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alexispunkkk · 4 months ago

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back where we started

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

- pairing: dark!joel x fem!reader

- summary: joel is a horrible partner post-outbreak. he yells. isn't too nice. fucks.

- warnings: dark!!! dubcon, slapping, choking, hair tugging, unprotected piv (don't do this guys!), smut smut smut smut, degrading, yelling, no established relationship, rough sex, crying, unsafe sex, angry sex, joel has crazy anger issues, blood, huggeee nasty age gap (legal, though! your choice for age), public / outdoor sex, size kink, joel's got a massive dick lols, power imbalance, submission, no aftercare, squirting, dirty talk, thigh riding if you squint, manhandling, joel is just incredibly mean. total asshole.

- word count: 4.5k

- author’s note: feining for mr joel miller recently so i wrote this... my first joel fic!! its gross yall. have your fun though!

—————————————୨ৎ

Partnering up with Joel Miller wasn’t ideal. He’s always looking at you like you’re some problem he doesn’t know how to solve – like you’re just cargo he’s exhausted of having to drag along.

You don’t want to admit it, but he’s honestly an asshole. A real fucking dick, a mean bastard. To everyone else you meet, you’re a well loved, sweet girl. To Joel, though, you’re a burden. He’s a miserable person, and hanging around him only came with the positive that he knew how to hunt, how to keep you decently safe. But, hey, it’s better to be stuck with a brute of a man than to be infected. Right?

For whatever reason, the frustration has been building worse than usual for the past few days. You move like you’re on eggshells, do anything to not upset him, stay quiet when you’re asked and obey his every order. But it’s Joel fucking Miller. Nothing is ever enough with him.

You’re young, but that's not a valid excuse for Joel. He expects as much out of you as he would another man his size and seniority, which is totally unfair of a girl your age.

So every little mistake ticks him off. Really riles him up. His temper is really fired up today for whatever reason, and you’re trying your best to not exacerbate it.

—————————————୨ৎ

Joel should know now your most common flaws – he does pay attention, but that mind of his was too preoccupied with his fresh plan to head east to remember just how forgetful you tend to be.

You remember twenty minutes after you leave. Everything is packed up, rifle on Joel’s thick shoulder, sleeping bags taken from Bill and Frank’s now deserted house strapped to your backs. Everything but one thing. And arguably, the most important thing for the new change of route.

“Can y’get me out the map, girl?”

Girl. He always insists on calling you that. Rather derogatory, like he doesn’t wanna address you by a human name. Just girl.

At the question, your steps stutter. A little patch of dirt kicked up from your shoe hits the back of Joel’s calf, earning a soft grunt. “You fuckin’ deaf now? I said gimme the damn map.”

He knows what your silence means, and in that moment he's about to lose his goddamn mind. His feet stop bluntly, his large, brooding frame turning to face you.

Your pace slows soon after him, halting to a nervous stop while your gaze flickers from its usual spot on the ground up into his dark eyes. A warning look.

“Better not tell me you lost the fuckin’ thing.”

No words come out of your mouth, let alone even pop into your head; all you can seem to do is stare up at him like a mindless idiot, his height towering over yours when he takes a small step closer.

Again, your steps follow, this time backward. You stumble back half a foot, a twig cracking under the shift of your weight. Out of nervous habit, your left hand reaches for the right wrist, gently stroking the skin to keep yourself somewhat calm.

“Joel, I didn’t–”

His movements match your own, his large, calloused hands lurching forward to rip your hand off your wrist. It gets replaced with his own grip, but much tighter. Aggressive. Taut. Outraged.

“Y’didn’t what? Didn’t think for once how t’not be a goddamned idiot?” He snarls, his untamed fingernails digging into the skin for a moment and leaving tiny crescents into the first layer. “Why d’you always gotta be like this, girl? Fuckin’ stupid…”

He trails off, removing his tight grip on your forearm, but not without hostility. He lets go but ends it with a good yank. Not hard enough to pop it out of place, but hard enough to get a quiet whimper out of your shy throat.

You never know what to say when he gets like this. Whether to defend yourself, whether to stay shut up and take the tirade. But you sure know well enough not to fight back – that’s how to get your arm pulled out of the socket.

“I–I swear, Joel. I had it, I don’t know where it went.”

He never takes your stupid excuses. They’re useless, he’ll never believe you. He knows that you know you forgot it at the last spot you camped out. And this time, the excuse was a pathetic mumble, your eyes glued at your wrist and the mark he left when he gripped it. Even more to make your pitiful case unconvincing.

“Yeah, the hell you do. Quit lyin’, you know damn well where that map is.” He scoffs, brushing past you with a shove to the shoulder, his larger figure knocking you a few inches with a soft oof. “Back in the woods where you left it, ain’t it?”

Of course, you can’t plead your case anymore. You give in, nodding in submission and trudging after him once he turns around, back in the direction where you surely left the damn map.

“...Yeah.” You murmur, rubbing a dry hand across the bottom half of your face, against your snotty nose. Not because you’d been crying, this is nothing from Joel yet. Just because the month has been terribly cold and sleeping outside every night isn’t doing you well. “At our last camp. M’sorry.”

“Always fuckin’ sorry. Sorry for almost gettin’ yourself killed, sorry for forgetting somethin’ again and again. M’sick of your shit.” He grunts, readjusting the rifle strapped over his shoulder.

When you first met him, words like that got to you, as much as you hate to admit it. But now, everything seems to fade together. He’s just Joel. That’s how he is. And you’ve gotta live with it and try your best to not piss him off.

To your luck, he shuts up and stops berating you – at least until you’re close to the previous camp spot. Just silence, interrupted only by the awkward shuffling of your steps behind him, desperately trying to keep up with his longer strides and stay quiet to not worsen his anger.

But when you get close enough and he has to start looking for the damned map, his mumbling and annoyance boils over once again, infiltrating the somewhat comfortable silence that your ears just got used to.

“Map was the only fuckin’ thing getting us around… no goddamn compass.” Joel mutters under his breath. Not at you, for once, but just a natural spilling of his frustration. He’s always gotta be mumbling about something, even in his sleep. “Slow me down enough as is. Gotta lose everythin’, too.”

You joined aimlessly behind him, searching around the patchy grass, anywhere for the map that was stressing him out so terribly.

Minutes go by. He’s getting angrier by the minute, his hands flexing while he crouches down and searches. Mad, but still pretty tame for a pissed-off Joel Miller.

That is, until he glances up and actually gets a look at you for the first time in an hour. He normally avoids any eye contact, avoids even peeking over at you. At that damn little frame… so much younger, sweeter. He seemingly hates having you around because you always tick him off, but what he hates more is the temptation that comes with having a pretty little girl by his side at all times.

He finally lets his eyes fall on you. But this time, he can’t even get his usual peek at your lips or neck, because something else catches his eye. A familiar shred of paper – just the fucking corner – poking out the zipper of your backpack.

He genuinely slaps himself in the face, eyes turning dark and fists curling up in pure rage at the sight.

“Are you fucking kidding me.”

He growls. Not a question, but a threat. His eyes are black at this point, breath speeding up while he takes another step toward you. Not cautious like he’ll sometimes let himself be, but warring.

You’re confused for a bit, as you hadn’t seen the map in your own bag. Or even thought to look before you turned around and walked a half hour back, a complete waste of your time. “Oh…”

He starts again, his voice much lower than usual. Dangerous.

“You wanna tell me…” Joel breathes, stepping towards you even more until he’s got you backed against a tree. Bark pushing your shirt and jacket up, scraping at the bare skin of your lower back. “Why the hell we just wasted an hour of our time, when the map was practically right in your fuckin’ hand!”

As he curses, your heart drops. You don’t have time to react before his hands are up, flying at you. You flinch, thinking they’re coming to hurt you, but they’re reaching into your backpack.

And sure enough, there it is. The map you spent so much valuable time fussing over. Right on your damn back.

‘I didn’t know, Joel. Didn’t think to check.” You whimper and choke out from the back of your throat, weak and apologetic. Again, he’s not one for excuses and apologies. He’s on you before you can even think, hand forcing the map in your face.

His palm hits your mouth when he shoves the paper, a direct blow to your jaw. Your lip comes in forced contact with your bottom row of teeth, tearing the skin and swelling instantly. The only thing that can escape your mouth now is a pained whimper, which agitates the furious man on top of you worse.

“Fuckin’ idiot. Wastin’ my damn time like always. Do you ever think?” He scoffs and backs up, maybe half an inch.

When he notices your slightly busted lip, it brings him a sense of triumph. You ticked him off and now you’re gonna pay for it. And you sure enough feel guilty enough to not stop him, so he’s got you trapped now.

You’re frozen in place against the tree, refusing to move or utter out even the smallest of another noise. Suddenly, Joel’s mind is more occupied by the girl under his grip, shaking like a damn leaf with a bleeding and busted lip.

“Asked you a question, little shit.” He grunts and lets his hand venture up to your jaw, pushing it around like a toy before settling with a tight grip, squeezing your cheeks and watching how the blood oozes from your lip at the pressure. “Said, do you ever fuckin’ think?”

Sure, he’s yelled at you plenty, disciplined you, maybe put his hands on you out of frustration a couple of times before. But it never feels like this. His hands usually let up after they land on you, but now he’s squeezing at your face and looking into your hazy eyes as if this is a challenge.

“Mm.” You whine, throat bobbing while you adjust to the feeling of his huge hand gripping your face. “N-no.”

Your voice is only the softest of a mutter.

“Speak up, girl. Didn’t hear ya��.” He rolls his eyes, giving your face a nice knead and jerking it to the side to jolt you up more.

A shuddering breath leaves your mouth, head jerking to the right at the flick of his wrist. He holds it against the tree, your ponytail getting caught on the rough edge of the bark, the lumber scraping your ear.

“No. Don’t–don’t ever think enough. M’sorry. Wasn’t… wasn’t thinkin’.”

You sigh, head lifting up while you feel the familiar sensation of your throat tightening up, eyes starting to burn. But you keep it in.

Joel hums, jerking your head again and shoving it harder onto the hard bark. “Damn right. Don’t think. A fuckin�� burden on me.”

He’s not doing it because he’s mad anymore. Hell, he’s already forgotten about the stupid map that caused all of this. He’s doing it to get a rise out of you.

And you know that’s all he wants.

His gaze is different, his tone similar to but not matching the genuine anger you hear from him most of the time. There's a hint of more challenge in it, maybe even passion. The hand on your jaw only confirms that.

“Shoulda’ left you behind when I got the chance.” He mutters, knowing that threatening to leave you really gets under your skin. Honestly, he’s all that you have, and you’d be dead without him. So that always seems to hurt a little more than some name calling.

You don’t react, gulping and keeping still at his arduous words. Getting no reaction from you riles him up worse, his free hand coming down to strike at the wood above your head. You flinch, and a tear unpromptedly rolls down your cheek. You don’t feel it until Joel curses, laughing in disbelief and moving his hand from your jaw down to your throat.

He squeezes. Not tight, not yet. A groan escapes his throat, low and almost pained. And before you know it, he’s got his body pressed against yours, rubbing you uncomfortably into the rotting tree.

“Such a fuckin’ mess.” He grunts, one hand around your throat to cut off any words and the other moving to your chin to move your gaze up to him. “Cryin’ like a baby when you were the one that lost the map.”

Your pulse jumps when he degrades you, and he swears he sees something else in your eyes this time. Not the usual fear, but something that looks like arousal.

It sparks something in him, and he wants to see it again. His hand tightens on your neck, earning a pained gasp from your pretty throat. Your eyes lock, and he watches your head tilt back against the tree, your eyes fluttering slightly.

He can’t take much more. A tiny whimper comes out of you when his knee presses against your thigh.

That’s it. That’s fucking it.

Joel growls. Low. Frustrated. He gives up on the choking, instead gripping the back of your head and taking hold of your messy ponytail. He tugs, tilting your head more, his big aquiline nose moving down to bump under your ear and rub along the cold curve of your jaw.

“Fuck’s wrong with you?” He whispers, his unkempt scruff that he calls a beard brushing up against you, scratching deep into the skin he just had a hand wrapped around. “Feel you gettin’ turned on. Fuckin’ slut, getting all worked up when I’m angry with you.”

You can’t do anything but take his advances and cry softly, feeling the cotton of your panties dampening each time his gruff voice comes out against your ear, his harsh breath biting at your neck.

“Don’t got time for th’shit.” He mutters, but you hear his resolve dropping. He’s getting less and less frustrated over you wasting time, but more frustrated over the fact that he’s got his knee between your legs and he can feel the heat seeping through the fabrics, even in the biting cold weather. “Don’t got time for you makin’ me… makin’ me–ngh.”

His words stop, replaced by a low grunt into your ear the second your body even twitches against his. The grip on your ponytail tightens, tugging backward and earning a needy whine from you.

As much as he wants to keep degrading you, making you feel worthless under him, he’s feeling pretty pathetic himself. And he never gets like this with women.

His nose bumps your ear one more time before he can’t take it – his lips crash into yours. It’s not friendly. It’s not intimate. It’s fucking rude.

He intrudes, letting go of your hair and grabbing your body instead to push you against the damn tree harder. Mouths battle, and he wins, nipping hard and tasting the metallic blood from where he busted your lip earlier. Yum.

“Joel.” You whimper, finally. It’s music to his ears, but he can’t show that. He has to be tough, not show that he’s into this. Not into the young girl he’s supposed to be training.

Joel grumbles, bringing a hand up to mindlessly slap at the side of your face at the sound of your whimper.

“Shut up.”

And you do.

You’d do anything he told you right now. The feeling of him slapping you, biting your lips, pressing his thick knee between your thighs has got you absolutely pathetic. It’s fucking disgusting, you know that. To be so grossly into the fifty-six year old man that’s been taking care of you, the one that relentlessly bullies you and makes you feel like a worthless burden.

But you like it. You’d be anything for him, even if it meant being a worthless, pathetic burden.

Joel’s got control. Obviously. His hand that slapped you runs over the heated skin in the same spot, almost to soothe it. What a gentleman. His lips slow on yours for a moment, latching onto the neck he had his hand around earlier instead.

In the deep woods, the only sounds heard are the birds above and his angry gasps against your skin, breathing like a madman. The softer sounds are interrupted by one of his belt clinking, being unbuckled mindlessly. And then the rustle of fabric. And then the unfamiliar sound of denim against Joel’s rough skin.

He’s straining against his boxers. Hard. Harder than he thinks he may ever have, but you don’t know that. You can tell he’s big through the fabric. It’s a thought that’s crossed your mind maybe once or twice, but you would never have expected for it to be pressed against your thigh, dangerous amounts of precum slowly leaking through the thin fabric of his briefs.

You distract yourself while he gets busy attacking your neck and working your pants off – you don’t wanna believe it. Joel Miller is about to fuck you. He slapped you, choked you, degraded you, sure. That’s believable. But now he’s going to fuck you with that giant cock of his.

As if it helps you not give in too much, you look everywhere to try and distract yourself. Down. His boxers read CALVIN KLEIN at the top. Up. The top button of his flannel came undone. He’s got a lot of chest hair. Behind him. There’s a bird watching him gnaw at your neck and tear your pants off, watching his bulging cock rub against your covered thigh.

And the map is on the ground behind him.

“Fuck you lookin’ at?” He finally interrupts your private session of ‘I spy,’ breathing heavy against your skin and cupping your clothed cunt through your panties. “Look at me.”

You look up, gaze locking with his again. His eyes are equally as dark, but not with anger anymore. Desire.

He’s gripping extra hard, hands splayed across your waist – almost big enough to wrap around, to grip you real good. Joel’s eyes travel all down your body in ways he’s only ever dreamed of, your pants torn down and now discarded on the forest floor.

“Gonna fuck the stupidity right outchya’, yeah?” He chuckles, hoisting your body up to keep you settled between him and the tree. “‘N I want you lookin’ at me while I do it, kay’, girl? Eyes up. C’mon now.”

You can do nothing but oblige. Your eyes dart up, staying on him, even when he pulls his cock out that you so badly want to get a look at. The sound of him stroking himself, little grunts escaping his throat mindlessly, is so fucking tempting.

But you listen, eyes staying on him, hoping to get some kind of praise from him for the first time in your life. Or maybe you want to keep getting debased. Maybe both. You seem to like the shame of it.

“Gonna fuck you s’good you never forget anythin’ again. M’still pissed about that map, y’hear me?” He grunts, lifting you effortlessly to move his cock up into place. He’s so strong, and you’re so little. He can manhandle you however he wants, use you for his pleasure. And maybe you want that.

From your mouth slips an obedient hum, your head shaking in a little nod so he knows you’re listening. You swear you see the corner of his mouth quirk up in a smirk, but he replaces it within half a second with a grumble to maintain the tough guy look.

His cock meets your slick after he pulls your panties to the side, not bothering to take them off. You’re not worth the time. Not after wasting that time with the map debacle.

The pulsing head of it drags along your slit, collecting a bit of you on the tip, making a filthy mix with his precum. It’s been a minute since any intimacy for Joel, but he can’t let you know anything. Can’t show any kind of vulnerability. He keeps it in, biting his lip and grunting to avoid any embarrassing soft noises.

“Ain’t stoppin’ if you can’t take it, by th’way.” He grumbles into your ear, his tip just barely edging into your soaked cunt. You whimper, and he squeezes your waist in warning. If he didn’t have to be holding you up, he’d have hit you again.

But, the soft noises you let out make him want more. You seem to let them out when you’re scared – or maybe it's out of arousal. Only from when he totally degrades you. He doesn’t care, he just wants to fuck you senseless.

“Could break ya’ if I wanted. Little… tight fuckin’ pussy.” He groans, head hitting the tree next to yours when his cock finally slides in. It was a fight to get in, your tight walls not stretched enough for his fat dick to fit due to your lack of experience. “Take ya’ how I fuckin’ want.’

If this was any other man, you’d cry and beg for him to stop. But Joel. It’s Joel. Joel fucking Miller.

It hurts, but his threatening words seem to egg you on. They prod you to take it, try harder to take the thick cock that’s splitting your body right in half.

He doesn’t start slow like some guys. Joel doesn’t start slow. Ever. Joel Miller fucks, and he fucks how he wants. This isn’t about you, this is about him getting his worth back after you wasted all his damn time.

His hips slam into you at an alarming pace, no time for you to stretch out and adjust to the movement. He’s already hitting deep enough to where, if your shirt was off, you could see the print all the way in your stomach. But no. Your shirt is on. Joel Miller doesn’t care enough to worry about a shirt, that’s foolish. He just wants pussy – no, needs it. He’s a man with priorities.

You’re screaming, pain and pleasure. Usually he’d tell a woman to ‘shut the fuck’ up for being too loud, but you’re in the middle of the woods. Nobody around, except for the same fucking bird that’s continuing to watch you get destroyed and ripped open by a fifty-six year old. Great.

“God, baby. You’re fuckin’ helpless.” He grunts into your neck, resolve slowly slipping more. His noises get worse, louder. He doesn’t care enough anymore to pretend like this is some chore.

He’s fucking you and he means it.

Joel’s hips stutter after a few minutes, just in time with your own. Synced up perfectly. His rhythm is getting out of pace while you feel the pull deep in your core you haven’t felt in so long – white hot pooling in your stomach. You clench around him.

He can’t speak anymore, just like how you haven’t been able to for minutes now. All he can manage out are little grumbles into your hair, squeezing your body while he struggles with words. Getting pathetic himself.

“Fuckin’-- mm. Baby. Baby. Gon’cum soon.”

At least he warns you.

You could tell, anyway. The stuttering of his hips, the way he’s only hitting nice and deep now. But you’re in worse, you can’t warn him because your mouth is hung open entirely, spilling out the most pitiful string of moans that doesn’t seem to ever end.

Without warning, you clench again. He groans, but gets louder when he feels you spill. Burst. All over his aching cock.

“Shit, shit. You – you squirtin’?” Joel grumbles out, body spasming at the feeling of your liquids all coming out at once. Your legs are shaking, and he feels his own limbs join in. It was too much for him.

He cums. Hard. Maybe harder than he ever has before, but you don’t have to find that bit out.

The moment melts into a disgusting mess of simultaneous moans, whimpers, even from Joel. Despite the cold weather that was almost making you sick earlier, you feel hot. Sweaty. Both of you.

Joel’s head comes to rest atop yours, stroking the back of your ponytail that he’d been tugging at the whole time. And for a moment – just a short moment – you thought he’d maybe take care of you after. Like a real man.

But no. Apparently, you don’t know Joel well enough by now. He’s his own kind of man.

Once his breathing returns – somewhat – he’s back to ole’ Joel Miller. Grunts, huffs and drops you down by the tree. Tucks his spent cock back in. Before you know it, before you can speak, his pants and belt are back in place and his rifle is strapped back on his shoulder.

Your eyes shut, back scraped up from the rough tree he fucked you relentlessly against. Taking a shuddering breath, you rest for a moment, thinking that if he didn't give you any aftercare he’d at least let you have a moment to breathe.

But again, no.

“Fuck you doin’?”

Your single moment of silence is rudely interrupted by his southern drawl, entirely back to normal as if he didn’t have the most intense sex of his life only two minutes ago. As if forgetting it ever happened.

And the map is back in his hand. And he looks so normal compared to you. And it makes you want to cry for whatever reason.

There’s nothing else to do but hold back a pained whine from the soreness already building in your body, the blood you feel dripping on your back from the tree, and the metal taste of blood where he hit your lip. The slap on your cheek. The handprint on your throat. Fuck.

“C’mon, little shit. Gotta hurry. Now you wasted an hour of my time.”

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #smut #joel miller smut #degrading k1nk #choking #manhandling #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #the last of us #tlou #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fic #tlou joel #joel x reader #fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x reader

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mylovesstuffs · 2 months ago

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OT13 reacting to their s/o flashing them mid-argument to shut them up

Request: hey!!

first of all it is incredibly nice of you to not post any suggestive/smutty things during ramadan!! I still have a silly request in that direction and I know you won't do it until after this month but I fear I might forget it if I don't request now😭😭

how do you think would the svt members react if you (their gf) randomly flash them during an argument?? for e.g lets say they don't let you talk or smth and yoi just pull up your shirt to make them shut up😭

thank you so much and have a nice day!!💓

A/N: You are so sweet for what reason? 🥺 Here you go, I hope you like it !!!

A/N #2: I lost myself while writing Mingyu and Minghao's parts lmao, I hope you don't mind this reaction being long.

Content warning: MDNI! Established relationship. manhandling, kissing, teasing, body worship, missionary, flustered to focused, praise, overstimulation if you keep teasing him/let him, pussy eating, slow burn to deep heat, dirty talk, couch, kitchen counter and bed scenes , low-key subby energy in seungkwan for some reason, messy kisses, they're down bad for you, clothing kink, mirror play, possessiveness, oral ( bot m. and f. receiving), unprotected sex (don't be stupid), mild degradation, rough makeout, sadism, bondage, edging. lmk if I missed anything !

This is my personal opinion and perspective. It may not accurately reflect their real-life personalities or behaviors.

Seungcheol: You’re arguing—well, he’s arguing, raising his voice and not letting you get a word in. And then you suddenly lift your shirt. Now, thanks to you, all you can hear rn is, dead silence. His mouth stays open mid-sentence. “...What?” His anger deflates instantly and now he’s just blinking at you, jaw flexing as he tries not to smirk. “…You trying to distract me, baby?” Steps forward, corners you against a wall, smirking low. “It worked. Let’s talk after.” Seungcheol leans in, his face inches from yours as he traps you against the wall with his arms caging you in. His smirk turns into a playful grin as he presses his forehead against yours. "You know what? Forget the argument. You win." Hands slide down the wall to grip your hips, pulling you closer as he leans in, presses a soft kiss to your neck, biting gently before pulling back with a laugh.

Jeonghan: You’re mid-bickering over something really stupidly dumb when you’ve had enough of his smug comebacks. So you flash him without any warning. Jeonghan laughs like it’s the best thing he’s seen all week [probably (?)] “Oh? That’s your strategy now?” he says and walks over slowly, dragging a finger across your exposed skin. “Keep doing that and you’ll never win another argument again. I’ll make sure of it.” I KNOW IT'S SO HOT OF HIM Jeonghan leans in closer, his breath tickling your skin as he traces patterns on your stomach. Kisses trail lower as he hooks his fingers in your waistband, slowly tugging down the fabric to reveal more skin. "You know what happens now, right?" He looks up at you with a mischievous grin, "You lose the argument, remember?" He drops to his knees in front of you, kissing a trail from your stomach downwards as his hands grip your thighs firmly. "You used your body to shut me up... now I'm going to use my mouth to make you shut up." His tongue flickers out, teasing along your inner thigh.

Joshua: You try to explain your point but he’s lowkey ignoring you. One flash and— his eyes go wide. “Babe??” That fucking hottie, turns red. Literally flustered like he just saw his first boob. “I—are we seriously doing this right now?” He starts giggling laughing nervously, covers his face, then just sighs. “Okay… okay you win. Come here.” Clearly aroused, decides to take control in the most primal way. He steps closer, his hands wrapping around your waist as he lifts you effortlessly off the ground. “Starting fights and flashing me like that?” his voice husky as he murmurs, “you better be ready for what comes next.” He tosses you on the bed gently and follows after, pinning you beneath him with a hungry look. Slowly, he leans down, kissing along your collarbone. His hands slide under your shirt again, but this time with reverence. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, “and all mine.” And that night, he shows you exactly what happens when you tease a man like Joshua Hong.

Jun: You catch him off guard while he’s getting fired up about you ‘never listening.’ So you flash him. He freezes but his shameless ass stares. “...That’s not fair.” But he’s definitely grinning now. His voice lowers, “you’re gonna have to take responsibility, you know?” Jun doesn’t care about the argument anymore bc all he wants rn is you. His grin turns mischievous, mirroring his suddenly sadistic thoughts. He reaches over to grab something from the bedside drawer and pulls out a pair of handcuffs and a gag, his eyes gleaming. He quickly cuffs your wrists to the headboard, ensuring you're securely bound. "Let's see how well you argue now, without a voice or the ability to move," He shoves the gag into your mouth, effectively silencing you. He then takes your underwear off and spreads your legs wide, exposing you completely. "From now on, I make the rules. And right now, the rule is - you take whatever I give you, however I give it to you."

Hoshi: He’s pacing, being annoying as fuck, hands flying everywhere, so what you do? You lift your shirt. Yes and he yelps, “EXCUSE ME??” He's fully flustered and shuts the fuck up immediately and just STARES. Still walks over like a confused puppy, muttering under his breath, “Why are you like this…” as his hands fall to his sides uselessly as he pauses right in front of you. Unable to resist any longer, he leans in and crashes his lips onto yours, passionate and demanding. His hands find your hips, gripping them tightly as he pulls you against him. Suddenly, he breaks the kiss and spins you around, bending you over the nearest surface, and without hesitation, Hoshi lifts your skirt and pulls down your underwear. He starts spanking you hard, the sound of his palm hitting your flesh echoing through the room. Between spanks, he kisses you, "You're just showing off your arousal, even as you ignore me."

Wonwoo: You’re trying to explain something, but he’s giving you that cold, nonchalant stare. So, you shock him with a quick flash. Wonwoo blinks, and then he calmly removes his glasses. “...Okay.” Walks straight toward you. "You want my attention that bad?” Now it’s you who's speechless as he pins you to the couch and whispers, “Next time just ask.” A tell that you just gave him your undivided attention by basically sexually harassing him. He smirks slightly, and without any more back and forth, Wonwoo strips you both bare, his movements swift and decisive. He settles between your legs, his dark brown eyes burning with an intensity you've never seen before. He kisses you fiercely, his hands roaming your body possessively. One hand cupping your breast and teasing your nipple with his thumb. He rolls it between his fingers, making you gasp into his mouth. Simultaneously, his other hand slides down your stomach, finding your clit and rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles. As you arch into his touch, Wonwoo breaks the kiss to trail his lips down your neck and chest. He takes your other nipple into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around it. His fingers continue their relentless teasing of your clit, building a steady pressure that makes your hips squirm and cry.

Woozi: He’s on a full rant, not even letting you breathe. You lift your shirt: ERROR 404: LEE JIHOON HAS CRASHED. He fucking stares and then have the audacity to cover his face with both hands. “Are you INSANE?!” He’s mad, but also not mad, but also—mad that he can’t be mad anymore. Eventually just groans, hugs you tight. "You know what your problem is?" Woozi suddenly releases you, pushing his glasses up his nose. His eyes darken slightly, voice dropping an octave. He snaps his fingers suddenly. "You're sadistic. That's why you tease like that." He low-key, harshly, pushes you onto the bed behind you. His pretty hands trace your curves slowly, intentionally building anticipation. "Such pretty eyes... they'll look even better filled with tears." Jihoon leans down, his breath hot on your ear. "Let's see those tears, shall we?"

Dokyeom: You’re getting overwhelmed, so you hit him with a quick flash out of desperation. He gasps like you guys aren't dating already and doesn't see eachother's body minimum twice a day, “WHAT THE—” Fully scandalized, he looks away, then looks back, “babe. You… you distracted me!!” Argument’s over. He grouses, pulling you onto the bed while exclaiming about how ‘unfair’ that move was. Kyeom's hands are rough and impatient as he pulls you onto his lap, his fingers immediately finding their way to your pussy. "I'm going to edge you until you're begging for release," he mutters, "And do you know how I'll do thay? I'm going to make you come so many times that you'll be crying, but I won't let you have a real orgasm. You'll be reduced to a whimpering mess, all because of that damn flash." His fingers move faster, bringing you right to the edge before suddenly stopping. Dokyeom watches your face intently, a mix of amusement and dominance in his eyes. "See how close you are?" he whispers, his fingers hovering just above your clit without touching. "I can keep you right here on the edge all night." He leans down, his lips brushing against your lips.

