... Yes come follow these two innocent looking kids...' He would rather die than admit it but he really likes having the twins company. He acts so nasty and detached but yk he would be so hurt if they didn't talk to him more than 10 times a day. Whatever tourist that picks on them or acts extremely suspicious around them would be dead before the sky turns deep blue. I bet he lets them hang on his arms and turns so smug when they comment about how strong their 'uncle' is. Wait did they say uncle? He accidentally dropped them. And crode later. Overall he likes them more than he could ever admit.

Vincent he loves watching them play (not in a weird way ofc) he watches them and sighs because he highkey wishes Bo would be a bit nicer to him sometimes. And for some reason he is a little nicer when the twins are around. When days are getting long and there's nothing to do he's playing with them, whether it be tag or dressing up in tutus he's fine with it. He gets worried a lot when the twins are on their own. Instead of a mindset like bo (and Lester) he thinks what would happen if BOTH of them get in trouble. He doesn't want to find two dead bodies somewhere so he tries to keep a close eye on them. A scenario where the twins are also running around in circles around Vincent sitting in a chair except he doesn't mind it and smiles. Contests where the twins draw Vincent and makes him choose whose art is better but he doesn't have the heart to choose which are inevitable. Anybody who looks at them weird? Gone. Not even wax just gone. Treats them like they're his own (he is their father figure). Since lester isn't always in ambrose Vincent does most of the raising since Bo apparently is always doing something (he tries.). So Vincent is the twins favorite and always comes to him for help unless it's about mechanical or such. Probably holds the twins in his arms a lot and scurries or runs around because it's so cool for them to look at everything from the height of 6'1 - 6'ft. His soul almost leaves him when they play and run around in the house of wax. Vincent thinks it's kinda hard handling twins but he loves it either way.

I said before Vincent was their favorite but boy do they get excited when they see Lester. He doesn't always come but he doesn't always decide to not visit. To be honest because of the twins he visits more frequently oh and they loveee jonesy. And for the record he's the fun-est and also funniest so when he pulls up with them truck the twins will be yelling, "omg look uncle Lester came!!!" Bo will give shit. Not to the twins but to Lester for some reason. The whole day you'll be spending time with Lester and they play stuff like who can hit the most animals with uncle Lester's car. (Sorry they don't actually play that.) But hes convenient because when the twins are refusing to do Or eat something and knowing how competitive chaotic kids are, Lester does the good ol' who can eat/clean the fastest and also does it with them so it'll be more fun. And he's carefree too and then he also finds the twins somewhere in trouble. I'm imagining a scenario where he tells a creepy tourist to get in a car and then he was driving really fast around a cliff and then he opens the tourist's side of the car door and roughly pushes them off the cliff. They were there to witness it all and honestly they were high key rooting for Lester. The kid twins get into mischief with Lester a lot and Bo finds it so annoying and Vincent is just concerned. Them and Lester are literal partners in crime. They work together like legitimately. Also when the twins get mad at each other Lester makes them apologize to each other and then treats them with food or some activity for doing so. Because it's important to apologize <3. Overall, he loves em' and they love him.

Bonus, jonesy!!: did I mention they love jonesy? Everytime the kid twins aren't playing with Lester they're most definitely being playfully chased by jonesy. Ofc she catches them every time and also gives them little kisses on the cheeks :,). 🩷🩷🩷 jonesy is just a natural at everything that's why she got along so well the first time they met with the kid twins, in fact she's the head master and wears the pants in the sinclair family. She's extremely vital. Someone acts mean to one of the twins? The other one and jonesy team up and start beating the person. Somehow they three team up and torment the other Sinclairs and the brothers have no idea how but they allow it. Overall 100/10, she's their second partner in crime.

Bubba sawyer

He loves taking care of them! Just whenever he can he plays with them. Wayy too attached to the twins since they're really the only ones who treat Bubba like an actual human being.

Will get so stressed if they mess up somewhere in a room because Drayton will yell at both the twins and Bubba. (The twins shit talk about Drayton and let Bubba on it too but he gets nervous.)

He also runs around the house holding one twin on his arms and one on his back. The twins love pulling that "guess who is who" Question and watch as Bubba struggles and fidgets as he tries to figure out.

There isn't really a quiet day with twins chasing each other but Bubba loves it. It doesn't make him feel alone. As much as he dislikes it, the twins help and lure victims in and also watch the brutal killings. If they insist it doesn't really bother them that much then he'll be put a little at ease.

He gets the big sad when the twins come crying to him after Drayton yelled at them for acting like the kids that they should act like. Knowing Bubba has a soft heart he can't really do anything other than comfort them physically by stroking their hair/heads.

He tries his best to keep them safe at all times knowing how dangerous this can be if the victims get smart or lucky. Overall he loves them to death and he wouldn't have it any other way.

This is the end. I'm losing my creativity and it took me like 6+ to finish this because I'm so indecisive. Anyways tell me if you want a part two :))

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 2 months

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Omg ok so I was reading a yves fic about him being a parent and how bad he would be, and that gave me an idea, like imagine if yves was in charge of babysitting the kid for the day, because reader knows how yves feels about the kid, sure he doesn’t out right say it but a mother knows, so for the first three or so months of the baby’s life reader has been the one to watch over it, but reader really wanted to just get out and have some alone time, so yves was supposed to babysit for the day, and when I mean babysit yves is really just staring at the baby, like he’s just staring at it with hate filled eyes, so when reader came home an hour early yves was caught be surprise (he lost track of time thinking about how annoying and pathetic the baby was, that he forgot to check the farmers and trackers) and reader was PISSED, like reader went through the whole pregnancy knowing that yves didn’t want to keep it deep down, and has basically been the only person taking care of the baby, so when reader went out ONE time for like four hours max, only to find yves glaring at the poor baby as it’s crying it’s eyes out, so reader just grabs the baby and some essentials and just leaves without saying a single word, and if yves tries to talk to them reader just like 😐 no words, and if he tries to physically stop reader their like 👊👊 and I can imagine how strong mama reader is protecting their baby, and with no place in mind reader just so happens to drive all the way to a small cabin the the woods, which just so happens belong to Montgomery. (Ignore the last part if you want i know Montgomery isn’t really a fan favorite lol).

There is a common misconception that Yves despises his children and wishes the maximum amount of pain on them. But actually, he just values them very little.

You would have an idea on what his opinion is on your child, but he is still present and so experienced, he knew everything there is to know about the baby. He knows when they're hungry, tired or why they're crying. Yves wouldn't necessarily let you take care of it alone, remember, he actually can go without sleeping.

He would still be very careful, more so especially there's that bundle of misery in his arms. It would stop crying when you hold it because it's finding you comfortable, but it would also stop wailing in Yves's hold because the baby is afraid. Something about Yves just triggers that primal fear in it, already knowing not to make a peep as a survival tactic.

Yves wouldn't be careless to be consumed by his hatred of the baby, because there isn't really much of it; it's mostly apathy that most people perceive as animosity. He simply sees it as an object, a tool. Yves doesn't see it as human but more akin to a computer, or more degradingly, a spoon. If the 'spoon' isn't serving its purpose (i.e., containing fluids or solids), Yves would fix it by hammering it into shape, not caring about its feelings or health.

The child is here to make you happy (From a young age, he will drill it in their head to worship you), to not make him embarrassed (Hence the rigorous training to make the 'perfect' child) and as a cautionary tale, to discourage them to reproduce.

He wouldn't just stare at it with hate-filled eyes for no reason, it's usually to teach from a young age that such an "overreaction" is unacceptable if the child wants anything. There wouldn't be any 'hate', just annoyance and boredom, it's just another tedious chore for him. If it was particularly energetic and difficult that day, he would have drugged them. But not so much that there are lasting physical health effects, only mental.

Then again, instead of just watching it while the baby cries until it turns blue, it is much more efficient for him to just chuck it into a sensory deprivation chamber. The goal is just to stop them from making so much noise, or to teach that it will only be taken care of when it's silent and unmoving.

So in short, Yves would never be caught lacking in this department. Sure, the vibes would be off when he kisses its head and sings its lullabies about loving parents no matter what. But he is very careful in hiding his abuse.

He wouldn't want anyone to ruin his tool.

But on the other side,

Montgomery loves kids, he would love a big happy family. He would be the type to let his daughters paint his nails, put makeup on him, and dress him up like a buff, scarred princess. He would be present in his sons's lives as well, taking them fishing, playing football, and attending all their special events.

Montgomery would always trade any and every second of his free time to be with his kids and spouse. His unwinding is coming back to a huge, noisy family, playing with the children and doting on his partner.

He would be surprisingly supportive if any of his children comes out as queer, of course, he would tone down the bigotry and apologize for his previous views on life. Even when they're young, he wouldn't necessarily bar his girls from doing 'manly' stuff and his boys from doing 'sissy' things. He just wants the family together.

However, once you have children with him, you could kiss private dates goodbye. Because he would want to bring all eight of his children everywhere, to the restaurant, to the park, to the cinemas, to your workplace for a visit, to the grocery store, on a flight to Hawaii; no one gets to feel left out.

If one falls sick and couldn't come, no one gets to go on that trip. It does piss his children off, but he is fair, so they would just seal their lips shut and take care of their ill sibling.

All of them would get adequate hugs and kisses from youth, and maybe some of them would be 'out-touched' and reject their father's affection, which would hurt him greatly and you would need to console him. Some may think he's overbearing, especially when he wants everyone to be together at least once a day for dinner, weekly game nights, and daily deep talks about life. He has a notebook that Montgomery would write about his children's drama in school, who are the mean girls and the jocks, who are their teachers, and who their crushes are, concerns about puberty, respective secrets and confusing feelings of teenagehood.

He has to secure it safely though, because some of his kids would try to steal it and be nosy. Maybe to use it as blackmail towards their siblings into doing something they didn't want to. However, his children know their father means well, he grew up in a family that couldn't give two shits about him- he just wanted to do better and be the present parent he always wanted.

Just like how he would do to you, he would spoil his children to death. You would have to handle the discipline side of things because it would shatter his fragile little heart to say no to those squirts. But there is one thing that he wouldn't tolerate, which is bullying or being disrespectful to you. He would put his foot down if he knew those little tykes were teasing other kids about their appearances or circumstances. And when he's angry, it isn't pretty.

His expectations of them are not too high in terms of academics, as long as they're not failing classes, he's happy. A child could get a 50/100 on a science test and he would throw a massive celebratory party for them, all the other siblings would be happy too because they all get gifts and delicious cake.

However, would ensure all of them know how to run a farm and be self-sufficient. All of them would know how to hunt and fight, doing 200 pushups in one go is no big deal to them and they would grow up extremely fit.

All the kids will love you, pampering you on special holidays such as Valentine's day, father/mothers day and birthdays. You would have breakfast in bed, they will give you massages and share their individual essays as to why they love you. It has to be unique each year.

When they're older, it would turn into a friendly competition. Whoever showed their love in the most creative way gets bragging rights, maybe you would receive a painted portrait, a song dedicated to you, a movie or even a homemade electronic tablet if they happen to grow up smart and techy.

He would be the type to ugly-cry if any of them goes to college, even though they would have to visit every weekend. Montgomery would want regular video calls between them and the family every night.

When it comes to partners, Montgomery would welcome them into the family with open arms. As long as they're not bad for them and he wouldn't need to bring out his shot gun, then a friend of theirs is a friend of Montgomery.

He would be a very loving father that can be too much sometimes. However, he makes sure that his kids know they are loved no matter what, his love is purely unconditional for them and he would always be the first one to dial their number- he doesn't like that "the phone works both ways" nonsense, he thinks its the parents' responsibility to maintain the bonds no matter how old the children are.

He makes sure they know that they can always come home when time gets rough.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere male #oc yves #yandere concept #tw yandere #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc x reader #oc Montgomery

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svtyandere · 10 months

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omggg hi i’m so excited this is exactly what i’ve been waiting for 🥹

can i request a yandere jeonghan imagine where he continually cheats on y/n to try and make her jealous but it only causes her to hate him more. like i want her to turn cold towards him and he ends up breaking down because she can’t look at him the same anymore.

yk maybe turn a little crazy hehehe 🤭

and thank you! i can’t wait for your future writings!! 🤍��🤍

TW: threats of self-harm, mentions of murder, yandere behaviour

Doormat. That’s what your friends accused you of being. And that’s what you were every time Jeonghan walked out the front door. You knew what he was doing, anyone with half a brain knew. And honestly, you were fed up.

Jeonghan stumbled through the door, the imprint of lips pushed onto his collar and breath reeking of alcohol. A greasy, “hey baby”, crawled out of his throat. Yet you paid him no mind, completely immersed in eating your dinner. Dragging his gaze up, he frowns as he realises there is only one plate on the table, yours. "What's up, huh? Why'd y'not make food for me?" He pouts and slumps against your back. Biting back an anguished scream, you lift your plate and carry it toward the kitchen. Jeonghan however, almost falls over due to the abruptness of your actions.

Jeonghan looks like he’s praying. His hands grasping at the skin of your soft thighs and his knees bare against the hard cold floor, is the greatest juxtaposition, he thinks. "Baby please, I love you more than anything in the world. I only did it for your attention, I'm so desperate for it. I need it! I need you!", he whimpers, pushing his face further into your thighs. Slap! As soon as his pleading eyes meet your own cold ones, you raise your hand and strike. The moan he lets out is downright sinful. This sound, however, furthers your hatred. "You're fucking disgusting. Going around and sleeping with other women. I hate you." At this, tears, which previously have been pooling in the corners of his eyes, stream down his face. Jeonghan wails, "No please! They mean nothing to me! Nothing! You are all that matters, they're worthless!" At this, he pauses, considering. Gently, he reaches for your chin, twisting it to face him. "All of those women I flirted and slept with, every single one... is dead. I killed them all. Taking me away from you and causing you to hate me was a crime punishable by death. I can show you if you'd like? Prove my love for you? Or maybe you should punish me? I've definitely been a bad boy... and bad boys need to be punished. If not by you... then I'll do it myself." As he finishes his speech, he leaps up. Positioning a knife at his wrist, he pleads to you, "Take me back baby, I know I've been bad... I just missed you so much. If you don't love me... pay attention to me... I don't think I can live."