Mingyu: He’s being annoyingly loud and trying to act like he’s right. You flash him and he, rightfully, chokes. Literally drops the mug he was holding. “HUH?!” Walk up to you like a hungry, horny man on a mission. “You better be ready to finish what you started, because I’m not letting this go.” Before you can even blink, he has you pinned against the counter, your legs boxed in by his. One hand fists the back of your shirt and tugs hard, pulling the fabric higher until you're bared to him again. He growls softly, lips brushing your collarbone. “Distracting me with these perfect tits?” He presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss just above your nipple and you gasp—loud, shaky, already arching into his touch. Your breath catches when he drops to his knees in front of you without a word, both hands now gripping your thighs. He mouths at the soft curve of your inner thigh, teeth dragging just enough to leave a mark. His tongue is teasing, but there’s nothing playful in the way he pushes your panties aside and buries his face between your legs like a man starving [which he is]. He groans into you like he’s the one being touched, hips grinding slightly into the floor as if he’s losing control just from the taste of you. “Turn around,” he says, standing up and tugging at your hips until your front is pressed against the kitchen counter, “now.” He’s already undoing his pants, groaning as he slides them down just enough, his cock hard and flushed and angry red at the tip.

Minghao: You’re in a tense back-and-forth. You flash him; dead serious. He raises one elegant brow. “Oh… so that’s how you handle conflict.” Stares you down until you’re the one blushing. "Interesting strategy," he mutters, stepping closer. “You better mean it.” He’s in front of you now, tall and intimidating, one hand sliding around your waist as the other tugs your shirt all the way off. His fingertips trace your bare skin, mapping out his next move. “You’re already blushing,” he says with a smirk. “What happened to all that attitude from five minutes ago?” You really don’t have any smartass answer 🤷🏻‍♀️ His lips ghost over your shoulder, hand slipping beneath your waistband and then, he leads you to the full-length mirror in the bedroom, pulling you to stand in front of him, chest to your back. He meets your eyes in the reflection. “Look at you. All flushed and trembling from one look, from one little comment.” His hand slides lower, fingers teasing over your wet heat. You bite your lip, struggling to hold still. “Watch what you started,” he whispers, kissing behind your ear. “No looking away.” His fingers move slowly, knowing, driving you insane while he watches your expression change in the mirror. One hand teasing your chest, the other curled against your core. You cry out as he sinks two fingers into you, curling them just right. He pulls his fingers out slowly and licks them clean right behind you—eyes meeting yours in the mirror. “Get on the bed. On your knees. I want that mouth next.” You move without a word, body shaking, heat pooling in your stomach. You’re already dizzy from the pace lmao. He lets you worship him first, praises falling from his lips between soft groans, hands gripping your hair with barely restrained control, and when he finally takes you—you feel owned, worshiped and ruined all at once. Hao holds you still, hips rolling into yours as his voice stays steady against your skin. “Next time we argue,” he murmurs, thrusts hitting deeper, “just strip. Saves us both the trouble.”

Seungkwan: “You’re not even listening to what I’m trying to—” Boob flash “AAAAAAAAAA—” Takes a fucking step back, “you did NOT just do that!” He's blushing so hard, flustered beyond help, pacing like an ajumma in crisis, but he caves instantly. “Okay, fine! You win!! Just stop flashing me when I’m trying to make a point!!” He storms toward you like a man on a mission, face red, eyes dark. “You’re evil,” he mutters, yanking your shirt off. “Evil, evil woman—” His mouth is already on you, hot and open, kissing the fuck out of everywhere he can reach. He pushes you down onto the couch nearby, tugging your shorts down halfway before dropping to his knees. “Now you don’t get to argue,” he says, kissing between your thighs. “You just stay quiet and take it.” And oh, you do [He makes sure of it.]

Vernon: “…What?” He deadpan stares at your boobs, then at your face, then back. “Are you serious right now?” Confused. Slightly aroused. Definitely distracted. “I don’t even remember what we were talking about.” [He never will, bc he’s too focused on you now.] He steps closer, hands slowly finding your waist, one thumb brushes the underside of your breast, reverent. “…You’re insane,” he whispers, grinning. He pulls you in a slow, heated kiss. Touches you like you're made of art. Lifts you up onto the counter or couch, whatever’s nearest, pushing your legs open as his mouth moves lower. “You win,” he murmurs against your skin. “Now let me worship you for it.” He presses a kiss to your inner thigh before licking a hot stripe over your center. “God, you taste like a sin,” he groans. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you still when you squirm. “You’re not going anywhere, baby. Not until you can’t remember your own name either,” and he keeps his promise :> Tongue deep, lips wrapped around your clit, humming every time you moan his name. When your thighs clamp around his head, he just groans into you like it fuels him.

Dino: You hit him with the flash mid-sentence and I kid you no, je literally shuts down. Eyes go wide. “Did… did you just—?” He walks away for a full 30 seconds before coming back. “That’s illegal. You can’t just do that.” Dino.exe has crashed. You raise an eyebrow, smug. “I just did.” He stares, then grabs your hand and pulls you toward the bedroom. “You better be ready to take responsibility.” Once you’re on the bed, he’s on his knees between your thighs in seconds, lips trailing fire up your skin, and then he devours you. Lips wrapped around your clit, tongue flicking just right. His focus is insane; he’s making a point with every swipe of his tongue. “Next time you flash me like that,” he murmurs against your soaked core, “just know I won’t stop until you’re begging.” p.s: you do beg.

1K notes · View notes

inseobts · 3 months ago

Note

Can you do a gn but soft feminine reader where they get worried that Shanks and them are drifting apart (theyre married) and that Shanks now even seems like he may have started cheating, even being caught on an island in like the pleasure district or something. Super angsty the reader is suffering and stuff but im sensitive obviously so it turns out he had also felt like maybe he had been too busy and distant with stress and planning (this is close to the current canon time) to pay proper attention to reader so the "cheating" was him trying to find out a way to like get them a romantic place alone. Like the pleasure district girls were just teaching him about different gifts he could get you and the best hotels/resturants to go to for a date. He chose them just bc he could pay for their time so no bothering random people and they were knowledgable about the finer stuff in life. Pls end fluffy and they actually make up and get along and stuff and go on the date. You can add smut at the end if things get heated at the hotel but if it feels like it doesn't fit in the story youre writing you don't have to add it.

sorry if i sent this twice i have bad memory and i dont remember if i actually sent it or not so just in case im sending it again its not me rushing you or spamming

Driftwood Hearts

shanks x gn!reader

a/n: at some point I forgot I was writing it as gn!reader, I tried to fix it but I'm not sure I didn't miss any. I also forgot he has a missing arm...

words count: 3.5k

tags: mild smut, angst with comfort, misunderstandings, emotional hurt/comfort, marriage struggles, pre-egghead

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The wind brushes gently across your skin as you stand at the railing of the Red Force, eyes fixed on the endless blue. It’s quiet except for the creak of wood and distant voices of the crew laughing below deck. But you don’t feel like laughing. You haven’t in a while.

The sea always feels colder without him by your side.

You swallow hard, fingers tightening on the rail. Shanks has been gone for four days now, anchored at a nearby island for “business”, but the way he avoided your eyes before leaving haunts you more than the distance itself. He kissed your forehead and told you he loved you, but it felt… forced. Or maybe that’s just your fear talking.

No. Something’s wrong. You feel it, you know it.

You haven’t slept well in weeks. Shanks has been distant, preoccupied, caught in whispered meetings with Benn or writing something behind locked doors. He touches you less, barely looks up when you enter the room, and when you reach for him at night, he turns away, murmuring that he’s tired.

But what scares you most is what Lucky Roux let slip last night over dinner.

“Yeah, I saw the captain heading toward the pleasure district. Guess he needed to unwind, huh?”

You didn’t ask for clarification. You couldn’t. The blood had drained from your face and you had excused yourself quietly, retreating to your shared quarters, where the bed still smelled like him.

You feel sick remembering it. You’ve tried to be reasonable. He’s a Yonko. He’s busy. He’s under pressure. But you’re his wife. And yet lately, it feels like you’re just… a fixture. A memory he keeps forgetting to look at.

Footsteps approach behind you. Your heart jumps instinctively with hope, but it’s Benn.

He gives you a small nod “He’ll be back before sundown.”

You just nod, eyes still on the sea “Thanks.”

There’s a pause.

“You okay?”

“I��m fine...” you lie, your voice soft but trembling.

He doesn’t press. He just gives a long sigh and leaves you be.

Later that evening you hear his boots before you see him. The heavy, slow step of someone who’s either dreading a conversation, or trying to steel themselves for it.

You sit on the edge of the bed, hands folded tightly in your lap, trying not to shake. Your heart pounds when the door creaks open.

“Hey,” Shanks says softly. His hair’s tousled from the wind, his cape half off his shoulder, and he looks… tired. His gaze lingers on you for a moment, your stiff posture, your swollen eyes, and something flickers in his face.

“You’re back” you whisper.

He closes the door gently behind him “Yeah.”

Silence. It stretches too long.

“I heard where you were...” you say quietly, almost apologetically, as if it’s wrong to admit you know.

Shanks doesn’t answer right away. He walks a little closer, but not enough. His jaw tenses.

“Is it true?” your voice breaks just slightly “Did you really go to the pleasure district?”

He flinches “It’s not what you think.”

You shake your head, tears burning hot behind your eyes “Then what is it, Shanks? Because lately, I don’t know where you are anymore. You’re here, but you’re not. You don’t see me. You don’t touch me. You barely even talk to me unless it’s about the ship.”

He stares at you, and his expression cracks “I know.”

You blink, caught off guard.

“I know I’ve been… distant.” He drags a hand through his hair “And I hate that I made you feel alone. That’s the last thing I ever wanted.”

“Then why?” your voice trembles “Why were you there?”

He takes a breath and crosses the room in two strides, kneeling in front of you “Because I’ve been trying to plan something. For us.”

You don’t understand “What?”

He smiles, but it’s bitter with guilt “I didn’t want to bother random people asking where to take my wife on the perfect date, so I paid women who know the best spots. Gifts. Food. Hotels. I asked them what someone like you would love. That’s all it was.”

You’re frozen. Your mouth parts, but no sound comes out.

He takes your hand gently “I was afraid I’d been too absent. That I hadn’t made you feel loved. And I thought… if I could find the right place, something just for us, maybe I could show you how much I still adore you. But I screwed it all up by not telling you.”

Your vision blurs “You weren’t cheating…?”

He looks devastated “No. God, no. Never. I love you. I love you more than anything. I’ve just been so stressed about everything. Egghead, the tension between the Emperors, the Marines breathing down our necks… I didn’t mean to push you away.”

Your body trembles, and finally you let go. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, burying your face into his neck, and cry.

“I thought I was losing you...” you whisper, voice shattered.

He holds you so tight it almost hurts “You’ll never lose me. Never.”

The cabin is dark even though the sun has long since risen.

You haven’t moved from the bed.

Shanks had fallen asleep holding you last night, warm and solid, whispering apologies and promises, but the ache in your chest didn’t fade. If anything, it’s worse now.

Because you want to believe him. You need to.

But some part of you still hurts too deeply to reach for his words. That soft little voice in your head won’t stop whispering:

If he really loved you, why did it get this far? Why didn’t he notice sooner?

He’s gone again this morning.

You heard him slip out quietly hours ago. No kiss. No note. Just a hush and the sound of boots.

You stare at the door.

Was last night just guilt?

You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, curling up in the center of the bed that now feels too big, too empty. You’re sick of crying, but the tears still come out. Quiet, desperate sobs that shake your shoulders as you muffle them into the pillow.

Why does love feel so much like breaking?

Flashback – A Week Ago “Do you need anything?” you asked him quietly, standing in the doorway of his study. He didn’t even look up “No.” You tried again “Even just… a few minutes? I miss you.” “I said I’m busy.” He hadn’t meant it harshly, you tell yourself. But the words had still hit like a slap. You remember standing there, fingers tightening around the edge of the doorframe, waiting for him to glance your way. He never did.

Present

You’re still trembling when you hear the door creak open again. Heavy footsteps. A pause.

Shanks.

But you don’t move.

He calls your name once, quiet. Then again, more hesitant “Baby?”

You don’t answer. You just lay there, eyes shut.

He walks closer, then sits on the edge of the bed “I went to confirm the reservation,” he says carefully “For the place I told you about.”

Silence.

He swallows “I want to take you somewhere beautiful. Just us. No crew. No stress. I wanted it to be a surprise…”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Your voice is raw.

He flinches at the sound of it.

“I didn’t know how to fix it,” he admits “I thought if I just did something big enough, maybe I could make it up to you. Instead of facing how much I’d already let slip away.”

Your breath catches.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees “I keep thinking about how I’ve failed you. You married me, and I still made you feel like you were second to everything else in my life. That’s on me.”

You finally turn your head toward him “I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

The words land heavy. His shoulders tense.

“You’re everything I want,” he says hoarsely “I just forgot how to show it. And I was so damn afraid that if I turned around, you’d be gone.”

You sit up slowly, blanket still clutched to your chest “I wanted to leave. I started packing, twice. I kept wondering if I stayed, would it hurt worse than walking away.”

His eyes go glassy “You were gonna leave me?”

You nod, and it breaks him.

He falls to his knees beside the bed, burying his face in your lap “I deserve that. I deserve every second because of the way I made you feel.”

You stroke his hair, hands trembling “You don’t. But I was scared. You’re always looking out for the world, Shanks… and sometimes I wonder if you forget how small I am compared to it.”

He lifts his head, and the pain in his eyes is unbearable “You are my world.”

Then he reaches into his coat pocket.

A small, folded cloth. Inside some delicate jewelry, hand-crafted glass roses, a map with hand-drawn notes on the margins: circles around restaurants, sketches of views he wanted to show you.

“I went to the pleasure district because they know things, like what to buy, what’s romantic. I didn’t want to half-ass this. I wanted it to be perfect.”

Tears spill over your cheeks “You idiot.”

He chuckles weakly “That’s fair.”

“I don’t care about perfect.” You lean in, voice cracking “I just want you. Not a version of you that shows up with flowers once it’s already broken. I want you beside me when things start to crack.”

Shanks nods slowly “Then I’m here. From now on, I’m here.”

You’re both crying now. But this time it feels… healing.

When you lean in to kiss him, it’s slow. Deep. Raw. A kiss that tastes like sorrow and survival.

He presses his forehead to yours.

“Let me take you on this date.” he whispers “Let me try. Just one night, to remind you of us.”

You nod.

And in that quiet, your heart finally begins to piece itself back together.

The island air is warm as Shanks leads you up the winding path through the trees, fingers laced tightly with yours.

He doesn’t speak much, just gives your hand little squeezes now and then, like he’s afraid you’ll let go. You don’t.

You pass through ivy-covered archways and stone steps lit with lanterns, until you reach a quiet hilltop villa overlooking the sea.

It’s stunning.

Soft white fabric flows like waves around the open balcony. Candlelight flickers in tall glass lanterns, dancing over a table set for two. In the distance, waves crash softly against the rocks. But it’s the little details that stop your breath.

Your favorite flowers. A wine you once mentioned in passing, chilled and waiting. A pair of sandals that match the ones you lost on Dressrosa, placed by the door like a quiet apology.

“You remembered all this?” you ask softly.

“I never forgot.” Shanks murmurs “I was just too buried in my own head to show it.”

Your heart aches. But not the way it did before. This ache feels more like thawing.

You step inside the villa together. It’s private. Warm. Gentle lighting, music playing faintly in the background, a violin, lilting and slow.

Dinner is quiet at first.

You sip, you eat, you share pieces of food with soft smiles and hesitant fingers brushing. The air between you feels careful, like the two of you are still remembering how to breathe in each other’s rhythm.

And then, somewhere between the last bite and the second glass of wine, Shanks leans back and really looks at you.

“You wore that expression the first time we met” he says quietly, a ghost of a smile on his lips “Half curious, half like you already knew I’d ruin your life.”

You raise an eyebrow “You did ruin my life.”

“And you still said ‘I do.’”

You reach across the table and take his hand “Because even when you drive me insane, I know who you are underneath it. You’re not just a captain. Not just a Yonko. You’re the man who sits beside me when I cry and still calls me beautiful.”

He looks down, jaw tight “You scared me.”

You blink “I scared you?”

“You were slipping away, and I knew it, and I didn’t know how to stop it.” His voice is strained “I thought if I just held everything else together, the crew, the politics, the alliances, then we could get through it. But all I did was push you further.”

You let silence sit for a moment.

“Next time, just hold me.”

He nods, eyes glassy “Yeah. I will. I swear to you.”

Later, in the Villa bedroom the air gets softer. The light low, the sheets freshly turned, the balcony doors open to let the ocean whisper inside.

You both stand in the doorway for a moment, unmoving.

Then Shanks steps behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He rests his chin on your shoulder “You still feel far away.”

“I don’t mean to” you whisper.

“I know.” He kisses your neck slowly “Can I get closer?”

You nod, turning in his arms.

The kiss you share this time is deep but it’s not rushed. Not lust-driven or demanding. It’s reverent.

His hands slide to your hips, careful, asking. And you melt into him, fingers curled in his hair.

Clothes fall away slowly. Like they’re being forgiven piece by piece.

Every inch he touches is a wordless apology. Every kiss is a promise to never let things get this broken again.

He looks so open, so bare... eyes soft, lips parted like he’s still trying to breathe you in.

Your hand finds his cheek “You look at me like that, and I’ll never be able to stay mad at you.”

“I’m counting on it” he says with a quiet smile.

The kiss you share is slow, lazy, lingering like you’ve both been starving for each other. And you have.

You sigh against his mouth as his fingers slide down your back, over your waist, to your hip. The weight of his touch is steady, but unhurried.

“Can I touch you?” he asks softly, breath brushing over your jaw.

You nod, already melting beneath him “Please.”

He shifts over you, body flush against yours. The feeling of his skin against your own is overwhelming, warm, grounding, real. Every inch of contact feels like a reassurance.

His mouth traces your collarbone, then lower, pressing gentle kisses over the parts of you he missed, like he’s trying to memorize you again.

His hand finds your thigh, sliding up slowly.

You gasp when his fingers brush where you need him most, already wet, already aching. He groans quietly against your neck.

“You’re already soaked.”

“It’s you,” you breathe “It’s always you.”

He sinks two fingers inside you, slow and deep, curling them just right. You arch, hand fisting in the sheets as your body trembles under his touch.

“You feel so good like this” he murmurs, kissing your jaw.

When he finally moves over you, positioning himself between your legs, he doesn’t rush it. He just looks down at you, brows knit in something close to awe.

“I don’t deserve you” he whispers.

“Then earn me...” you whisper back.

And he does.

He pushes inside you slowly, forehead pressed to yours.

It’s lovemaking, real and deep and raw. His hands caressing your face, your thighs, your heart.

You whisper his name. Over and over. And he answers with soft gasps, broken praise, shaky murmurs of “I love you” between kisses.

When you come, it’s with your forehead pressed to his, tears in your eyes and nails digging into his back. And he follows just seconds later, trembling above you, holding you like he never wants to let go.

You end up wrapped in the sheets, tangled in limbs and whispered vows and bare skin warmed by candlelight. It’s not even about sex, though the want is there, steady and sweet, but it’s more about feeling. Rebuilding.

Later, lying against his chest, you trace slow shapes on his skin.

“I don’t need fancy” you murmur “I just need this.”

His voice is low against your hair “Then this is yours. Always.”

The villa is bathed in warm dawn light.

The ocean hums beyond the balcony, and the silk sheets are tangled around your legs. You don’t remember falling asleep, but you remember every second of last night, every whispered apology, every kiss, every way Shanks clung to you like he thought you’d vanish if he let go.

You shift slightly in the bed, and Shanks stirs behind you, breath brushing against your neck.

“Mornin’ beautiful” he murmurs, voice still low and rough with sleep.

You hum softly, stretching “I didn’t dream that, did I?”

His arm slips around your waist, pulling you closer “No, sweetheart. You’re right here.”

Shanks brushes a thumb along your cheek, your lips, your throat “You’re everything to me,” he says “You know that, right?”

“I do now.”

You kiss his knuckles and tuck yourself against his chest, warm and sore and whole again.

And this time, when you fall asleep, it’s without fear.

The villa is quiet again, but this time it’s not tense, but just slow and peaceful.

You stretch out on the linen sheets, the morning sun warming your skin. The space beside you is empty, but you can hear him in the next room, moving around, humming softly under his breath.

You smile before you even open your eyes.

A moment later, the door creaks open, and Shanks walks in shirtless, hair damp, a plate in one hand and two mugs in the other.

“Look at that,” you tease sleepily “You can be domestic.”

He grins “Only for you.”

He sets the tray on the bedside table and slides in beside you again. You sit up, and he hands you your favorite blend of tea without needing to ask. The mug is warm in your hands. His shoulder brushes yours, bare and solid.

You take a sip “This is nice.”

“It’s more than nice” he says, voice soft “It’s… right.”

You glance sideways. He’s looking at you like you’re made of glass, but not fragile. Precious.

“You okay?” you ask.

“I am now,” he says, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear “I don’t want to go back.”

You smile faintly “You mean the ship? Or reality?”

“Both.”

You lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder “We can’t stay here forever.”

“I know. But I wanted one more quiet morning before I go back to being Captain Red-Haired Shanks, Yonko of the New World.”

You chuckle “You forgot ‘disaster of a husband’ in there.”

He nudges you with a groan “Ouch. Low blow.”

You finish your tea in companionable silence, then finally, reluctantly, start to move.

As you dress, he watches you from the bed, chin in his hand, that lazy grin creeping back onto his face “I’m going to be annoying about you for the next month, you know.”

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow, pulling your shirt over your head.

“Mm. I’m gonna brag. To Benn. To Lucky. Hell, to Mihawk if he shows up. Gonna say, ‘See? That’s mine. I have someone who still loves me, even though I nearly fumbled it all.’”

You laugh, cheeks warm “They all already know that.”

He walks over, presses a kiss to your forehead “Yeah, but now I remember it again.”

Later on, the moment your boots hit the deck, you’re surrounded by the familiar sounds of the ship, the crew shouting to each other, seagulls overhead, the gentle groan of wood beneath your feet.

Benn is the first to approach, his expression unreadable “Welcome back, Captain. Y/N.”

You nod, trying not to shrink under his gaze. You’re not sure how much the crew knew… how much they saw before you left.

But Benn simply gives a short nod “Glad to see you two walking side by side again.”

Shanks smiles, hand settling warmly on your back “We’re more than side by side.”

Lucky Roux whistles from the helm “Damn right you are! Took you long enough, Captain!”

“You all knew?” you ask, half-embarrassed.

Yasopp grins from across the deck “We knew something was off. Man’s been moping like a kicked puppy for weeks.”

Shanks mutters, “I have not!”

“You were so depressing we started a betting pool” Bonk Punch adds.

Your eyes widen “A what?!”

“It ended yesterday,” Benn says, deadpan “Roux won. He bet you’d be back today.”

You cover your face with both hands while Shanks laughs, his arm tightening around your waist “God, I missed this dumb crew.”

“They missed you...” you say, a little quieter.

He leans down, presses his lips to your ear “I missed us.”

You look up at him, sunlight catching in the red of his hair, that boyish grin soft around the edges now, and suddenly you’re not afraid anymore.

Not of drifting. Not of breaking.

Because you both remembered how to reach for each other again.

That night, you’re wrapped in his arms in your shared quarters. The door is locked. The ship rocks gently beneath you. His fingers trace slow patterns on your back.

“I want more days like this,” he whispers “Not just now. Always.”

“You’ll have them,” you murmur “Just don’t shut me out when it gets hard again.”

“I won’t,” he promises “You’re my anchor. I only drifted because I forgot where shore was.”

You smile into his chest, heart calm for the first time in what feels like forever.

“I’m right here.”

And you are.

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kireilien · 8 days ago

Text

a crush’s mental games w/ donghyuck!

pair. crush!donghyuck x fem!reader; wc. 2,491

tw/cw. nsfw content, cursing, mentions of alcohol (main scene is at a dive bar), use of haechan’s real name; teasing dom!donghyuck, sub!reader, fem!reader, race neutral reader, hyuck “plots” on you (more like terrorizes the fuck outta you), mentions of other dreamies, forceful submission?, teasing, begging, humiliation?, auralism, reader is physically sensitive, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare, use of “pretty”

synopsis. when donghyuck suddenly starts to play his mental games with you, you think you’re starting to become crazy. after years on crushing on him, theres no way he gives you what you’ve needed all this time, right?

note. a repost from this request from a love letter!!! i’m really sad that it didn’t get the attention this deserved so i’m reposting it as a brain ramble bc it’s not in my typical love work style lol :3 this only slightly edited from the og so if you read it feel free to read it again!

one thing about hyuck is that he loves to get under your skin, but this time, it’s so he can get under your clothes. everything before this point has been casual. i mean, the two of you were simply friends in the same friend group for a few years— even if you did have a teensy little crush on him— it was still casual. he would say some stupid shit and that would be all. but there was a sudden switch in nature between the two of you, starting from last week.

he’d start your mental games by staring at you— with no rhyme or reason on days that your friend group met up. he’s staring at you, with this glint. you can’t put your finger on it, but every time he locks eyes with you, he raises a brow. it was almost as if you stared at him first. you obviously look away, feeling the hotness in your cheeks rise up. you would try everything in your power to ignore him but, hyuck is too smart for that. he’d keep going. inching you on bit by bit, making sure you were landing in the palm of his hand, and he’d never let go of you.

once you have the mental image of hyuck staring you down with those bold eyes of his, it can’t leave your brain. over and over, trying to remove and forget that look in your eyes— you can’t. it eats up your sleep. every time you try to sleep, he pops back up. this was exactly what he wanted. to have you constantly think of him— and no one else.

and so, hyuck would purposely not see you for only a few days. making sure that mental image is instilled and locked in. once those few days were over, he can finally terrorize you again. showing up at a random dive bar the two of you frequent at, he can see you across the room, chatting with your friends. to see if he really was imprinted on your mind, he makes himself stand out just a bit so you would notice.

“yo, mark, pass me the cue scuffer.”

the shiver down your spine was cold. lee fucking donghyuck was here. the man that you haven’t seen in a few days, but has eaten at your brain for those same days. he’s only a few feet away from you, though, your back was facing him. you thought you could be cool about it, thinking that you’re just crazy for thinking of him like that out of nowhere.

wrong!

“oh my god, hey guys!” jaemin would walk up near your table, “didn’t think you guys were here, wanna play some rounds with us?” you stay silent as your friends pondered if they’d want to play, but that was only a distraction for you. you completely forgot that he was there. you could see the sleeve of his shirt in your peripheral vision propped up against your table. you stayed focused, focusing on what your friends were saying but his voice.

god, you loved it.

and he knew it.

“guys, just a few rounds? spare us some time? hey, we’ll even buy you a few bottles— on us!” his warm breath fanned your exposed neck. you became hyper aware of his breaths that cascaded down. the way you could feel his laugh when one of your friends joked about not paying back— that’s how close he was. you’re not even facing him, but you know his facial expressions. you know the way his face is contorting by his speech alone. that’s how ingrained he was in your head.

you thought you could avoid it a little longer, but your friends just so happened to ask, “so you up for team rounds, y/n?” you snapped out of your thoughts, “y—yeah! sure.” jeno paired off each partnership with one of your friends and just so happened to say, “you should go with hyuck. you haven’t played much, right? he’s a good guy to listen to.” god fucking damn it, jeno.

hyuck passed it off, “yeah, that’s a good idea.” oh, yeah, sure, good idea my-fucking-ass. donghyuck was ecstatic. it wasn’t just a good idea, it was a splendid idea.

finally. he could put an even larger ‘him’ shaped worm in your head that will never leave your brain. he took this as an opportunity to really get in there. sink your brain to be completely filled with thoughts of him that could never escape you. every single thing he did took over your brain. the way he guided your cue stick around the table— not touching you though. he was just touching the cue stick. or every time you scored a ball hyuck would smile, staring at you at those cute brown eyes, silently congratulating you on that small feat. or every time you missed the ball, his eyes turn dark, his tongue poking at the side of his cheek, softly muttering a, “really, y/n?” close to your ear, but far from your body. every little fucking thing drove you crazy.

he practically conditioned you to be obsessed with him. you noticed every move, every motion, every tweak. everything. you noticed everything.

what got into him?

when the rounds were finally over you put away the cue stick and went to go grab your jacket. donghyuck stops you, “oh? leaving so early?” he quirks as you softly murmur, “i wanna go home.” donghyuck takes this as a chance to call out to everyone, “guys, y/n doesn’t feel too good, imma take her home! see you guys next time.” everyone nods and your friends bid you a goodbye as you walk out.

none of them knew.

none of them knew how batshit insane you felt. having lee donghyuck— the man who consumed every one of your thoughts walk you out. he successfully had you in the palm of his hand and you were never gonna leave it. not like you were planning to anyways.

once he drove you home to your apartment, he gets out with you and walks to your door in complete silence. you hurriedly get your keys to unlock it, hyuck laughs at you, “welp! since you’re in such a rush home i’ll head out—.” you cut him off by dragging him into your apartment and into your bedroom.

he’s got you bad.

sneakily locking your front door, he still pretends he doesn’t know what’s going on in your brain. when in reality, of course he fucking does. he conditioned you to act this way.

when you push him onto the bed as your legs give out, dropping yourself onto your knees in front of him. “why’d you do this to me,” mumbling under your breath. “what?” hyuck questions, pretending he didn’t hear you.

you repeat yourself, just a little louder.

hyuck still “can’t” hear you, he repeats.

a shaky breath leaves your lips, “why. did you. do this. to me?”

“what’s the ‘this,’ you’re talking about? i don’t know what i’ve been doing to you, y/n. i’ve been normal all this time. you just can’t tell me.” hyuck sighs as he looks you. your knees are spread, your hands are on your knees, your head is down, your eyes are peering up at him through your lashes. it almost looked like you were apologizing to him.

“you make me insane, donghyuck.”

“oh, do i?”

“yes, you do.”

“how insane?”

of course the least sane out of the two of you would ask that.

“you make my brain stop working. you make my breath stop whenever you do something. you make me so focused on whatever you do, it’s eating me away.” you grit in between your teeth. you were giving into him.

“i see,” he starts, “so what’re you gonna do with me?”

a quick snap of your head causes you to lock eyes with him. he’s peering down at you with those dark eyes again. those same dark eyes that’s been haunting you ever since he started staring at you. “tell me, pretty. what are you gonna do with me? tell me.” he sighs as his fingers grazes— no, ghosts your jaw. you can barely feel the pads of his fingertips. he’s not touching you. again.

“touch me,” you blurt.

donghyuck gives in and fully cups your jaw. your spine nearly gives out, you almost melt in his touch. “oh, is that what you’ve been wanting from me? you simply wanted my touch? you should’ve told me from the start, pretty.” his voice goes low when he speaks. his mouth is smooth above your hair, but you can still hear every vowel, every consonant of his words.

he only keeps his singular hand on your jaw as you look back at him. “aren’t you gonna touch me more?” you croak. he cocks his head, “what? you only said ‘touch me’ with no other indication where else. where do you want me to touch you?”

your brain is going on overdrive.

every single fucking word he says is making your arousal stain your panties like no other. he knows where to touch you. he just needs to hear it.

“touch my pussy.”

“oh, so now we’re suddenly being bold?”

bold wasn’t a good choice of word.

it was more of… obvious?

he drops his hand from your cheek and dips his hand underneath your skirt. your panties were uncomfortably sticky against your skin. if it wasn’t for the angle of where your legs were propped up at, you were sure you would’ve stained your floor with your nasty fluid. “oh-ho— fuck, you’re dripping,” hyuck hisses. he didn’t even expect this much out of you. he thought he was simply riling you up, just a little. not panties ruined type of deal. but what is he gonna do? ignore you? now it’s his turn to be obvious.

“so what now, pretty? what do you want me to do to you next? tell me. i know you can speak.”

“take off my clothes. take off your clothes. fuck me till i can’t look away from you ever again.”

“geez, you’re bold as fuck when i get you like this. should’ve done this sooner, amiright?”

you don’t even respond. he’s already stripping you of your clothes, discarding them who knows where in your room. he does the same. when the two of you are bare, you can’t help but hitch your breath under him. god he looks good— and that cock of his is pulsing with need. he diverts your attention away by gently tracing your body. every hair on your skin is reacting to his touch. you’re jolting every time he “accidentally” presses more of his fingertips on your skin.

donghyuck slowly comes close to your ear, a first of ever, “now. tell me you want it.” you shutter. you finally feel his breath right up against your ear. the voice that’s been tantalizing your nerves from the start, they flow through your veins. god, he has you down. “i want— it.” you struggle with your words, and hyuck doesn’t like that. “what’s ‘it,’ y/n?”

again.

again with the choosing of words.

“i want your cock, donghyuck.”

“then beg for it, pretty.”

you flex your jaw, “i need your cock, donghyuck. i need it so fucking bad. i need it— your cock.” he exhales as a laugh, “yeah you need it? wasn’t that fucking hard to admit it,” when donghyuck curses, he thrusts harshly into your cunt. he gazes your face, your jaw is already slack, letting go of the tension you had. he continues still, “could’ve spent days getting fucked into you mattress by me— but you’re a little too shy for that, pretty. gotta make you do everything. i can’t have you just get what you want. you gotta tell me. but i guess— you can let go now. let me fill you up the way that you wanted all this time. don’t even need to say anything anymore. just listen to me talking you to filth. yeah— i’m a ‘good guy to listen to,’ right, pretty?”

and donghyuck was right.

you let everything go. you’re allowing your body to get dug into the mattress by hyuck’s hips— exactly how you needed. you’re allowing him to touch and grip your body the way you’ve been needing. you’re allowing him to read your mind to say and do the things you’ve always needed him to say.

it was about you.

it always was.

“gotta let this pussy clench on— me, the way it always— wanted, no— needed. pathetically fucking moaning as if i’m— not even here. god, if you just admitted it sooner— maybe i could’ve fucked this pussy how you needed.” donghyuck is pressing his cock deeper than ever. his precum is staining your gummy walls, making them molded to his cock. his hands are still and tight against your hips. his groans and moans of your name are bound to his lips.

it’s what you needed.

it’s also what he needed.

once your orgasm nears, you grip onto the nape of his neck, “fuck— donghyuck— ‘m gonna cum— soon,” you exhale. “got you— i got you— c’mon cum over me, pretty,” he grunts out, also feeling his orgasm nearing the edge. in one snap, the two of you release on each other. you’re clenching around his cock as he spurts his cum deep. donghyuck slips himself out, watching how his cum is rolling out of your pussy and pooling at the sheets. he chuckles lightly before dropping by your side, taking you in as you slides his hands down your back.

he makes small faint circles at the small of your back when you’re taking a breather after your orgasm. when you finally calm down, hyuck asks, “got what you needed?” you sigh, “yes of course.” you’re feeling your eyelids go heavy after speaking. hyuck allows you to let them flutter closed before his faintly rests his chin on your head, “of course you did.”

when you wake up the morning after, you see how hyuck is scrolling on his phone, you ask the big question you've been meaning to ask. “oh yeah, what got into you last week?” hyuck drops his phone to your side table, “what do you mean?” you scrunch your brows at him, “the whole mental games thing with me? how’d you know i had a crush on you? thought i was discreet about it,” you slightly scoff.

“you were. just decided to finally show you my crush on you.”

snapping your head to finally face him, you nearly sputter, “what?!” hyuck laughs at your response, “it’s hard to naturally show a crush when we’ve been friends for a long ass time.” you click your tongue, “so instead of just asking me out, you just decided to start terrorizing me?” hyuck hums,

“i mean… you were hot on your knees and pleading of how you needed me!”

#♡︎ lien love mailers #kpop hard thoughts #kpop smut #kpop hard hours #nct hard hours #nct smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #haechan smut #lee haechan smut #donghyuck smut #lee donghyuck smut #nct 127 hard hours #nct 127 hard thoughts #nct dream hard hours #nct dream hard thoughts

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universefcb · 3 months ago

Note

hey! Can I ask some arguing with Pedri? for the reason you want, please <3

Have a nice day!

↬❥ Pregnancy stress

Pedri Gonzalez x Reader!fem

Synopsis: You are expecting a baby, and because of the pregnancy hormones and the stress of the game, you and Pedri end up fighting.

a/n: I don't know what to write here.

REQUESTED

warnings: no.

And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

The clock was almost nine o'clock when Pedri entered the house, his shoulders tense and his eyes tired. Training had been tough, and his head was a mess. He barely had time to take off his boots when he heard his girlfriend's impatient tone coming from the kitchen.

“Have you finally decided to show up?” she said, her voice breaking.

He sighed, tossing his boots aside. “Please don’t start.”

She turned to face him, her rounded six-month belly exposed beneath a tight blouse. Her eyes were bright, not just with anger, but with frustration and exhaustion.

“Don’t you start? Do you have any idea what this day has been like? You promised you would come early. I felt sick, I was alone, I could barely eat... and you didn’t even send me a message!”

“I’m doing what I can!” he snapped, his voice louder than he intended. “You think this is easy? I’m killing myself in training, trying to keep my head on straight, and I still have to deal with this?”

She recoiled as if she had been slapped. The silence between them was instantaneous, heavy. Tears began to stream down her face, and she turned away, offended, hurt.

“This? I’m ‘this’ now?”

“No... no, that’s not what I meant,” he tried to correct, but it was too late. She trudged up the stairs, refusing any attempt he made to follow her.

Night fell, cold and silent.

Hours later, Pedri was still on the couch, staring into space. Guilt was eating away at him. He couldn't get her face out of his head, hurt by the words he had said in the heat of the moment. He wasn't like that. Not with her. And especially not now, when she needed him the most.

He went upstairs slowly, his heart heavy. He opened the bedroom door carefully. She was lying on her side, discreetly wiping away another tear.

“Love…” he began, his voice cracking. “I’m an idiot.”

She didn't answer right away, just stared into the darkness. He walked over to the bed and knelt down beside her.

“I’m so tired… so stressed… but none of that justifies what I said.” His voice broke. “Seeing you cry because of me… it destroys me. I love you, and I swear to you, I’m trying to be strong for both of us. But today, I failed. And I hate myself for it.”

She turned slowly, seeing his face wet with tears, his eyes red and sincere.

“I just wanted you here,” she whispered. “Not perfect, not solving everything. Just… here.”

Pedri lay down next to her, hugging her with all the care in the world, as if he were holding something sacred. Silently, he slid his hand over her rounded belly, feeling the warmth of her skin and the small life growing there.

“I’m sorry, little one,” he murmured, closing his eyes, his palm resting on his belly. “Daddy promised to be better for you and Mommy. I promise I’ll try.”

She let out a sigh, her eyes filling with tears, but this time it wasn't from sadness—it was emotion.

And then, as if understanding the moment, the baby moved. Pedri's eyes widened, a weak, surprised smile escaping her lips.

“She heard me,” he whispered, chuckling softly.

“Yes…” she replied, with a small smile. “And so do I.”

He continued to caress her belly, placing a soft kiss there, before resting his forehead on her rounded belly.

“I love you both,” he said, his voice breaking.

And in that silence between two tired hearts and a third beating strongly inside her, Pedri knew that he would never again let the weight of the world make him forget what really mattered.

Taglist: @paucubarsisimp @p4uul0vr @nngkay @meganesanchez @bymerinott @htpssgavi @luvvpedri @moonvr @joaosnovia (If you want to come in, just ask!)

#barcelonafanfic #fc barcelona #universefcb #pedri gonzalez x you #pedri gonzalez x reader #pedri imagine #pedri x reader #pedri gonzalez x y/n #pedri gonzález x reader #pedri Gonzalez x oc #pedri gonzalez #pedri fanfic #football x y/n #football x oc #football x reader #football imagine #football #barcelona x reader #barcelona femeni

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sixosix · 2 years ago

Text

(OFFICIALLY) SWEPT OFF YOUR FEET

i. summary in which everyone knew you were in a relationship, except for you.

ii. warnings wc 1.5k, profanity, reader will be angry: couple fight scene but not really, alhaitham is kinda dumb here, but he loves you and you love him and that's all that matters, ending is kinda lame... ft. tighnari and cyno

iii. written for my big sibling @earthtooz hope u like this one earf ily

“Hey, Alhaitham?”

He hums noncommittally.

You nestle further in his arm that’s draped lazily over your shoulder, his other hand and his attention occupied by a book. He doesn’t respond again, but he does glance at you for a moment while you shift, adjusting his arm more comfortably.

“Tighnari sent me a letter the other day.”

“Hm.”

“And it was real sweet, you know. He sent over fruits and told me you have your share in my package. He didn’t want to send them to you because he said the fruits would have expired by the time you’d read the letter.” Alhaitham doesn’t deny it. “But I read something extremely strange in the letter that had me dropping the fruits out of pure shock.”

Alhaitham still doesn’t reply. But you know him well enough to know that he’s no longer reading—just keeping appearances.

“Did you read it?”

“...No.”

Obviously. “Ah, well. Let me quote it, as I feel the need to share it with you as well.” You sit up straight and push Alhaitham’s book away from his line of view. “He said, ‘For the insufferable, lovely couple. It’s been a while since you two have visited. How are you and Alhaitham doing? Write back soon.’ And then he taped a flower.”

Alhaitham’s mouth twitches into a half-smile. “You look miffed.”

You scowl. “Alhaitham, of course I’m miffed! Since when were we a lovely couple? And why are you not surprised? Were you the one to prank them?”

“No one’s trying to fool anyone,” he says smoothly, picking up his book once again. As if he just hasn’t caused your crisis. “Tighnari is simply being a good friend and looking for something to nag us about.”

“Alhaitham, since when were we a couple?” you demanded again, shaking his arm. “Did I miss something? Did I wake up one day and forget about being in a relationship with you?”

“Haven’t we always been in one?”

“No, we have not?”

Alhaitham casts you a glance. “You sound unsure.”

“Because you seem so sure of yourself for no reason,” you fume, itching with the urge to hurl the book at his face. “I didn’t even know you were even into me like that!”

“I let you kiss me on the cheek every night before you leave my house. Sometimes, you don’t even leave my house, so we sleep on the same bed.” As if that explains anything. And did he fling out these reasons to Tighnari, too?

“Well, I do it because I’ve been doing it since we were, like, six. And you never told me to stop. Plus, it’s just a cheek kiss—that’s way different from an actual kiss actual couples do,” you say, getting increasingly infuriated with each word that’s coming out your mouth. Why do you have to explain how relationships work to Alhaitham? Surely he’s read a guide about love in the millions of books he’s touched?

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t start kissing me the way couples do, then.”

Oh, this bitch. “So you knew that I liked you?” Your voice wavers, and you feel a little pathetic. “And that’s what prompted you to start spreading lies to everyone? Is this some joke to you?”

Immediately, his expression is swept off of amusement. “Y/N,” he says as you feel your lips tremble. “Y/N, that’s not—”

“Shut up,” you say. “How long has this been going on? Since when have I been outside of the biggest inside joke, huh?”

“It’s not like that. I thought—”

“Oh, you thought, didn’t you? Yet you didn’t think I don’t want my feelings to be played like—like—” You can’t even bring yourself to say this. You know that Alhaitham can be mean when he wants to be, but making a joke out of the feelings you’ve desperately hidden for years?

“I need to leave.” You’re not sure why you feel the need to announce it. Was it because you rarely even leave his place? Each step feels wrong. You don’t want to be mad at Alhaitham to this extent but you’re hurt.

You ignore Alhaitham’s hurried, “Where are you going?” because you don’t have an answer to that. Wherever you go, you always end up in Alhaitham’s arms.

You forcefully push the door open and march off, head spinning, humiliated. You hear Alhaitham’s steps fall into place after yours. It’s pissing you off even more that Alhaitham doesn’t even look the slightest bit frazzled, as if you impulsively sprinting off is just a walk in the block for him.

Then you spot Cyno in the middle of a street. He catches your wrist before you can avoid him.

He blinks, mildly surprised to see it’s just you and not some food stall thief. “Y/N.” Cyno tilts his head slightly to acknowledge the man a few feet away from you. “Alhaitham. Is something the matter?”

“It’s nothing!” You don’t question why or how Cyno is here, shoving him aside—which proved to be a little difficult given how he’s pretty strong for such a tiny man.

“You’re crying,” Cyno points out as you try to push him away as if you aren’t aware of how your face feels uncomfortably hot and how tears are sliding off your cheeks.

“It’s a marital dispute,” Alhaitham says, directly behind you.

His voice makes you scowl. So infuriatingly sexy, and you’re mad at it. “We’re not married!”

Cyno nods, serious. “Yes, I only heard about the engagement.” At your stunned silence and Alhaitham’s reluctant stillness, Cyno clears his throat and steps aside. “I suppose I’ll leave you two to it. I don’t know how relationships work.”

You groan as Cyno walks off, “Great, so even Cyno thinks we’re a couple. Who’s next, Lesser Lord Kusanali?”

Alhaitham looks away. “Well—”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Your wrist seems keen on being dragged around by men today, it seems. Alhaitham firmly tugs at your arm, pulling you close to his chest, his gaze intensely searching yours. But all he would be able to see is your scowl. And all you can see is his handsome face.

“Y/N,” Alhaitham says, your name in his voice a sweet murmur. “I’m sorry I upset you. I didn’t think you would react that way.”

“What, you think I’d just roll with it?” you spit with dripping bitterness.

“Yes.” You're taken aback as you gaze at him and find his expression to be entirely genuine and open. “We fell into a friendship so easily. I fell in love with you the same way: naturally. I thought…” And then his usually blank face twists into something unpleasant. “Forgive me.”

“Alhaitham, you idiot. You bastard. Do you have any idea how relationships work?”

“No. All I know is how to be with you.” He wipes a tear off your cheek. “But it appears I’m not even doing that right.”

“Fuck you.” You bat his hand away. His face falls. “You don’t get to act all sweet to me like that. I spent years thinking you would never see me that way, and you get to decide one morning that we’re in a relationship, just like that?”

“You’ve liked me for years?” Alhaitham’s eyes are a bit wide, totally missing the point.

“Alhaitham.”

“I ask you out every dinner. And you say yes each time.”

“I didn’t think you meant it like that!”

“I did mean it like that,” Alhaitham says, and again with that ‘so sure of myself’ personality. You hate it. You love it. “And I meant everything I’ve ever said to you like that. I didn’t tell anyone anything; they just assumed on their own, and only then did I realize how it did seem that way. It was my selfishness that didn’t try to deny their assumptions.”

Alhaitham’s usually so difficult to speak to, especially when it comes to expressing his true emotions. You often find yourself filling the silence, and he seems content with it. However, he appears desperate at this moment, as though you’re planning on leaving if he doesn’t give you a reason to stay.

You are too weak. “So you like me.”

“I do.”

“…And you want to… be in a relationship with me.” Alhaitham nods. You're beginning to feel flustered as the realization sets in that the man you've always dreamt of is holding you intimately in the middle of nowhere, and also confessing that he feels the same way. “Ask me out properly, then.”

Alhaitham looks at you incredulously. Did he think it was over?

“Do it, Alhaitham. Woo me. Win me over. Sweep me off my feet.”

“...Y/N,” he hesitates, his face tinted pink, vaguely embarrassed. “Go out with me. In that way.”

It sounds demanding and clumsy, but it’s perfectly Alhaitham, so your heart beats out of your chest and your face splits into a grin all the same.

You wrap your arms around his neck. “If you’re gonna be my boyfriend, you’re going to do it right, you hear me? You won’t just let me do anything. And you will start—officially—tomorrow by telling everyone that we are not engaged nor married.”

Alhaitham dips his head down, your chin trapped by his fingers. “We will be, eventually, though. And I can just start now. Officially.”

Your confusion doesn’t last for even a second when his lips meet yours in a kiss. You’ve been wooed. Won over. Swept off your feet.

earth i hope u know it took me months to find a good plot for your man this was a feat in itself. also i copy pasted your tags love u.

also if u caught the title while it was called swept over your feet shut up…. Please. this didnt have a title originally 🙁

#alhaitham x reader #al-haitham x reader #alhaitham x you #al haitham x reader #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham fluff #al-haitham fluff #genshin x reader #alhaitham fic #genshin fic #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin impact #alhaitham x y/n

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steveseddie · 4 months ago

Text

pencil me in

written for the @steddiebingo kissing booth mini event | prompt: heart | rating: t | wc: 1,5k | tags: pre relationship, misunderstandings, dramatic eddie

read on ao3

Eddie arrives at Steve’s house with a mission– he’s finally going to ask him out on a date. A Valentine’s Day date where he’ll romance the hell out of Steve.

If he says yes, that is.

Eddie has his doubts, of course he does, but he also has reasons to believe this might work out. Reasons to believe that Steve might like him back.

Those are what gets Eddie to the front door where he rings the doorbell before whatever doubts he has make him turn around and leave.

His resolve falters slightly when Steve opens the door, dressed in sleeping clothes but somehow still looking as beautiful as ever. But he bounces right back when he notices that the shirt Steve is wearing is his Black Sabbath shirt. Little things like these are what make Eddie think he might actually score a date today.

“Eddie, hey.” Steve flashes him that lopsided grin that Eddie thinks he saves just for him. Another one of those little things.

Eddie waves, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Hi, Stevie.”

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Steve says, pushing his hair back. A stubborn strand of hair falls back over his forehead, making him huff in annoyance. “We– we didn’t have plans, did we?”

Eddie tsks. “I’m offended you think you could forget you and I had plans. Do you care so little about me?” He asks, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout.

Steve’s eyes dart to his lips for a split second before he rolls them. “Okay, drama queen,” he says, fondness lacing his tone. “Do you wanna come in or not? I was just about to have coffee.”

“Well, when you offer so nicely,” he teases, patting Steve’s cheek as he steps into the house.

He follows him to the kitchen and watches as he pours coffee in two mugs. The whole time Eddie is nervously playing with his rings, thinking about what he’s here to do.

He stops only when Steve hands him one of the mugs. “There you go. There’s milk in the fridge and I already added two spoonfuls of sugar.”

Eddie can’t help but melt like he does every time Steve remembers details about him– the way he likes his coffee, that he hates pickles, that strawberry is his favorite milkshake. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, walking to the fridge while Steve takes a sip from his own coffee. Black, like a heathen.

See? Eddie remembers things about Steve too. Then again, he’s also in love with the guy.

Time to do something about that, Eddie thinks.

“So, uh, Valentine’s Day is coming up,” he says, trying to steer the conversation where he wants it.

Steve leans back against the counter. “Mhm,” he hums into his coffee. “Are you going door to door telling people Valentine’s Day is a capitalistic holiday and an excuse for companies to make more money?”

Eddie clutches his chest. “Harrington, did you actually pay attention to my rants back in school?”

Steve chokes on his coffee, a slight pink tinge shading his cheeks. “N–No, I mean, I might’ve heard some of it, you’re loud, man. ‘S not like I had a choice.”

“Sure, Stevie,” Eddie says, shooting him a dimpled grin. “Anyway, no, I didn’t come here to lecture you about holidays being capitalist days of overconsumption.”

Steve tilts his head. “Why did you come here then?”

Eddie’s stomach churns as he realizes this is it. His fingers tighten around his coffee and he remembers he didn’t grab the milk. He thinks that something to do while asking Steve out might make things a little easier.

“Yeah, so I was thinking–” he starts, reaching for the fridge door, but the rest of the words die in his throat when he notices something on it.

See, like the Mother Hen that he is, Steve keeps a calendar on his fridge where he writes down everything from work shifts and doctor’s appointments to after-school pick-ups and group movie nights.

The first time Eddie saw the calendar, he wanted to call Steve a dork and tease him for having to keep track of his kids like that. But when he saw his name there, something warm bubbled up in his chest at the reminder that he was part of the group, of their lives, of Steve’s life. That they didn’t drop him as soon as the Upside Down was defeated. And just like that, making fun of Steve didn’t seem so important anymore.

Now, several months later, Eddie’s name is all over the calendar, but this time, that’s not what shuts him up.

No, it’s the word date written on the tiny square for February 14th, and the heart drawn around it.

Of course Steve has plans for Valentine’s Day. Of course it’s too late for Eddie to ask him out.

Of fucking course the moment he finally decides to make a move on Steve, he’s already got himself a date with someone else.

“Eddie?” Steve asks, snapping Eddie out of his spiral. He tears his eyes from that damn heart and glances at Steve, who’s waiting for him to finish what he was saying.

To finish asking him out. Except, he can’t do that anymore.

“I– I have to go,” he says instead, leaving his untouched coffee on the counter and backing away.

“What?”

“Yeah, I forgot I– I have to help Wayne with– uh, something.”

Steve’s eyebrows knit together. “Eddie–”

“Thanks for– for the coffee,” Eddie stammers out.

Steve huffs. “You didn’t even drink it.”

He takes two steps towards Eddie, who takes two steps back. “Sorry, I– I have to go.”

“Weren’t you gonna ask something about Valentine’s Day?” Steve asks when Eddie pivots and heads towards the door.

“Nope! Bye, Steve. Have fun with your date!”

“My– date?” Steve’s voice is laced with confusion. “Eddie, wait!”

Eddie doesn’t want to. He wants to leave, but Steve grabs him by the arm and pulls him to an abrupt stop.

He still won’t meet Steve’s eyes, though. At least not until Steve gives him no other choice by cupping his cheeks and forcing Eddie to look at him. He can’t help the way his stomach flutters at the touch and how close their faces are like this, and he has to remind himself that Steve has a date. This doesn’t mean anything.

“Why did you really come here, Eds?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” Steve huffs, his thumb brushing over Eddie’s cheek. “Because for a moment it seemed like you were here to ask me out on a Valentine’s Day date.”

Eddie groans, averting his gaze. “Steve, I said it doesn’t matter now–”

“Yes, it does!” Steve repeats, his arms falling to his sides in frustration.

Yeah, well. Eddie is frustrated too, damn it.

He crosses his arms over his chest. “It doesn’t because you already have a date!”

“Says who?”

“Your calendar, Steve!” He snaps. “The heart? The date you’ve got scheduled for Friday?”

“Yeah,” he says, “with you!”

What?

Eddie blinks. “But– you haven’t asked me.”

“I was going to,” Steve says softly. “But then you beat me to it.”

“Oh,” Eddie breathes, his heart picking up speed. Steve was going to ask him out. Holy shit.

“Yeah. So, are you gonna finish what you started or should I?” Steve says, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a tiny smirk.

This time, Eddie doesn’t hesitate, his doubts gone now. “Stevie, do you want to go on a date with me on Valentine’s Day?”

“Yeah, Eds, I do,” he says, his smirk turning into that lopsided grin he saves just for Eddie.

He only gets a glimpse of that grin before Steve swoops in and presses their lips together, softly at first. When Eddie makes a noise in the back of his throat and grabs a hold of his own Black Sabbath shirt to pull Steve closer, he kisses him harder, his tongue darting out and swiping along Eddie’s bottom lip. Eddie parts his lips, letting him in. He wraps his arms around Steve’s shoulders and stumbles back a few steps until his back hits the fridge, knocking a couple of magnets to the floor.

At the sound, Steve pulls back, his eyes focusing on something next to Eddie’s head as his lips twitch upwards. Before Eddie can ask what he’s looking at, Steve grabs the marker stuck to the fridge and writes something on the calendar.

Curious, Eddie turns his head. Now where they used to say just date Steve added something else.

Date with Eddie.

That same warm and fluttery feeling from the first time he saw his name there comes back, only tenfold. And so does the need to tease Steve.

“Can’t believe you had our date scheduled even before you asked me,” he says with a shake of his head. “That’s pretentious of you, sweetheart.”

Steve shrugs. “I was right, wasn’t it?” He says, grinning smugly.

With a laugh, Eddie agrees. “Damn right, you were,” he says, pulling Steve in for another kiss.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddiebingokiss #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #monse writes #hello i have three fics left to write before saturday for this mini event can i do it? maybe

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cherriive · 1 month ago

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﹒⌗﹒scream ⸝⸝

synopsis :: with people dying every here and there, you never expected that you were the next victim, or that your (almost) murderer was so cute

info :: wlw, f reader, use of yn but it's written in second pov (you), mentions of murderers and threats (like cutting or killing someone) not proofread, if there's anything else please tell me!

Minjeong was the usual nerdy, shy girl that barely anyone knew something about her. Only her group friend that had other three girls talked to her.

Though, she had always caught your attention for some reason.

Being popular and maintaining a persona wasn't the easiest task in the world, especially when you didn't want people to hate you for being the usual mean girl. Which meant you often got remembered as the nice girl who didn't had beef with anyone.

Oh if only they knew how much you hated those people, and that stupid school, and the teachers-

You know what I mean.

But who cares. As long as you kept with the nice girl facade, no one would even bat an eye on how you actually felt.

Everyone was dumb enough to believe in your act anyway. Everyone but Minjeong.

The girl that had something in her that made you wanna know more about her was the only one who wasn't fooled by you and your antics.

Not that you knew that of course. And it didn't help how whenever you tried to say a 'Good morning, Minjeong!' she would just roll her eyes or straight up ignore you. Seriously, what's her problem? And why do you feel the need to get closer to her?

Today, you heard one of your "friends" talk about the new victim. A lot of people have been dying lately, but no one knew why or who was doing this. All they knew, was that they used that ugly mask.

But you didn't wanna think about it. It was way too dark and depressing to talk about those murders, so you opted in pretending you were absolutely clueless about it!

“Have you seen? They made a new victim!”

“Don't say this near yn, she's sensitive..”

“Oh yeah, my bad.”

And that's how your days went, smiling and faking innocence, just wanting to get through high school already.

But Minjeong had other plans.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, hahaha. I'll try to not forget about it next time, sorry.”

“You're so careless yn! But it's alright, until next week.”

Finally. You felt so tired.

You were supposed to go out with your friends tonight, but you had no interest in doing so, preferring to just be in the comfort of your home.

But of course they needed a good excuse for you to not go, otherwise they might've showed up in your door forcing you to go with them. Thankfully that's not a problem.

Grabbing the popcorn from the microwave, you opened the window to breath some fresh air, before quickly making your way to the living room.

You sat down on the couch, getting ready to watch a random horror movie. The perfect way to spend a night alone!

Before you could even focus back on the movie playing, someone called you again. Huh? Was your excuse not good enough?