#yandere!jeonghan #yandere!seventeen #yandere!svt #sub!seventeen #seventeen #yandere seventeen #yandere jeonghan #yandere svt #TY for requesting #sorry if it doesn't rlly fit the request #and pls give me some writing tips <3

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delopsia · 10 months

Text

The Dreaming | Bob Floyd x Reader x Rhett Abbott

Word Count: 15,300 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, food, bodily injury, nightmares, Bob working through trauma in his own way, crying, relationship insecurities, I love you's, overstimulation, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, anal sex (Rhett fucks Bob in this one!) an unrealistic depiction of a Navy accident, mentions of drowning, and a creative decision to put Bob's apartment by the ocean 💕

Without further ado, may I introduce you to the story of what caused Robert “Bob” Floyd to ask Reader and Rhett to live with him 💙 I pray you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.

These blazing white fluorescent lights only seem to make the ringing in his ears grow louder. A persistent, high-pitched tone, wailing in his ears for days on end. Renders the jerky, sporadic clicks of his crutches into near silence.

If only the lady in front of him would walk a smidge quicker. He knows she means well, isn't quite sure how such a small woman thinks she'll catch him in the event he falls, but alas, she tries. Walking with her arm cautiously held out, pausing every time he reaches forward with his crutches, the rubber tips narrowly missing her polished black heels. He'd hate to hit them and leave a mark that she'll have to clean off later, or worse, trip her, but it's so difficult.

This hallway never seems to end.

Even as he hobbles out into this little glass room and stops just shy of her pristine mahogany desk, those hallway walls echo through his peripheral. Like he's floating back to the front doors again, has to make that long trek one more time.

Something's moving in the corner of his eye. One, no, two figures. Blurry, so out of focus that they look like a pair of smudges.

But those aren't just smudges.

He knows those smudges. From the man who reaches up to tangle his fingers in semi-long, dark brown curls to the wide-eyed, rigid figure that's getting up from a cheap, plastic chair.

"Sir, you need to wait a minute," that ringing grows louder with every hobbled step toward the door.

But he's not listening.

"Sir, please— Mr. Floyd!"

Crutches squeak against the tile floor. Shoulder weakly slamming into that glass door. Feet scuttling beneath him. Searching for purchase. Forcing it open. His eyes burn. Already blurred vision growing foggier. His right foot catches on the leg of his crutch. Left one can't catch the ground fast enough.

He's falling.

But you're there to catch him.

Your lovely arms open, wrapping around his trembling shoulders as he all but slams into you. Has you stumbling backward until your back hits Rhett's broad chest, and then Rhett's arms are wrapping around him too. Only serves to draw him further into your neck. The final straw before the stinging in his eye soothes, replaced by a wetness that rolls down his cheek and seeps onto your shirt.

"Bobby," your voice is the first clear thing he's heard since it happened.

And just like that, the ringing has stopped.

Replaced by the yammering of the poor woman trying to do her job, your hushed, shaky words, and Rhett's gruff hum as he steps closer and nuzzles his nose into the side of Bob's head. Breath warm against the side of his head, where his hair is at its shortest.

Your fingers trace up the back of his neck, loosely following along his spine, until they're stopped by a haphazardly placed bandage. "Bobby," you're repeating yourself, but it sounds like the first time all over again, "Are you crying?"

Through a shuddering sniffle, Bob shakes his head no. Lips parting, but not a sound coming out. Even as he's forced to take a reluctant step back, fill out and gather the paperwork he needs to walk out of here, he can't get a word out.

"They say he'll get over it in a few days," and he hates how she says it, words laced around an ingenuine laugh as he digs her fingers into his bicep and pulls him away, back to her office. This situation is anything but juvenile, and yet she treats it so. Like he's struggling to walk because he tripped on the playground, and he's chosen not to speak because he didn't get the toy he wanted.

But soon, soon, he finds himself sitting in the backseat of an unfamiliar rental car. Head resting in your lap as your fingers card through his hair, the nondescript tune on the radio overridden by Rhett grumbling about how the clutch needs replacing. Truly, he should be a touch concerned that the rancher who grew up with a stick shift is having trouble shifting gears, but all he can focus on are the veins that bulge under the effort.

Those lovely arms that catch him by the waist when he trips on the rain-slicked sidewalk that leads to his apartment complex. Drawing him back up as if he weighs nothing. "Y' alright?"

Still, those words still won't come to his tongue, leaving him mouthing a silent "I think so" that only you catch.

When Bob applied for this apartment nearly six years ago, he'd been so thrilled by the picturesque ocean views and spacious bedroom that the never-ending stairs and always-broken elevator were mere minor inconveniences. A sacrifice that could be made. But now, as he hobbles up each and every stair, he's found himself muttering under his breath about how this apartment was a mistake.

But in the blink of an eye, he's watching you fumble with his keys and opening his front door, and it's so...strange. This is the first time you and Rhett have ever been to his apartment, and yet it feels familiar. Like this is something that's happened every day for his entire life; you're always the one to unlock the door; Rhett always stops just past the door to toe his boots off.

"This place is bigger than it looks over the phone," you chirp, and he wants to look at your face, see if you notice his severe lack of a dinner table, but all he can do is stare out the sliding glass doors behind you. The ones that lead out onto the balcony, complete with a view of the haunting, bottomless blue sea.

That ringing is back.

Loud enough to mask the hard thumping of his heart. Hammering against his chest. Threatening to break out at any moment. Even in the rain. Even in the rain, that ocean is so fucking deceptive. A siren ready to lure one out under the guise of—

"Bob!"

"Huh?"

It doesn't sound like him at all, raspy and breaking at the end, but it's there. The first noise he's made since he woke in the infirmary.

You're walking up to him, hands reaching to cradle his cold cheeks and bringing him to meet your lips. A fleeting peck that he finds himself wanting more of, fighting the urge to lean in and steal another one.

"We asked if you wanted to order something for dinner," you chirp, in that honey-sweet, warm tone of yours, "I doubt you want to go back down those stairs."

The mere mention of food has his stomach churning so sourly that he wonders if his face is turning green. Behind you, he catches a glimpse of Rhett toying with the edge of a brochure he must have found at the airport, folded open to an advertisement for a pizza joint down the road. It's that thing he always does when he wants something. Holds his tongue until everyone has spoken before him.

Right now, the last thing Bob wants is a greasy pizza with obnoxiously-stretchy cheese and too much pepperoni. Yet, he finds himself opening his mouth, wavering voice barely getting out of his mouth.

"Do you wanna try the pizza joint down the road?" All to see that out-of-place cowboy light up like an evening star.

That pizza tries to come back up while he's laying in bed.

Stomach still twisting knots in his belly, gurgling louder than the ringing in his ears as he stares up at the ceiling. Even from here, he can tell that you and Rhett are getting ready to leave. Off to a hotel because his apartment isn't big enough for the three of you. It's not a big, expansive house like everyone else in his field seems to own, the kind meant for a family.

This lonely place only has enough room for an equally lonely man, never home longer than a week at a time.

Your frame appears in the doorway, hesitating, and he can already see your suitcase lingering by your knee. "Is it okay if I put my suitcase in here?"

Blink.

Blink again.

"Huh?" He's tilting his head to get a better look at you.

"I figured it would be better than leaving it in the corner of your living room," you clarify, pulling the suitcase a little closer to yourself. That doesn't follow in the slightest. Why would you leave your things here if you're going to a hotel for the night?

Despite his confusion, Bob's found himself nodding, "The space next to the bedside table is a good spot to leave it." He should know; he always leaves his travel bags piled up there. Out of the way, where he can't trip over it.

As soon as you've got your suitcase placed where you want it, you start heading for the bed, feet pattering across the hardwood floor. Stopping short of the bed and bending down to press a warm, lingering kiss to his forehead.

This is it. This is when you mutter your goodbye for the night, leaving him with a kiss and a promise to be back in the morning. Your mouth is opening, ready to deliver the words he's already heard.

But you're silenced by a loud thump and a gruff swear.

Rhett stumbles through the threshold, minding his left foot, "What are doorframes in California so fuckin' narrow for?"

The bed dips as he all but tosses himself into the space behind Bob's back, wastes no time in rolling over and wrapping a big, muscled arm around his waist. Practically drags him across the mattress until his back is flush with Rhett's chest.

"You're cold," he mutters, that calloused hand of his wandering beneath Bob's shirt, splaying out against his belly.

This doesn't make any sense at all. It's late; you and Rhett should be leaving soon, especially if you want to go to bed before midnight. But you're crawling into bed, too, letting Bob wrap his arm around you as you settle in. His head resting against your chest, close enough to feel your heart pitter-pattering against him.

"You are cold," you parrot, fingers stroking the back of his head in such a way that it sends a shiver down his spine.

Rhett's chapped lips press against the back of his neck, a little, fleeting sensation that has something rumbling to life in Bob's lower belly. God, if only he didn't have this basketball-sized bruise on his hip right now. If only he didn't have an ache that reaches right into his bones. It's been a while since he's seen you two in person, nevermind yielding and letting Rhett have his way with him for once—

"Do you want to take about what happened?" You murmur, voice vibrating against Bob's forehead.

Images flicker through the forefront of his mind. Still shots, fleeting memories of an experience that doesn't feel real. Yet it's sunk in enough to send snowflakes flittering through his veins, goosebumps bubbling across pale skin.

His head feels too big for his own body as he shakes out a 'no.'

But unlike his superiors, you and Rhett don't demand a detailed recount of what happened. A play by play that tears into his every thought and feeling, strangled out of him all for the sake of getting all the facts straight.

No, Rhett just squeezes him a little tighter, and you press another kiss into his forehead with a muttered, "That's okay." And as he steals a kiss from your lips, the little voice in the back of his head echoes your words.

Maybe it is okay.

Everything is spinning.

He is spinning.

Round and round. A million miles a second. Spiraling down, down, down, Faster by the second, And they're not supposed to be spinning.

But the controls are fine.

Not a single light is on. Every switch. Every Knob. Every dial. Every screen. It's all where it should be. Nothing is wrong.

But they're spinning.

He's yelling at the man in the front. Squeezing his hands past the headrest. Fingers knocking against a cold helmet shell. His throat burns as he screams. Falling. We're falling.

But the man isn't listening. "No, we're not."

Yes, we are.

Don't you see? Everything outside is a blur. Spinning round and round. That sour churn in our chests means we're falling. Don't you see the ground getting closer? We're falling! Why are we fucking falling?

And yet the man's still not listening. Doesn't lift his head to look at the blurry world around them. The blue ground is getting closer. And closer. And closer. He's screaming at the top of his lungs. And nobody is listening.

His hands find the rope between his legs. Pull.

It doesn't budge.

He's pulling again. Harder now. Yanking. Come on, now. The ground is getting closer. He's running out of time.

The rope detaches.

The man in front of him isn't listening.

And he's still falling.

You almost thought Bobby would never wake up.

You'd known he was tired, exhaustion emanating from his weary bones, heavy, dark circles looming beneath those pale blue eyes. But you've never known him to sleep past eleven, undisturbed by Rhett's second incident with the door frame when he got up. Even the thick aroma of breakfast, ordered from a small shop down the road, couldn't draw him out of his slumber.

"Good morning, sleepy head," a lazy smile sprawling across your face as you speak, "sleep well?"

Bob hums, the best he can do, as he lifts his arms above his head and stretches like a cat. All to roll over to the edge of his bed, arm dangling from the side. "Watcha doing down there?"

"Refolding your shirts," you say it without needing to look at what your hands are doing. So into the rhythm of things that you've found yourself on autopilot, the pile of shirts in your lap gradually growing. "It was the only way we could get your dresser drawer to shut again."

He's yet to find out that Rhett's fumbling around the kitchen, replacing the blown light in the stove.

"'m sorry about that," he's reaching up, tangling his hand through unruly hair that now stands straight up, remnants of his favorite gel working to create a new hairstyle of its own. "I should've cleaned before I left."

"Not like you had time, with that new job of yours," and you hope he doesn't catch the disappointment brewing in the belly of your tone. You'd really thought he'd turn down that offer. "What is it again? You're home a month and a half out of the full year now?"

Bob's first attempt at speaking is interrupted by a yawn, the final remnants of sleep beginning to dissipate, "If I'm lucky, I get two months."

"At this rate, you'll always be home," Rhett's voice echoes down the hallway, heavy feet audibly thumping across the floor, "Six months into the job, and they already got you in bandages."

"I'll heal," and you hate how Bob says it as if it's not a big deal. Like he's simply home because of a paper cut and not an accident that he can't bring himself to speak of. An accident that's got him wrapped in bandages and hobbling around in crutches because his left foot can't bear his full weight.

"T's what we said 'bout my shoulder, ain't it?" Rhett's rounding the corner, rotating that perpetually sore left shoulder of his. Two years later, and he still can't extend it as well as his right one.

Your hand meets the cold floor, clean out of shirts to fold. None left on the other side of you, either. Careful, you scoop up your neatly folded stack, placing the shirts back into their drawer, knuckles brushing into something absurdly...solid.

"You keep a wooden box in your t-shirt drawer?" Whatever it is, it's light in your hand. Easily fits amongst the shirts when you put it back. But as you turn your attention back to Bob, his face has fallen. Paler. Eyes a touch wider than they were before.

"Sentimental junk," he supplies, after a moment, "made 'em in that woodworking class Mickey drug me out to last summer."

If you remember correctly, he built that nightstand of his and then never returned to the class again. Still have the pictures he'd excitedly sent when he finished his chosen project, and the video of it buckled into the backseat of his pickup.

But he's starting to sit up, wincing as he upsets something near his rib cage, and you find yourself leaving your thoughts behind in favor of helping him before he tears a stitch.

This comforter set was a mistake.

It's so fucking blue. The color of the open, roaring seas he's flown over more times than he can count, ready to swallow him up without remorse. The very sight of it is enough to have his nausea spiking; how could this have ever been his favorite color? And why did he decide to make the curtains the same shade of sea-sick blue, too?

Bob's yet to get full dexterity back in his fingers, some pinched nerve that's still bugging him days after the incident, but he's yanking at the edges of his comforter all the same. Tugging until it's laying in a messy heap on the floor.

The spare comforter he's had shoved in the hallway closet is a much better color. A dark, muted gray. Plain, but it's nowhere near as much of an eyesore as this blue one.

Getting it out of the closet was one thing; all he had to do was slide it across the floor with one of his crutches but bending down to get it is something else entirely. Those stitches occupying the space beneath his left knee, running down the side, feel like they'll burst as he tries to crouch. Angrily tugging on tender skin, daring him to push them further and see what happens.