Whatever, just answer it and say you're sick or something.

“Hey, sorry I couldn't go, really-”

“Hello, yn.”

...

What.

Who was this?

How did they know your name?

And what kind of weird voice does this person has?

“Who are you?!” – you tried to not sound too scared while also keeping that mask on. Maybe it was just a prank, it didn't hurt to be safe.

You swear you heard a very quick laugh from the phone, but tried not to think too much about it.

“I just wanna talk to you.”

“Why? Who are you?”

“it's not important. Do you want to play a game with me?”

Okay now that was just weird. You didn't know who this person was, and now they're asking for you to play a game with them.

But something told you, maybe, just maybe it's one of your friends, pranking you. Who knows?

So, you decided to go with the worst option you had.

“What game?”

You tried to do your best sweet voice so maybe the person on the other side of the line would have some kind of mercy on your person.

“A game of questions. I'll just ask you a few things and you answer me honestly, hm? How about that?”

You should just hang up. This is stupid. Probably one of those weirdos from school that hate you for no reason trying to spook you.

... But for some reason you didn't.

“Okay.” – another laugh came from the phone, making you slightly shiver.

“Good choice.”

You anxiously waited on the couch, looking around the living room to find some comfort in the familiarity of your own home.

“Do you like horror movies?”

What an odd question.

“Yeah, I do. Why?”

“Hmm.. What's your favorite horror movie, then?”

“I don't know, I guess slashers? Any kind of slasher as long as it's alright enough it's good for me.”

There was silence for a moment, as if the person on the phone with you was thinking about your answer.

A satisfied hum came from them, and soon spoke up.

“Do you like people dying?”

What. How did we go from movies to this.

“Wh.. What? Of course not. What kind of question is that?”

“Answer the question yn.”

This was the breaking point for you. This was starting to get out of hand, and you were not going to talk with this weird person anymore.

Without thinking twice you hang up, trying to understand what the fuck had just happened.

But before you could get back to your senses and pay attention to the long forgotten movie again, your phone started to ring.

Your hands were trembling, but you hesitantly picked up the call.

“You know it's very rude to hang up in the middle of a conversation?”

There it was, that stupid voice that was making you more nervous than you wanted.

“What do you want?!”

You tried your best to avoid showing how nervous you felt right now, but everything was thrown out of the window when you heard those damn words.

“I want you to just stay right where you are in your living room. Is that 'Stab'?"

What. The. Fuck.

How did they know that? Wait, were they watching you? Oh no. Oh no no no. This wasn't happening.

You quickly closed the curtains in the room, making sure to lock the front door while still holding your phone, and that's when you heard them laughing.

Not chuckling, not giggling, full on laughing.

“You think that's going to help you? You should stop worrying about being friendly to everyone and start worrying about your windows.”

Oh fuck. The kitchen.

Without giving a damn about staying the in living room, you ran to the kitchen and – oh there it was. The open window.

But there was nothing wrong with your kitchen. At least you couldn't see anything.

You slowly went back to the living room, phone in your hand, looking around nervously. You didn't know what to think or to expect right now.

What wasn't on your list was to hear the same voice from your phone right behind you, in your ear.

“You gotta learn to be more careful, ynnie.”

Your surcival instincts kicked in, and you almost turned around. Almost. If it wasn't for the feeling of a knife right against the back of your neck.

“Ah, ah, ah. Don't move..”

There wasn't a single word that could describe the mix of emotions currently inside you.

But the main would definitely be fear.

Is this where your life ends? You never did anything wrong to deserve this! Maybe you did lie every here and there, but come on, who's really 100% honest?

Suddenly you got snapped out of your thoughts by the person – that you could now see the ghostface costume they're wearing – pushing you against a wall, turning you around to face them.

“I like this expression on you better than that fucking stupid persona you have.”

If it was under any other circumstances, you'd have defended yourself. But the knife was still there.

“Everyone else might be dumb enough to believe in those lies you tell everyone, but I'm not. And I don't like liars.”

As they spoke, they slowly got closer. And closer. Until your nose was almost touching the mask on their face.

It was terrifying. But oddly thrilling.

Before you could say something, the masked person suddenly took off the scary mask and –

Wait, what.

“Minjeong?!”

“Oh, you know my name?”

The voice that once sounded so weird from how many effects it had, now was just a normal feminine voice. She tried to hold back a smirk, but seeing the shocked expression you were doing was just too good.

“What-.. Why are you..”

She just held the knife closer to your neck, making you instantly shut up and swallow down any words you had in your tongue.

“Shut up. You're so infuriating. Always having that dumb face on while pretending all the time. It's so annoying.”

Minjeong looked at you, her eyes travelling through your whole figure with annoyance, mixed with something you couldn't exactly put a finger at yet.

“And still.. You still managed to catch my attention. I wish I could just rip this pretty face of yours..”

You almost flinched when she said that. Who wouldn't? Especially with how the knife was almost cutting your neck. And then Minjeong retracted the knife back with a sigh.

“But I can't bring myself to.”

There were zero and a million thoughts in your head at the same time. Minjeong is absolutely crazy, that's for sure. But the angry face she had was so, so cute.

And that thought alone was enough to make you even crazier than her.

“.. You want to kill me because you have a crush on me?”

“Shut up, that's not what I said.”

You really wanted to believe that when Minjeong put that knife on your neck again she wanted to kill you. You really did.

Yet it was so hard to when her cheeks were clearly red despite the lack of light in the room – except for the tv that was still on.

“Why don't you shut me up?”

“I'm going to cut your voice chords off.”

That was so stupid that you only managed to laugh softly, looking at her differently from how you always had. Now you knew why she caught your attention too.

Minjeong took a few deep breaths, calming herself down and then looked at you with a more neutral, yet soft expression on her face.

She got closer to your face, her warm breath against your cheeks giving you a feeling you never thought you'd feel because of her.

“If you tell anyone about me I promise to kill you and everyone in that school.”

“Will I get more late night visits if I keep my mouth shut?”

“Fuck you.”

She almost spat when saying this, but from how quickly Minjeong turned around to hide her face you guessed she was blushing again.

And she definitely was.

Minjeong took a step back and finally took the knife away – which was still scarying you a bit – and gave you a.. A flower? When did she got that? Was it under her costume?

“Here. For you.”

“... You know there are more conventional ways to give someone a flower without threatening to kill them, right?”

She rolled her eyes, holding back the urge to tell you to fuck yourself again. Especially since you were treating this like something completely normal after seeing it was her. Was she not scary enough?

“I'm going.” – you heard Minjeong say, turning around and walking away. But before she stepped away you put a hand on her shoulder, grabbing her attention.

“Wait! Are you going to come back?”

“... Maybe.”

It wasn't a yes, but it wasn't a no. And that was enough. You just wanted to see Minjeong again without her being the quiet kid from your school, and without pretending.

“Alright. Thank you for the flower Minjeong.”

“Just call me Winter.”

“Huh? Why?”

“It's what my close friends call me.”

You smiled, nodding your head. It was cute she gave you a nickname only her friends knew about.

And with that last interaction, she put on her mask again. You only looked away for two seconds after a loud sound from the tv, and when you looked for Minjeong again, she had disappeared.

Wow. What a night. A good, night.

a/n :: so erm I didn't do my school work but I finished this, so yay?? i hope it's good enough😭

#೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 writing ⠀ᰋ #aespa #aespa x reader #aespa x fem reader #aespa x you #aespa winter #winter x reader #kim minjeong #minjeong x reader #kim minjeong x reader #kpop #kpop x reader

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delopsia · 11 days ago

Text

heat lightning | rhett abbott x reader

Word Count: 17,200 Read on AO3 Warnings/Notes: 18+ MDNI. AFAB! Reader, Alpha/Beta/Omega AU. Alpha! Rhett, Omega! Reader, friends to lovers, elements of forbidden love. Thunderstorms, violence, bar fights, semi-major injuries, blood, take note that the Reader does get punched in the face (by a random man) once. Sex pollen, mating cycles, cunnilingus, blowjobs, squirting, knotting. Eventual happy ending! Synopsis: In the back of your mind, you know what this is: the thinly veiled attempt at pretending that this is possible. You and him. A dreamy, happily ever after, where you don't have to worry about the money of a rich man putting your safety at risk. That world will never exist.

The distant rumble of thunder is what rouses you from the depths of your sleep-hazed mind, gingerly whisking away the remnants of a dream that you've already begun to forget, something about a retro hotel and a receptionist. Or...maybe he was a housekeeper. Manager? The answer isn't coming to you. Maybe if you clear your mind, you'll fall back asleep and pick up right where you left off.

Thunder rolls again. It's closer this time; you can feel the vibration of it beneath your ear.

No...that's not right.

Warm breath fans out against your forehead, tickling so lightly that you only notice it when you focus on the sensation itself. A splayed-out hand rests flat against your back, a pair of firm arms rest coiled around you like a delicate vice, holding you close to a rising and falling chest.

The slightest shift of your head unveils the pitter patter of a heartbeat, stronger than the storm that lurks somewhere along the western horizon, no doubt closer than it was when you first fell asleep out here. There's no need to open your eyes to check. The new humidity in the air and slight chill in the breeze tell all that you need to know.

And even if you hadn't learned the secret tells of Wabang weather, the dull pain in your leg is never wrong about this sort of thing. Or maybe it is, and today is the day you're perfect track record shatters into a million tiny, shameful pieces.

Rhett's hand glides up your spine, and even despite the thin barrier of your shirt, you can feel the dull pressure of his nails grazing against you, leaving invisible lines in their wake. He hums again, a grumbling noise that silences your mind entirely.

The flimsy excuse of sleep is the only reason why you can justify snuggling closer, burying your face into him like a needy cat. Worse, his arms tighten, locking you in before you can even consider pulling away from him. A contented sigh escapes him, gently nuzzling his cheek against your forehead, prickly, unshaven face like sandpaper against your skin.

Your eyes aren't even open, but you can feel them trying to close, drawn back into the quiet limbo of sleep. It's as if Rhett's sweet, leathery scent is warding off any other possible thought, reducing you to a sleepy mess in his arms, incapable of doing anything but hug him tighter and nap on him like a pleased barn cat. Even the aggravating sensation of his belt buckle digging into your belly is forgotten, nothing but a vague sensation that rests in the far depths of your mind.

"Hey," it comes as nothing but a whisper, nearly lost to the breeze rushing through the leaves overhead.

You don't react. Swallowing down any intention of acknowledging you heard him, or god forbid, reveal that you've been awake for some time now.

But that big hand finds its way to your shoulders, working his fingers into the muscle there, like he's trying to manually draw you out of your sleep. "Hey," he tries again, "'m gonna be late if we don't get up soon."

"Then be late," the flatness in your tone has more bite in it than you anticipated.

This close, Rhett's amused chuckle sounds something akin to an earthquake. "I thought y' liked watchin' me ride?" You still don't respond, but Rhett keeps on talking. "I already forgot my rodeo bag, 'm I leavin' you here too?"

By some miracle, you manage to sit up a little bit, just far enough for you to pry your eyes open and glare at him through your lashes. The effort is lost within milliseconds, dissipated by the sudden bite of pain in your left leg.

"Head still hurt?" Rhett asks it so sweetly that a pang of guilt twinges in your lower belly, the bitter taste of your overused white lie coming back to haunt you again.

Fortunately, he doesn't seem interested in waiting for an answer, sitting up and snaking those arms around you once more, his shoulder the perfect space for your head to fall into. And again, the world around you vanishes, the sound of the wind now a distant memory.

"You're sure y' don't wanna stay home 'n sleep it off?" Repeating his idea from before the impromptu nap took place. "'m sure I can get Archie to record my ride, save ya from a trip into town."

"I want to go," you insist, "even ifthe storm cuts it short."

"I don't think anything short of a tornado is gonna get them folks to shut down early," Rhett tilts his head, rubbing against the small gland on your temple, trying his damndest to wrap himself in your non-existent scent. Unless the side-effects of your suppressants have miraculously vanished without warning, the motion is entirely futile. And yet, he tries anyway, seeking out something that you've never produced before.

You're growing closer and closer to deciding that suffering through a heat cycle is worth the satisfaction of marking him. Those buckle bunnies have been closer and closer to him every weekend; it's only a matter of time before one of them makes a move before you do.

Rhett's nose bumps into your cheek. So, so close. "Your friends are still takin' ya, right?"

"Yes," then, jutting out your bottom lip, playing up your irritation to the highest degree. "I still don't get why you won't let me ride with you anymore."

"'Cause them folks up in town have been givin' me all sorts of hell about the whole Perry 'n Trevor situation." Maybe your pouting is working, because Rhett looks away from you awfully quickly. "I don't want them harassin' you over it too."

"As if I can't fend for myself," eyeroll.

"Never said you couldn't. But people do crazy things for money, and that new reward the Tillersons issued..." He doesn't finish that thought, instead staring off into the distance as if transfixed by the brewing storm.

You know what he's talking about; it's been nearly impossible to ignore all of the signs plastered across the grocery store bulletin boards. You probably saw a dozen when you ran into town for snacks last week, scattered in thick clusters everywhere the eye could see. Five hundred thousand for any information that leads to the whereabouts and arrest of Perry Abbott.

One man fucks up, and now everyone around him pays for the consequences of the actions that he refuses to face.

He's off in god knows where, while you're stuck here, warding off public interactions for the sake of keeping prying eyes off your back. No more of Rhett abusing his store runs as an excuse to get lunch with you, or going to out-of-town rodeos and bickering about fast food choices. You can't risk smelling like each other, can't pretend that you're cold just because you want his arm around you.

No blurring the line between friends and creating something new. All because a bunch of no-name assholes are going to think you know something about Perry and start harassing you like they already do with the rest of the Abbotts. Cecelia can't even go to church anymore. Not after that oversized protest led the pastor to ask the family to stay away for a while, until the frenzy dies down.

Your vision blurs, a familiar bitterness ebbing at your senses.

God, stupid, fucking—

You shouldn't be getting emotional this quickly, never mind letting tears well up in your eyes, forcing you into a downward spiral of frantic blinking before they spill over onto your cheeks.

There are hands on your face. Big, warm things that guide you to look at him. The soft hues of blue that greet you ought to drown you right here and now, drag you below the surface, never to be seen or heard from again. A question visibly swims through his gaze, but he doesn't utter it. There's no point in asking a question that he already knows the answer to.

You wish he could be yours.

The ban on cowbells didn't even last a month.

For two spectacular weekends in a row, your poor ears were free of any obnoxious ringing and rattling, but now...now you're paying dearly for your fleeting sense of peace. Someone must be selling them by the truckload, because you don't recall there ever being this many. There might be one or two in the average crowd, and close to a dozen during rodeo finals.

This...is something else entirely.

You can no longer hear the sound of your own thoughts; it's all been replaced with the ear-splitting sound of cowbells. The sound of your heartbeat could have been replaced with a cowbell, and you would be none the wiser. But the obnoxiousness of it all can only distract you for so long.

You can still feel it. The irrational conviction that all eyes in the crowd dart to you when you're not looking.

They don't know who you are. Out of this overpacked stadium, there are probably only a dozen people from Wabang, and even then, the chances of those people recognizing you are even slimmer. And yet, the sensation of being watched sends a shiver down your spine. The whole town might as well be looming up in the stands behind you, hyper-analyzing the way you lean into the fencing and crane your neck to get a better view of the bullriders.

From so far away, it's hard to tell which one is Rhett. Clothes don't help, you don't know what color of shirt he changed into, and there are so many plaid shirts and brown felt hats that you don't even know where to start.

You like to believe he's the one looking in your direction.

A dull throb settles into the forefront of your head, and it's a wonder that it isn't backdropped by a cowbell, too. You should have packed a few painkillers before you headed out the door; it's already growing worse. Heartbeat pounding in your ears, the corners of your vision blurring in synchrony with it.

This is what you get for mooching off the little medicine stash in Rhett's truck. You've become so reliant on him that you've ultimately screwed yourself.

"—Rhett Abbott!"

The gate has already swung open. A black and white bull kicks its legs into the air, bucking with such strength that it's as if the animal weighs nothing at all. The clock is ticking, but you can't look at it. The bull careens its head to the left, whipping its body around in a tight circle.

Rhett's still on. You can see his hand from here.

The buzzer sounds. Celebratory smoke explodes from the chutes.

The bull's rear end springs up. Momentum slams its nose into the ground. It's suddenly standing vertically.

And the animal tips forward.

The booming impact echoes. A plume of dirt obscures your line of sight. The bull's legs flail in the air, trying to roll off its back. You don't see Rhett.

Did he already jump off?

But you don't see him darting off into the safety of the arena, and the bullfighters are running. Shouting. Yipping. The bull finally swings itself over, jumping up onto its feet and kicking once more. Defiant, unharmed by such a fall.

A still frame lies in the dirt; Rhett.

Air catches in your throat. He's not moving at all. Or maybe he is, you can't see through the crowd that's wedging between you and the fence. You don't remember moving, but you're bobbing and weaving back and forth. Straining to look. Rhett. That's your Rhett. And all of these nameless faces are shoving in front of you as if they know him! You squeeze forward. Someone's elbow clocks you in the ribs. A man fires a glare over his shoulder.

The crowd erupts into cheer, clapping their hands. You jump, struggling to see. Rhett's not there anymore. A burst of pain in your leg screams at you to stop. You jump again. Figures are walking across the arena. He's moving.

And so is everyone fucking else. Parents and cowgirls and old men who are already muttering about how they wouldn't count a score for that ride. People you've never seen a day in your life.

For a split second, the crowd parts like the Red Sea. You're bolting through it like a deer on a busy road, squeezing and bumping between people before they have a chance to realize you're there. They're already closing back in on you. Your foot is dragging beneath you. But you hardly even notice it. Your eyes are torn between the path ahead and the arena, looking for Rhett's figure.

There's already a new bull launching out of the chutes. He's not there anymore. And you can't see him from the back gate, either.

A defiant piece of laminated printer paper is the only thing to keep you grounded. Rodeo contests only beyond this point. Violators will be prosecuted.

There he is. Walking across the concrete, headed toward a little red tent, perched off in a far corner. He's walking by himself now, but people still surround him, as if to catch him the moment he falls.

"Rhett!" But someone else shouts louder than you. And another person, and another. Cheers, encouragement.

"Walk it off!" As if broken bones can be overcome by mind over matter.

"That was a fantastic ride!"

He doesn't hear you. Nobody even lifts their head to acknowledge the gathering of strangers. You whine like a damn animal. Is he okay? He's walking, but is he okay? Why are the medics in a closed-off area like this? What if he's really hurt and they rush him off to the hospital? You won't even know which one they've taken him to. Why is this guy trying to push you out of the way so he can get a look?

The feeling of eyes on the back of your neck is the only thing to remind you to bite your tongue. Here you are, another one of those damn omegas that can't quit squealing at every stressful event.

That nameless man pushes into you again, forcing you to the side. You stumble, trying to stay upright. Pain gnaws at your lower left leg, so sharp that your knee nearly gives way with it. The cold fence panels are the only thing you have for leverage, and frankly, clinging to the railing is probably the only reason why this bald jerk doesn't manage to shove you out of the way entirely.

The buzzer sounds again. And again. And again. The announcer's voice booms over the speakers, talking about a brief pause for some barrel racing before the bullriders return to finish the night off. With it, parts of the crowd begin to split off, picking off one by one. The fascination is already dwindling; there are better things to see.

But you're still standing here. Leaned against the fencing, precariously balancing on your right foot. Between the imminent storm and the jostling of the crowd, putting weight on it is worse than the headache chewing at your psyche. But you shouldn't be thinking about your own pain when Rhett is still somewhere in that tent.

They haven't rushed him off to the hospital yet, you would have heard the sirens if they did, but they're taking so long to let him out that there's no doubt something is wrong. Did he retear the ligament in his shoulder? His wrist? Is it a new injury that's going to take him out of the rodeo season?

This time, nobody is around to hear your little grumblings. It's not at all the sweet, angelic noises that omegas in the movies make. No, you sound more like a dejected dog, pitifully crying over table scraps.

"Must be a hell of a cowboy if you're whinin' for 'em."

You jump. Spinning around so quickly that you nearly fall.

Rhett.

All six foot of him, a split lip and a gash across his nose. Dirt clings to his hair, his right sleeve his ripped from bicep to forearm, exposing miles of milky skin, marred by a large red patch that you're certain will be black and blue come sunrise. He shouldn't even be standing here. They should be rushing him to the hospital with major injuries; some kind of fracture or a head wound.

But here he is, standing in front of you as if nothing happened at all. And all you can do is stare at him, as if the sight of him is a hallucination.

A little bit stiff, he opens his arms, and the brush of his fingertips against your shoulder is the only indication he's real. "C'mere."

It's like melting under candlelight, bodies colliding into one, his arms are swirling around you, and you're burying your face into his shoulder, and he's shaking. A microscopic tremble invisible to the naked eye, but as vicious as an earthquake beneath your touch. His nose nuzzles into the crook of your neck, breath hot against your skin, and alive.

A pitchy whine strangles its way out of your throat before you can ward it off. The arms around you tighten, a grumble rolling out of Rhett's chest like thunder in the distance, and he tilts his head just enough to rub your temples together. Sheer instinct. And like a switch has flipped, the tension lingering in your bones fizzles into nothing.

"Are you okay?" The sound of your voice comes as a shock. When did your mouth open?

"Just some bruisin' 's all," that could be a lie for all you know, but you're choosing to believe it. "The bull landed next t' me. My lip is the worst injury I've got."

As if to prove his point, he draws back, far enough for you to see his face. The wound on his lip isn't anything you haven't seen before; bar fights have wounded him worse. Still, you can't help but raise your hand to his face, tracing a finger below the split skin. Close, but not touching it.

"Reckon I won't be kissin' anyone anytime soon," he muses.

"I didn't know there was someone you wanted to kiss," you already regret uttering those words.

Soft eyes flicker down to your mouth, lingering, then crawl back up to meet your gaze. Those crystal blues can only do so much to distract you from the thought that visibly emerges in his mind.

You fear that he sees the same in yours.

Another thick wave of rain blows against the bar windows, lightning flickering with a silent, unspoken warning. The blur of droplets against the glass makes for a breathtaking contrast against the neon lights hanging outside, a dazzling blur of blue, yellow, and red that merge into a picture plucked straight from a museum.

In the reflection, you can see your friend spinning around with her newfound partner for the night, some nameless team roper that will be forgotten by the end of the weekend. Autumn's current catch is a much quieter subtype, the soft-spoken rodeo hand whose name you've already forgotten. All you can remember is that he's a beta who smells suspiciously like peanut butter.

A peanut butter man for a woman with a crippling peanut allergy. How fitting.

Any other night, you would be throwing joking looks over the rim of your glass. Whispering silly things, just to get a playful rise out of your friends. But you're no better than they are, tucked under the warm, strong arm of a cowboy, like some precious little thing deserving of his protection.

You're too close to Wabang to be pulling a stunt like this, but...

"You're sure y' don't want 'em?" Rhett's so close that the vibration of his voice tickles your forehead, borderline too intimate for a bar setting.

"I think you need painkillers more than I do," tapping your nail against the bottle, where the label has already begun to rub off. A few more rodeos and it'll be as nondescript as the other medications that occupy his stash.

"Doll, it's a bottle of three hundred." He spins the bottle around, but the lettering has faded so much that the number has been reduced to thirty. "I think I can spare a few."

Pressure squeezes tighter, feels as if an invisible force is trying to crush your skull. It seems the longer this goes on, the worse it gets, just like the unusual heat that has come to occupy your cheeks.

Or maybe it's just hot in this bar.

As if he can hear your resistance cracking, Rhett twists off the cap, spilling the little round pills into his oversized palm. Despite their identical shape and color, two stand out, and his hand remains steady as you meticulously sort them out of the bunch. One at a time, they make their way onto your tongue, washed down by greedy sips of his water.

Before you can realize it's gone, his arm drapes over your shoulders once more, as if he thinks that you'll drift away into the chaos of the bar if he doesn't. In the back of your mind, you know what this is: the thinly veiled attempt at pretending that this is possible. You and him. A dreamy, happily ever after, where you don't have to worry about the money of a rich man putting your safety at risk.

That world will never exist, but...

You drop your head, nuzzling into the space beneath his neck and chin, where his scent has already begun to reemerge. The cheap soap from his post-rodeo shower can only do so much, reduced to nothing but a footnote in his signature leather. A low vibration greets your ear, so quiet that it's nearly lost to the vague thump of the music.

"This isn't very 'we're just friends' of you," he says as if he's not shifting in his chair, drawing you closer with those big, warm arms.

"Tell them I'm drunk," you can't bring yourself to open your eyes and check to see who's looking. Things will be okay if you do this once, in a no-name bar twenty-something miles outside of Wabang.

Blunt fingertips settle between your shoulder blades, massaging into muscle that you didn't realize was sore until now. And you're melting like butter in the sun, and if his breath gets any closer to the back of your neck, you're going to start sizzling.

At some point, the bar setting comes back into focus. Neon lights and thick, dark shadows, highlighting bodies and concealing faces. The only person you can see is the lone bartender, flitting between drinks, stress visibly deepening the wrinkles between her brows. A soft hue of gold casts across her face, a bunch of cheap lights hidden in old bottles, lingering on the shelves behind her. One small part of a cluttered decor wall, full of pictures and...

A mirror. More precisely, a mirror who reflects...

you.

It feels intrusive to see things from this perspective. The angle makes Rhett look so much bigger than he actually is, draped over you like a blanket, cheek squished against your forehead. A smile occupies his mouth, so content to do nothing but look at you.

His eyes follow yours, widening when they lock onto the reflection. That smile widens, visible for a brief second, before he turns to properly hide his face, with you as his mighty shield. But it's too late, he's already been caught.

A chair squeals, thunking against the empty table next to yours. The culprit thumps past, heavy boots and a gaudy hat, but you don't care to look at them, nor do you wish to see the two men who toddle in his footsteps. A flash of lightning illuminates their backs, and, frankly, that was more than you wanted to see.

"'m gonna run out to the truck," Rhett draws away. A piece of you might have just died of anguish. "Think I left my rodeo bag in the bed again."

A lingering thought urges you to cling to his arm and follow him out, beg to keep this unspoken intimacy from burning out. But he's already standing up, and what remains of your dignity has glued its hands to the controls, anchoring you to your seat.

"Yeah, it would be bad if you drowned another bag full of gear." Forcing a laugh, you push him toward the door, as if you're not a breath away from putting on a show that'll put Hollywood to shame. There's a reason why he's not yours. A reason that you agreed to.

Something foreign builds in your throat as he slips through the door, bubbling to the surface.

"Looks like you've got yourself a cowboy," Autumn's voice shatters your stupor. How long has she been standing there?

"I do not." Your reply is too quick for it to be believable, but you never had much of a defense to begin with.

"Uhuh," with a roll of her eyes, Autumn all but falls into the chair next to yours. The drink in her hand sloshes, golden fluid licking at the rim, but it doesn't spill over. "Like you don't come alive every time that man walks into the room."

The bar door squeaks open, cool air breezing through the gap and twisting around your feet. Rhett. That was fast—

It's just those nameless men again. Two, three, four of them shove through the threshold and out into the rain, firm faces and silent mouths, like they're reenacting an old western shootout.

"You've got it bad," Autumn, smug as a cat. You're not doing yourself any favors here.

Worse. That old warm scent commands your attention. Notes of leather, smoke, cream, and vanilla, so absurdly sweet that one can mistake it for a stereotypical omega, if not careful. But you're far too familiar with the owner of this scuffed cowboy hat to make that mistake.

"...I do," burying your face in your hands. Defeated. "God, it's terrible."

"You're telling me," her words echo into the glass as she lifts it to her lips, already half empty. "You know you can't dance around each other forever, right?"

"I know," you groan, "we just...I don't know. We promised to—"

"Like that alpha wouldn't drop everything and move across the country if you so much as batted your eyes at him," she says it so simply that you wonder how long she's been holding onto that one. "Leaving town solves everything."

The door opens once more, and once again that same damp, chilly air rushes in, swirling around behind you like a bad memory. A shiver races up your spine. A moment passes, and Autumn shivers, too.

"Does tequila make you wise beyond your years or something?"You ask, reaching for Rhett's forgotten water. Surely he won't notice a few missing sips.

Autumn's eyes lock onto someone across the room, widening with nondescript emotion. "No, but it does make Maria puke on shoes." You follow her line of sight, across the bar and toward the pool table. A small frame and black hair keel over, clinging to a cue stick like a crutch. Autumn looks at you, then back to Maria. "I should take her..."

"Go, save her from herself." You're already waving her off, not about to join the clean-up crew two weeks in a row. "I'll pick up a ride with you know who."

Autumn is already halfway across the room. "Don't do anything I wouldn't!"

"That's terrible advice!" You lose sight of her before you've gotten the first syllable out, blocked off by the oversized frame of a man with an equally oversized beard. That red plaid flannel does nothing to save him from the lumberjack stereotype; in fact, it's so convincing that you've got to check his hands for an axe.

But the only thing on his hands is...what is that? It's dark. Looks something akin to mud, but it drips from his fingers as he wipes them on a towel. Sourness twists in your belly. Your attention flicks back to the door. Rhett's still not back from his truck. How long does it take to...?

Rhett forgot his rodeo bag at home.

You don't feel your feet touch the floor, but you're already moving closer to the door, pushing it open with your shoulder. Freezing wind hammers against you, nature's desperate attempt to whisk you back into the safety of the bar, raindrops like tiny daggers. You squint, hugging Rhett's hat to your chest, the closest thing you have to a shield.