But the bag is right...there...the tips of his fingers brushing against it. Just out of reach. If he leans a little further forward...

His crutch slips out from beneath his arm.

And this time, you're not there to catch him when he falls. Landing with a thud that he's sure the downstairs neighbors heard, already-bruised hip aching with the impact.

"The fuck 're you doin', space boy?" Rhett's appeared in the doorway, towel ruffling through long, damp locks in all of his post-shower glory.

"Changing the comforter," Bob mutters like it's some shameful thing to admit.

If his thoughts weren't consumed by the primal, internal shriek of that fucking hurts, Bob's sure he would be salivating over those thick muscles. The ones that bulge as Rhett bends down, on his way to steal a kiss, before helping him back up with this wondrous ease that only he can carry.

"You could've asked one of us for help," his voice rumbling right in Bob's ear as he helps get those crutches beneath his arms again. Distantly, Rhett catches himself wondering if Bob can feel how his hands tremble, nerves rattling through the muscles there.

But he doesn't seem to notice. Too busy fumbling with his crutches, getting them back beneath his arms, to notice that barely-there shake. "I wanted to do it by myself."

Funny, Rhett saw that comment coming a mile away.

"I know, dummy," rolling his eyes as dramatically as he can manage. "But it ain't worth it hurtin' yourself over."

Rhett's not the most observant man; out of the three of you, he's the last to notice fine details. Little intricacies that tell a story of their own, so easily missed, but even he finds himself catching onto the way Bob's eyes shine just a little bit less. Recognizes that look, too, has seen it many a time in the mirror.

It's hard giving up your independence, even if you're too hurt to have it.

Maybe that's why he's bending down, tugging a soft, gray comforter from its bag and unfolding it, with a mutter of, "Now get over yonder 'n help me with that side."

Crutches click across the ground as Bob hobbles over, catching his end of the comforter when Rhett tosses it over. A team effort, even if it's just a big, fluffy sheet. Such a simple thing, and yet it's got something stirring in the back of Rhett's head.

Why's Bob changing the color of his comforter, anyway? Now, of all times?

Blue's always been his favorite color.

Oh, how deceptive she is.

Peaceful, tranquil from above. A blanket of warm blue that promises a moment of calm after the storm. And for a moment, she's just that. A soft landing for tired wings.

As quickly as she arrived, she's gone.

Cold fingers reach up from the abyss below. Dragging him down by the collar, head first. Darkness engulfs him like an old friend, her cold tendrils coiling tight around his chest as she pulls him deeper.

He's kicking against the current. Clawing for the surface. Trashing in her grip. Fighting her as she swallows him whole anyway. She's bigger, stronger, unphased by his struggle to escape her whispered promise of a liquid grave. He's the strongest swimmer of his class, and yet the coldness seeps into his bones as if he's the weakest of them all.

She's blue from beneath, too.

A blanket of cold blue that promises a moment of terror as she drags him far below the surface. His vision blurring, the weight of the water crushing his chest, strangling bubble after bubble from his lungs. Inky shadows dance behind his eyes, mocking, cackling.

His head seems to have floated off of his shoulders, rolled right up to the surface. Daring him to take a breath of this ice-cold air that his lungs burn for. To stop the darkness twinging at the corners of his eyes.

But she hasn't caught on to the hand disappearing into his pocket, seeking a sharp blade for one last fight.

Robby's such a peaceful sleeper.

Even on his worst of days, the moment his back hits the mattress, his bones melt into jelly, and he's bound to stay like that till morning comes. Thin eyelashes fanned out against his cheeks, an arm cast out in front of him, cradling someone, something, anything to his chest. It's that time of year when he snores, too. Soft sounds brought on by the temperature shift that comes with Autumn, about as loud as a cat's purr.

You have to be careful as you reach up to stroke an eyelash off of his cheek; a pin drop from the kitchen is enough to wake him on most mornings. But today must be one of those rare instances of heavy sleep because he doesn't stir.

Behind his head rests another. His face covered by long, dark hair that cascades across his unkempt face. Long stubble drags against your palm as you reach out to brush his hair behind his ear.

But unlike Bob, Rhett's eyes flicker open. Dark blue, almost black, in this unlit room, peering back at you with a familiar, sleepy wonder.

"'ve missed wakin' up t'this," he drawls, a lazy smile drawing across his lips as your fingers delve into his hair. He said that yesterday morning, too, and the day before that, and the day before that one, too.

You wonder if you'll get to hear it tomorrow and the next. If Royal lets him get away with not coming home for the sake of the ranch, that is. It's a wonder you've gotten to have three days together, to begin with.

"We need to get you some hair ties," you find yourself murmuring, lazily twisting his hair around in your fingers.

"What?" His smile seems to reach his eyes as he needily leans up into your touch. "Don't want me gettin' a matchin' cut with Robby?"

Between you, Bob stirs, shifting backward; Rhett's nearly closed eyes burst open, sucking in a gasp.

Your eyebrows furrow, blinking away what little sleep remains in your eyes as the gears in your head begin to turn. "Rhett?"

"Space boy is awake," he groans in that deep, guttural way that only he can do.

The arm curled around your waist begins to move, sliding up and down against your back, and slowly, pale blue eyes open. Just enough to get a look at you before shutting once more, closed by the lopsided grin sprawling across his face. His hips continue to wriggle backward, and with the sheets in the way, it's so hard to tell what he's doing.

Rhett's arm is sliding between you and Bob, dragging your sleepy-eyed WSO back until he's flush against Rhett's chest, with no more room for him to squirm. "Y'intentionally tryin' t'get a rise outta me?"

"Maybe I am," Bob's still trying to move, albeit not very much, but it's enough to have Rhett's eyes rolling in the slightest of ways. You still don't get what—

Oh.

"Bobby, how are you awake enough to be in the mood already?" a yawn overtaking you as you speak, powerless to stop him from pressing a big, sloppy kiss to your nose.

But Bob doesn't pull back like you expect him to. Only nuzzles your noses together, his big hand sliding out from beneath the covers to curl around your cheek. "You try waking up with Rhett's morning wood pressed against your thigh."

Rhett's reaching between your bodies, grazing past your thigh on his way down to cup Bobby through his shorts. Such a simple contact that's enough to have Bob's lips parting with a breathy noise, too shy to give you anything more without some encouragement. With the covers in the way, it's hard to tell what Rhett's doing to him, but whatever it is, it drives Bob to close the gap between your mouths.

Lazy is the only way you can describe it.

Neither of you has the energy to lift your heads, settling for loose lip locks that you can only hold for a few seconds at a time. Open-mouthed, Bob's breath heavy against your skin as he tries to keep himself quiet.

But it's impossible.

Now that he thinks about it, Bob can't remember the last time he's even touched himself, never mind having someone else touch him. And God, that hand of Rhett's is the very definition of talented. Already working its way through the front of his boxers, calloused fingers wrapping around his rapidly hardening cock.

"Where d'you keep the lube, Bobby?" Rhett's voice vibrates along the back of his neck, rattles all the way down to the bottom of his feet.

Bob's voice refuses to come to him; keeps catching in his throat because Rhett's thumb is toying with his slit, "Second drawer."

You're twisting in the sheets, turning away from him to reach into the bedside table. Only gone for a few seconds, but by the time you roll back over, passing the half-empty bottle off to Rhett, he's found himself whining. Desperate to feel you against him again, like you'll disappear if you're not touching him.

"So needy," you murmur in that careful tone you always use with him, your hand smoothing over his cheek enough to distract him from the loss of contact as Rhett busies himself with drizzling lube into his palm.

But then his hand is back on him, and God, it's so, so—

"'S that feel good?" Rhett's voice loud in his ear, mouth so close that his lips brush against the shell of Bob's reddened ear. His hand drops lower, gently rolling Bob's balls in his palm, lulling a garbled noise right out of Bob's throat. "Talk to us, Bobby."

"Uhuh," humming dumbly, Bob licks his lips, leans forward, seeking your lips again. Whines so prettily that you smile into it.

Despite the covers blocking a majority of the sound, that sickly wet squelch rings loud in his ears, Rhett's hand audibly stroking his cock. Slow up and downs that pause to run his palm overtop of a sensitive, pink tip. So much so that he's tempted to buck up into it, the dull ache in his hip bursting into a sharp bite as he does so.

"Faster," he breathes, eyes screwing shut, "please—hah, Rhett, faster, please."

Rhett's kicking the sheets off, exposing the messy work he's making of Bob's cock for all of you to view, hand moving a little faster than before. "You likin' that?" His teeth graze the shell of Bob's ear, nipping at the edges just to make him jolt. "You like when I jerk you off nice 'n quick like this?"

You're reaching down, following Rhett's nonverbal instruction, curling your palm around his balls, rolling them in your grasp, much like Rhett did. And it's so much. So, so much. From the gentleness of your touch to Rhett's rough strokes. He doesn't remember when his mouth opened or if those whiny noises are really coming from him.

All he knows is that he can't keep still. Squirming against the mattress, writhing back against Rhett, as if he can escape those quickening touches. Touches that have his toes curling and his breath catching in his throat, something warm brewing in his lower belly.

"Gonna cum for me, Bobby?" Rhett's voice sends a shiver down his spine.

"No, no, no, not—" gulping, "don't wanna cum like this."

Your head raises, attention now back on his face. "How do you want it, then?"

"Want one of you to..." God, it's so difficult to get the words out of his mouth, tongue limp in his mouth, "Ride me, fuck me, god, anything,"

But Rhett's hand isn't stopping. No, it's quickening. "Baby, you're too torn up for that right now," he coes, sounds just as disappointed as Bob's whimper, "Your hips are so bruised that we're going to wind up hurting you."

And it doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter because Rhett's firm hand pumps him one, two, three more times and he's downright ripping that orgasm out of him. Eyes rolling back, cumming all over Rhett's hand with a strangled cry. Your hand retreats quite quickly, but Rhett's remains, slowing as he works him down from his high, doesn't leave him alone until the oversensitivity has him jolting.

Bob's lungs burn, panting for a breath that he can't catch, "But what about you two?"

"Rhett and I can take care of each other," but your offer isn't what he wants. No, no, no, this isn't what he wanted at all.

"That's not—that's not fair," his eyes a little glassier than before, voice wavering, "Why won't...why won't you let me?" And that bottom lip starts to wobble in tune with his racing heart.

Why can't he? You wouldn't let him last night when he hobbled up behind you and kissed your neck all nice and sweet, in that lingering fashion that you always loved in the past. Rhett's shut him down every time they shower. Says something about not wanting Bob to strain his already injured neck by sucking him off.

Is it because you're upset about his new job? Fuck, what if he's gone so often that you and Rhett have grown apart from him? Do you just not want him to touch you anymore? Is it because he missed that Spring festival back in March? Why can't he— why can't he touch either of you? What did he do?

"No, hey, hey, shh," Rhett's hand curls around his trembling jaw, tilting him to meet his eye, "there's no need to get yourself so worked up, now."

"But I want—"

Lips press against his. Firm but giving, in the same manner that Rhett has always kissed him in. "We'll make something work," he says, and for a moment, those dark blue eyes seem to swallow Bob up entirely.

But they don't drown him.

A beat passes, and then you're coming in to kiss him, too, as if to ward off the sniffles that have begun wracking through him. You don't know when the tears started or what could have possibly brought them on so quickly, but Bob leans into your touch as you wipe them from his pink cheeks.

You're still afraid to hurt him. Maybe Bob's suffered some sort of head trauma because he doesn't seem to realize how many bruises and bandages cover his battered body. Every limb has at least a few stitches; repairing lacerations, you still don't know the origin of.

But he's so desperate, insistent, that you find yourself cautiously perched at the top of the bed, kneeling, your thighs caging his face. Rhett's laying next to him, head propped up on one hand, the other running up and down the swell of your ass.

"Are you sure you're okay?" You repeat, for what's probably the fifth time.

Involuntarily, your body jolts as Bob's tongue parts your folds, licking a slow, fat stripe up your heat; his reply comes in the form of a grumbled, "uhuh," vibrating where you're most sensitive.

You've never been so thankful for his remarkably short headboard because that first lick is already enough to have you bracing yourself against it. Your hands squeeze the wood as he circles around your clit, not quite giving it the direct contact it's already aching for.

"Bobby," fuck, he's something else.

Rhett's greedy gaze soaks it all up, hyper-fixated on the way Bob's pulling you down onto his face, wet tongue lapping at you like he needs you to live. Sloppy, a thin trail of saliva follows him everywhere he goes.

His lips wrap around your clit, sucks on it just long enough to hear you gasp. Then he's leaving it alone once more, retreating back to those slow licks that have the tip of his tongue brushing against your neglected entrance and not letting up until his broad stroke has massaged past your clit.

One of your hands drops, fingers card their way through his hair; out of every moment you've spent with him this week, this is the most relaxed you've seen him. Features soft as he laps at your pussy, like it's all he's needed. Doesn't even seem strained when he pushes his tongue past your entrance, spreading you open on the hot little muscle.

The top of his nose bumps against your clit so effortlessly that it isn't even fair.

"That's it," you whine; his tongue isn't very long, but there's something so dizzyingly delicious about feeling him downright fuck you on his tongue.

In the corner of your eye, you catch sight of Rhett's cock, shining in the light as he strokes it. Fuck, is he really getting off to the sight of Bobby with his head between your legs?

Whatever it is, it's got a heat bubbling to the surface. Familiar, as it spreads throughout your body. Bob's drawing back up, swirling around that swollen bud once more, the tip of his tongue flickering over it.

"Getting close," you gasp, tugging on those short locks, "Robby—"

Something about your words has him quickening. Languid pace dissolving into something hungry, borderline frantic as he digs his fingertips into your hips and works you over with his mouth. Fuck, fuck, fuck, that's a hell of a lot.

"Cum," his voice muffled by your dripping sex, "please."

There's a shake in your hands as it washes over you. Trembling like a leaf as you cum on his frantic, talented tongue, the sound of his name tumbling off your own tongue like an incantation. Fuck, your whole body is shaking. But Bob licks you through it, whines into your core like he can feel your orgasm too.

"Ain't you two jus' a sight," Rhett's sitting up, leaning up to steal a peck from your parted lips, uncaring of how you shamelessly pant against his lips.

As soon as he's there, he's gone again, laying back against the bed once more. His hand lazily returns to his cock, not in any sort of rush, as he flicks his wrist on that upward stroke. A nice feeling, but nothing strong enough to yank a noise out of his throat.

Bobby huffs.

Doesn't say anything. Just...huffs. Like he's jealous of Rhett's hand.

"He's not gonna be happy unless you let him suck your cock," you say so matter-of-factly that it makes Rhett's head spin.

"'s that what you're wantin'?" Bob's nodding his head before Rhett's even finished his sentence.

And so up he goes, swinging his knee over Bob's chest and settling into the space there as lightly as he can manage. On its own, his cock smacks against Bob's chin, the angry red of his tip such a stark contrast to Bob's pale pink cheeks. The same shade that colors his thin lips, wrapping around Rhett's dripping tip with an unfathomable eagerness.

"You want control, or d'you want me to fuck your pretty lil' mouth?" He offers, though he feels like he already knows the answer. Mouth too full to speak, Bob's hands settle on either side of Rhett's narrow hips, almost forcing him to thrust into his mouth. "Guess that's my answer."

Next to him, you giggle. Sleepy-eyed and glowing in your post-orgasmic haze. He knows the clock reads somewhere around eleven AM, but in the back of his head, Rhett really hopes the three of you go back to bed after this.

Bob's hair is still a mess from when your hands tangled through it, makes it all the more inviting for Rhett's fingers to delve into, his hips twitching forward. A shallow thrust, at first, gives Bobby nothing more than his tip to suckle on, but it's easy to gain confidence when Bob contentedly moans around him.

"Fuck, your lil' mouth is good," he groans, head momentarily tilting back. He's never felt someone take his cock so damn easily, sucking hard enough to have his toes curling and his jaw falling slack. Thrusting in and out of those swollen lips, mesmerized by the sight of them struggling to stay around his thick length.

But then his cockhead is bumping against the back of Bob's plush throat, those muscles flexing around him, and he's moaning into the open air like it's his job.

He's too far into Bob's throat for it to be comfortable, but those shaky hands won't let him pull back, drawing him back into that velvety throat of his over and over and over. Tears roll down his cheeks, and Rhett's thumb is trying to wipe them away the best that it can.

"Good boy," he's coaxing, hips growing twitchy, difficult to control. Bob's still fighting him as he draws back a few inches, back into the safety of his mouth, where he can't accidentally jolt further down that hot little throat, "you gonna let me cum on your pretty face?"

He actually thinks Bob is going a little bit cross-eyed.

"Or would you rather me cum in your mouth, hm?" It's been so long since he's seen those features wrinkle as his salty cum hits that short tongue.

Bob just hums, and it's hard for Rhett to make a decision when there's a twisting in his gut that has his head feeling like it'll fall off his shoulders. Fuck, fuck, fuck, that soft tongue is swiping back and forth at the underside of him with a talent Rhett forgot he had.

His hips jerk back on their own accord, Bob's tongue rolling out to cushion his throbbing tip like a welcome mat, mouth open, and that is it.

With a silent noise, Rhett's eyes flutter shut, and he cums on Bob's pink tongue. Thick ropes of white painting his drooling mouth, a stray spurt of cum splashing against a flushed cheek. And Bob just swallows him up, sucking his sensitive head clean, even through the sniffles once again racking their way through his body.

"Such a good boy," you're cooing; Rhett's unsure of where you found tissues, but you're wiping his cum off Bob's face with them.

There's an ache in Rhett's thighs as he settles down into the mattress again, shamelessly curling into Bob's panting side, "You feeling better now, sweetheart?"

Maybe it's something he did.

Maybe he's hurt him because the moment his hand curls around Bob's squishy cheek, he breaks. Tears overflowing. Makes the quietest, strangled noise that Rhett's ever heard, as he just starts...crying.

But maybe he hasn't hurt him, because he's the one Bob curls toward, hiding his face in the crook of Rhett's neck to muffle the downright wail that ripples out of him. Rhett doesn't know what to do, but he's wrapping his arms around him, gaze flickering up to your scrunched features, laced with every bit of concern flowing through your pretty head.

"Bobby?" You're nuzzling closer, helping Rhett to create some sort of makeshift cocoon around your trembling WSO. "What's wrong?"

But Bob doesn't say.

He just cries.

The worst part about Bobby being hurt, Rhett thinks, is the complete, utter loss of his appetite.

It's not seeing Bob turn down a round of his favorite video game or the lack of a smile when you turn on that television series the three of you enjoy; no, it's seeing Bob poke at his dinner that hurts him the most.

Rhett doesn't have much room to complain; he's the same way with breakfast and lunch, unable to stomach more than a nibble until dinner time comes 'round. But it's almost horrifying to see come from Robert Floyd.

The Robert Floyd who can eat three servings of dinner and still, somehow, have room in his belly for a slice of cake. Who is currently the only person to ever finish the seventy-ounce steak challenge at Odessa's diner; his small hometown of Wabang will probably never find someone to join him on that list of champions.

Now, Rhett's found himself thrilled that Bob's eaten a third of his meal. It's a simple snack wrap you made last minute and went out of your way to use the lunchmeat Bob usually salivates over, but he goes green after four or five small bites. Rhett's never seen him eat in such small nibbles.

But he's got an idea.

If Bob's food aversion acts similarly to Rhett's, then exposure to food is going to get him itching to reach for something. So he does the one thing his momma used to do when she couldn't get him to eat.

He turns on the food channel.

"Are you doing what I think you're doing?" Your voice comes as a surprise; sends him jumping. How long have you been behind him?

"That depends on what you think I'm doing," but he already knows you're both on the same page.

For a while, he doesn't think it's going to work.

The three of you wind up curled into the couches, laptops precariously balanced on your laps, fully encased in some multi-player game Bobby loves. You had to be the one to suggest it, and Rhett's pretty sure that if he hadn't agreed to play, Bob wouldn't have joined.

And then he hears it. The dull rumblings of an empty stomach.

"Was that you?" Feigning surprise in his tone, fighting against the proud, upward turn of his lips.

But Bob doesn't catch onto his crime, distracted by a second, gurgling noise that seems to echo through the room. His nose wrinkles, glancing down at his stomach as if it can give him an explanation for its fussings, "I guess it was."

"Are you hungry?" You're not so great at masking the upbeat twinge to your words, something bordering excitement as you look up from your screen.

It takes him a moment to respond, but eventually, "I don't know," pausing to think again, only for a moment, "I feel hungry, but I don't...nothing sounds good."

And so that's how Rhett finds himself behind the wheel of a truck eighteen years newer than his, foot feather-light on the gas pedal as he drives down unfamiliar streets. Past shops, fast food, and niche restaurants he's never even considered could exist until now. He doesn't remember the name of this city, but it makes Wabang look like a damn joke.

"What the hell is a bubble tea?" Because...bubbles? Like...foam, bubbles?

And he regrets asking because Bob starts saying something about tapioca pearls, and he's got no idea what the hell a tapioca is, either.

There are so many options, combinations, and possibilities, and yet, to Rhett's surprise, the three of you wind up falling into old habits. Eating fast food in the bed of the truck because none of you can wait the ten minutes it'll take to get Bobby back up the stairs.

"I'm surprised you got up here," He hums, leaning in to steal a kiss from Bob's bitten lips. "You had yourself a bit of a climb."

"I told you I could do it," though Bob's surprised himself. In his head, this truck was a lot lower to the ground.

Quietly, his stomach rumbles once more, a wayward growl that seems to vibrate all the way up his throat. Yet, his hands seem to have frozen. Fingers numb, unable to unwrap this simple little cheeseburger.

It shouldn't be this difficult.

Rhett's eating just fine, so nonchalant about it that he's not even looking as he bites into his fish sandwich, and you're so preoccupied with your chosen meal that you've fallen into your own little world, eyes trained on the sight behind Rhett's head.

That neverending shore.

Where the ocean kisses the sand, her all-encompassing blue fading to a white froth. Maybe it's the salt blowing in from those heavy waves that's making his stomach wring itself into knots. Or maybe it's the group of teenagers scurrying toward the water with their surfboards and swimsuits, fearless and full of life.

The ones who haven't been reminded of their own mortality by the sea herself.

They haven't learned how easily that blue can swallow you up. Invisible tendrils squeezing your chest, strangling every last breath from your lungs as that haunting blue drags you down. Won't let you go until she's strangled you of everything you have to offer and discards you with less respect than gum spat on the floor.

That same shade of blue follows him everywhere. In his dreams, in his every waking moment, he can't fucking stand—

"D'ya wanna french fry?" But there's Rhett. Innocent as can be, arm outstretched, offering a single fry, what looks like the biggest one he could find. He doesn't want it, but his arm is moving on its own accord because he doesn't have the heart to tell him no.

It's not so bad. Because Rhett smiles all big and dopey when he takes a bite out of it, and for once, it doesn't feel like he's swallowing sand.

But Rhett's eyes are blue.

Almost black if he's in the wrong lighting but easily transforms into a brilliant, deep shade once they catch the light just right. Two perfect pools of ocean blue, the kind that swallows Bob up when he looks into them, nothing but gentle waves that make his head spin.

Rhett's eyes are the color of the ocean.

Or maybe...the ocean is the color of Rhett's eyes.

His stomach gurgles once more, and this time, it's a little easier to get his fingers moving. Peeling back the paper wrapping and biting into it just like he did the french fry. And for once, it doesn't taste like a mouthful of salt water.

"Watcha smiling at, ocean eyes?" He catches himself asking, words wrapped around a smile of his own.

"Nothin'," there's that sheepish tone in Rhett's tone, caught red-handed. The crimson tips of his ears are all the confirmation Bob needs.

By the time he's tossing the empty wrapper back into the paper bag, his stomach is still fussing, but he can't say he's surprised.

He's leaning over, ready to bump his chin against your shoulder, and meekly ask why you let him order one singular item off the menu, but he doesn't get the chance to. Because he's falling sideways. Nothing to catch him as he all but falls over.

"Bobby?" Comes your voice, a few octaves higher than your usual.

"I didn't realize you moved," tilting his head to catch a glance at you. When did you move to sit against the rear window, anyway?

And he knows that the eruption of laughter that follows is fueled primarily by the flaming red that's spreading across his cheeks, but he really can't bring himself to feel embarrassed.

He's missed hearing you two laugh like this.

It's colder in the infirmary than it was in the sea.

Even those deceptive waves were kind enough to offer a shred of warmth. It was easier to breathe with his head underwater than it is to breathe in this tiny, suffocating room. Those invisible tendrils that drug him under promised a swift end to his misery.

The man in front of him promises a long, slow torment till his last breath.

His leg hurts.

"I'm not going to ask you again," his heavy palm slams upon the table, booming, "What happened out there?"

They're asking the wrong guy. He wasn't the one flying.

It wasn't his fault.

"If one of you made a mistake, I need to know about it!"

It wasn't his fault, but he can't stand the images that flicker through his head. Invisible blades cutting into his eyes with every image.

"Talk to me, Robert."

It wasn't his fault.

It was his fault, wasn't it?

It has to be his fault. Because why else would he be floundering for his voice? Why is it that he's opening his mouth, and nothing is coming out?

Voices erupt.

But they're not his.

An unharmonious collision of accusations and questions, two interrogating officers tearing into each other. Both desperate to reach into his chest and cut the answers out of his soul. Neither agree on how.

His leg hurts.

Why does his leg hurt?

They're asking him again. "What happened?" "What went wrong?" And he's not sure why he's drawing his knees to his chest. Doesn't know why his hand feels wet when he touches his leg. Its been hours.

So why is his hand wet?

Why is the room getting smaller? And why is one of the officers getting in his face?

Why? Why can't he leave? Don't they see he can't speak?

They're shoving a clipboard into his chest with all the force they can muster. Forcing his hand open and shoving a pen into it.

"Get to writing."

His leg still hurts.

"Are you okay back there?"

Bob's not sure if he heard your voice before or after he opened his eyes. Blinking dumbly, he tilts his head to look at you from where you sit, perched in the passenger seat, twisted around to face him.

How long was he asleep?

"Weird dream," is all he can supply. Doesn't exactly answer your question, but it's better than not answering at all.

There's a dull ache in his leg as he moves to sit up, stitches freshly removed after a full two weeks. It's been an hour since the appointment, but he can still feel the tugging as the doctor removed the material from his skin, bit by bit.

"This isn't the route we took on our way there," observing aloud, twisting his head to get a glimpse out the back window.

"Was a wreck on the highway," Rhett's eyes lift from the road, looking back at Bob through the rearview mirror, "the GPS thinks it's got a detour"

Evidently, the detour involves driving through residential areas until they can get back on the highway. Past two-story homes that all look the same. Serve as residences for families of all shapes and sizes. Packed too close together for his liking, but in the back of his head, there's an image floating. Walking in through a front door to find two familiar faces welcoming him home.

"Think we should go to that open house?" You joke, as the truck rumbles past, "It's got a white picket fence and everything."

"With my new job, y'might regret moving out here," Bob croaks, but he's twisting his head to keep sight of that big, red open house sign, "they could make me move to the other side of the country at any given moment."

"You can fit us in your suitcase," and based by the way Rhett puts it, Bob's got a feeling he'd actually try fitting into one.

If only it were that simple.

He's yet to tell you and Rhett that he's got to go back to work soon. Two weeks off is two weeks too many, in their eyes. Even if the circumstances for his leave are among the worst of reasons, one step away from being brought home in a nondescript casket. He's only got three or four days before he has to report back, ready to work again, like nothing ever happened. Send you and Rhett home and go back to missing every event you two plan because work always has something for him to be doing.

Listening to you and Rhett bicker, words sputtered through wobbly, wide smiles that take up your entire faces, he can't imagine you'll miss him too much.

That thought is still flittering through his head when the three of you stumble out onto the beach a few hours later, joining some familiar faces that have already taken up residence in the sand.

"Only six months, and they've already got you on medical leave," Natasha has to shout to be heard over the crashing waves, and even then, the breeze almost carries her words away.

"They haven't killed me yet," forcing a smile as he says it, feigning invincibility.

"Yet," Rhett echoes. It's hard to tell if the saltiness to his tone is really there or if Bob's just tasting the ocean air.

Doesn't get the chance to find out, either, because Mickey's running up and crushing him in a bear hug that has him reconsidering his choice to go without his crutches. "Man, I haven't seen you since New Year's!"

He's thankful that Natasha is more of a side hugger and that Reuben and Jake are content to simply wave their hellos. If Jake's half-assed wave can even be considered as one, that is. Too busy sparking a conversation with Rhett because he's got some fancy new lasso, and he's been dying to share the excitement with someone who, quote, "gets it."