The storm is already here, rain falling in thick white sheets that virtually erase the rest of the world from existence. All you can see is your feet and the vague silhouette of vehicles, messily parked in the gravel lot, so close to the building that they form a makeshift barricade from the onslaught of howling wind.

"Rhett?" It's like calling out into an abyss. There's not even an echo.

You aren't sure where you're going, but you're moving, following the rapidly disappearing path. Sedan, sedan, SUV, a topless Jeep, another sedan. That truck is too big to be Rhett's; the next one is too new. An out-of-place sports car, SUV, sedan...pickup with an aftermarket light bar.

"Rhett?" Trying again.

Thunder rumbles. Your only reply.

But that's Rhett's truck, tucked away at the very end of the row, up underneath a swaying lamp post. It's too dark to see into the cab from this distance, forcing you to step closer, until your nose bumps against the glass. Empty.

But where else could he have gone?

Pain nags. The nerves in your leg already beg for the comfort of that wooden bar chair, but you can't stop moving. Guided by the will of your feet, you keep moving, splashing through puddles as you continue down the parking lot. The water soaks through your shoes, ice cold and burning your toes.

You're at a crossroads. He could have gone this direction, or maybe he went the opposite way. Hell, maybe he's in the woods that lie beyond the lot, or behind the building. What was so important that he had to take off in the rain?

There's a sound to your left, towards the cluster of cars parked at the side of the building. Your ears prick, wide eyes flickering back and forth, straining to see through the thick shield of white.

Lightning flickers.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four times. Flipping on and off like a switch.

Movement to your left. A blurry, gray mass, nearly impossible to distinguish from its surroundings. But it's there. The world lights up once more, and there's a second one. A third. You're moving toward it, stumbling through the gravel ocean that forms at your feet. Another SUV, a sedan, three more trucks, a sports car too pretty to be from this area.

But no Rhett.

Maybe it was in your head. You see nothing but rain, gray and black, broken apart by the white glow of another precariously hung lamp post. There's another noise. A thump, around the corner of the building—

A flash of color. Something heavy strikes.

And you're falling. Knocked off your feet. Pain sears in your eye, the impact of something you didn't see coming. Sharp gravel catches you with the grace of shattered glass. Rhett's hat jumps from your grasp and fuck something is in your eye.

A boot catches you in the chest. You can't breathe.

Rhett shouts.

Rhett. Surging up from the ground, bloody hands grabbing hold of—that's the bald guy from before.

Another figure darts into vision. Striking the back of Rhett's head with an elbow. He stumbles. There's another man. Punches Rhett in the face before he's taken two steps. Rhett spins, barreling headfirst into him.

The fall. Another guy has him by the hair, and he's hitting him again, and—

You jump backward. Dodging a shoe to the jaw. What the fuck. What the fuck?

"Looks like your 'mega 's here to save the day, Abbott!" You don't know who the hell this man is, but he sure seems to know who you are. His grin so big that the tobacco in his lip spills out, cascading down toward your feet.

There's three, four, five, six of them.

Seven, eight?

You don't know.

You can't see around this guy. Can't see what's happening. But there are enough of them to form a loose circle around Rhett. Laughing. Jeering. About as excited as this man is to see you, stepping forward for every inch you scoot backward. Your back hits the grill of the sports car.

Nowhere else to go.

Your teeth bare. Hot blood clouds your right eye, rolling down your face. You're feeling around, as if you'll magically find a weapon. All you have is an oversized rock. Your hand struggles to curl around it.

"What you gonna do, omega?" He sneers, leaning down. Closer. Even through the rain, you can smell his breath. "Growl at me? Huh?"

Lightning strikes a nearby tree. Ear-splitting. For a moment, everyone freezes, whipping around to look for where it hit.

You jump to your feet, spinning—

The rock crashes through the windshield. A shrill alarm begins to squeal. Headlights flash. Horn honking on and off.

Pain explodes in the back of your leg. A scream pierces your ears. And you're falling again. Face-first into the hood of the car, barely caught by your own hands. It's no use, you're still crumpling to the ground.

But they're running.

All of them. Darting into the maze of the parking lot like a bunch of feral cats. One darts past you, throwing a handful of bright green dust into your eyes, the underwhelming final blow.

Rhett.

"Rhett?" Your voice is off, raw in your throat.

Was that you who screamed?

His weary form drags from the ground once more, stumbling forward. You push up, one foot after the other, and—

You yelp. Left leg slipping out from under you, and you're flat on the ground again. Stupid. Stupid fucking bones. One bad fall off of a horse and suddenly it's not worth a goddamn thing. You pull yourself up again, fumbling.

Someone collides into the other. You don't know who. All you know is that you're falling again, and his arms are around you and there's blood pouring from his mouth and there's a long cut on the side of his neck, and...

"I'm sorry," he sputters, arms shivering as he tries to pull you in close. "I'm sorry, fuck, I'm sorry, I..." His heavy body smothers yours into the ground, curling around you like a shield, his face burying into your neck.

The wind picks up, blowing his hat toward you, miraculously unscathed from the scuffle. Unwinding yourself from him to grab it is hard enough, can't bring yourself to fully let go of him yet.

But that horn is still blaring, and you've only got so much time before the owner comes looking, or those men return for another round. And you're all out of trump cards.

"We need to go," your words waver, tongue stiff in your mouth.

For what it's worth, Rhett tries. Audibly digging his feet into the ground and dragging himself up once again, but then he reaches for you, and his balance sways out from beneath him. Knees slam into the ground, his mouth pops open, a steady stream of crimson spilling over his lip as he tries to speak.

His hand finds your cheek, smoothing across it and up to your eye, swiping a thumb over your brow. That must be where you're bleeding from, and you can only hope that it's not a deep gash.

Lightning cackles as he tries to get up again, moving slower this time. You wedge beneath one of his arms, using yourself as a crutch, in spite of the aching bone that screams at you to quit putting weight on it. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, biting back the urge to gasp and wince.

It can wait.

This time, as you blindly march through the rain, you know where the truck is, but the trip isn't any shorter. One careful step after the other, fighting the protest of your own body to wait for Rhett to catch up. His weight sways. Your knee threatens to quit.

For once, you're thrilled to find that Rhett has once again left his truck unlocked. It's so much easier to push him into his passenger seat when you don't have to search for a lock on the door. But how you get him up there, and how you walk around the truck by yourself, is a sheer mystery.

Lifting your right foot, you step into the truck. Simultaneously, your left side gives way, and you're falling into the truck like a damn fool.

"Are you okay?" Rhett's speech wobbles, and you don't want to know what would happen to it if you told the truth.

"I just tripped, is all," lying through your teeth. You hold a hand out, changing the subject before he can catch on and call you out on it. "Keys."

His eyes lock onto your hand, hardly reacting to it, lost in a daze that almost certainly stems from that blow to the head. Your fingers wiggle, and he twitches. Without a word, he plucks the truck key from his pocket, forgoing any stubborn attempt to insist that he's okay.

And that might be worse than him actually arguing with you on the matter.

The key twists in the ignition, and the old beast of an engine rumbles to life, growling like a bear, waking from its slumber. You've watched Rhett do this so many times that you already know to press the button four times to get the headlights on. The gear shift lever is harder to pull than you thought it was going to be, but you've got the truck reversing out of its spot.

"Hospital?" Asking as you struggle to press on the brakes. A futile distraction.

"No!" His voice booms through the cabin.

The truck abruptly stops, and for a moment, so does your heart.

Rhett's face softens, sinking back into the corner of the seat. "No, no, I'm okay," quieter now, almost meek in comparison.

Getting out of the parking lot is the hardest part about driving this ancient behemoth, but eventually, you're crawling out onto the pavement of a state road, windshield wipers turned as high as they'll go. Beneath the ocean of water and glare of headlights, the lane markings disappear, leaving you to guess about where the truck should be on the road. But you're not in a ditch yet, so maybe you're doing something right here.

A million and one questions flutter through your head, as if you haven't got enough to focus on. Who were those guys? Was that related to Perry and the Tillersons again? What even was their plan? Kill him?

You knew they were giving Rhett trouble, but, shit, you never could have guessed it was this dangerous. Why did he lie and face it alone rather than running to the truck like last time? Is he sure that he's okay? What if he's suffering a severe concussion, or a secret internal injury that you don't know about?

Are you sure that you're not dreaming this up? Even the ache in your skull hardly even feels real. It's glued to the forefront of your mind, but it's like watching the scenes of a movie, rather than your own personal experience. They're not your memories, but they are at the same time.

Fingertips brush against the side of your face, where you're certain a gnarly bruise is in the process of forming.

When did you park in the driveway?

Through the thick veil of darkness, your eyes meet, instantly glued together by a wordless tension. The kind that arises when something desperately needs to be addressed, but all parties involved lack the guts to voice it.

"This is my fault," he mutters, turning his head away. Unable to look at you anymore. "If I hadn't been all over you at the bar—I...if..."

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out, trapped in silence. The longer you search for the right words to say, the more your head begins to feel like it's spinning, your vision blurring at the edges. It wasn't his fault. He may have been worried about this, but there's no way that he could have known those guys were looking for him.

"I should go," his conclusion strikes like the boot that nailed you in the chest.

A whine slips past your lips. "But I don't want you to go," absolutely pitiful. Any attempt to save yourself with a nonchalant tone is long gone.

Rhett's face softens, a sort of dumb shock overtaking his eyes, before that melts away, too, reduced to a meager frown. Again, he looks away from you. A moment passes, and his bottom lip begins to wobble.

His arms open. In a heartbeat, you're in them. There's no doubt that this is hurting him, but he's stubbornly pulling you into his chest anyway, rain-soaked clothes and all. It's so easy to fall into your favorite place, ear squished over his heart, where it stubbornly pitter patters away, unscathed and full of life that has been endangered twice in one night.

The truck is too small for this. You're about to slide off the bench seat entirely, and yet you remain glued together; if one falls, you both fall. Poetry has been written over less.

Without thought, you lift your head, rubbing the side of your head against his jaw, and for a moment, you're nothing but a dumb omega, trying to soothe an alpha. But you lack the scent for such a thing, nature's equivalent of an empty promise. You drag yourself away just as Rhett leans forward, about to do something that dissipates before you've had a chance to come back to him.

Was he about to...?

Lightning cracks its whip, and like horses, you get moving.

From the moment your feet touch the ground, the nerves in your leg are begging for you to sit back down, gnawing away as you round the truck. Rhett is already out, stubbornly moving forward before you can fully catch up. Still, you're quicker, and his arm lifts for you to slip under it, just like last time.

The porch lights glow peeks through the curtain of rain, a beacon in this raging sea. Heavy gusts of wind try to push you back toward the truck, determined to keep you from reaching the safety of home. You don't know you've reached the porch until you kick the bottom stair. They're impossible to see, but you've walked up them so many times that you don't need to—

Pain splits your senses. Your knee smacks into the wood. Agony crackles up your leg and into your spine. Muscles seize, winding tighter and tighter. It feels as if your leg is trying to break itself again, refusing to obey your feeble attempt to get back up, only slipping out from under you once more.

Warmth arrives from above, hands smooth up and down your back. Rhett's so close that his presence is the only thing you can comprehend, gingerly nuzzling his head against yours. Through the rain, a distinct smokiness finds you, and your buzzing mind ceases entirely.

"'ts alright," he murmurs, rubbing his scent over you like he's been doing it his whole life.

You've heard descriptions of this in books and tales from friends, but you never imagined it would feel like this. Every bone in your body has evaporated, tension melts until you've reduced to putty. The pain is still there, yet it's somehow an afterthought, pushed into the far depths of your mind. All from the mere pressure against glands and a familiar smell.

So, this is why everyone is crazy about scenting.

"C'mon, I've got you," Rhett coaxes you up. Your leg continues its protest, but your feet are steady enough to make it up the stairs, leaning against each other in such a way that you aren't sure who is holding who up.

The temperature of the house makes you feel colder than you already did, suddenly hyperaware of the frigid water that has long since numbed your skin. By the time you stumble into the bathroom, it's tingling back to life, painfully so.

"Where we landin'?" Rhett grunts, sounds like he's about to drop at any second.

"The shower," it'll be easier to clean. Better than getting a heinous stain on your light colored bath mat.

The tile is anything but a welcoming fall, but it's too late. Rhett is going down, and he's taking you with him, landing in a messy heap of tangled limbs. Your thigh is trapped under his knee, his hair is in your face, and your back is pinned to the corner of the bath. It's a welcome mess that you haven't the strength to pull out of.

Only now do you notice the tear in his shirt, exposing mottled skin, cherry red, and faint notes of purple decorated over a milky white canvas. The pearl snap buttons pop open with the slightest tug, falling open with ease.

Blood freezes in your veins.

Shades of red encase the right side of his ribcage, the print of a boot painfully visible in the midst of it all. Scuffs and deep scratches across his soft belly, dried blood clings to the underside of his bucking bull tattoo. And you couldn't see the bruising peeking out from his hairline until now, but under the bright bathroom lighting, it's painfully visible.

"Who got you in the nose with the rings?" You whisper, following the small cuts from the bridge of his nose to the patch of red beneath his right eye. More of them hide below the dark mess of hair clinging to his jaw, certain to be darker come sunrise.

"Same one who got you," he ghosts a fingertip over your wounded brow, where you can feel a freshly formed scab.

You wonder if the mark on your face matches his. A worse version of friendship bracelets.

Beyond the sturdy walls of the house, the storm deepens its rage. Hail clatters against the metal roof, rain growing louder in tune with the wind's blow. Thunder shakes the ground, another one of those resounding threats to terrorize everything within its reach.

"Your leg," from this mess of a position, Rhett's able to trace the surgery scar that marks the old injury. "It's been hurtin' you all day, hasn't it?"

You don't know how to respond, but he continues talking as if you did.

"I saw it at the rodeo. When you were waitin' on me, you kept shiftin' your weight off of it." His hand is so big that it encases the area entirely.

You're back at the ranch.

Ass in the dirt, choking back a sputtering sob while he flutters over you, trying to find where you've been hurt. In hindsight, it was an honest mistake. Nobody could have known that the horse would spook, much less for you to fall like you did. An awkward collision into the unforgiving ground. The luck of narrowly avoiding a kick to the head coming at the cost of a horribly broken bone.

Rhett's thumb works into the thick collection of scar tissue, massaging at the tension there. "Why didn't you tell me?"

You can't look at him anymore, suddenly interested in anything but him. The faint streak in the bathroom mirror, how the counter has a piece of chipped paint in the far corner. Your vision is too blurry to read the label on your body wash. The plastic seal from your bottle of heat suppressants sits idly on the edge of the trash can.

A lime green gel substance coats part of your leg, looks like you've gotten into a fight with Jello. It's on Rhett's hand, painfully obvious as it curls around your chin and guides you to look back at him. Shades of worry wrinkle his face, collecting in the corners of his eyes.

How strange it is that you both lie and conceal the truth in the name of protecting the other, only for it to fall apart anyway. He doesn't know that the break never truly quit hurting. You don't know how many times he's been beaten senseless behind a bar.

Without a word, you clamber out of his lab, practically crawling to get the first aid kit out from under the sink. The handle is still cracked from its last use, the remnants of panic induced by the sight of blood waterfalling from his hand. Looking back, there are things much worse than a kitchen knife lurking beneath soapy water.

Rhett doesn't protest, quietly sits up to let you doctor him as you see fit, wiping dirt from open cuts and gently wittling away at excess dried blood. The worst of his injuries are smaller than they initially appeared, but as you work on them, you begin to realize that the bruising is the true concern here. Fuck, they're everywhere.

A cool wipe dabs at your temple. You're unsure of how you failed to notice Rhett opening one, but like him, you can't bring yourself to fuss about it. Red stains the stark white material, deepening with every swipe. There's enough of it to warrant a second wipe, gradually working from cheek to jaw, and you can't help but wonder how much of your face was covered in blood.

Rhett's forehead thunks against yours. A soft yet jarring bump that stirs something foreign to the surface, buzzing in your veins. The only thing you can hear is your heartbeat, thumping loudly in your ears, slowly drowning into a shrill ringing. Your surroundings begin to twist, wet paint stirred by an invisible brush, blending into a mess of color.

"'m startin' to think I've got a concussion, everything's been spinnin' since we got in the truck," Rhett's right in front of you. His nose is literally against yours, but you can't see him.

"I've got it too." Your mouth feels detached, no longer a part of your body.

At first, it would appear that your clothes might be the problem, soaked with rain and God knows what else, but blindly peeling them off only makes you further aware of how bizarre you feel. Cold at the surface, yet burning beneath, borderline sickening to comprehend. Patches of clarity fade in and out. Fleeting glimpses of Rhett's naked chest and little bits of his thigh.

"Lie down," speaking before you've realized there's a thought in your head. "We should lie down."

Rhett says...something, you hear it, but it doesn't register. Whatever it was, it must have been agreement, because he's rising to his feet. It's not until you're lost in the hallway that you realize he's holding your arm until he's pulling you into the bedroom.

At least, you're pretty sure it's the bedroom. It's so hard to see through the dancing sparkles of gray, clouding your sight like a swarm of tiny, evil bugs.

You only know you're in the right room when you fall into the bed, no care in the world for the dirt and grime you may be getting on the sheets. That's future you's problem. Rhett lands to your right, the impact bouncing you like you're on a trampoline, and you swear you must touch the ceiling.

Being still makes it worse. The chore of undressing and walking here was enough to keep your mind partially occupied, but now, the only thing you can think about is the swirl of your senses. Someone has picked up the world and spun it. Round and round and round, gaining speed the longer it goes on.

"It's okay," warmth finds you, pulling you across the bed and into an equally cozy chest. You're nothing but a ragdoll that rolls right into him, helpless to do anything but let him dote on you. Rubbing his head against yours, muttering little "it's okay"s under his breath, fussing over you as if he's been doing it his entire life.

Only when it stops do you realize that you've started whimpering. Strange. Usually, you have better self-control than this, but here you are, acting like an undisciplined omega, whining and grumbling about a little bit of discomfort. All of those secondary courses, endless hours, and lectures of how to conduct yourself, gone within an instant.

But oh, does Rhett not seem to have a problem with that. Him and his kind, wandering hands, smoothing across your naked back and rubbing at your neck. He shifts further up the bed, still insistently nuzzling his forehead into yours, intent on drowning you in his scent as he tucks you safely against his broad chest.

You crane your head to look at him. The room lights up, courtesy of the cackling lightning. Rhett's handsome face flashes before you, more visible than he was before, but it's swiftly lost to the darkness. Yeah, maybe you should have turned on a light before you got into bed. That may have helped.

It doesn't matter. Whatever this is, it will pass.

You can't see it, but you can hear him move, tilting his head toward you, as if he didn't just put you down here. The tip of his nose bumps into your cheek, gradually trailing down...

His breath fans out against you, mouths brushing. So simple, yet bordering on too intimate. Thunder rumbles, reminding you of the outside world. What this may do. Through the dark, you can feel the swell of his lip. Who's to say they won't stop next time, if you're caught alone like he was.

But...

oh, what the hell.

Flattening your hand against his chest for leverage, you push yourself up. Your mouths fall together like a prophecy, foretold for centuries, long forgotten by most. Beneath your palm, you can feel his heart jump, and for a moment, you're still, lips caught in an unmoving embrace. Yet, the world continues to spin, and with it, all defenses collapse.

How have you lived a life without this?

The delicate mold of his lips, slowly dancing with yours for the very first time. The warmth of his hand resting against your nape, how he leans to meet you properly. One of you was handcrafted by the universe to pair with the other, but you blend so seamlessly that it's impossible to tell who was made for whom.

You part, but only long enough to suck in a breath of fresh air, before Rhett's meeting you once more, drawing you in with fleeting, delicate kisses. One after the other, each longer than the last, and you've soon found yourself wondering if this is when you finally melt into one, never to separate again.

Pleasantly, the spin in your head slows to a halt. The power of a true love's kiss, or whatever those old Disney movies used to say.

"Rhett," you utter his name like a prayer. And he answers, murmuring yours in return, to which the raging storm barks her input, striking the ground with a fury that fails to tear you apart.

No, it's too late for that sort of thing; the world itself couldn't wedge between you, effectively smothered out as Rhett rolls on top of you. The weight of his body is delicious, properly pressing you into this old mattress, safe and hidden beneath his big, strong frame, beaten and bruised as it may be.

He tastes like beer and the cheap candy he was sucking on when you reunited at the bar, notably fruity but so artificial that you cannot identify the flavor without the help of a label. Teeth nip at your bottom lip, quickly soothed by the burn of his tongue, and you can't help but respond in kind, shyly greeting him with your own.

You don't know how they got there, but your hands are in his hair, idly wrapping those chocolate brown curls around your fingers, not sure if you want to pull on or cling to them. It doesn't matter; the twirl of his tongue around yours already has you unraveling at the seams. You'll fall apart before you can act on either decision.

Uncomfortable heat rushes up your belly and into your face, a wildfire blazing beneath the confines of your skin. A sharp contrast to the sudden chill of the room. It seems there's competition for who or what can take you down the fastest.

"It hit you again, too?" Rhett sounds a little off, missing some of his usual depth.

"Was it something in the water at the bar?" It's the only thing you've shared tonight, but contaminated water is pretty far-fetched. But Wabang has seen odder situations, like that apocalyptic invasion of locusts a few summers back...

"May be a bug goin' around," rather than roll off, Rhett settles his weight on top of you, a big, weighted blanket, custom-made to you. The blooming nausea retreats to shallow waters, warded off by his weight. "Wouldn't be the first time we got ourselves sick with the same thing."

Yeah, it could be like that time in high school when you came down with pneumonia at the same time. You showed up to class sick, his momma picked you up right before lunch, and you walked back in together three weeks later. At least, now, you can't be saddled with a mountain of homework assignments with unreasonably short due dates.

"Maybe we share an immune system." Your hands wander to his face, feeling the outline of his cheekbones. Then, you're making your way down to his jaw, dragging against the grain of his facial hair, thick under your touch.

Rhett turns his head, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist. It's so shockingly mundane that you can hardly comprehend how you got here to begin with. Hours ago, you were wishing for more, and now you have it. All of him. Curled up in this bed, half naked, sick and wounded as you might be.

Sleep comes so seamlessly that you hardly realize it has arrived at all. Consciousness blends into a peaceful void, and you simply cease to exist, unknowingly passing through time as if it weren't there at all.

The sound of the world ending is what wakes you.

Or, rather, a violent slap of thunder that seems to launch the damn house into the air, shocking you back into reality. Rhett's weight on top of you is the only reason you don't launch onto the ceiling like a cartoon cat, and even then, you jump hard enough to jostle him.

"The power just went out," Rhett grumbles, the vibration of his voice tickling your neck. An unknown thing sparks in your belly, and heat rushes down your thighs, set off by the mere sound of him.

"Again?" You're beginning to wonder if the power lines are held up by toothpicks. Every storm seems to curse you with an outage, doomed to three or four days of living like you're in the eighteen-hundreds. Minimal cell phone usage, no hot water.

The very thought of moving has your stomach twisting sourly, oddly reluctant to get out of bed and take the three steps to light a candle. You can hardly remember the last time you felt so...boneless. Wrapped up in the warmth that is Rhett Abbott, his intoxicating scent coloring your every inhale, so sweet that you must begin to drool.

But it's so dark in here. You can't even see where he is.

Rhett slides off the moment you begin to squirm, making room for you to get up and out of the bed. Even through the dark, you can feel his gaze burning over the silhouette of your naked frame. The smoke of it inhibits your higher functioning; it takes four tries to pick up the lighter.

A tiny flame fractures the darkness, thunder booming overhead as if to commemorate its arrival. The surface of your dresser comes into focus, a neatly folded pile of clothes that you were about to put away when he arrived earlier, a photograph of you and Rhett, asleep on the floor, dressed to the nines in tacky Christmas sweaters.

At least in the dark, you can't see Perry's dumb little handwritten note. 'Another Christmas of wishing you would just date already.'

Shaking your head, you guide the flame to the candle wick, lingering until it catches. It's only when you put the lighter away that you realize your vision has cleared. Maybe a little fuzzy around the edges, but it's a far cry from the cluster of sparkles that it used to be. Everything has returned to normal, except...

You still feel off.

Something has changed, but you can't put a finger on what that is. Your skin feels hot, something unusual churning in your lower stomach, and your own body feels new to you. It's like someone switched your body with an identical, fresh one while you were asleep, decked out with fancy upgrades that you know are there, but have yet to discover.

You tap at the side of your head, wincing at the sharp bite of pain. No, it's not from being punched in the face. But if it's not that, then what is it? Are you sick?

Warm hands glide up your naked sides; a forehead comes to rest at your shoulder. Rhett's labored breath is the only sound in the room."Darlin' 's that candle got a sweet scent by any chance?" His voice deep as the thunder, rattling your bones. "Vanilla, peaches, 'n somethin' just a little earthy?"

"It's...afternoon dream?" You don't recall those notes being on this particular candle. In fact, you chose it specifically because it hardly smelled like anything at all. "Why?"

"I think you're goin' into heat."

Through the mirror, your eyes meet.

That...that doesn't make any sense. You know that you took your suppressants today, because you had to sit down and refill the weekly pill organizer afterward. Warmth arises between your legs, drawing your thighs to squeeze together. Fuck, you're already wet.

How is that possible?

Rhett's scent wraps around you, and you don't know if he's reacting to your pheromones or if you're simply more aware of it. Maybe it's always been this strong, you don't...you don't know for sure. Was that your heat breaking through earlier? You don't know the answer to that, either. What does a heat even feel like?

"Tell me to leave."

"Huh?" You blink.

It takes him a moment to find his words again. A task requiring so much effort that he has to rest his forehead on your shoulder once more, unable to keep it up any longer. "'cause I think my ruts startin', too."

In an instant, you turn around, reaching to cradle his face before it can fall. His lashes flutter, leaning in toward you, then reeling himself back in. A thin line of drool spills from the corner of his mouth, hanging open like he's trying to taste your scent. A shiver ripples through him, and...fuck, his body is beaten to hell. You don't understand how he's even standing right now.

And yet, he finds the strength to take a step back.

The damn breaks.

"But I don't want you to leave," whining, you surge forward, throwing your arms around him before he can take another step. He can't leave you. Not like this. You don't...you don't even know what to do here. You've never done this before.

Rhett's nuzzling you again. Incessantly rubbing your heads together, grumbling low in his throat. He's comforting you for something that he hasn't even done yet, but you just can't seem to stop your pitiful little noises. Kisses pepper across your skin, sweet little distractions, desperate to soothe you.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he murmurs, drawing you in, as if he wasn't backing away mere seconds ago, "don't wanna make ya upset."

"But you're talking about leaving me!" Your voice shakes. Nerves winding tighter and tighter, squeezing around your throat. Why are you reacting like this? Is this your heat talking? Or have you always been this needy?

"I know, but this is your first..." Rhett's mouth continues moving, but for a moment, his voice is no longer present. Or maybe you briefly quit listening, you can't tell. "I might not be able to stop—"

Your eyes meet, and his sentence dies on the spot. A softness takes over his battered face, some kind of unspoken realization that you aren't privy to. Hands find your cheeks, gingerly squishing them with his palms.

"What's the matter?" He breathes. The pad of his finger strokes the thin skin beneath your eye, slow back-and-forths that ought to make you cry.

You still don't understand how your heat managed to break through, not when you've been so consistent about taking your pills. If the brand had changed its formula, then this would have happened a month ago when you started a fresh bottle.

You didn't even have time to prepare for this! You're supposed to have blankets, sweets, a stockpile of drinks and, and toys to work through the worst of it all. Scenting bars and knotting toys to deceive your body into thinking you've been properly fucked by an alpha. Would rush shipping even get them to your door before tomorrow? Do you even want those things?

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, so heavy and violent that your frame trembles with it, unstable on this cold floor. "I'm scared, Rhett." And your voice breaks on the vowel of his name, too weak to carry on any longer.

"'ts just a heat, baby," he says it like its so fucking easy, but it's so hard to interrupt him when he's kissing on your cheek like that. Chaste kiss after chaste kiss, trailing up to the corner of your wounded eye. "'s nothin' to be scared of."

You dig your fingers into his sides, trying to keep him place. "Please don't leave me alone."

"You're sure?" Rhett pulls back, just far enough to look you in the eye once more. "Baby, I truly don't know how 'm gonna act with both of us startin'."

Pushing your noses together, you grumble at him. "I don't care."

His mouth finds yours so softly that you very nearly question if you've hallucinated this entire conversation. With it, invisible fire rushes through your veins, uncomfortably pooling between your thighs, and your self-restraint jumps out the window.

It's so simple. Looping your arms around his neck and downright melting into him, chasing the soft push and pull of those thin lips. Hands roam up and down your back, his thick calluses dragging against your soft skin so deliciously that your back arches. Noses bump, teeth sloppily clattering. More. You want more of him.

The room spins, and your back is hitting the mattress. Rhett's on top of you in an instant, between your squirming legs, the heavy bulge in his boxers nudging against your clothed sex. The mere realization sends a shiver up your spine. You're already bucking up against him, too impatient to wait and let the moment simmer.

"Rhett," gasping into his mouth. Tugging on his hair. "Rhett."

"Fuck, you're somethin' else," he chuckles, in between lazy kisses, working his way across your cheek. His facial hair prickles with every peck, scratching in such a way that it has you gasping as he nears closer and closer to the scent gland beneath your ear.