How that goes from enthusiastic conversation to Rhett and Jake trying to teach Mickey to throw a lasso, using you as the target, is anyone's guess.

"I'm still surprised you accepted the offer," Nat muses; her sunglasses are dark enough to hide her eyes, but Bob can feel her gaze burning into his skin.

If only the golden tint to his outdoor glasses was strong enough to hide his eyes, too. "I've been working toward it since I was fifteen."

"When you were fifteen, you also thought you could make a living by surfing on weekdays and riding broncs on the weekends," there's a pause, not because she's thinking, but because she's tipping back her drink. Some nameless lemonade seltzer that she always brings to the beach. "You're really sure that you want a career to take you further away from them?"

"I think they'll be alright," Bob's careful eyes watch as Mickey casts the rope out once more, narrowly missing your frame. Can't get the rest of his words out until after he's sure it hasn't looped around your neck. "They've got each other if they get tired of me not being there."

"How are you so sure that's what they want?"

And that...he doesn't have an answer for that.

"Man, I don't know how you do it," he'd almost forgotten Reuben was on the other side of him, lounging against a beach towel. "If I had two people loving me the way they love you, I would've turned down that offer in a heartbeat."

Natasha sighs loud, dramatic, and though Bob can't see her eyes, he can feel her eyes briefly roll into the back of her head. "Don't listen to him," she groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. "He's jealous."

"Have you seen the way they look at him?" Reuben's words damn near burst out of his mouth. Sits up fully, like it'll help him get his point across. "I can't even get one woman to look at me like that, never mind two!"

"Two what?" Your voice comes as a surprise to all three of them, heads snapping up to look at you as you walk over, leaning down to press a kiss to Bob's temple.

Looking up at you, he can't help but wonder.

Do you two still want him in your relationship, or has he gone and blown it?

Sleep doesn't come to him that night.

Not even a nightmare, coming to present a foggy recollection of his memories on a silver platter. But he can't say he's surprised. Or upset, for that matter.

He doesn't deserve sleep. He doesn't deserve to lay here in this bed; two warm bodies snuggled up to him on either side. Two soft, lovely people who don't realize he's bit off more than he can chew at their expense.

Because he just assumed that things would work out.

Assumed that the two of you would adjust to the change since you hardly saw him to begin with. But at least back then, he had the luxury of answering text messages and joining those late-night phone calls. Now, he's lucky if he can even have his phone on him.

You two are only here, away from your careers and your lives, because he's deceived you two into thinking you have a future with him in it. And it's all because a couple of months ago, he thought he could make it work. He thought you and Rhett would be okay without him if things didn't work out.

But he doesn't know if that will be the case. There's no guarantee that you and Rhett will be just fine without him.

If he hadn't taken that job, he could be looking at houses with the two of you. Laughing and daydreaming about a future together, one with the promise of rings and a not-so-legal marriage that he so desperately wishes he could have. A white picket fence and a too-big house, hell, maybe a dog, too.

His eyes burn with tears he doesn't deserve to shed. Spilling over onto his cheeks and rolling down onto the pillow. Until they're stopped by the sudden appearance of a calloused thumb stroking across his skin, wiping them away.

Rhett.

There are a million and one questions flickering through those sleepy ocean blues, but he doesn't speak. He never speaks at times like these. Instead, forces the corner of his lip up into a halfway smile, his hand rising to curl around the back of Bob's head. Guiding him over until he's properly snuggled beneath that scruffy, unshaven chin, where he listens to a heartbeat that he doesn't deserve to hear.

He needs to tell you two what happened.

Bob doesn't know when he fell asleep.

He thinks it was around the time when Rhett began tapping against his spine, fingertips drumming against the bones that press against thin, lightly freckled skin. Or maybe it was when you got up to get a glass of water, snuggling up to his backside when you clambered back into bed.

And maybe it would be easier to think if he didn't wake up to this.

At some point in the night, Rhett's leg has slid between his, that thick thigh pressed against his groin so perfectly. Behind him, your soft breath is fanning out against his sensitive neck, sending shivers down his spine with every exhale. All this attention so early in the morning, and he can't do a damn thing about it. Not without waking you two up in the process.

Come on, come on, just think about anything else. Sad puppies, horror films, driving without insurance, the taste of Fireball whisky, that argument Rhett and Perry had last summer. Come on, something, anything.

Rhett stirs, eyelashes fluttering like tiny butterflies as he shifts against the mattress, knee raising higher and—

Bob's teeth sink into his bottom lip, threatening to draw blood as he stifles a noise he didn't know he could make. Really, really hopes that Rhett can't feel his cock throbbing against his thigh.

"Was that you, Robby?" Rhett's speaking with his eyes closed, and that groggy voice is almost enough to have Bob fighting back a second noise.

"That was you?" Fuck, you're awake, too?

Rhett's thigh shifts once more, this time intentionally rubbing up against Bob's half-hard cock, so rough and sudden that it rips another whimper out of his throat. Loud, pitchy, unmistakable in the quiet morning air.

His cheeks aren't just warm; they're boiling.

"Someone's sensitive," Rhett coos, and Bob's genuinely considering crawling under the bed and never coming back out because Rhett's doing it more. Rolling his thigh up in loose, slow circles that rub him just right.

You're shifting behind him, ticklish breath disappearing, quickly replaced by soft lips against his neck. Teeth graze against his skin as you mouth over an exposed vein, lazy little ministrations that work up into the sensitive space behind his ear. Rhett's still rubbing against him, and you're doing that breathy little sigh, and it's so, so much.

"I hope you two have plans to—ah! Plans to finish what you started because this is..." his teeth sink back into his lip, breathing hard through his nose.

"You're still healing, Bobby," comes your voice, your hand sliding down to his still bruised hip, mottled with vague greens and deep yellows. Sore to the touch, but God, some things are worth a little pain.

"Please, for the love of god," his words distort as an involuntary whimper bubbles up from his chest, "quit worrying and just fuck me already."

He can't see your expression in the slightest, but he can absolutely see the simmerings of something predatory in the deep blue of Rhett's eyes. "Yeah?" Lord, it's even audible in that rumbling voice of his. "You been wantin' us that bad, Robby?"

Maybe Bob should have put that a little more delicately. Because now, as Rhett rolls him onto his back, he's wondering if this cowboy is about to eat him alive. Looking over, you don't appear to be much better, burning gaze raking up and down his frame.

Shallow, Bob nods his head with the faintest "uhuh," he can muster. All it takes to have both you and Rhett are moving, silently falling into place, as if you've discussed this a million and one times.

You're curling your hand around Bob's cheek, tilting his head to catch his open mouth in your own. Rhett's dropping down between his open legs, calloused hands tickling Bob's skin as they venture beneath his shirt, pushing it up. Lazy kisses press against the exposed skin of his belly, and that's all it takes to have Bob gasping, a wonderous sound to your ears.

"Robby," you whisper against him, teasing; he's cutting you off before you can say anything more.

Something fiery blossoms between your bodies as the bitten skin of his lips presses against your own, dizzying, fuels your loose liplocks into more. His breath is going ragged, a curious hand delving beneath your night shirt doesn't stop until it curls around one of your breasts, squeezing just to feel you jump.

His soft thumb toys with your nipple, rolling gentle circles over the sensitive skin as your hand delves into his hair, fingers tangling where it's the longest. It's been so, so long since the last time you tugged on it and felt him shiver. You are the crisp Autumn wind, and he is nothing but a darkened leaf shuddering under your very presence.

All of a sudden, fingers are curling in the waistband of your underwear, and they're being yanked down your legs.

"What?" Rhett blinks back at you, doe-eyed. "Did you forget I was down here?"

"Only briefly," your response can't come at a worse time; it's hard telling when Rhett reached across the bed and got the lube, but he's already covering three fingers with a generous amount of it. Knocking your legs apart with the other hand.

The first cold drag of his fingers between your folds has you jolting, bumping into Bob's side. As if the frigid lube wasn't enough, they rudely pass right over your clit, completely ignoring it as two of them opt to slide against the thin ring of your entrance. Toying with it before gently slipping inside.

Rhett's head drops, tongue poking out and—

"Oh." Is all you can muster, head falling back against the pillow, Rhett's dripping tongue licking a fat stripe up your cunt. His hair tickles your thighs as he settles between them, working himself into a routine. Shallowly thrusting those thick fingers into you, licking lazily at that slowly swelling button.

Bob's reaching between your legs, tangling his hand through Rhett's messy hair, unblocking the sight of the cowboy working you over. "Jesus, Rhett."

The fucker curls his fingers, rubbing against a certain spot within your walls. Knows exactly what he's doing, too; that dumb grin gives it all away. You almost hate that your involuntary gasp feeds directly into that cockiness of his.

It's been a while since you've had either of them in you, and yet, you can feel yourself opening so easily. Muscles still lax from sleep, giving to Rhett's demanding fingers, taking a third so smoothly that you wonder why he's working you open in the first place.

All the while, Bob loses interest in holding Rhett's hair back, instead tugging at the material of your nightshirt, rucking it up high enough to expose your chest to the cool bedroom air. Only for a moment, though. Because he's already leaning down, sloppily enveloping a nipple with his wet, hot mouth.

The sight of both men, peering up at you, their mouths carefully toying with where you're most sensitive, is something.

Both of their tongues are spiraling, Bob's twirling around your hardening nipple, and Rhett's downright abusing your clit, sucking on it and humming when your body jolts. A flicker of lightning rattling up your spine, the sparks of it flashing behind your eyes. Fuck, you don't know what to focus on. So many sensations; two mouths working you over, three fingers fucking into your pussy, Bob's humming and, and...

"Unless you want me to cum," your chest heaving, breathless, "stop."

Obedient, they fall back.

You're pretty sure they'd bark if you asked them to.

But Rhett's not done terrorizing just yet. His fingers are careful on their final slide out of you, so wet that you think they're dripping, but the moment they're free, he's downright pouncing on Bobby. Hooking his fingers beneath those plain, white boxers and yanking them down as forcefully as he did with you.

Bob's cock audibly smacks against his belly; his tip flushed a beautiful shade of red, usual dusky pink long forgotten. A tiny pearl of precum beads at his slit, enough to wet the pad of your index finger when you reach out. Wrapping your hand around him whilst your finger spirals against him, spreading that little bit of wetness.

He's trying to speak, mouth moving, but the only thing coming out is a breathy moan.

"Stunned 'em into silence," Rhett muses, uncapping the lube once more. Your hand disappears, and Rhett's lubed one takes over; all it takes is one slow upward stroke for Bob's bruised hips to rise, chasing the feeling.

"You...say that as if you'd be doing much better," Bob's words are strangled, barely forced off his tongue.

Idly, you're reaching out to run your fingers across the mottling of color along the side of his body, chasing it from where it starts at his thigh and ends near the middle of his ribcage. You still don't know what gave these marks to him, but as you lean down to press feather-soft kisses to them, you can make an educated guess.

As quickly as he took hold of him, Rhett's letting go, letting Bob's cock smack against his belly once more, "'s all yours, doll."

"What 'bout you?" Bob's hands hold themselves out as you move to carefully straddle his hips like he's planning to catch you in the event you fall over.

Rhett's tongue clicks, and you're pretty sure you catch him winking in your peripheral, "You'll find out."

Based on the way he lingers behind you, greedily taking in the sight of you taking hold of Bob's cock and experimentally rubbing him between your folds, you get the feeling that you're about to find out. It's hard to focus; Bobby's soft tip grazing past your clit and catching on your entrance, like he's made just for you.

...made for you in a size extra large, that is.

God, you forgot how that initial stretch burns. A hair too big, the kind that has you sucking in a breath as you gradually sink down on him, but not the kind that makes your eyes water from the painful bite of the stretch.

Rhett's lips appear on your neck, the scruff of his chin bumping against your skin with every sloppy kiss he presses. A meager distraction from the tightness growing in your chest and the tremble in your thighs as you gradually lower yourself. Bob's hands smooth up your sides, nails dragging lightly.

"This damn thing's in the way," Rhett's teeth nip at the collar of your shirt, and distantly, you suppose that's his subtle attempt at getting you to remove it. But as you reach to take hold of the material, he takes over, pulling it up and over your head without another word.

You'd feel strange, being the only fully naked person in this room, if Bobby weren't tugging his shirt off too, always one to keep you from feeling like the odd one out. Unintentionally jostles you in the process, shallowly thrusting up into you.

"Jesus," you're falling forward, bracing your palms on his pale chest. It was such a slight movement, and yet you can feel yourself clenching around him, needy for more.

One of Rhett's hand's drop between your legs, two wandering fingers rubbing where Bob splits you wide, feeling the stretch for himself. "Y'only got two inches of 'em left, doll."

A little more. Just a little more.

Breathing hard through your nose, you drop down the rest of the way, savoring the relief of your skin coming together, flush, not another inch of space between your shuddering bodies. All the while, Rhett's teeth nip at your shoulder, worrying the flesh there, only to soothe over it with his tongue.

"Bobby," your words interrupted by your own breathing, "are you alright?"

Those pale eyes of his are screwed completely shut, but he nods, "More than okay."

You have to wait for Rhett to squirm out from behind you before you can so much as think about moving, but once he does, you're lifting your hips. Still recall the rhythm you worked up the last time you rode this doe-eyed WSO, cautiously keeping your movements shallow, taking in the wonderful drag of his cockhead against your walls.

Rhett slips off the bed at some point, rustling around in a bag he's discarded in the corner of the room. You'd pay him attention if it weren't for the dull squeaking of Bob's mattress, and you just know that it's going to grow louder; the neighbors may hear, but you just can't bring yourself to care.

"Look so perfect on top of me, sunshine," Bob whines, high in his throat, and you think his back may be arching off the bed, hands glued to your hips, "fuck, you're tight."

Something appears on your head, with a familiar brown brim and a faint lingering of cologne that belongs to only one man.

"There y'go," Rhett's smiling way too big for a man whose cock is actively slapping against his hip, too heavy to stand upright.

His cowboy hat bounces as your movements grow a little daring, hips rising higher, whimpering as Bobby's thick head drives directly into a neglected bundle of nerves. Has you involuntarily spasming around him, repeating the motion once, twice, gradually falling into a needy rhythm. Fuck, you're gonna have a hard time walking through the airport tomorrow.