The tip of his tongue swipes across it, lightly sucking, threatening to leave a mark there. Hell, you don't think you'd mind, even if he did. But he's already letting go of it in exchange for nibbling on the space just below it, then the one under that, making his way down your sensitive neck.

But he's so slow.

"Rhett," grumbling his name once more. The only word that you remember how to say.

"shh, 's okay," the vibration of his words damn near rattle you."'m gonna take care of ya, a'ight?"

And he keeps peppering his way down your neck. Kiss after ticklish kiss. His wet tongue leaving behind a glistening trail to guide him back in the event he gets lost in the expanse of your heaving chest.

His hands rise, greedily palming your breasts, and only now do you remember that you're practically naked. No pesky clothes to prevent him from diving down and wrapping his mouth around a soft nipple, the soft suction drawing you up off the bed. That's—oh, that's so much better than your daydreams.

You can't even believe what you're looking at. Rhett Abbott. Wild-eyed bullrider. Cowboy. The one alpha you promised not to mess with. Drooling over your chest, eagerly switching to the other side before it can begin to feel neglected.

The needy wiggle of your hips is what ultimately draws him away, instead using his big hands to pin them down. He's trembling. A microscopic shake that the candle light concealed with sharp shadows, but painfully obvious now that he's holding onto you like this. Forcing you to remain still as he makes his way down your belly.

"God, look at you," he whispers it like a prayer, peering up at you through thick lashes. "So fuckin' pretty."

His fingers curl beneath the thin waistband of your underwear. Your body lifts before you can think twice about it, letting him pull your last remaining article of clothing down your legs. Where he tosses them, you don't know. Don't care to find out, either. Future you can deal with that problem, too.

It's impossible to worry about meaningless things when the short wires of Rhett's chin drag against your inner thigh, ghosting his lips over hyper-sensitive skin. He pauses, greedily sucking on a patch of skin, and you jolt. But his electric mouth keeps going, switching sides, intent on leaving another mark.

The burn of his breath is your only warning, before he's licking a fat stripe up your cunt, groaning at the mere taste of you. It's so sudden that you nearly launch off the bed, jerking like a live wire, but Rhett's gotten hold of your thighs, anchoring you down. There's hardly any build up before the pointed tip of his tongue swirls around your clit.

Fuck, fuck, you're so sensitive.

Your legs clamp down around his head, and you're pawing at his forehead, not sure if you want pull him in or push him away. Neither works. And the bastard laughs, devilishly amused. His lips wrap around the little bud, lightly sucking, enough to have you jumping once more.

Someone says his name. It must have been you. Maybe you've got a voyeuristic ghost, you don't know. Don't care.

Just like that, he's kissing down your cunt, instead laving over your weeping entrance, and you hate how you can feel yourself grow wetter, from that alone. His tongue presses in, and he tries his best to look at you, but it's lost to his own eyerolling moan.

"Rhett," panting like a dog, tangling your hand in his hair.

Maybe he would respond, if he weren't fucking his tongue into you, shamelessly angling the tip of his nose to nudge against your swollen clit. A familiar tightness arises in your lower belly, and with it, Rhett rises back up, tormenting that little button once more. He's only just started, and yet you're shaking as badly as he is, a fragile leaf caught in the raging storm. You're...you're...

"There y' go," Rhett coos into your pussy, peering up with those expectant eyes of his. "C'mon, give it to me, sweet thing. Cum on my tongue for me."

It hits you in a heartbeat, orgasm washing over in one big wave. Rhett's moan intertwines with yours, lazily licking you through the shocks, entirely unbothered by the way your thighs clench and try to crush him. Stars dance in your vision, muscles twitching, and you can't breathe.

He draws away before the sensitivity can begin to bite, and you nearly wish he hadn't, because now you've seen it. The glisten of his mouth and chin, already soaked in you. Worse, he's crawling back up, that stupid, smug grin brighter than the lone candle that lights the room.

In an instant, you've come alive. Suddenly possessed with the strength to surge up and push him over.

"Wha—shit!" All that cocky smugness is lost to his girlish yelp, landing with a soft thump. His eyes screw shut, sucking in a sharp breath. And maybe you shouldn't have pulled such a move, mere hours after a bull flipped over on him.

Your apology arrives in the form of kisses, feather-light, peppering around the bruises littering his shoulder. Then, down to the ones on his chest, a peck beneath each and every one, not quite touching them, but still intent on getting your point across. The mass of red and purple around his ribcage is the only place warranting a slowdown, dancing around the giant, boot-shaped bruises.

"What're y' doin?" Rhett's laugh is so deep that his belly quivers with the force of it.

Another kiss. This time to his belly button. "Nothing." Slowly but surely, you're following the scattering of bruises down to his hip bone, where they disappear beneath the thick waistband of his boxers.

You continue along an imaginary path of where you think they might be, crossing down to his upper thigh, just to watch it jump away. Ticklish. But you can't help yourself, a smidge too eager to kiss across the heavy bulge in his boxers. Now it's your turn to peek up at him.

Rhett pinches your cheek, lightly tugging on it. "God, you're the cutest fuckin' thing."

That's not quite what you're looking for. "Can I?" Mouthing at the outline of him.

"Y' can have anything ya fuckin' want from me," he breathes, downright hypnotized. Even from down here, you can see how there's nothing going on in his head, so hyper-focused on you and what you're doing that he can't process anything else.

He lifts up before you've even begun pulling at his boxers, letting you slide them down his legs and toss them into the midnight abyss, just like he did with you. And again, you don't care to see where they land. Not when his cock springs up and snaps against his belly like it does. Thick, decorated in bulging veins and a ruby red flush around his tip.

It's so heavy in your hand, precum spilling out from your touch alone. You can't help but flatten your tongue against the slight swell of his base, dragging up, up, up, to lightly twirl around his tip. His hips tilt, desperately chasing your mouth.

"Shit," he's swearing, and you can feel the weight of him watching.

You're not sure what your plan even is, didn't necessarily think of that during your mindless frenzy, but you've got a pretty good idea. Peppering kisses against the underside of his head, a lazy little thing that makes him twitch.

Careful, you lift him to your mouth. Those pretty blue eyes fall closed the moment he feels your lips wrap around him, chest falling with a shaky exhale. He's so much bigger in your mouth than you expected, awkwardly loosening your jaw to accommodate the sheer girth of him.

This may have been an ambitious mistake, but you're in too deep to turn back now. Hollowing your cheeks, you ease down on him, following what feels most comfortable. A thick vein pulses against your flattened tongue. You can't help but follow it, idly tracing up and down in tune with the shallow bobs of your head. Rhett's groan swirls around and clouds your mind; you can't help but moan with him.

"Just like that," He rolls his head to the side, face undeniably soft. Heat swirls in your belly. "Mmh."

There's so much of him that your mouth can't cover, and he's so thick that saliva spills past your lips, running down his shaft and wetting the patch of dark hair at his base. His head bumps into the back of your throat, nearly, nearly triggering a gag. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. Rationality wins over pride, using a hand to stroke what parts of him you can't reach.

Rhett's thumb strokes the side of your cheek, a motion too innocent compared to the sloppy 'pop' of your lips breaking the suction. The tips of your ears burn, horrified by the sound. God, it's so loud. Rhett doesn't seem to even notice, his hips twitching up off the bed, chasing as you retreat and kiss down the underside of him.

For not being able to take all of him into your mouth, you've absolutely soaked him, glistening in the candlelight. It even reaches all the way down to the subtle swell of his knot, wet under your lips when you idly kiss at it, lazy mouthings of lips and tongue. He twitches. Sensitive to the simplest bit of attention.

Precum pearls at his tip, tempting you into kissing back up and lazily mouthing over him. The pointed tip of your tongue flicks over his slit. Rhett sucks in a gasp, his eyes rolling, and just like that, it all devolves into a mess. Sloppily sucking and kissing at him, downright drooling over the flushed cock head.

"Sweet lil' fuckin' mouth, oh my god," he's reaching for the back of your neck, clinging like he's about to lose you to the storm. Your legs squeeze together, whining from his reactions alone. You've got it bad.

Taking him into your mouth once more, your cheeks hollow, sucking hard, and—

Pop!

Rhett's mouth collides with yours before you can realize that he's sat up and pushed you up to your knees, a messy clattering of teeth and noses and saliva that makes your head spin. It's all you can do to cling to his shoulders, unable to keep upright.

"'m sorry," he's talking between kisses. "'m sorry" Kiss. "But one more second of that..." Another kiss.

"Yeah?" You. Giggling into the next kiss.

"Yeah," his arms loop around you, and just like that, he's dragging you back down with him.

There's no way that it doesn't hurt, but he hardly reacts to the impact this time. No, he's too busy rolling you over, flipping you onto your back before you can try and do it yourself. His cock bumps against your cunt, hanging heavy between his legs, and you don't know what's more mesmerizing, the sensation or the sight of him.

Thunder slams its fist into the ground. The house rattles. Something in the hall shatters.

"'ts alright," Rhett's nose nudges at your cheek, rubbing himself against you like a cat. And like the oversized feline that you are not, you respond in kind, half-assedly nuzzling just for the hell of it.

A quavering vibration rolls out of your throat.

"You trillin' at me?" Rhett's little amused laugh nearly causes you to do it again, the newly discovered muscles flexing with the effort to gear up for such a feat.

"That was me?" Since when were you able to do that?

His weight settles atop you, chests snug, rubbing your noses together with no end goal in sight. Innocent, like a pair of newly presented teenagers, testing out their newfound instincts. It's true, to an extent; neither of you has ever had the chance to do such a thing. Between the slow, decades-long dismantling of the 'just friends' label and your medication, it hasn't been possible until tonight.

Your legs curl around his waist, drawing him closer, and his cock just happens to slide against you, pushing through your folds and against your clit. Gasps break the silence. Both of you freeze for a splitting moment.

And again, his mouth is on yours. There's not a shred of grace to be found, all tongue and teeth, a far cry from the one you shared in a state of delirium. No, no, there's no room for enchanting dances. Not when he grinds into you, rubbing the underside of his shaft against your dripping cunt.

The sheets will need to be changed after this; you fear that you're leaking like a faucet. The simple glide of Rhett's cock is punctuated by a squelch, obscene, wet little noises that you struggle to believe are because of you. Heat be damned, this is all your doing.

Pressure blossoms, the fat head of his cock breaches you. It's so easy and...oh, that's...Rhett freezes. And you probably should, too, but instead your heels dig into his ass, shamelessly whimpering into his mouth. Preservation of your dignity? Trying to avoid coming off as desperate? Those are concepts you suddenly know nothing about.

"You want it that bad, baby?" The cockiness in Rhett's done does little to deter you.

If anything, it makes you worse. You've forgotten how to speak, far too distracted by the aching stretch to think about anything that isn't Rhett Abbott, much less come up with a convincing argument. All you can do is whine at him, impatiently pushing yourself up, but he's making no move to give you what you're after.

"Rhett," it comes out more as a plea, rather than the intended, frustrated bark. The wrinkle of your nose is doing nothing to help your case; you're nothing but a defiant puppy trying to look intimidating.

Rhett's chuckle sounds like the distant rumble of thunder, amusement sparkling in his eyes. Your mouth opens to fuss at him. Pressure arises once more, and just like that, he's sinking into you. Intelligent speech collapses into a drawn-out mewl, helplessly fluttering around him. Fuck, fuck, how did you already forget how thick he is?

"Shhh," he hums, his sweaty, oversized palms cupping your face. "Jus' relax for me."

You don't know if you can. You're trying, but, but, god, his bulbous tip is dragging against forgotten nerves, and you can't help but clench around him. He's just so...so...oh, you shouldn't have looked down.

There's so much of him left, gradually sinking into your poor pussy, split far too wide. Are you sure you're not unconscious outside the bar, dreaming all of this up? There's no way that you're here right now, mid-heat and struggling to take your not-so-best-friend's cock. But the thumbs smoothing across your cheeks feel real, and he's murmuring your name, and...

"There," Rhett lets go of a bated breath right as you do, must have been able to feel you clenching this whole time. "Just like that, there y' go."

Whining high in your throat, you peer up at him. He's already looking at you, ruby red dusting his cheeks, mouth twisted upward in something undeniably fond. A million, tiny butterflies take to the air, tickling your belly with their little, microscopic wings and rising up into your chest. With it, Rhett melts, crumbling down to press kisses on your forehead.

"'s it too big, darlin'?" Leave it to him to kill a sweet moment by asking such a thing, as if your visible struggle isn't enough to stroke his ego as it is. And you can't possibly argue against anything else. Not when you're struggling to take a full breath, clinging to his shoulders like you'll be pushed further up the bed if you don't.

"You can't be romantic for," you've already run out of air, forced to gasp for another breath, "half a second?"

His laughter alone ought to add a hundred years to your lifespan. "'m sorry," kissing the space between your eyes, "'m sorry. Just buggin' ya."

And with that, he's bottoming out, skin flush against yours, and you don't know how the hell you planned on taking his knot on top of this. There's not a millimeter of you that isn't taken up by him, every thought, every cell, all orbiting him and him alone.

Thin, chapped lips find yours, catching in a breathy tangle. It hardly qualifies as a kiss, more so lips touching and panting into each other's mouths, a pair of mutts in the burning summer heat. Sweat beads at your forehead, and if you didn't know any better, you would think someone had set this little room ablaze.

Grinding devolves into a proper, shallow thrust, doing nothing more than rocking your body against the bed. Pleasure nips at your senses. A hint of something to come, a promise fulfilled on the second try. Drawing his hips further back, length rubbing against every little nerve, before pressing in once more.

"Keep...keep doing that," breathless, pawing at his biceps.

To Rhett's credit, he's hardly even done anything substantial, but he listens, pulling out halfway before reversing his momentum, pushing back in. A little faster now, finding a comfortable rhythm that his body can keep up with.

"'s that how you like it?" There's a raggedness to his breath that wasn't there before. Forearms brace themselves on either side of your head, mottled in thick veins and crimson bruises, shivering under his weight.

More. You want more.

Your legs curl tighter around his hips, trying to drag him closer, as if he could possibly go back to being just a friend after this. As if he hasn't been your alpha for the past how many years, regardless of how much you both denied—

"Ah!" Sparkles dance in your vision.

"There it is," the corner of Rhett's mouth twists up, has the audacity to be cocky in a situation like this.

But now that he's found it, there's no losing it. Maintaining the shift in the angle, the fat head of his cock kissing a bundle of nerves on every pass. A shiver sets into your thighs, quaking around his waist. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, fighting to maintain a silence that shatters with a snap of Rhett's hips.

His head dips down, tongue laving over the gland beneath your ear. "Sound so fuckin' cute whimperin' under me," the tickle of his breath sends a shiver racing down your spine, arching up off the bed.

Your eyes might cross. A wave of goosebumps prickles over your skin, down your chest, and into your ankles. The mattress squeaks, protesting the heavy motion of Rhett's body, in perfect synchrony with the little puffs of air he pushes from your chest with every thrust. Little 'uh, uh, uh's impossible to muffle.

But oh, you try to silence them, burying your face into his scarred collar, biting at a prominent bone. A growl sounds from above, but it's hardly the correction you anticipate, more of a nibble on the shell of your ear. Maybe he's trying to quiet himself, too. And like you, he fails to stifle the airy grunts that punch out of his throat.

There's a taughtness in your tummy that wasn't there before, the shake in your legs deepening, rippling up your belly and into your arms. Shivering. Like you were in the rain. But your head is quiet, devoid of the slightest hint of a thought, and...and...

"Rhett, I—" his cock head strikes a nerve, kills your voice on the spot. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish. "Feels...feels...weird."

The room spins. Suddenly weightless. Somebody just turned gravity off, and you're about to float right up to the ceiling. Rhett tilts back. You think he's looking in the eye. Maybe he isn't. Can't really tell. A rippling contraction has you clamping down around him. One more thrust, and—

A sudden wetness gushes between your thighs. Rhett gasps. Or maybe that's you. A ringing settles into your ears. The shiver settles into an unescapable limpness. Your heads pinning around and around, and you think, you think you're cumming on his cock, but you can't..you can't...

Oh.

Horror creeps into your cheeks. "Oh my god, I'm—"

"Fuck, sweetheart," Rhett drags his attention up from between your parted legs, eyes sparkling."Ain't you just the hottest little thing?"

There's not a hint of disgust coloring his features. No furrowed brows, deepening of the wrinkles in his forehead, or a downward turn of his mouth. His smile only grows bigger with the small rush of fluid around his cock as it plunges back into your weeping cunt, that sweet laugh grounding you, his oversized hands cradling your face. Marveling at you.

You don't know what you were expecting. Didn't even know you could do that.

"Y' still with me?" He murmurs against your lips.

All you can do is nod, a weary little 'uh-huh' falling out of your mouth. He's laughing again, and this time, you're giggling right along with him. The room continues to spin, but you can hardly feel it, entirely distracted by Rhett and the comfort of his body and his deepening thrusts. Even the myriad of wet noises can't reach you.

"What're you gigglin' for?" He rumbles, rubbing his nose against yours, a motion far too soft for what's going on below. "Y' need me to stop?"

"No!" You don't mean to blurt it out loud. Rhett's brow rises. "Don't...don't you dare."

"Okay, okay," soothing with a nuzzle, rubbing his scruffy cheek against your softer one. "Just checkin'."

Already, your heart is racing in your chest, oversensitive nerves twitching, tickling with every stroke of his cock. It's so much. Already bordering the limit of what you can handle. The only thing keeping you from rocketing off the bed and up the headboard is Rhett's bodyweight, an anchor in the raging sea.

There's a growing choppiness to his rhythmic thrusts, abruptly cutting shorter and shorter, broken apart by brief returns to those long, deep strokes that make your eyes cross. Drool spills past your parted lips. You might be on another planet right now.

Lightning snaps just outside the window, lighting up the room. This time, it hardly even startles you. Can't comprehend anything that isn't Rhett and his bruised face, pretty blue eyes squeezing shut at the feeling of your pussy fluttering around him. The swell of his knot lightly tugs on your entrance, a reminder of its presence.

He's getting close.

And you are, too.

A little coil winding tighter and tighter in your belly as he leans back onto his haunches, hooking his hands under your knees and pushing them up to your chest. His attention fixates between your legs, at the downright pornographic scene of his too-thick cock disappearing into your poor pussy.

His head tilts back, whining all high and pitchy. All at once, he pulls away.

But he's already pulled this trick, and you're already surging upward with a strength you didn't know you possessed. Bodies spin. Your jaw smacks his bony shoulder.

Rhett's back hits the bed, arms flopping next to him, dumbstruck. Aching muscles in your knee scream for you to stop, but you're no longer accepting complaints. Not even the raging storm can stop you from leaning forward, planting your hands on his sturdy chest for balance. Rising up a few inches, only to sink back down just as quickly, picking up the pace he left off at.

"Oh my god, shit!" Rhett's eyes are rolling back into his head, and he's grasping at your hips, clinging to them as if he weren't just trying to escape you. "I'm gonna...I'm gonna knot your pussy if you keep..."

Defiant, you whine at him, determinedly chasing the high building in your lower belly. That tautness is back, growing until your thighs struggle to flex.

But it doesn't matter, because Rhett's arms are wrapping around your waist. One harsh tug and your arms crumble out from under you, face to face with him in the flicker of a moment. There's no need to regain your leverage; Rhett's already thrusting up into you, doesn't need any further convincing.

The bulb of his knot catches, dragging just hard enough to make you gasp. And the underside of his cock is rubbing into those nerves. You can feel the slightest attention on your clit, and he's whimpering your name, and—

His hips snap up, knot popping into your cunt. The sharp twitch of his cock is all it takes, before you're cumming with a pitchy mewl that twists with his. Face buried into his chest, spasming around his shaft. His breath burns into your temple, outright moaning into your ear, and you can't think about anything else. Lost to the delicious tingle that races through your veins.

You can feel his cum pouring into you. There's so much of it, squelching with the weak aftershocks of your orgasm, rope after rope, filling you until you worry that his knot might not hold. Fuck, you're absolutely full of him. And yet he's bucking up into you, pushing the swollen bulb impossibly deeper, instinctibely trying to get his cum as deep in you as he possibly can.

Now it's your turn to start nuzzling on him. Rubbing your newly functional scent glands against his neck and jaw, insistent on drawing him down from the haze of his rut. A thundery grumble resounds from his throat, lashes stubbornly remaining closed.

This calls for desperate measures.

Kisses pepper across the soft side of his neck, unexpectedly trilling in between. One little sputtering vibration after the other, working into a little melody during your journey to his lips. Like a fairytale princess, his eyes open the moment your mouths meet.

"What're y' doin, Peaches?" It sounds like he's on a different planet, all distant gazes and lazy smiles. Maybe he's visiting the same one that you did.

But a different question appears at the forefront of your mind. "Peaches?"

"'s what y' smell like," he says it so matter of factly that you're inclined to believe it's your only scent note. Peaches.

His hand rises to your face, the calluses of his palm dragging wonderfully against sensitive skin. You can't help but lean into it, trilling once more, like the contented cat that you are, curled up on his chest and all. A finger swipes across your forehead, collecting...more of that green, jello substance.

"What is that?" You poke at it, watching it bounce under the slightest pressure.

"Dunno," he shakes his head, stumped. "We had it on us in the shower earlier."

Shards of a faraway memory collect, piecing together into a puzzle. "It looks like the sand one of those guys threw in my face." You don't remember the color, only that it was bright enough to see in the rain.

"Yeah...one of 'em threw somethin' like this at me, too." Rhett pinches it, the mysterious green material squishing into tinier pieces. Some of it stains the pad of his thumb, lingering like food dye. "It kinda looks like that gas station aphrodisiac they keep next to the checkout counter."

Your heat.

His rut.

Was that... because of this?

"Does it turn into gel when it's wet?" And where is your phone?

You don't realize that you're moving to get up until Rhett yanks you back down. You're nothing but a living ragdoll, helpless but to collapse back into his chest.

"Careful," hissing, his eyes squeeze shut, "y' move too much 'n it's gonna hurt."

Eyeroll. "I'm not gonna break, Rhett."

"Baby my cock barely fits in your little pussy, let alone my knot," he says it so earnestly that you're inclined to believe he isn't relishing in the sheer size of dick. It was a pretty drastic fit. "I think y' might actually break."

But rather than break you, he's worn you out, effectively warning off the rage of your heat, and all of the clashing hormones that come with it. You can only rest on your forearms for so long before you properly sprawl out on his chest, looking for a comfortable position that only comes when he rolls you over. Settling on top of you like the blanket that he is, your very own alpha.

You must fall asleep, because the next time your eyes, the candle has gone out, plunging the bedroom into the abyss once more. Rhett's on his haunches, gingerly drawing his softened cock from your spent body, cum gushing down your thighs in an instant. You can't help but grumble, shifting at the discomfort.

He dips down, barely visible in the dark, his tongue greeting your sore pussy. You jolt, already reaching down to paw at his head. The soft, wet muscle lavishes over your weeping entrance, easing the muscles there, only makes more of his semen spill out and onto the bed.

"Rhett," whimpering. A twinge of heat bites at your psyche, fighting to return once more.

"'ts okay, I've got you," he rises, lightly licking at your clit in short little strokes. It hardly takes much at all before a weak orgasm washes through you, nothing but a faint shiver and uptick of your heartbeat.

The heat washes away before he's crawled back up, able to comfortably draw you into his arms once more. One kiss, and you're gone again.

Morning arrives shrouded in thunder and rain, pitter-pattering against the window. The storm has yet to leave, but the power has come back on, your little lamp defiantly fighting off the dark shadows. The bed is empty.

Very, very empty.

The comforter and sheets have long since been pulled off, probably why you can hear the washing machine running. In their place lies a nest of blankets, some gathered from the living room and the closet, others plucked from Rhett's truck. A familiar jacket tops it off like a cherry on an ice cream sundae, clutched in your sore, aching arms.

Something clatters from the kitchen. You don't want to move, but somehow, you're on your feet. An ache blossoms between your thighs, forcing you into an awkward waddle as you make your way down the hall. A blanket hangs from your shoulders like a cape, Rhett's jacket clutched in your arms. Your only protection from whatever the hell is in your house.

Pale shoulders are the first thing your eyes land on. Sinewy muscles flexing back and forth as he fiddles with a spoon, stirring something that you can't quite see. Deep purple and crimson mar his sides, every kick to his ribs memorialized in a 'u' shaped mark, swollen enough to conceal the usual, vague outline of the bones there. He never has stored fat in his chest very well, ribcage chronically visible, regardless of weight.

The floor creaks under your foot. Rhett jumps.

Wide blue eyes soften, visible shock melting into something fond. His mouth lifts, smiling, looking you over, and...

"What?"

"My cums runnin' down your thighs," a shade of red tints his ears, has the audacity to be bashful after all the things he said last night. It only lasts for a moment, lost the moment he turns to pick up a glass, holding it out for you to take.

"How did you know this was my favorite?" You giggle, raising it to your mouth. Maybe it's the lovestruck fool in you talking, but it tastes exactly how you like it.

"Lucky guess," he steps forward, closing the gap. But something visibly crosses his mind, and he turns back to pick something up from the counter. "I suppose y' didn't hear me trip over your rug earlier."

"I might've mistaken the fall for thunder," winking. You didn't hear a damn thing.

A familiar bottle shakes in his hand, its plastic pink lid popping open under the slightest pressure from his thumb. It's so full that you can see the little pills from here. Special formulations of chemicals designed to shut off the hormones responsible for triggering heats and production of the oils in your scent glands.

One pill, maybe two, and you'll be back to normal. Rhett holds it out, offering to shake one into your hand. And you should take it. Retreat to the usual routine and pretend this didn't happen, maybe plan out a proper break in medication to have a proper, first heat. All of your problems, resolved with a few chemicals and a sip of water. But...

"I don't want them." Concluding aloud.

Like a puppy, he tilts his head to the side. "No?"

"I can't go back to that," sputtering, you barely manage to set the cup on the counter. "I can't go back to...to pretending that we don't know each other, putting space between us, acting like the only thing I want is to skip town with you, hoping that it's going to do anything but make us miserable."

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, something nameless buzzing through your veins. Rhett steps forward, arms opening.

You fall into his chest, blubbering. "I don't want this to end."

All you can hear is the rain, dancing on the kitchen window, tapping on the rooftop. Sounds a lot like Rhett's heartbeat, thumping under your ear.

"You want to leave with me?" He murmurs.

"Of course I do!" Smacking your hands against his chest does nothing; he's far too sturdy for that. "I wanna pack up and go somewhere that doesn't know what the hell Wabang even is. A place that won't give a damn if you're mine or not, and isn't filled with people who'd rather kill you over a bunch of money!"

Foreheads bump a little bit too hard, eyes meeting so closely that the flicker of his eyelashes makes you flinch.

But there's that big, dumb grin, slowly but surely wrinkling his face. "You want me to be yours?"

"Did I say that out loud?" Maybe you shouldn't have told him that part.

But it's hard to feign regret when he's starting to kiss all over your space. Across the bridge of your nose, over your cheeks, and up to your forehead, only to work his way back down. Thunder rumbles the moment your lips meet, your very own background music.

"Well, if your thoughts were serious, then..." Rhett only pauses for dramatic effect, pretending to think it all through. "I don't mind that at all."

"You'd leave town with me?" You can feel yourself lighten, someone has pressed that damn anti-gravity button again.

"I'll follow ya right off the edge of the planet, if that's what you're askin'," kissing you again, before that stupid smile can turn it into a toothy collision. "Where do we start?"

"You can start by," this time, it's you who breaks the conversation for a kiss, already making good on what you're about to request, "fucking me through the rest of this heat."

"I was hopin' you'd say somethin' like that." Rhett's hands appear on your waist.

And as easy as breathing, you fall into step, following the push and tug that guides you to the counter. His jacket strewn out in front of you, blanket cascading to your feet, the cold only briefly getting to you before he's warding it off with his very presence.

Lightning flickers, stealing the electricity from the house once more.

You hope this storm never ends.

#rhett abbott x reader #delgato writes #oneshot #afab reader

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puptrefied · 5 months ago

Text

cw: dub-con,　fingering,　sev’s mechanic arm vibrates,　 degradation,　 hair pulling, 　 overstimulation,　 cunnilingus (r!giving), no aftercare at all. | 2,3k words, barely proofread I'm sorry.

　coming back to the last drop after a rough deal, five in the goddamn morning, wiping blood that isn't hers off her clothes, a nasty cut on her cheek, thick eyebrows positioned into a nasty frown, a bottle of strong liquor she took from the counter ( even if the bar was open, the bartender would have not stopped her ) on her metallic hand as she went upstairs into silco's office, knocking heavily on the door, ready to speak about how jinx—living up to her name—almost turned the guy who's the usual contact for shimmer distribution into bones and ashes for whatever reason when she wasn't even supposed to be there, is definitely the worst part of sevika's job.

little shit, always getting on her nerves. sevika just wants to smack some sense into that fucked up brain but silco's the only thing that keeps her from doing so.

and of course she had to clean after the bluenette.

after all, you can't attack a trafficker without consequences. an eye for an eye turned quite literal when the man's eye popped because one of the window crystals from jinx's explosion flew right onto it and his men tried to jump at sevika. ‘bit stupid if you ask me…yes, their boss almost died and all but did they really think they could take this woman down with a few weak punches? they lack common sense, apparently.

now the drug dealer has one eye and five men nearly dead.

oh, great, just what she needed—silco is not even in his office. she wants to break something and rip her hair out.

“sevika? didn't see you coming in.” right, sometimes she forgets you come clean the mess the people at the bar make. taking care of the alcohol, the drugs, the shattered glasses, the unknown fluids, etc, that can be found on every corner just so they can do it all again the next day. cleaning up jinx's mess seems like nothing compared to your job. “everyone left already.”

she looks up from the couch to the door where you are standing with a surprisingly warm smile for someone who's working so early in the morning—god knows when your shift even started.

“silco also left like an hour ago, I was hoping I could secretly clean his office because it smells a little… funky.” you laughed gesturing to the mop on your hand before walking into the room, turning your back at sevika while picking up some bright neon, spray painted decoration from the floor to put it on his desk again. focused on getting the job done since she didn't seem in the mood to talk. ( rude but makes sense. )

how is the poor, pent up woman supposed to resist that heaven-sent view?

hand suddenly on your waist as she took one final swing of the strong liquor, pulling you closer even if you gasped and automatically tried to pull away. when did she even get up from the couch? “stay still.” she warned putting the bottle down on his desk to hold your hips more firmly against her front.

“I probably should go clean somewhere—” she could only scoff at your nervous words. yeah, like she'd want you to leave right now when all she needs is someone to pour her stress onto.

“shut up, what did I just say? stay still.”

this woman is one rough motherfucker and that applies to every aspect of her life, as you can tell by how tightly she's gripping at your hips as she moves you to bend over silco's desk. her calloused hand swiping away most of his stuff away, making sure your torso is flush against the wooden—and still dusty—surface, her fingers tangle themselves on your hair to keep your head down.

your legs go just a little weak. but hey, it's just you being tired from cleaning for hours now!

…or maybe it's the wall of pure muscle behind you sliding her mechanic hand under your pants, tracing your panties while she keeps talking.

“been a long fucking night.” her face buried itself on your neck, not even kissing the skin before nibbling on it. why would she? she doesn't owe you any gentleness. her body weight pressing you forward—the action making sure you can feel the cool metal of her fingers. the sharp tips lightly scratching the fabric of your underwear in a way that shouldn't feel this good, especially in the current circumstances but oh, well.

“are you stupid or deaf?” she pulled on your hair a little before pushing your head back down on the desk when she felt your hips moving away from her as soon as her arm made a loud mechanical sound, the rather strong vibration coming right after making you shudder.

you didn't mean to move like that, lifting your hips away from her, but you couldn't help it! the vibration was so out of nowhere it startled you. who's fault is that, hm? definitely sevika's. but I wouldn't say that out loud if I were you—you know, keeping in mind there's still blood that isn't hers on her clothes and body. just saying.

“hey, wait—”

your protests meaning nothing to her as she tugged ( ripped ) your pants and underwear down. “look at that, you whine but you're getting wet?” the most mocking scoff ever coming out of her lips while she pressed her vibrating fingers even more firmly on your now bare clit.

“it's not that much, you're just weak. get over it.”

she's right, it does feel like you're getting weaker by the second. the feeling getting more overwhelming as she gets meaner. “never thought of quitting? cleaning is definitely not your job, the brothel would work way better.” she's infuriatingly good at talking though, it's annoying.

“i mean, look at you. I'm sure people would pay more to see this ass than what silco does for you to clean his shit.” she squeezed one cheek to emphasize her own point, giving a slap to watch it jiggle, her lower lip caught with her teeth at the sight. she could get used to it, actually.

“there we go, see? wasn't so hard to keep quiet.” her fingers are no longer cold, now sticky and warm from your body heat—body heat she proudly increased by the way—while her hand starts to move back and forth to cause more sensations, moans and trembles.

you feel like it's too much? oh, baby, she hasn't done anything yet!

you realize she's actually doing something when you notice her sliding two thick fingers—lucky for you, real ones instead of the sharp prosthetics—stretching you out without a single warning as the vibration on your clit does not cease at all.

the wet sounds combined with the slap of skin and buzzing coming from in between your legs absolutely obscene in a way that's fucking humiliating. god, you shouldn't be this horny for a woman that treats you like a hooker she found in an alley but it would be a terrible lie if you said it didn't make your lower belly burn and tingle in a way you've felt before, but definitely not with that intensity.

her scent—blood, sweat, and that funky, smoky tang that always clings to her—feels pretty intoxicating, to the point it's impossible to think straight.

you bit your lip, frustrated at the way your own body seems to betray you with the moans you fail to hold back. no amount of deep breaths able to help you. the mixture of pleasure and pain seems to blur together, forcing an embarrassingly whiny whimper to escape before you can even stop it.

“what's wrong?” sevika murmurs with a mocking chuckle, her fingers curling just right, pressing against your g-spot as if she knew your body better than you and honestly with the amount of experience she has, she might as well. “guess you like being treated like a common whore, huh, is that it?”

heat goes straight to your cheeks and down yourq back at her words, and yet again your body completely ignores your internal struggles, hips rocking against her hand despite your best efforts to stay still. she noticed, of course she did, using that to give a punishing thrust that suddenly feels way too deep.

“yeah, that's what I thought,” she scoffed, voice dripping with disdain, but her movements became more purposeful. her metallic fingers pressed firmly against your clit with no mercy, the vibrations and the movements had you clutching at the edge of the desk.

“look at you,” sevika muttered, more to herself than you, as if fascinated by the way your body responds to her rough thrusts. “maybe I'll keep you here, bent over silco's desk, let him walk in and see what a filthy slut you are.”

the thought sent a jolt of humiliation and twisted excitement through you, and sevika definitely feels it, her lips turn into the most asshol-smirk you've ever seen ( if you were able to ), and she speeds up, the wet, obscene sounds of her fingers working you echoing in the small office.

"go on," she said, "are you gonna keep pretending you don't like it?"

sevika doesn't even think about slowing down as she felt the way your walls squeezed her tight enough to earn a small groan from her—your moans being her motivation to keep going through your orgasm—drawing every last tremor from your body until you're left breathless and boneless, slumped over the desk.

she finally pulled out after god knows how long, her fingers sticky and wet from your fluids. sevika raised them to her lips, absolutely shameless, eyes locked on yours as she licked the digits clean with a deliberate, slow drag of her tongue, enjoying the dazed expression on your pretty face while you panted.

“come on, to the floor.” oh, lord, she's still going?

she sat on the couch, pants lowered to her ankles before you could even register her words. shaky legs doing the best they can when you kneeled down in between her thighs. so tired that taking a nap on ‘em seems like the best idea ever, but you can't do that now—not when she's already manspread there, waiting with a cigar on her lips ( probably stole it from silco's desk or something, everything’s happening way to quick for your brain to comprehend ) while casually lighting it up like she didn't just rearrange your guts with her fingers.

free hand wrapping around your hair again, this time guiding your face to her lower abdomen, soft lips pressed on the happy trail that decorated her sweaty skin in a way that now felt sinfully good. “open.”

how could you say no when she's looking down at you like that, making you eat her out as she exhales the heavy smoke?

a low groan, almost imperceptible to your ears covered by her thighs, comes out of her when she finally feels your mouth trail down and down and down, her legs spreading further so you can taste her better.

the scent of her mixed with the smell of cigar was all you could notice. her grip on your hair tightens, not enough to truly hurt, but enough to remind you where you are. half naked, wet and sticky inner thighs, now a sticky mouth, kneeling down on some floor you were supposed to be cleaning while eating the pussy of a 185cm tall woman who disfigured a group of men a few hours ago.

almost in a trance, your lips part, tongue darting out to give her a tentative lick. the taste is overwhelming, consuming your senses until nearly all you can focus on is the feel of sevika,the taste of sevika, the scent of sevika. “that’s it, knew you were playing dumb.” huh, who would've thought you'd be doing this and liking it?

your tongue took another swipe at her dripping slit, this time lingering longer, trying to get deeper. a husky moan from her motivating you to keep going.

at the light twitch on her hips, you vary your technique—going from licking long stripes up and down to swirling your tongue around her already sensitive clit, before dragging it lower to spear into her weeping entrance. the sound of her breathing turns ragged as you lost yourself in the act of pleasing her, of tasting her, of being the cause of such raw feelings.

her hips start to move, grinding her achingly greedy cunt against your face, you grabbed at the tensing muscles on her thighs for support meanwhile she basically used your face like a toy for her own pleasure. not caring if you can breath or not. smearing your lips and chin with her own fluids just like you did with her hand. ( was it revenge? probably not since it's a win-win situation for sevika. )

lost in a haze of sensations, you barely register the heavy, strong hand pressing down on the back of your head, holding you in place—forcing you to feel every clench and twitch. the world narrows down to the taste of her, the scent of her, the feel of her, until you can barely recall why you ever resisted the idea of doing what she says.

oh?

oh.

she did not just come, make you lick all of it and then push you away. ( she absolutely just did, the motherfucker. )

“okay, that's it, enough.” the fucking audacity to get up, fix her pants and just leave you there, sat on the cold floor as if you were a simple stray dog who got its five minutes of petting from a stranger. “clean up the mess you made.”

“hold on—”

she just left without even listening?! great, now you're stuck having clean a messy desk, pick up the paperwork from the floor, your own panties and pants and having to get rid of the wet, creamy stain on silco's couch that apparently ‘you’ made as if it wasn't sevika's cum.

what a rollercoaster of a night.

masterlist

#pupi writes ᝰ #sevika #sevika x reader #sevika smut #sevika x you #arcane x reader #arcane x you #arcane smut #wlw writing #wlw smut #dom sevika #sapphic smut

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impala666 · 3 months ago

Text

Comfort and Love

Yes, Langdon again and I'll probably have another one out soon about his partner finding out that he's been stealing drugs but we shall see. For some reason I have an easier time writing for Dr. Langdon than I do for Robby or Abbott, idk. I rushed at the end a little, lol.

Being a nurse and also working with your husband was great 99% of the time. Of course the two of you knew how to keep you work lives separate from your personal lives and your marriage. At work the two of worked like a well oiled machine, much was the same in your personal lives. Sometimes being married to Frank tested your nerves to which you reminded him that he was being an ass or just being too much. But of course at work there was a hierarchy, he was a doctor and you were a nurse. Sometimes he was a little rough around the edges, but you couldn’t tell him that until the two of you got home. Though most of the time you’d forget it, because he was stressed out at work all the time and when you were home. That was it. The hospital didn’t exist in your bubble.

Today was your run of the mill day so far. Emergency, after emergency, after emergency. No time to sit, no time for the restroom, no time for anything really. All that mattered were the patients and what they needed. You had felt your cell phone vibrate a few times and noticed a text from your husband, but you hadn’t had time to text him back which you figured he would understand. He’d had so many traumas today you were surprised that he had time to even reach out to you, so you really hoped everything was okay. “Hey, sweety,” Dana, your wonderful, beautiful, and flawless charge nurse called out to you as you were rushing pass the main hub. “Can you slow your roll for a sec?” You did what she asked and walked up to the other side of the desk.

“What’s up?” You asked, but you could already see the look of concern on her face. Not concern for you, just concern.

“You heard about the kid drowning?” You nodded sadly, officially giving her your undivided attention. You heard about it, but not in depth. A child dying anywhere was always a travesty. “Well your darling husband was in on it, and I think he’s having hard time.” Now you were worried, not just for your husband, but Dana. She actually said something nice about him. Sure sometimes Frank rubbed people the wrong way, hell most people. But they didn’t realize that it was the way he hid his true feelings of stress.

“Where is he?” You asked. You would stop everything to make sure that he was okay. He was always your rock, but now it was your turn.

“Down that way,” Dana nodded her head in the direction down the hall just before the exit to the waiting room of the ER. You thanked her with a small smile and she gently patted your hand for ‘you’re welcome, dear.’When you made your way a little more down the hall you noticed your husband sitting on the bench, with his head in his hands and elbows on his knees just taking a breather for the moment.

“Hey there,” you greeted him gently so as not to startle him as you placed a hand on his upper back. Frank said nothing, didn’t even look up. He took one hand off of his face and reached out to grab your free wrist and walked you in between his legs so he could hide his face in your stomach. “I heard, I’m so sorry baby.” You whispered as you moved your hand from his back to the back of his head to run your fingers through his soft hair. You felt him let out a long exhale of relief and letting himself relax for the first time since his shift started.

“She was so young, you know?” He mumbled into you. You nodded as he looked up at you with his beautiful blue eyes that could easily stop traffic. You answered with a soft ‘I know.’ “Do you have to go back right away?”

“No,” you shook your head taking a seat on the bench next to him. He laced his fingers with yours not wanting to let you go yet. “I think Dana will let it slide.” You smiled to yourself as he reached forward and placed a kiss on your forehead before pulling out his phone.

“Wanna talk to Tanner with me then?” He asked you, wrapping his arm that was holding your hand around your waist. Pulling you even closer, he didn’t give a fuck who saw or who would comment. He needed solace for just five minutes, and he needed his wife. You nodded your head with a small smile as he dialed his mom’s number who answered on the second ring. “Hey, mom,” Langdon answered.

“Hey, Marlene,” you greeted his mom too, just to let her know that you were there too.

“Hi, kids,” she greeted with what sounded like a smile on her face. “You both finally found time for breaks, huh?”

“Yeah, about that, mom. Can we talk to Tanner?” Langdon asked.

“Is everything alright?” She asked. Frank said yes, but you could see the look on his face that he was just trying to keep it together.

“Yeah, I just want to talk to him.” Frank said gently. You could see his eyes start to water and turn red, so you reached up and rubbed the corners of his eyes while you both waited for your son to come to the phone. Frank flashed you a sad but thankful smile, to which you returned.

“Daddy!” Your little boy answered the phone with so much cheer and glee.

“Hey, buddy, what’s going on? I have your mommy here too.” Langdon chuckled at the excited gasp that came from the other end of the phone. It wasn't often that Tanner was able to talk to the both of you while the two of you were at work.

“Hi, mommy. I love you!” You couldn’t help the smile that beamed on your face.

“Hey, honey! How’s it going at Grandma Langdon’s?”

“Soo much fun! We wrote a song, can I pretty please sing it.” You looked up at your husband as your heart melted.

“Yeah absolutely, we’d love to hear your song.” Langdon’s smile started to become real as he listened to his son prepare to sing the song as he felt your head rest on his shoulder.

In times like these, when thing seemed pretty damn bleak and he couldn’t find a way out. He was blessed and grateful that he had the most beautiful and patient wife in the world, and his children to remind him to come back from that ledge and that it was okay to come up from air once in a while. As his son started to sing, the two of you relaxed a little more into the bench and Frank pressed a grateful kiss to your lips. Sometimes it was good that his worlds collided.

#the pitt hbo #frank langdon #frank langdon x reader

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cherryxbooo · 5 months ago

Note

Helloooo hehe 🍒

Could you write a pedri fic where perdito and reader are both in college but he’s the popular kind and reader is quiet and almost invisible.

How at first she doesn’t wanna get involved but slowly warms up to him and start dating and her getting welcomed by his family.

Make it angst to fluff like real angst tho.

Whether you write this or not im grateful 💚

You make sense to me

Summary: Being introverted and choosing the background over the spotlight is already hard enough, let alone when the popular guy suddenly takes an interest in you.

Note: Thank you so much for your request! I decided to switch it up a bit and go from fluff to angst and obviously ending in fluff. Hope you like it! 🫶

Reader x Pedri

Genre: fluff/angst

University is a strange place.

It’s a world where people reinvent themselves, the loud get louder, and the quiet, like me, learn to live in the spaces between.

That’s how I’ve survived my first year at university, blending into the background.

I’m not a recluse, but I keep to myself.

I study, I go to class, I read in the corner of the library, and I go home.

No unnecessary interactions. No unnecessary attention.

That is, until he noticed me.

Pedri.

Everyone in our uni knows who he is. He’s that guy, the one with effortless charm, always surrounded by people.

Popular, not just because he’s good at football, but because he’s him. He moves through life with a kind of ease I can’t even imagine.

And yet, for some reason, he keeps looking at me.

I don’t get it. I don’t know what he sees.

At first, I ignore it. I convince myself I’m imagining things. But then, it happens again.

And again.

Until one day, he does more than just look.

It started off small.

"Hey," a voice says, casual but confident.

My highlighter sits on the page.

A thick streak of neon yellow bleeds over a sentence I was trying to mark, but my brain suddenly forgets how to function because someone is talking to me.

Slowly, very slowly, I turn my head.

He’s already sitting beside me, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

A dark hoodie, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, a grin that’s just a little too amused.

His presence feels loud, even though he’s not making any actual noise.

My first instinct? Escape.

My second? Stare.

I do both in rapid succession, my eyes flicking toward the exit, then warily back at him, as if assessing how much of a threat he poses.

He doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he does, and just doesn’t care.

"...Hi?" I say, but it comes out more like a question than a greeting.

His grin widens, like this is completely normal.

Like we talk all the time.

“You’re in my psychology class, right?”

I blink at him. That’s what this is about?

I nod once, not trusting my voice, because I don’t know why he’s here, or what he wants, and I hate not knowing things.

He leans back in his chair, completely at ease.

His dark eyes scan the open book in front of me, then flick back up to my face.

“You’re quiet.”

I exhale slowly through my nose. No shit.

I don’t reply.

I just wait. People like him, people who talk first and think later, usually get bored when they don’t get the response they want.

Any second now, he’ll lose interest. Any second now—

"Like, really quiet," he continues, undeterred.

His chin rests on his palm, elbow propped on the table, as if he’s studying me.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say a full sentence.”

I resist the urge to sigh. Or groan. Or bang my head against the table.

Instead, I press my lips together and attempt to salvage my poor, over-highlighted page.

"Maybe because I don’t have anything to say."

He chuckles, low and warm, like I’ve just told some inside joke we both share.

Except we don’t.

“I don’t buy that,” he says.

I glance at him again, this time with actual irritation.

"Why do you care?"

His shoulders lift in an easy shrug, like he hasn’t even considered the question before.

“I don’t know. You’re interesting.”

I actually laugh. A small, startled sound that slips out before I can stop it.

Not because he’s right, but because that has to be the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard.

"I’m not interesting," I say, shaking my head.

"You just don’t know me well enough to be bored yet."

His smirk deepens. "See? That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile."

I roll my eyes and refocus on my book.

"Congratulations. You’ve unlocked a new achievement."

He leans forward slightly, like I’ve just confirmed something for him. "So you can be sarcastic. Good to know."

I bite back another sigh. He’s not leaving. He’s settling in.

For a moment, I consider my options.

I could:

A) Ignore him until he gets the hint. B) Pack up my stuff and relocate to another part of the library. C) Say something so cold and blunt that he’ll regret ever sitting here.

I’m still debating when he speaks again.

"You always sit here," he muses.

I glance at him. "What?"

"In the library. Right here. This exact table." He tilts his head, thinking.

"You come in, you pull out your books, you highlight the hell out of your pages, and you don’t talk to anyone."

I stare at him, my pulse kicking up a notch.

"Have you been watching me?"

He shrugs, completely unapologetic. "More like... noticing."

"That’s the same thing."

"Not really," he counters, that lazy smirk still in place.

"Watching is weird. Noticing is just, paying attention."

I frown, my grip tightening on my highlighter.

"Why are you paying attention to me?"

He tilts his head, considering. "I don’t know. Maybe I like mysteries."

I scoff. "I’m not a mystery."

"Debatable."

I shake my head and focus very intently on my book.

But the problem is, I can still feel him there, his gaze lingering, his presence impossible to ignore.

And for the first time in forever, I feel seen.

I hate it.

Pedri doesn’t leave me alone after that.

At first, I tell myself it’s a coincidence.

A fluke.

That first conversation in the library? A one-time thing.

A moment of fleeting curiosity on his part.

But then it happens again. And again. And again.

It starts small.

A casual wave when he spots me across campus.

At first, I ignore it, assuming he’s greeting someone behind me.

But when I glance over my shoulder and see no one there, I realize, he’s waving at me.

I don’t wave back.

But that doesn’t stop him.

The next time, he adds a grin to it. The time after that, he calls my name, loud enough that people turn to look.

(Which, obviously, mortifies me.)

Then, there’s class.

He used to sit on the other side of the room.

I know this because I used to specifically sit where I wouldn’t have to be around too many people.

But one day, Pedri is suddenly there, dropping into the seat next to me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like he’s always been there.

I glance at him, suspicious. He just shrugs, pulling out his notebook.

"Better view from here."

I don’t buy that for a second, but I also don’t argue.

And then there are the conversations.

Or, more accurately, the ones he forces me into.

"So, what’s your verdict on our professor? Secretly a vampire, or just really hates sunlight?"

"If you had to survive on only one food for the rest of your life, what would it be? And if you say something boring like ‘salad,’ I might actually cry."

"I bet you secretly have a list of people you’d commit crimes for. I respect it."

Some days, I ignore him completely.

Other days, his persistence wears me down, and I give in with a sigh.

"Pasta," I mumble one afternoon.

He blinks. "Huh?"

"If I had to survive on one food. Pasta."

His entire face lights up like I’ve just gifted him something.

"Yes! Solid answer. Now, important follow-up question: are we talking plain pasta, or are you a sauce person?"

I sigh again, but this time, it’s less annoying. Maybe even a little amused.

Just a little.

And that’s how it starts.

I don’t even realize it’s happening at first.

How, little by little, I stop avoiding him.

How my replies stretch from one-word answers to full sentences.

How my body relaxes when he shows up, instead of tensing like I used to.

How I catch myself looking for him in class before he even arrives.

I try to convince myself that it means nothing.

That it’s just habit. That he’s just there, and I’ve gotten used to it.

But habits don’t make my heart skip when I see him across the quad.

Habits don’t make me bite back a smile when he says something stupid.

Habits don’t make my chest ache in ways I don’t know how to handle.

And somehow, without me fully understanding how or when or why, we become friends.

Or something dangerously close to it.

And it terrifies me.

Because Pedri is warmth, and I am used to distance.

Because he is effortless, and I have spent my whole life trying to be untouchable.

Because the more time I spend with him, the more I feel.

And feelings?

Feelings are dangerous.

Then it started with an invitation,

A casual one. Like it’s no big deal.

"Hey, wanna grab lunch with me?"

I glance up from my book, blinking at Pedri like he just asked me to rob a bank with him.

"What?"

"Lunch," he repeats, standing beside my table with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie.

"You know, that thing people eat in the middle of the day?"

I roll my eyes. "I know what lunch is."

"Great. Then let’s go." He gestures toward the door like this is already decided.

I hesitate. "Why?"

"Because we both have to eat, and food is better with company," he says simply.

"And don’t say you weren’t planning to eat, because that would be tragic."

I chew on my bottom lip, searching for an excuse, any excuse, but nothing comes to mind.

Pedri doesn’t give me time to think too hard about it.

He reaches for my bag, lifting it from the table before I can protest.

"Come on," he says, grinning. "I promise not to bite."

I sigh, knowing I’ve already lost.

"Fine," I mumble. "But if this place is loud and crowded, I’m leaving."

He smirks. "Noted."

The restaurant he takes me to is small and tucked away, a quiet little place that somehow doesn’t feel overwhelming.

It’s warm inside, the air rich with the scent of fresh bread and spices.

There’s soft music playing in the background, and to my relief, no overwhelming crowd.

"See?" Pedri says as we step in. "Not too bad, right?"

I nod slowly. "It’s... nice."

He grins, clearly pleased with himself. "Told you I’d pick a good place."

We find a booth by the window, and for the first time, I feel oddly at ease.

We order our food, and somehow, Pedri keeps me engaged in conversation the entire time.

It’s easy. Effortless.

He talks about everything, his classes, his teammates, a hilarious story about how he once fell asleep in the middle of a Zoom lecture and got called out for it.

I laugh before I can stop myself.

He looks ridiculously proud of this accomplishment.

"You like my suffering," he accuses, eyes gleaming.

"I’m just impressed by your ability to sleep through an entire class," I tease.

Pedri gasps dramatically. "So she can joke. This is a breakthrough moment."

I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling.

We eat slowly, the conversation flowing without effort.

And it’s nice. Too nice.

Because for the first time in a long time, I feel something dangerously close to happy.

After lunch, Pedri suggests a walk.

I should say no. I should go back to my dorm, back to my safe space.

But instead, I find myself walking beside him, our steps slow and unhurried.

The campus is quieter now, the afternoon sun casting a golden hue over the trees. It feels peaceful.

We eventually find an empty bench near the park and sit down.

I exhale, tilting my head back slightly to feel the breeze on my skin.

Pedri watches me for a moment before speaking.

"You don’t let a lot of people in, do you?"

I glance at him. "That obvious?"

He shrugs. "I just notice things."

A beat of silence. Then…

"Why?" he asks softly.

I chew on the inside of my cheek. I don’t usually talk about this. I don’t talk about myself at all.

But with Pedri, it feels... safe.

"I like peace," I admit finally. "I like being quiet. Being unnoticed. It’s easier."

Pedri stays silent, waiting. Letting me talk.

I take a breath.

"People... they take up space. They expect things. They need things. And I" I pause, searching for the right words.

"I don’t know how to be what people need. So I just don’t try. So I won't end up getting hurt."

Pedri listens carefully, nodding like he understands.

I look down at my hands.

"I spent so long blending into the background that I guess I forgot how to be anything else."

Pedri exhales softly. When he speaks, his voice is gentle.

"I get that," he says.

I glance at him, surprised.

He leans back against the bench, gazing up at the sky.

"You know, people always assume I like attention just because I’m popular. Because I’m always around people, always talking."

I nod slightly. He’s right. I did assume that.

"But the truth is," he continues, "I don’t care about any of that."

I frown. "Then why"

"Why you?" He turns his head to look at me. "Why did I notice you?"

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry.

Pedri smiles, but it’s softer this time. "Because you’re real."

I blink. "What?"

"Everyone else is so... loud," he says.

"Always trying to be something, trying to impress, trying to fit into whatever image they think they need to be."

He shifts slightly, his knee brushing against mine.

"But you? You’re just you," he murmurs. "And that’s rare."

My heart does something weird in my chest. I don’t like it.

Pedri studies my face for a moment, then sighs.

"Look, I know you like being on your own. I know you don’t trust people easily. And I get that. But..." He hesitates, then turns fully toward me.

"Give me a chance," he says.

I inhale sharply. "Pedri"

"Just a chance," he insists.

"Let me prove to you that I’m not like everyone else. That I don’t just want something from you."

I bite my lip, staring at the ground.

"You scare me," I whisper.

He blinks. "Me?"

I nod. "Not in a bad way. Just... you make me feel things. And I don’t know how to handle that."

Pedri’s gaze softens, and he reaches out, hesitating for a second before lightly brushing his fingers against mine.

"You don’t have to handle it alone," he says gently.

"Let me in. Just a little."

I look at our hands, barely touching, then back at him.

His expression is so open, so earnest, that something in me cracks just a little.

Maybe just a little wouldn’t be so bad.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

I take a deep breath. Then, slowly, hesitantly, I nod.

Pedri smiles, squeezing my fingers lightly before pulling away, giving me space.

And for the first time, it doesn’t feel terrifying.

It happens gradually.

One moment, he’s just there, the way he always is, persistent, warm, impossible to ignore.

The next, he’s everywhere.

And suddenly, Pedri is mine.

Which is strange...

If you would've told me I would end up with the most popular guy of my uni, I would've straight up laughed in your face.

But, here we're... I guess.

It’s funny how quickly I get used to him.

To his presence, his warmth, the way he seamlessly fits into my life like he’s always been there.

And maybe it should scare me.

Maybe I should keep my distance, hold onto the walls I spent so long building.

But with Pedri, distance feels... impossible.

Because he refuses to be anything less than close.

It doesn’t take long for people to notice.

Because Pedri isn’t subtle. At all.

If anything, he seems to take genuine delight in shocking people.

Like the time we’re walking across campus, and he suddenly grabs my hand, intertwining our fingers like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

I freeze.

"Pedri" I start, eyes darting around, but he just squeezes my hand.

"Relax," he murmurs, glancing down at me with a small smile.

"It’s just me."

I exhale slowly. It’s just him.

I tell myself to pull away, but I don’t.

And then I really regret it when I hear a group of students whispering nearby.

"Wait, are they holding hands?"

"No way. Pedri and y/n?"

"How did that even happen?"

I feel my entire face heat up, but Pedri? He doesn’t care at all.

If anything, he likes it.

Because the next day, when we’re sitting together in class, he casually reaches over and plays with my fingers under the desk.

Like it’s a habit.

Like he just wants to touch me.

"Pedri," I hiss quietly, trying to pull my hand away.

He smirks but tightens his grip. "You’re cute when you’re flustered."

I glare at him. "You’re annoying."

"And yet," he hums, "you still let me hold your hand."

Damn it.

Outside of school, it’s even worse.

Because Pedri doesn’t just want to see me in class, he wants to see me all the time.

"Are you free later?" he asks one afternoon.

I glance up from my notes. "Why?"

"Because I wanna see you," he says easily.

I blink. "You see me every day."

He grins. "Yeah, and?"

I sigh but don’t argue. Because, honestly?

I want to see him too.

Some nights, he comes over with zero warning.

Like when I’m sitting on my bed, fully prepared to spend my evening reading, and suddenly…

Knock, knock.

I groan, already knowing who it is.

When I open the door, Pedri is standing there with two cups of hot chocolate and a ridiculously pleased expression.