One of Bob's hands falls off your hip, reaching out to wrap around Rhett's forgotten cock, his facial features scrunching as he's swatted away. Doesn't say a word, but that frustrated grumble says it all for him.

"I know, I know," the bed dips as Rhett slips behind you once more, close enough to where you can feel his breath against your skin, "you'll get me soon enough."

You're leaning down, catching those pouting lips in your own, and it's not what Bob was after, but he's leaning into it anyway. Nails raking up your back as he all but melts underneath of you. Boneless, barely able to muster the strength to twitch up into you, meeting you halfway. The cry it elicits out of you makes him dizzy.

"'s there?" His words jumble together, tongue loose in his mouth.

A wet pressure appears against his hole.

Takes him a second to realize it's one of Rhett's fingers, dripping with lube as it tentatively presses against him until that ring of muscle yields. Such an intrusive feeling at first, borderline uncomfortable, and it's not what he had in mind, but God, is he not complaining. Especially not when that finger crooks and starts seeking—

"Aah!"

...did he make that noise?

He doesn't even know if he's still kissing you or if it's dismantled into a messy synchrony of futile attempts to swallow up each other's noises. You're whimpering, and he can feel you fluttering around him, muscles squeezing his sensitive length and pulling a pitchy sound out of him, too.

A second finger slides in to join the first, already starting to thrust into him, spreading, stretching him for something much, much bigger. And he doesn't know which feeling to focus on. So much all at once that he can't keep his eyes open anymore. Heat pooling deep in his thighs as he surges up and tries to kiss you once more.

Your teeth knock together, sloppy and uncoordinated, but it's something.

Leaning back once more, your dominant hand disappears between your legs, the pads of your fingers finding your clit. Can't quite tell if you're just dripping or if it's the lube, but regardless, you're soaked.

"Feels good," Bobby babbles, head falling side to side, "fuck, feels...feels..."

"Robby," is all you can say, voice carried on your breath. Fighting the urge to squeeze his bruised hips between your legs as a familiar sensation blooms in your lower belly. Hips stuttering, growing hard to keep your rhythm, but you're so desperate to feel him massage against that sensitive bundle again and again and again.

"Ain't you two just a fuckin' sight for sore eyes," Rhett's doing something to Bobby back there, but you can't tell what. "You both gon' cum, hm?"

Bob's eyes flash open for the briefest of seconds, rolling back, a whimper of your name on his lips.

That's all it takes.

One, two, three more motions, and you're sinking your teeth into your lower lip, stifling the strangled sob that rattles out of your throat. Head so far up in the clouds that you can't tell if that's his cock throbbing inside of your pussy or if it's your body's involuntary spasm as you cum around him.

You've no memory of falling forward, but you've found yourself with your cheek against Bob's heaving chest, his heartbeat hammering in your ear. "Robby?"

"'m here," his sweaty hands soothe up your back.

There's just barely enough strength left in you to pull off him, settling into the open space by his side, your back resting against the charcoal gray comforter. Now, you see what Rhett's been up to.

"Think you can roll over, Bobby?" He hums, a sparkle in his eye as he looks up at you.

It takes a moment for Bob to move, and when he does, he practically rolls into your lap, forehead resting against your chest, bracing his weight on his forearms. That seems to be close to what Rhett's after because he's got no further orders aside from raising Bob's hips a smidge higher.

"Were you planning this?" Your hands run through Bob's sweaty hair, feeling him lean into it like a cat.

"Do shower thoughts count as plannin'?" And that...why are you not surprised about that answer?

Bob's head tilts, straining to look up at you, "Now I see how you feel on nights when both Rhett 'n I have our way with you. "

Your eyes roll on their own accord. "That's rich, coming from the one with the short refractory period."

"You said y'wanted us to jus' fuck you already," Rhett's chuckle is music to your ears, "'m just followin' orders."

His big hand almost makes his cock look thinner than it actually is, deceptively disguising his size as he strokes a generous amount of lube over himself. He's probably used a quarter of the bottle within the past couple of minutes, and you have no doubt that the sheets will need washing after this.

But for now, you're content to watch him smack his wet cock against Bob's pale ass and feel your favorite WSO jolt with surprise.

"Would you quit teas—" Bob's words are cut short, and you can only guess that Rhett's finally started pushing into him.

"What was that?" Rhett's grin is contagious, an identical one washing over your face.

You wonder if this is what they see when you lean against one of them while the other has their fill of you. A perfect view of Rhett's jaw as it slackens, able to feel Bob's breathing deepen, panting into your chest as Rhett's thick cock pushes into him.

"Rhett..." The next name to tumble off Bob's thin lips is your own. "I love you."

Rhett's eyes meet with yours as both of your mouths move in perfect synchrony, "we love you, too."

All that follows are the whimpery gasps pistoned out of him by Rhett's length, gradually disappearing into him inch by thick inch. You know that stretch by heart, your nails raking lightly against his spine, up and down, urging him to relax.

And then Rhett's sighing into the open air, hips flush with Bob's, so close that you can see the slight difference in their skin tones. So similar, but Rhett's just a shade or two darker from those rare occasions when it's too hot for a shirt.

... or when he's trying to show off in front of you and Bob. Both options are viable.

"You alright?" He croaks, fingers rubbing idle spirals into trembling hip bones.

Bob's head nods, hair tickling your breasts, "uhuh."

Sucking in a breath, Rhett draws back, maybe by an inch or two, then pushes back in. It's the same thing he always does, but Bob's grunt is bordering surprised. His pale blues peering up at you from beneath thick lashes, body rocking as Rhett gently fucks him.

"You're awfully quiet, Bobby," you murmur, stroking your hand through his hair once more.

"Big." Is all he can say.

That one word is all Rhett needs; properly drawing himself back now, snaps his hips forward, and Bobby yowls. Body jolting like a live wire. Doesn't know what to do as Rhett's cockhead drives against his prostate so directly, open-mouthed, crumbling into your chest.

"There," he babbles, "there, there—Rhett, there."

You don't know where this level of volume is coming from, but it's music to your ears. You hate to silence Bobby with a kiss, but you'd hate it even more if the police came knocking at the door.

Bob's struggling to keep his lips on yours, craves your touch, but Rhett's got his hands on his hips, pulling him back into every heavy thrust. Heavy balls smacking against the softness of Bob's ass, thick cock fucking into him, dragging against his oversensitive prostate, and its, its...

It's so much.

He doesn't know when it happened, but his weeping cock is already hard again, desperate for attention, but it's borderline too much when you take hold of him. Stroking lightly, letting Rhett's heavy thrusts rock his body into your soft hand.

"Atta boy," Rhett's hand presses between his shoulder blades, pinning him against your chest, "takin' my cock so well for me."

Bob doesn't feel it coming.

His vision whites. Head filling with static as he cums for a second time. Painting your hand with what little he has left. Body jerking, spasming around Rhett's length.

And Rhett just keeps fucking him.

A calloused hand wraps around his shoulder, draws his exhausted body into every heavy thrust, and he's unable to do anything but take it. Throbbing around Rhett's pistoning cock, tears welling in his eyes, drooling into your chest. And maybe that's Rhett's name that he's babbling. Or maybe it's yours. He doesn't know.

"Stay with me, Bobby," Rhett grunts, words shaking with every stuttered thrust. Close. Bob thinks dumbly. He's close. "Y'gonna let me cum in this cute lil' ass of yours?"

He's hardly got a clue what Rhett is saying, but he's nodding his head. All he can focus on is this. The softness of your breast against his cheek. The hands in his hair. The distant understanding that he'll be limping to work tomorrow.

Finally, finally, Rhett's hips still, cumming with a deep, guttural noise that rattles up Bob's spine.

Bob's pretty sure he falls asleep. Or at least blacks out for a minute or two. Because the next time he opens his eyes, he's sandwiched between your bodies once more, snuggled against the mattress, faintly aware of a Hot Wheels car driving across his skin. The tiny wheels fitting into the grooves of his rib cage.

You're fumbling with the tiny Matchbox plane that usually sits on his bedside table. An old SB-20 helicopter with rotor blades that spin as you propel them with your fingertip.

Planes.

Images flicker through his head. For once, though, they don't surprise him. Whether he likes it or not, he knows these images oh so well. Memories burned into him for what might be forever. Likely to never fade, but...

"My pilot went into g-LOC."

Your eyes lift to meet his face. Rhett's chin hooks over his shoulder. Both listening.

"We were doing training over the ocean, and he just...slipped into it," he knows you're both there, but he can't bring himself to look at either of you. Eyes transfixed on the ceiling. "I did everything I was supposed to, but he...he wouldn't come out of it."

Rhett's lips press to his skin, and Bob can almost hear it. The tiny, nonexistent rumbling of a "go on when you're ready."

"He didn't pull his chute until the last second, 'n the damn wing of the plane about hit him," he's fighting to keep his voice from wavering, but he's not strong enough, "I swam after him to help and..."

Your hand strokes his cheek, thumb wiping away the tear that wells over. So careful, treating him like glass, like you always do.

For once, he feels like glass, too.

"I don't know what I got caught on," even saying it out loud, none of it feels real. Like it's just a nightmare that he's been told was real. "But I got hung up on part of the plane, and it drug me under with it."

"Your pilot went down to help you, didn't he?" Your tone is so innocent that it hurts him to hear. No. His pilot couldn't come down to help him, but he doesn't have the strength to tell you that.

Not right now, at least. "The only reason I didn't drown was because I had some little knife to cut myself loose with."

And that's it. That's all the story he can tell because his voice has left him. Leaving him unable to spare any more details and elaborate on every detail that went wrong. All he can do is open and close his mouth like a damn fish.

"Are you okay?" Rhett's voice comes after a moment.

He doesn't have a definitive answer for that. His body still aches, and the last thing he wants to do is climb into the back of another plane tomorrow, but...with you two here...

"I don't know," he concludes after a moment, "but I think I'm getting there."

The rental car is due back before 11 AM.

You're not ready to leave. Lingering in the kitchen after breakfast, then again in the hallway, none of you willing to press the button to the newly repaired elevator. The three of you make it all the way down to the parking lot and get your bags shoved into the rental before it all comes crashing to a halt again.

Starts with a simple hug goodbye, but Bob can't let go of you, and Rhett's coming in to join it, and it's as if your bodies have been glued to each other. All one, big unit. Even if it's only temporary.

"I'm gonna miss you two," Bob murmurs, his voice vibrating against your neck. "I wish I could keep you all to myself."

"If you make me start cryin', you're payin' for my tissues," but based on the way Rhett croaks, you think those tears arrived a long time ago.

But your eyes aren't dry, either. "That festival is coming up again," a portion of you already knows Bob won't be able to make it, not with this new job of his. "Maybe we can all make it."

Bob's forced "maybe" is as poor of a lie as it gets.

Tearing yourselves away from each other is almost painful; you're yearning to lean in and steal one more kiss, just one tiny extra for the road, but your lips are like velcro. One more, and you may never leave.

Bob stands in the parking lot and waves goodbye as the car starts. He doesn't stop. Waving until he completely disappears in the rearview mirror.

"Is it bad that I keep expecting to find him in the backseat?" Rhett asks after a long while. He's yet to turn the radio on, but you don't have the energy to ask him to.

But you're having a similar thought. "Is it bad that I'm hoping he'll be there to pick us up when our flight lands in Wyoming?" And then you'll have to say goodbye to Rhett and board your connecting flight. Spend the whole trip fighting thoughts about them being there when you walk out into that big, lonely airport.

But this airport in California is downright packed. So many cars, creating a maze that Rhett has to weave in and out of, fighting to find the rental return in the parking garage. Why the return is on the farthest side of the garage is anyone's guess. But now you're climbing out, dragging your suitcase behind you, as the pair of you cross the garage.

"Do you ever worry that he'll grow apart from us?" Rhett asks, his boots scuffing the ground, too lazy to pick his feet up all the way. "With this new job 'n all?"

You hate to say it, but... "sometimes." It's crossed your mind a lot lately.

It's loud in this garage.

Cars idling, voices chattering, and suitcases strolling across the concrete, all clattering together to echo through the big, open area. Doors slam, there's a baby crying, and someone's running. Their shoes slam against the ground, booming, racing against time to make their flight or return an item their passenger forgot in their car.

"Wait!"

Huh. That sounds like—

"Bob?"

You don't even see his face. His body slamming into yours and Rhett's at what feels like full speed. Arms wrapping around both your waists. Yanking you against him. His glasses hit the ground. Doesn't try to pick them up.

He says something, but his voice is too muffled.

"What?" Rhett's eyes are as big as saucers.

"Don't leave."

You don't...what? How did he get here so fast? "Bobby...you have—"

"I gave up the job," he's panting, minding his leg like it hurts him, but not a damn thing can get in between him and what he's trying to say. "They called after you left and gave me the option to leave if I wanted to."

"And you took it?" Rhett blubbers and he's got something more to say, but he falls silent.

Because Bob grins. Something wild, free, flashing through those pale blue eyes. You've never seen that before. "I'm tired of always saying goodbye because of some dumb fuckin' job."

A few more days away from work can't hurt.

This comforter set was a mistake.

It's so fucking gray. The color of ash, remnants of things broken down and destroyed beyond recognition, with no hope of ever being restored to its former glory. The very sight of it is enough to have him rolling his eyes; why did he buy this spare comforter set again? And why did he decide to put it on the damn bed?

The ocean blue comforter he's had shoved in the hallway closet is a much better color.

The spare comforter he's had shoved in his hallway closet is a much better color. A wonderful ocean blue. Plain, but it's the color of Rhett's eyes and matches the Navy shirt you keep stealing out of his closet.

"Bobby, you ready?" Your voice echoes throughout the apartment like it has so many times before. A smile fights its way across his face, knows you're standing by the refrigerator, practically swaddled in that shirt of his.

There's a thump at the door. "Hurry up, space boy; we're already late." Rhett's gone by the time Bob turns around, but that's alright. He'll see him by the door in a moment.

"Just a second!" He calls out, stumbling on his own shoes as he heads toward the door. There's a dresser drawer ajar, the t-shirts inside jostled and displaced, in desperate need of refolding. His hand slips past them, reaching toward the bottom, producing a tiny wooden box. Easy to open, the two rings inside shimmering in the light.

"Bobby, if you don't hurt up, the realtor is gonna think we bailed!" Comes your voice again.

His hands tremble as he places them into his pocket. Hopes there isn't an outline of them as he all but trips into the hallway. These blazing lights overhead only seem to make the heartbeat in his ears grow louder. A persistent, thumping tone that nearly drowns out what you have to say when he finally steps into the kitchen.

"You ready?" Rhett's got one foot in the door, holding it open. You've already disappeared into the hallway, but the expression lacing your features suggests you're anything but annoyed with his antics.

Just like that, the ringing has stopped.

"Me?" Grinning dumbly, he ventures for the door, "Always."

#rhett abbott #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader x rhett abbott #robert floyd #outer range #oneshot #rhett abbot x bob floyd #tw: food #top gun maverick

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writer-snippets · 10 months

Text

"I just think," the hero says carefully, "that this is a bad idea."

The villain glares at them and snaps, "I know that!"

Both the hero and the kid they’re arguing over flinch at that.

The kid had seemed unflappable, four years old at the oldest and gnawing on the villain's cloak like there's no problems in the world, but at the villain's harsh tone, lets go of the cloak and stumbles back. The kid trips on a rock and falls flat on their back, then starts wailing in earnest.

"Now look at what you've done!" The hero snaps back, picking up the child and soothing them, "hey, hey, sweetheart, I've got you, it's okay, everything's okay, yeah? The villain didn't mean to be mean, they're just hungry and a little bit cranky, and they're very very sorry."

The villain huffs—they aren't cranky—but says, "I'm sorry for scaring you."

The child sniffs, and manages to make the noise sound betrayed. "No you’re not."

"[Villain]," the hero hisses.

"[Hero]," the villain hisses back. "They've been following me around for the past two weeks. They don’t even know their own name! I’ve done nothing wrong here!"

"What's your name, sweetheart?" The hero asks the child, ignoring the villain entirely.

"Finn," the child says.

"'I've done nothing wrong here'," the hero mocks distastefully. "Can't even get a name out of a toddler."

"I’ll show you what I can get out of you, you-"

Finn shrieks, cutting off the villain's threat. They stop, then say, "I wanna go home."

"And where is home?" The villain asks, quirking a brow, and the hero looks on in interest. If the child has a home, their guardian(s) are dangerously neglectful for allowing them to run around unsupervised so often. Neither of them like neglectful parents.

Finn goes silent for a moment, then enunciates, "under the bridge."

Silence.

"Shared custody?" The hero suggests, hiking Finn up higher on their hip.

The villain blows out an irritated breath, "every other week, we spend holidays together."

"No fighting," Finn tacks on angelically. They start chewing on the hero's coat, and the villain is vindicated by the hero's wince.

"No fighting," the hero agrees. "I'll take them first week, get everything sorted out legally. Deal?"

"Deal," the villain says. Then, feeling off balance, "I still hate you."

"Oh, same," the hero says. "But we have to put on a united front while coparenting."

"Right." The villain clears their throat and stretches their hand out for a shake. "Enemies and coparents?"

The hero shakes their hand. "Enemies and coparents."

A pause. "Hero, why is your hand wet."

"Finn needs toddler chew toys."

#my writing #creative writing #original fiction #original work #writeblr #hero x villain #coparenting #humor

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antimony-medusa · 2 months

Note

idk how long ago u wrote them but I came across some of ur posts abt how some dsmp authors don't realise they're writing kink stuff bc its not romantic or sexual and I've got to agree.

I've just recently joined the fandom and I've got no problem with kink content, I enjoy it on occasion but I'm coming across the problem of people not tagging things properly. Just because it's platonic doesn't make it not kink, just because you're reskinning abo with things abt them being "hybrids" doesn't not make it abo.

Especially with the like dark sbi stuff, I just wish people tagged things properly

Yeah I think this is further complicated by the fact that people a) legitimately don't know that it's kink content because it's non-sexual and they think that means that it can't be anything like that, b) would get hate mobbed on twitter if they put sex-adjacent tags on their work. You kind of have to take it so that "non-consensual touching" and "hybrid instincts" will mean a dubcon scene at least, if not noncon, and "hunter/prey" means vore is a possibility, and anything with vampires will be WILDLY erotic, and anything with "hybrid instincts" and "instincts manipulation" will be omegaverse in all but name. While all being technically platonic! They police the edge of that line VERY strictly.

The thing is you can kind of get used to the Dark SBI tag or at least take it as a "choose not to warn" tag, but the thing that makes me wail is the knowledge that these people are still going on to new fandoms and then they do NOT know how to tag, and then they're importing their norms (untagged consent issues) with them in The Witcher, or Batfam, or something else. Bad news for the other fandoms.

#anon #ask

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banannabethchase · 10 months

Note

20 and 24- Percabeth

Glitter - also on AO3

Percy gets home and sees a trail of glitter. He's used to Annabeth's unusual, but this seems different.

Oooh a challenge! It went so fluffy I'm gonna die! I hope you enjoy love <3

Percy is, well, he's not confused, exactly, because he's learned after this long that expectations of normalcy do not bode well as Annabeth Chase's boyfriend. But he's a big confused about the trail of glitter on the floor, leading to their bedroom.

"Uh, Annabeth?" he calls, hesitantly. "Everything okay?"

"Um. Yes!" She sounds more high pitched than usual, and Percy picks up the pace. He immediately goes for the worst: someone broke in, a monster has her hostage, she slipped on the glitter and hit her head.

“I’ll be right there!”

"Wait,” she says, and the panic in her voice makes him even more concerned, “don't come -"

He doesn't catch her words until the door is open.

Annabeth is on the bed, tangled in a pair of what appear to be stockings.

"Don't you dare laugh," she says sternly. "This was supposed to be, like, a birthday thing for next month, and then I realized if I put the blue glitter trim on while they were off it would get ruined, so I started putting them on and then I tripped and had to roll to the bedroom - I said don't laugh!"

"I'm trying not to, I promise!" He really is trying, too - his chest hurts with how much he's trying not to laugh. "But, really? Stockings? Blue glitter stockings?"

"I thought it would be fun!" Annabeth wails. "We've been together a million years. I've given you practically every present there is." Her face crumples. "I didn't want you to get bored."

Percy feels like an idiot for not getting it sooner. "Oh, Annabeth, never," he says. He sits next to her on the bed, the glitter poofing up in the air and onto his clothes. He doesn't care. "It's impossible to get bored of you." He yanks her close since she’s not going to be able to move well herself, and she rests her head on his shoulder. "You know that, right?"

She shrugs. "Maybe. We're just, like. We're older now, you know?" She shifts so she can see him, look into his eyes. He's still always so disarmed by her eyes. "I want to be able to have surprises still."

Percy presses his lips together. "I mean, I was saving this one for the fancy dinner on your birthday, but if you want surprises." He pulls the brand new box out of his pocket, the one that he'd just picked up today, and kneels on the ground. He pops it open to reveal the gold band inset with emerald and diamond. "How's this for a surprise?"

Annabeth, still wrapped in the nylon tights, glitter in her messy hair, mouth agape, has never looked more beautiful to Percy in his life. "You little shit," she laughs. "No way. I thought - your mom said she was thinking you’d do it on Christmas!"

"And you are to blame for the one lie I've told Sally Jackson," Percy laughs. He lifts the box a little higher. "Annabeth Chase, we've made life ours as partners since we were twelve and you hated me. And made fun of my drooling."

"Well, you still do that."

"Don't interrupt my proposal," Percy says, grinning. "Annabeth, will you make us permanent?" He chokes on the last few words. "Will you marry me?"

Annabeth nods. "Yes. Oh, my gods, yes. I just." She wiggles her left hand, and it's only then that Percy realizes that's the biggest problem with the tights. "I wasn't kidding. Two engineering degrees, and I'm bested by tights."

Percy doesn't laugh this time. "How about we get you out of those, okay?"

Annabeth's expression changes so quickly it's almost startling. "Oh, if that's how you want it to be."

Percy laughs as the two of them get her tights off. He thinks they're lucky to be in bed, but, now, the glitter is really going to be everywhere. He slides the ring on her finger after, when there's tiny specks of blue across their skin and the sheets.

"Now it's official," he says, nuzzling into her neck. "I'm never letting you get away from me."

"Together," she says. "Always."

#Percabeth #Percy Jackson #Annabeth Chase #PJO #HoO #in which Sara writes #otp: i fight the world for your heart #c: plans are for people without snarky quips #c: strength beauty power wisdom love #A present for my dearest Mari!!!!#perseannabeth

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onetruesirius · 6 months

Text

I sit here and I watch the news about Gaza

and I think

shit, I need to get back to work;

it's toxic to just fixate on the news,

It's bad for my mental health.

I can't be irresponsible to myself

I have class in the morning.

I have exams next week...

But how can I turn a blind eye?

How can I not care

that nine thousand Gazan children are dead,

that the Israeli Occupation Force has dropped the equivalent of an atomic bomb

on a space about the size of the New York City metropolis,

that an episcopal church was bombed—

it was one of the oldest churches in the world,

that one of the oldest mosques in the region was destroyed

that hospitals are being shelled with doctors and patients still within,

that men are carrying pieces of their dead children out of houses in plastic grocery bags because there's no other way to carry that many pieces in their hands,

that over a million people were told to evacuate on bombed-out roads,

and then they were shot and bombed with USAmerican white phosphorus when trying to leave?

Do you know what white phosphorus does to a human body?????

Please google it.

And if you "don't want to see something like that"

Oh,

I want you to google it even more now.

just to be appropriately horrified.

How can I not see that the Israeli government doesn't see Palestinian people [THEIR people if we're going by statehood metrics, who were on that land when the BRITISH GOVERNMENT decided to make the state] as human beings,

that they'd do anything to slaughter Palestinians under the cover of radio silence so the world turns away?

And that men wail from minarets—

not to call their flock to holy prayer but

to speak messages of hope that god will save them,

to attempt to reach the outside world, when the information reaches the people at the edge of the strip, who have international SIM cards and can get the word out,

and to deliver news of where the bombs fall so that paramedics can know where to dig more bodies out—the bodies that aren't a bloody slurry sprayed across the streets and walls, anyways.

And that journalists are being executed en masse to hide the story.

And that men are being stripped naken and forced to sit on the ground for hours at a time, just like in Nazi Germany.

And I can't forget the fact that the United States, MY NATION, voted AGAINST a UN call for a ceasefire...

TWICE.

And that construction companies are already tearing down the old apartments to make room for new living arrangements for the colonisers, before the old buildings even stop burning.

And that settlers are coming into these abandoned homes and looting food and jewelry and desecrating prayer rugs.

And it isn't the fault of Jewish people.

I know that.

Jewish people deserve a place to be safe and free, wherever they are...

But this fact likewise does not require the creation of an ethnostate.

The implication that the only way for Jewish people to be safe is to kill everyone else... is it not in itself antisemitic?

I'm scared for the Palestinian people, and also for my Jewish diaspora friends.

They hate what's going on just as much as I do,

but they're going to get blamed by well-meaning Palestine supporters.

I know they will.

They know they will.

We all know that they will.

Another wave of antisemitism.

Another wave of islamophobia.

Another wave of killings.

Another wave of ethnic cleansing.

On it goes.

A little boy was already killed by his mother's racist landlord in Chicago. Stabbed 26 times.

Three college students were attacked and one was maimed for life.

Attacks against synagogues here in the US have only increased. Two people were shot, allegedly for a Free Palestine...

But we all know that the neonazis have been using this mess to stir the pot against Jewish people and boost their recruitment.

The Palestinian 2023/24 school year has been officially canceled going forward.

Because the enrolled students are dead or missing.

Because they were bombed with American ground-to-ground missiles.

We all know the missiles are American in origin.

Russia has its own genocide to attend to, and China doesn't care enough to give arms to anyone. And we know it's American White Phosphorus.

All the while, war profiteers in my nation get richer and richer,

richer and richer and richer,

and richer and richer and richer and richer and richer and richer—

and they'll laugh like the evil FUCKING pricks that they are

when Gaza gets bombed,

and they'll laugh like the evil FUCKING pricks that they are

when Jewish people get attacked in the streets,

because every act of violence

and every sentiment of hated

fills their pockets with more and more and more US-AMERICAN DOLLARS and GUNS and BOMBINGS and SHOOTINGS and HATRED and GOD BLESS AMERICA—

or something like that

I've signed petitions.

I've signed so many I've lost track of the ones I've signed and the ones I haven't, the ones for other countries that I can repost but can't sign or they might get tossed out.

I've donated money to relief organizations for when the borders re-open, because I'm an optimistic bastard like that.

I've sent emails.

I've sent... so many emails.

I've called all my Representatives in Congress.

I've spread news to as many of my friends as I can without them blocking me.

And still Gaza burns.

And still children are slaughtered, even during the fake ceasefire.

And still I have exams next week.

And still I think about how I really shouldn't fixate on this, because it affects my mood.

and it's been impacting my performance at school.

and it's been undoing months of work I've done with my therapist to try and disconnect from current events.

And still I think about how

"the current events"

rain down like hellfire on innocent mothers of dead children,

and children of dead mothers,

and sisters of dead brothers,

and brothers of dead sisters,

and fathers of dead babies,

and babies of dead fathers,

and teachers of dead students,

and students of dead teachers,

and churches and pastors,

and mosques and imams,

and hospitals and doctors,

and synagogues and rabbis,

and the fucking relief trucks that were filled with food and water.

And here I sit, and I don't know what to do about it????

And I wonder if this is all the point?

To make things worse and worse and worse and worse so that people are so unbearably exhausted from just trying to do the right thing

that they can't take care of themselves?

That they can't achieve upwards mobility?

That they can't make any difference at all for the things that matter most to them?

but I'm just one monkey...

one monkey can't solve systemic problems

that are baked into the roots of our society.

It's a first world problem, for sure. I have the privilege to be able to unplug from this and rest in my bed and not get bombed.

But I just want to make things better, for everyone...

I know that I can't do that.

But I wish I could

Oh, god—

I wish I could.

But I guess I'll just go to sleep.

After all

I have class in the morning.

#palestine #free gaza #free palestine #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #first world problems

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fandomfluffandfuck · 1 year

Text

This morning, the thought popped into my head of Steve Rogers × Steve Rogers selfcest and I couldn't stop thinking about it 👀

So, which Steve's you ask?

I'm thinking...

These two.

Pre-serum Steve and Steve who has been freshly woken up to the new century--still adjusting to the serum and still lost puppy. And with them together--little, calloused Steve, and big, hypersensitive Steve--I can't stop thinking about post-serum, thawed Steve getting meaned on by little Steve 😮‍💨

Just imagine:

Pre-serum Steve's thin, cold hands on post-serum Steve's newly feverish body. It feels torturous. Like, shit, his younger self's hands are like ice on his now more sensitive body. It's a novel sensation that leaves him squirming and gasping with every touch. Big Steve has goosebumps. He's shaking. His hands might be cold but it also is making him hotter and hotter.

Those hands grope him, sliding up under big Steve's clothes and getting him out of them so easily. Little Steve's not being gentle. Grabbing. Gripping. Squeezing. Pinching. Even slapping. Those fucking hands, quick and cold. And Steve, big Steve, feels like he can't even talk being touched in such a way. He's been knocked down like a house of cards.

He's dizzy.

Oh, God.

They keep going and going.

Touching melts into heavier touching and kissing that makes big Steve want to crawl out of his skin. It's all this heat and wetness and he really fucking feels like he's never been touched before. Every inch of him is lighting up with red-hot heat. He can't stop moaning into his own mouth. He can't stop himself from grabbing and grabbing hard until his smaller self snaps, "stop." He doesn't want to hurt him, and he's so aware of how thin his wrists are in his bigger, stronger hands but... he can't help getting lost, too. It feels like never before.

It feels so good.

They're in a rush. They can't stop. A train barreling forward recklessly.

Steve rushes his hands down big Steve's chest and growling, "so, they pumped you up and made you bigger and better everywhere, didn't they?" as he pinches big Steve's perky, too sensitive nipples.

Steve wails and squirms, his hands coming up to grasp at smaller Steve's wrists, his narrow shoulders, and his absolutely tiny waist.

He wants him to stop!

He wants him to keep going until he can't take it and cums against his contracting, tight abs.

With a high, stupid whimper, Steve realizes he has no idea what he wants. More? Less? He doesn't want to decide! He wants to let his younger, smaller self decide it all.

Fuck!

"Look at you," little Steve says with a feral sneer, drunk on having so much power over someone so much bigger. There's a true bit of malice in smaller Steve's touches, and in his words. Post-serum Steve is everything pre-serum Steve is pretty sure he's supposed to be. Everything he wishes he was, deep down.

So smaller Steve is peeling his hands from big Steve's plump, fucking swollen fucking muscular tits and grabbing that square jaw with bruised knuckles instead.

Big Steve swoons at the unforgiving touch.

Meanwhile, younger Steve growls at the picture his bigger self makes with his own hand pushing big Steve's plush, red lips forward and squishing them together some, too. He looks stupid. Bright pink, flushed. Eyes dark and confused but so wanting, too. He's barely held together. Jesus. Small Steve kisses him like he hates him, biting his lip until his older self whimpers, then licking into his mouth until he arches underneath him.

But, with a hand just loosely wrapped around his throat... he melts so easy that smaller Steve can't hate him. No way. He's so...

So everything.

Little Steve swears. And before he can think about it, he's barking at him to turn over.

Big Steve goes like that.

His muscles ripple and bulge and...

Oh.

He can be even softer than he already is, can't he?

All the proof pre-serum Steve needs in his tight, pink, little hole. Big Steve is trembling and clenching there. He's so vulnerable and sweet.

"I'd fucking lick you but I think you'd blow your top, wouldn't you? Serum made you a quick draw, hm?"

Steve squeaks, and he ruts into the bed with movements that are jerky and rough. He can't control himself. It's all the answer pre-serum Steve needs.

He doesn't waste any time and soon he's got three of his thin fingers up inside of him. He's like sin inside. Silky and hot and unbearably tight. And he keeps moaning, "oh, oh, oh--"

It'd be annoying if it weren't dripping in desperation and need. As is, little Steve is feeding off of it. He sounds like a fucking floozy. Like a whore.

He looks like a whore, his whole face going even dumber the second little Steve threads his fingers through his thicker, softer hair and pulls. Just that added stimulation, the added pain that Steve knows better than anyone, is getting mixed up with his pleasure sensors. He's feeling too much.

Too much.

It only gets worse.

Pre-serum Steve rubs his prostate harshly and pulls his hair harder, lean muscles straining, and bites his meaty shoulder. Steve screams when he cums.

Huh.

Interesting.

Little Steve doesn't care much beyond that, though. He keeps going. He takes his fingers out once he's done milking them, like a fucking vice, and shoves on into him.

And if he felt like sweet sin on his fingers, like the burn of taking Jesus's name in vein while sitting in the pews, his bigger self feels like burning in hell around his cock.

Jesus fucking Christ.

He's so tight on Steve's cock it hurts.

Hot. Wet. Overwhelming. Tight.

It's everything.

Neither of them can take it.

Little Steve can hardly wait for big Steve to choke out, basically sobbing, that he's ready. Vibrating in place. Feeling like he might be on the verge of his heart giving out in the best fucking way. And big Steve seemingly can't not fist the bedsheets. He rips them to shreds like they're paper. He arches his back. He shakes. He acts feral with the way his younger self is fucking him.

Little Steve is being mean--

Going rough and hard.

Fucking him. Rough and hard.

It feels so, so good for post-serum Steve. He's never had anyone touch him like this, with Bucky--God, his heart hurts--there was never any time. And he, himself, knows just what he wants, and he is exploiting it.

Steve is pretty sure he's going to explode, moaning like he's dying, pressing his back up into younger Steve's slim, sharp hips. His hip bones sting against his firm, plush ass. Steve wants it harder. Even if it kills him. He wants bruises. He wants to be marked. He wants to be claimed. He wants more.

God.

Steve sobs.

Steve growls.

They're breathing the same ragged breaths--smaller Steve because he can't not, this is the fucking workout and his lungs and heart are working overtime, and bigger Steve because it feels too good.

Big Steve is about to cum again, whimpering and just barely holding on, but...

"Get on your fucking back," smaller Steve pants, his voice like steel.

Bigger Steve follows his orders with a stab of arousal cutting through him. He's all wobbly and uncoordinated, moaning all upset without a cock in him, but he makes it.

On his back.

Younger, smaller Steve knee-walks back into position. The head of his cock finding his clenching hole and fucking back in. Rough.

"AH!" Steve wails.

His voice breaks and gets louder, a wordless shout, as younger Steve sinks his teeth into his throat. Then, in his jaw. And, then, into his lower lip.

Steve is trembling from tip to tail. Shaking apart.

He cums, eyes rolling to the back of his head with his own taste on his lips as the other Steve whispers filthy encouragement. It's sounds like mocking. It makes him ache in the best way. He's never had someone be so mean, and he's not sure he would be able to stand it from anyone else. But it's him. He knows what he needs. What he wants.

Guh.

And, oh God, don't even get me started on the possibility of nomad Steve watching from the sidelines, sitting back in a chair with his legs spread wide to accommodate for the hard line of his cock, an obvious bulge in his beat uniform pants. One hand is on his bulge and the other on his beard, stroking his thick facial hair as he looks on, stoic and silent... every now and again, he godes them, "that all you got?" Wanting to see them go harder and harder. Acting more and more like they're animals in heat, wanting to just tear each other apart.

Anyway... 👀

I just had to get that out of my head. Thank you for listening to my horny rambles as always 😘

((And I definitely wasn't listening to this song while writing this 👀))

#fandomfluffandfuck #steve rogers #selfcest #steve x steve #Spotify

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mageofseven · 1 year

Text

Thanks again for the request! I think I will start with Belphie's story for this post and write Levi's in another one. I hope you enjoy it, Nonnie!

Also, I actually managed to get this written up quicker than I thought! For once, my ADD was working with me instead of against me lol

•▪︎▪︎◇°●♡●°◇▪︎▪︎•

Belphie couldn't catch a break. After being up all night helping MC birth their twins, the Avatar of Sloth was exhausted as all hell, as was MC. The couple was asleep in bed, each with a newborn on their chest, Judas on MC's and Lilith on Belphie's. Not the safest sleeping situation for the babies, but the accidental parents didn't have many options.

It was 5am when Beel came to wake them up for RAD...and saw the scene before him. The redhead approached the bed for a closer look. Two babies...one cuddled up to his less than baby-friendly brother. Honestly, this man's brain broke for a moment.

He gave a light shake to his brother. The sleeping man gave no reaction; he was just too deep into sleep. Plus, the older brother didn't want to shake him too hard with the baby on his chest.

After a few attempts though, Beel accidentally woke up his niece. The girl gave a wail, but neither parent nor her twin so much as stirred.

The demon went through a box in the corner of the attic and pulled out a green baby blanket before approaching the small, cold babe. He gently raised Lilith up into his arms and wrapped her up in the blanket. The cries calmed into cute little whines. Beel smiled down at her and carefully ran a finger over her light fluff of hair, avoiding her little horns.

The baby on MC's chest made a sleepy little coo. The uncle raised his head at the sound. Just as Beel thought to grab a blanket for the boy, he heard foot steps at the door.

"You two cannot be late aga--." The oldest froze in the doorway, just like the previous brother. Unlike Beel however, he took in the full scene.

While Beel only saw the babies and nothing more (which hey, he has his priorities in order at least), Lucifer saw the state of the whole room. Piles of used blankets strewn around the room, bed stained with blood and who-knows-else, a naked and uncovered MC with a baby on her chest as she slept next to Belphie, and lastly, a second baby in Beel's arms.

...It's always something, isn't it?

Lucifer let out a big sigh.

"Have you tried waking them?"

Beel explained that he did, at least with his twin, but the man was knocked out cold.

The oldest went back over the box that the other brother recently pilfered through and picked out some onesies along with various other green baby things.

"Let's just get them cleaned up for now. I'll need you to stay home to help me with this."

Beel only nodded in response, still captivated by his little niece, who had just reached up and grabbed his nose.

"Belphie!!" The woman shook her boyfriend awake with a force like she meant to kill him (which, I mean, fair enough considering--).

The demon launched up in a panic, shoulder sore from her shaking.

"What? What happened?!"

"T-The twins are gone!!!"

The man scanned the bed before eyeing the clock on the stand next to him.

It was 12:45pm.

"Shit..." The sloth demon let himself fall back on the dirty bed.

"Belphegor!!"

He rolled his eyes at the human.

"Relax. One of my brothers probably has them."

Though Belphie really hated that thought; he knew that he had a lot of explaining to do.

"But--"

The seventh brother let out a big sigh before sitting up and giving his girlfriend a kiss.

"I said I'd take care of you three, didn't I?" He whispered. "They're okay, I promise."

That settled the human down a down a bit.

"Now just...I dunno. Go take a bath. I'll check on them."

In truth, Belphie himself also needed a bath after sleeping in that gross bed, but considering MC was the one who had to push those little gremlins out, I'd say she needs it more.

Belphie went downstairs, searching for any signs of his brothers. Eventually found a bright green bassinet in the living room. It wasn't until he was already next to it that he realized Beel was in the room too. On the couch, the big guy had one of twins laying on a towel as he was cleaning them up and getting ready to put on a fresh diaper.

'Ugh, gross.' He thought.

The demon started getting flashbacks of when Satan was born. Though it was obviously a different situation, the blonde's birth was a sudden birth just like Lilith and Judas'. Unlike his twins, Satan's birth happened at the worst possible time.

If he's honest with himself, Belphie hated Satan when he was born. I mean, Belphie had just lost his sister; they all had. His entire world felt like it had been shattered and tossed upside down but hey! You're not allowed to be depressed now! New family member! The baby comes first! This smelly, screaming, angry gremlin comes before you whether you like it or not!

That's the message he felt like he was given at that time and he hated it. He resented Lucifer for creating Satan (even though the man had 0 choice in the matter), Satan for existing, and the rest of his brothers for seemingly being okay with it. He felt like they all tried to rob him of his grief back then and he hated it.

"You okay?"

Belphie zoned back in to see his brother staring at him.

The younger brother nodded.

The baby, now cleaned up and back in his onesie, started making babbly sounds from Beel's arms. The redhead smiled down at his nephew.

The sloth demon moved his gaze toward the baby in the bassinet, his daughter. His daughter. In what world would he have ever thought he would have one of those?

Lilith cooed as she reached out her arms to her dad.

"I think she wants you to hold her."

Belphie pursed his lips at his brother's comment. After staring at her for a moment more, the demon bent down and carefully picked up his daughter. Matching violet eyes stared up at him and he felt...what? Honestly, Belphie wasn't sure. He just felt void with just a tinge of something else. So much has been happening lately that he still felt pretty disconnected to himself.

Beel patted the cushion next to him. Belphie sighed and took a seat next to his brother and son. Son. Just what the hell happened to his life?

The two just sat in silence.

"Aren't you gonna ask me about them?" He mumbled.

Beel shook his head.

"I'm waiting for you to feel ready."

More silence. The younger brother mostly just stared into space. After a while, he lowered his head to stare down at Lilith. He shook his head.

"I didn't know...and apparently, MC didn't either..."

He proceeded to tell his twin about his night and how these babies suddenly came to be. Even with an expressionless face, Beel could tell what his brother must be feeling.

"I know it had to be hard..." The redhead glances down at the babies and frowns as a thought comes to mind. "Are you and MC keeping them?"

"MC wants to...so I guess I'm stuck with them."

Belphie was aware of how horrible he sounded, but he couldn't help it. Since the days when Satan was a baby, all he saw kids as were burdens where you aren't allowed to have your own feelings or emotions. You had to sacrifice over and over for them and told that it's just what you have to do. Honestly, Belphie felt like he lost so much of himself over the centuries as it was; he didn't want to have to give up anymore.

Still, these are his kids, not some random baby one of his brothers popped out that he was also suppose to call 'brother'. These twins exist because of his choices and MC wants them so much...

Belphie closed his eyes. Regardless of what he felt, he had to push through. These twins...they didn't ask to be born; none of this was their fault. This man knew he couldn't take out his pain on them. It just wasn't right.

The demon was suddenly brought away from his thoughts by a touch. Lilith had a hold on his nose as she laughed. The muscles in his face twitched. Belphie isn't much of a smiler, but that was almost a smile from him.

The dad took his daughter's hand way from his face and just held it. It was so small, so delicate. He looked from Lilith to Judas, who kept patting his hands against his uncle's, and made a promise from within himself.

Belphie was gonna give his kids everything he could and wasn't going to make his problems their problems. No matter how shitty of a person he felt like, he was never gonna be shitty to his kids.

#obey me #obey me otome #obey me mc #obey me belphegor #obey me second gen

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