"You didn’t text me," I say, raising an eyebrow.

"Didn’t think I needed to," he says, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

I sigh. "What if I was busy?"

He flops onto my bed, looking completely at home. "Then I’d just sit here and wait for you to be un-busy."

I shake my head, but my lips twitch. I hate how much I like this.

One day, we’re supposed to grab lunch, but it starts pouring out of nowhere.

Pedri and I sprint across campus, completely drenched by the time we duck into the nearest café.

I groan, wringing out my hoodie. "Well, this sucks."

Pedri grins, shaking water from his hair like a golden retriever.

"Nah. I kinda like it."

"You like being soaked?" I deadpan.

"No," he chuckles. "I like that it means I get to stay here with you longer."

And damn it, he means it.

I shake my head, trying to ignore the way my heart clenches.

We sit by the window, watching the rain while sharing a plate of fries.

Pedri drapes his hoodie over my shoulders because I’m still shivering, and when I glance at him, he just shrugs.

"What’s mine is yours, princesa."

I roll my eyes, but the warmth in my chest doesn’t go away.

One night, we’re lying on my bed, facing each other in the soft glow of my bedside lamp.

It’s quiet, comfortable.

Pedri reaches out, tracing lazy patterns on my wrist.

"You ever think about what would’ve happened if I never sat next to you that day?" he murmurs.

I blink. "What?"

"In the library," he says. "If I never sat down. If I never talked to you or approached you. What do you think would’ve happened?"

I think about it for a second. "I guess... nothing."

Pedri frowns slightly.

"You wouldn’t have noticed me," I explain. "And I would’ve kept living my life the way I always have."

His grip on my wrist tightens slightly. "That’s a terrible answer."

I laugh softly. "It’s the truth."

"Well, I hate it," he says.

I tilt my head. "Why?"

Pedri exhales.

"Because I can’t imagine my life without you now," he murmurs. "And I don’t want to."

My breath catches.

He’s staring at me with so much emotion, like I’m the most important thing in his universe.

"I meant what I said," he continues softly.

"I don’t care that you’re quiet. I don’t care that you like being in the background. I don’t care that people think we don’t make sense."

His fingers brush against my cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

"You make sense to me," he whispers.

I don’t know what to say.

Pedri smiles slightly like he can hear all the things I’m too scared to say.

"You don’t have to say anything," he murmurs.

"Just, promise me you won’t push me away."

I swallow. "Pedri..."

"Please," he breathes. "Just let me love you."

My chest tightens, the weight of his words settling deep inside me.

But instead of answering, I reach for him, fingers threading through his hair as I pull him closer.

His lips meet mine, slow, soft, certain, and in that moment, I know.

I know that Pedri is different.

I know that I’ve already fallen for him.

And for the first time in a long time,

I don’t want to run.

It’s a normal day at school.

Or at least, it should be.

Except nothing is ever normal when you’re dating Pedri.

We’re sitting outside on one of the campus benches, a rare moment of peace in between classes.

I’m trying to eat my lunch, but Pedri, ever the distraction, is making that very difficult.

"You’re not even paying attention to me," he pouts, resting his chin on my shoulder.

"Because I’m eating," I say, taking another bite of my sandwich.

"But I’m right here."

"And?"

"And I require attention."

I roll my eyes, but I can’t hide my smile.

Pedri grins, clearly pleased with himself.

He reaches up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, then lets his fingers trail down my arm before entwining our hands together.

"Better," he hums, like this was the missing piece of his day.

I shake my head but squeeze his hand anyway.

For a moment, it’s quiet, and comfortable, like it always is with him.

And then he drops a bombshell.

"So, I was thinking... you should come to my parents’ house this weekend."

I nearly choke on my drink. "Wait…what?"

"To my parents’ house," he repeats easily as if he’s asking me to grab a coffee, not meet his entire family.

"For dinner. Just something casual."

Casual?

Meeting his parents is casual?!

My brain short-circuits.

"Pedri, I" I paused, exhaling. "That’s... a big step."

He tilts his head, studying me. "Is it?"

"Yes," I say, nodding vigorously.

"I mean, it’s your family. What if they don’t like me?"

Pedri immediately frowns, turning his entire body towards me.

"First of all, there’s literally no way they won’t like you."

I bite my lip, looking down at my hands. "You don’t know that."

"Yes, I do," he says firmly.

"You’re smart, and kind, and funny, and" He pauses, squeezing my hand.

"And you make me happy. That’s all they need to know."

I feel my heart clench.

Damn him. Damn him and his words that make me weak.

I hesitate for a few more seconds before exhaling. "Okay... I’ll go."

His face lights up, and suddenly, I know I made the right choice.

"Good," he says smugly.

"Because if you said no, I was gonna beg."

I snort. "I would’ve made you suffer a little first."

"That’s mean."

"That’s justice."

Pedri grins, tugging me closer. "I knew I liked you for a reason."

That weekend, I stood in front of my mirror, stressing out.

What do you wear to meet your boyfriend’s parents?

I don’t want to be too formal and look like I’m trying too hard, but I also don’t want to look like I just threw on the first thing I found.

After way too much debating, I settle on something simple yet cute, just enough effort to look put-together.

And right on cue, my phone buzzes.

Pedri: I’m outside <3

I grab my bag, take a deep breath, and head out.

As soon as I open the door, I see him leaning against his car, arms crossed, a lazy grin spreading across his face the moment he sees me.

"Wow," he whistles, giving me an obvious once-over.

I shift on my feet, suddenly self-conscious. "What?"

"You look…" He pauses, stepping closer. "Beautiful."

My face heats up. "Shut up."

"I’m serious," he murmurs, eyes shining.

"My mom’s gonna love you even more now."

I roll my eyes but smile as he opens the car door for me.

As we drive, I feel the nerves creeping in again.

My hands rest stiffly on my lap, and I stare out the window, chewing on my lip.

Pedri notices immediately.

Without a word, he reaches over and takes my hand, intertwining our fingers.

"Breathe, princesa," he murmurs.

I exhale shakily. "I just don’t want to mess this up."

"You won’t."

"How do you know?"

Pedri lifts our joined hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles.

"Because you’re you," he says simply.

And just like that, some of the nerves fade.

As soon as we arrive, Pedri barely has time to knock before the door swings open, revealing his mother.

"Hola, cariño!" she exclaims, pulling Pedri into a tight hug, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

He laughs, hugging her back. "Hola, mamá."

Then, her eyes land on me.

And suddenly, I forget how to breathe.

"And this must be y/n, the girl I’ve heard so much about," she says warmly, her gaze kind and curious.

I hesitate for a moment before stepping forward, offering a polite smile. "Hi, it’s really nice to meet you."

To my surprise, her face softens even more before she pulls me into a gentle hug.

"Oh, you’re adorable," she murmurs before pulling away.

"Come in, come in."

As we step inside, I glance at Pedri, who is smirking at me like he knew this would happen.

He leans down, whispering, "Told you she’d love you."

I glare at him, nudging him with my elbow, but the warmth in my chest doesn’t fade.

The house is warm and inviting, decorated with framed pictures of Pedri and his family.

Some are from his childhood, others more recent, like his love for football evident in every corner.

I take a moment to glance at one of the shelves, where several of his trophies and awards sit proudly.

"You’re staring, princesa," Pedri teases, nudging my shoulder.

"It’s just weird seeing your entire life displayed like this," I murmur.

Before he can reply, a deep voice cuts through the room.

"So this is the famous girl?"

I turn to see Fernando, Pedri’s older brother, leaning against the doorway with an amused expression.

"The one and only," Pedri says smugly, throwing an arm around my shoulders.

I shoot him a look but manage a polite smile. "It’s nice to meet you."

Fernando nods, eyeing Pedri. "Well, I have to say, I’m impressed. I thought you were just making her up."

I snort, while Pedri glares. "I hate you."

"Love you too, hermano."

His mother shakes her head, laughing. "Boys, enough. Let’s eat."

Dinner is incredible, and not just the food (which is honestly some of the best I’ve ever had).

Pedri’s mom made a full spread, and every bite tastes like it was cooked with love.

"This is amazing," I say, genuinely in awe.

His mom beams. "Thank you, cariño. Eat as much as you want."

"Careful," Fernando jokes. "She’ll try to adopt you if you say that too many times."

Pedri smirks. "Too late. She’s already mine."

I nearly choke on my drink.

His mother laughs while Fernando groans.

"God, you’re embarrassing."

Pedri shrugs, completely unfazed, squeezing my knee under the table.

Throughout the meal, his parents ask me questions, not in an overwhelming way, but enough to show that they’re genuinely interested in getting to know me.

His dad is quieter but still warm, occasionally chiming in with a question or a story about Pedri as a kid.

"Did he tell you he used to cry when he lost board games?" his dad asks, smirking.

I light up. "No, but I love that."

Pedri groans, slumping in his chair. "Why are we exposing me?"

"Because it’s fun," Fernando says, grinning.

I giggle, and Pedri shoots me a betrayed look.

"You’re supposed to be on my side," he mutters.

"I am," I say sweetly. "Just... not right now."

After dinner, I insist on helping with the dishes.

"Oh, no, cariño, you’re a guest," his mother says, waving me off.

"Please," I say, offering a small smile. "I want to help."

She eyes me for a moment before nodding. "Alright. But only because you asked so nicely."

As we stand by the sink, washing plates, she suddenly speaks up.

"You know," she starts, her tone thoughtful, "I wasn’t a fan of the other girls Pedri has dated."

I blink, glancing at her. "Oh?"

She nods, rinsing a dish.

"They only wanted him for his name and popularity. But you... you seem different."

I swallow. "I just like him for who he is."

She smiles softly. "I know. And that’s why I like you."

Something warm blooms in my chest.

"You’re good for him," she continues.

"He’s always been surrounded by people who want something from him. But with you? I see the way he looks at you, the way he talks about you."

She pauses, drying her hands before turning to face me.

"I can tell you care about him."

I nod, my throat feeling tight. "I do. A lot."

She smiles, patting my hand. "Then that’s all I need to know."

As we drive back, Pedri is grinning like an idiot.

"That went amazing," he says, eyes flickering to me.

"It did," I admit.

"See? You worried for nothing."

I sigh. "Yeah, yeah. You were right."

He gasps dramatically. "Wait, say that again?"

"I will never repeat it."

He laughs, reaching over to squeeze my thigh. "I’m proud of you, princesa."

I glance at him. "Why?"

"Because I know this wasn’t easy for you," he says softly.

"But you did it. And my mom loves you. My dad and Fernando too."

I bite my lip. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he murmurs. "But more importantly, I love you."

My heart stops.

Pedri, realizing what he just said, suddenly tenses.

"Wait" His eyes widen. "I mean"

I laugh softly. "It’s okay, Pedri."

He swallows. "I just... I love you, okay? And I don’t care if that scares you. I’m not going anywhere."

I look at him, really look at him, and feel something inside me settle.

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I reach over, lacing my fingers with his.

"Drive, Pedri," I whisper.

He exhales, squeezing my hand. "I’ll wait for you, princesa. However long it takes."

And as we head home, I realize… I don’t think it’ll take very long at all.

It was another boring uni day. A day full of back-to-back classes.

I’m in the library, stacking my books neatly into my arms, already mentally preparing for my next class.

My mind is quiet, calm, focused on anything but him.

Pedri had texted me this morning, telling me he had early practice and would see me later.

"Have a good day, princesa ❤️ Miss you."

I had smiled when I read it.

I shouldn’t have.

I adjust my grip on the books and turn toward the exit. Then I hear it.

Laughter. Loud voices.

At first, I don’t think anything of it. Until I hear my name.

I stop. My heart stutters.

I tell myself it’s nothing, that maybe I misheard, that maybe it’s just some random conversation.

But then a voice cuts through the noise, A voice I know better than anyone else’s.

His voice.

Pedri.

My stomach twists, my fingers tightening around the books as I take a cautious step forward.

The voices are coming from the hallway just ahead, around the corner.

I shouldn’t listen. I shouldn’t. But I do.

"Bro, you’re actually still with her?" one of his friends cackles.

"I swear I thought this was just a bet or some shit."

Pedri laughs.

That’s the first stab.

"Nah, man. No bet."

"Then what the fuck is it?" someone else scoffs. "There’s no way you’re actually into her."

Pedri lets out a low chuckle. "Come on, man. You really think I’d go for a girl like that?"

A girl like that.

"Exactly," another voice chimes in.

"She’s fucking boring, bro. Always sitting in the back, never talking, just reading like she’s in some old-ass novel or something. You could have literally anyone, why waste time on her?"

"It’s not like that," Pedri says easily. "She’s just… convenient."

The air leaves my lungs.

"Convenient?" one of his friends laughs. "What, like a little charity case?"

Pedri doesn’t deny it.

He fucking laughs.

"Nah, it’s just easy, you know?" he shrugs.

"She doesn’t ask for much. Doesn’t complain. Doesn’t make a big deal out of shit. I don’t have to try too hard."

"So you’re with her because she’s easy?"

Pedri snickers.

"More like… low maintenance. She’s quiet, doesn’t bother me when I’m busy, doesn’t start drama. It’s just chill. I don’t have to worry about her blowing up my phone or expecting too much."

I feel sick.

"Damn, so you’re basically keeping her around for convenience?"

"I mean, yeah," Pedri mutters. "She’s just... there. It’s not that deep."

The laughter erupts around him.

I think I might throw up.

"Fucking knew it," one of them howls. "You had us thinking you were actually in love with her or some shit."

Pedri laughs harder.

"Come on, man. You really think I’d fall for her?"

My heart shatters.

I can’t listen anymore. I can’t.

The pain is too much, the walls around me caving in, my vision blurring with unshed tears.

I need to get out of here.

I don’t know how long I stand there.

Seconds? Minutes?

Everything is a blur.

Their laughter rings in my ears, mocking me, haunting me.

Tears burn at the back of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.

I won’t let them have that power over me. My body moves on its own. One step.

Then another.

Then I’m walking away.

I don’t care where I’m going.

I just need to get the hell out of there.

I don’t go to my next class. I don’t care about my next class. I walk. Fast.

Away from the library, away from the voices, away from the truth clawing at my chest.

I feel numb.

Like my heart has been ripped out of my chest and I’m just walking around with a hollow, empty space inside me.

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

I don’t check it. I don’t need to. It’s him. It has to be. I ignore it.

I ignore the ache in my chest, the sting behind my eyes, the lump in my throat that makes it hard to breathe.

I just keep walking.

By the time I finally return to my dorm, the sky is a deep shade of blue, the sun barely peeking over the horizon.

I close the door behind me, my body exhausted, drained.

And then there’s a knock. I hesitate, my pulse spiking.

I already know who it is.

I take a slow, shaky breath, gripping the door handle before pulling it open.

Pedri stands there.

His brows are furrowed, concern laced into every inch of his face.

"What the hell, Y/N?" he asks immediately. "Why haven’t you been answering me all day?"

I stare at him.

He looks so… confused. Like he has no idea what he did.

That makes me angrier.

"Go away, Pedri."

His eyes widen slightly. "What? No. What’s going on? Did something happen?"

I let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "Oh, I don’t know. Why don’t you ask your friends?"

He freezes. And I see it.

I see the exact moment realization hits.

His lips part slightly, but no words come out.

"Yeah," I say, voice shaking. "I heard you. I heard everything."

"Princesa-"

"Don’t." I take a step back. "Just don’t."

His jaw clenches. "I didn’t mean it."

I laugh again, but it hurts.

"Right," I nod. "Because saying I’m just some joke? Saying you’re pretending to like me? That just… accidentally came out of your mouth?"

"It’s not like that," he says quickly, stepping forward. "Please, Y/n. Just let me explain."

"Explain what?" I snap. "That I’m just some quiet, boring idiot who actually believed you cared about me?"

He flinches.

"That’s not true," he says, his voice softer now.

"It doesn’t matter," I whisper.

"It does."

"No, Pedri. It really doesn’t."

I exhale shakily, looking away for a moment before meeting his gaze one last time.

"I can’t do this anymore."

His breath catches. "What?"

"We’re done."

I step back, my hands shaking as I close the door in his face.

For a few seconds, I don’t move.

I don’t breathe.

And then I hear it.

A soft, desperate whisper from the other side of the door.

"Please don’t leave me."

Tears stream down my face.

But I don’t open the door.

And I don’t look back.

The days blur together, a mess of sleepless nights and suffocating thoughts.

I barely eat, barely leave my dorm, barely exist outside of my own mind.

Every time I close my eyes, I hear his voice.

Every time I let my thoughts wander, I remember the way his words sliced through me like a blade.

My phone buzzes constantly, but I ignore it.

At first, I let it ring, let the messages pile up, let his name flash across my screen like a cruel reminder of what happened.

But he doesn’t stop.

"Y/n, please." "At least talk to me." "I need to explain." "I miss you."

Every day, every hour, his messages come in, desperate and persistent.

And every time, I stare at them with tears burning in my eyes, fingers hovering over the screen before I lock my phone and shove it under my pillow.

Then, after a few days, I finally block him.

I expect that to be the end of it.

But Pedri doesn’t give up so easily.

It starts with soft knocks on my door, hesitant at first, then firmer when I don’t answer.+

I stay curled up in bed, biting my lip to keep from crying out in frustration.

Then, when I wake up one morning and open my door, I see flowers.

A bouquet of my favorite ones, left neatly against the doorframe.

The first time, I hesitate.

The second time, I stare at them for a long time before stepping over them.

The third time, I pick them up, hold them in my hands for a moment, and then drop them in the trash.

And yet, the next day, there’s another bouquet.

Every single day, without fail, there’s a new one waiting for me. And every time, I feel my resolve cracking a little bit more.

But I’m not ready.

I don’t even know if I ever will be.

One week later, I finally force myself to go back to school.

I can’t hide forever.

I tell myself I’ve had time to heal, that I’ve built up enough strength to walk these halls without feeling like I’m suffocating under the weight of my own emotions.

That I can handle seeing him again.

But the second I step onto campus, my chest tightens, and my heart pounds against my ribcage like it’s trying to escape.

I keep my head down, moving quickly, avoiding eye contact, avoiding him.

But I can feel it. His presence. His eyes.

I know he’s seen me. I don’t look.

I don’t want to see the desperation in his expression, don’t want to acknowledge the way my stomach twists painfully at the thought of him standing somewhere nearby, watching me, waiting.

I force myself through class, focus on my notes, pretend everything is normal even though nothing is normal anymore.

But later, as I leave my last lecture, I barely take two steps before I feel it.

A hand gently grabbing my wrist, pulling me back.

I freeze.

His touch is familiar, careful, like he’s afraid I’ll run.

"Y/n."

His voice is quiet, raw, holding a plea that makes my throat tighten.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second before finally turning around, my expression carefully blank.

Pedri stands there, looking at me like I’m the most important thing in the world and he’s terrified he’s already lost me.

"Please," he says softly, his fingers still around my wrist. "Just let me explain."

I exhale slowly, trying to keep my voice steady. "There’s nothing to explain, Pedri."

"Yes, there is," he insists, stepping closer.

His hold on my wrist loosens, but he doesn’t let go completely, like he’s afraid that if he does, I’ll disappear.

"Just give me five minutes. That’s all I’m asking."

I hesitate, my mind screaming at me to walk away. But something in his eyes, something so painfully real, holds me in place.

I sigh, crossing my arms. "Fine. Five minutes."

He pulls me aside to a quieter part of campus, away from the crowd, away from prying eyes.

I stand stiffly, my arms still crossed, my body tense like I’m ready to run at any second.

"I never meant what I said," he starts immediately. "I swear to you, Y/n. I didn’t mean a single fucking word of it."

I let out a hollow laugh. "Right. You just happened to say all those things for fun? Just to impress your asshole friends?"

"No," he says quickly, shaking his head. "It wasn’t for fun. It was to protect you."

I blink. "Excuse me?"

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair.

"Those guys? They’re not my friends. They never were. But they have a way of making people’s lives hell. I knew that if I admitted how much I cared about you, they’d go after you. Mock you. Make your life miserable. I thought if I played it off, if I made it seem like I didn’t care, they’d lose interest and leave you alone. Trust me Y/n iy happened before and it had gotten really ugly. I didn't want that to happen to the person I love."

I stare at him, my heart pounding in my chest. "You really think that justifies what you said?"

"No," he admits, his voice softer. "It doesn’t. I was an idiot. I should’ve told you. I should’ve trusted you to understand. But I swear to you, Y/n, I would never actually think those things about you."

"Be a fucking man Pedri and instead of doing this shit stand up for the person you supposedly love. You're nothing but a pussy."

I swallow, my emotions warring inside me. I don’t know what to feel.

So I leave. Again.

Later that day,

It all happens too quickly.

One moment, I’m walking across campus, lost in my own thoughts, and the next, there’s chaos.

A crowd gathers around a scene near the student quad. Loud shouts and yells fill the air.

My heart skips a beat as I push through the mass of students, trying to catch a glimpse of what’s going on.

I’m not expecting to see what I do.

There’s Pedri.

His fists are flying, and the guy he’s fighting, the asshole, is holding his jaw, clearly stunned.

But Pedri doesn’t stop. He throws another punch, fury in his eyes. I see the red in his face, the anger, and it’s not just at the guy. It’s everything. The hurt. The frustration.

The last few weeks have been hell for both of us, but in this moment, it’s all coming out.

His fists are like his words, punching through everything that’s built up, everything that’s been left unsaid.

But I can’t watch it anymore. I’ve seen enough violence in my life to know when things are about to spiral.

“Pedri! Stop!” I shout, pushing through the crowd to grab his arm, pulling him back.

He jerks his head towards me, his expression wild, eyes wide with a mix of rage and confusion.

I hold onto his arm tightly, trying to calm him down.

I don’t know why I’m even doing this for him, but it’s like I’m drawn to him, like I can’t just walk away.

His chest rises and falls rapidly, but slowly, the fight drains out of him as he looks into my eyes.

His breath is ragged, and his hands are clenched into tight fists, knuckles covered in blood.

“Are you stupid?” I mutter, my hands trembling slightly as I grab his arm and pull him away from the scene.

The crowd disperses, some murmuring, others filming with their phones.

Pedri doesn't fight me.

He lets me drag him away, and somehow, I find myself leading him into the first-aid room, a small quiet space where the tension in my chest can finally loosen, even if just a little.

I shove him onto the chair and kneel down, rummaging through the first aid kit.

“Why do you do this?” I ask, my voice shaking. I try to stay calm, but my hands are shaking as I pull out the bandages.

I clean his bloody knuckles carefully, avoiding looking at him too much. I can’t let myself soften. Not yet.

He sighs deeply, his voice low, raw. “He was talking shit about you again. That guy, he just won’t leave you alone. I had to make it stop.”

My heart sinks, and I bite my lip hard. I don’t know how to feel. My stomach churns.

Why did he feel the need to fight again? Why did he let it get this far?

“But why do you keep doing this?” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

"I... I don’t understand, Pedri. You say you care, but you keep pushing me away in the worst ways possible."

Pedri doesn’t answer right away. He stares at me for a long moment, his brow furrowed as though he’s considering every word carefully.

I can see the guilt in his eyes, the regret, the desperation. He wants me to understand. He needs me to.

“I-” He hesitates, his voice cracking slightly.

“I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to make you feel like you were a joke. I thought... I thought I was protecting you, Y/n. From people who wouldn’t appreciate you the way I do. Those guys... They’ll never understand how much you mean to me. But they will hurt you if they think you matter to me."

I’m speechless, blinking at him. There’s a part of me that wants to scream, to tell him he’s full of shit, but the truth in his eyes catches me off guard.

He’s being real, and it’s so hard for me to reconcile that with the image of the guy I heard talking shit about me, degrading me, the guy I’ve been blocking out of my life for a week.

“You should’ve told me that before, Pedri.” I swallow hard.

My voice trembles with the weight of everything.

“Instead of... doing that. I don’t understand why you had to hurt me first.”

He doesn’t look away. He looks... guilty.

“I didn’t know how to explain. I didn’t want you to think I was using you as some kind of... shield or something. But I wasn’t. I swear, I wasn’t.”

His eyes soften as he gently reaches for my hand, his touch so careful now, like I might shatter at any second.

I pull away, feeling the heat of his gaze burn into me.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you yet, Pedri,” I whisper, my voice barely a breath.

“You hurt me too much. And... I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel anymore.”

He nods, his lips pressing together in frustration. “I’ll do anything to make it right. I don’t care what it takes.”

I turn away, my heart heavy, my thoughts too tangled to untangle.

It’s not so simple anymore. I don’t know if it ever will be.

I walk away, feeling like a piece of me is being pulled in two different directions.

The days that follow are both long and quiet. The silence between Pedri and me feels deafening, like an invisible wall built higher with every moment.

He’s not giving up on me, though. Not even close.

It’s hard for me to stay distant. Hard for me to ignore him.

But it feels like I have no other choice. Every time I open my phone, I see his name.

Every time I hear a knock on my dorm door, I know it’s him. But I don’t answer. I won’t.

Still, something is different now. I notice his absence more than I expect.

The void he left in my life isn’t easy to fill. His quiet persistence is eating at me, but I won’t let it show. Not yet.

Pedri, however, doesn’t stop. He doesn’t let up.

At first, it’s small gestures. One morning, I find a handwritten note slipped under my door.

Just his name at the bottom, a few simple words.

“I’m sorry. Please give me a chance to prove I’m worth it.”

It’s the first time I’ve seen him so vulnerable. He’s always been confident, cocky even.

But this? This is different. I can feel the weight of his apology in the paper, and I fold it carefully, slipping it into my pocket.

Then, the flowers start.

He leaves them outside my dorm door every evening, sometimes daisies, sometimes sunflowers, always with a small note attached that says the same thing, “I’m sorry. Let me make it right.”

I feel the pull to just let him back in, but I resist. I’m not ready. I’m still broken.

Days go by, and I finally decide to leave my dorm to go to class. I walk through campus, trying to focus on the routine, trying to shut out everything else.

But I can’t. Pedri’s presence is everywhere.

I see him talking to the guys he used to hang out with, but now he’s different. He’s distant. Not laughing. Not joking around.

I can see it in the way he avoids eye contact, the way he doesn’t engage with them anymore.

His posture is closed off, like he’s shutting something down. I don’t know what it means, but something stirs in me.

Maybe it’s guilt, maybe it’s hope.

That’s when I notice it, his transformation.

Pedri has made a point to distance himself from the very people who encouraged him to hurt me.

He doesn’t hang out with those friends anymore. The ones who always made fun of me, belittled me, and tried to convince him I wasn’t “good enough.”

The ones who laughed at my expense and pushed him to do the same.

He’s even going out of his way to take different routes on campus, avoiding his old crew altogether.

It’s subtle at first, but it doesn’t go unnoticed. He’s proving to me, in the smallest ways, that he’s changing.

That he’s fighting for something that matters more than his pride.

One day, I’m walking to class when I hear footsteps behind me. A familiar voice calls my name.

“Y/n.”

I don’t turn around, pretending like I didn’t hear him.

He’s been trying to talk to me for days, but every time I shut him down. It’s easier that way.

It’s safer.

But then, he’s right beside me, his presence undeniable.

“Please, just let me explain,” Pedri says, his voice low. There’s a softness in it now, no trace of arrogance. Just sincerity.

I finally stop, reluctantly meeting his eyes. He’s standing there, his expression full of regret, but something else, too, determination.

“I’m listening,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I... I’ve been thinking about everything,” he starts, hesitating, as if searching for the right words.

“I was an idiot, Y/n. I should’ve never listened to them, and I should’ve never pushed you away like I did. I wasn’t protecting you. I was just being selfish. And I never should’ve treated you like you were second best. I was wrong. I’m so sorry.”

His words hit me hard, and I want to yell at him. To tell him that his apology doesn’t fix anything.

But the truth is, he’s right. He was selfish. And I was hurt.

But there’s something about him, something in the way he’s looking at me now, that makes me wonder if he really means it.

“I don’t know, Pedri,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

“You say you’re sorry, but it doesn’t undo everything. It doesn’t fix what you said or what you did.”

“I know,” he replies quickly.

“And I’m not asking for you to forgive me right away. I’m asking for a chance to show you that I can do better. That I can be the person you deserve. But I need you to trust me. I need you to let me prove it.”

For a moment, we stand there in silence, my mind racing with all the things I’m still unsure about.

But then I notice it, the genuine effort in his eyes, the sincerity in his voice. He’s not just saying the right things.

He’s living it.

“I’ll prove it to you every day,” he says, his voice firm.

“I’ve already cut ties with the guys who put you down. I don’t need people like that in my life. They can think whatever they want, but you? You matter. You always have. I’ll prove that to you, Y/n. I swear.”

I swallow hard, his words breaking through my walls. I want to stay angry.

I want to stay hurt. But everything in me is telling me that maybe, just maybe, he’s worth another chance.

“I don’t know if I can trust you yet,” I whisper.

“But... I’ll try. Slowly.”

Pedri’s eyes light up, and for the first time in weeks, I see a glimpse of the boy I used to know.

“That’s all I need. Just a chance.”

From that day on, I watch him like a hawk.

Pedri is relentless. He’s not just sending flowers or leaving notes anymore, he’s putting in real effort.

He spends his free time sitting with me in the library, helping me with schoolwork, never pushing for anything more.

Every time I see him talking to his old friends, he’s distant, his back turned, never engaging with the people who once made him feel like he was better than me.

He’s proving to me, with every small action, that he’s serious.

One day, as we sit in the park near campus, he looks at me quietly, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup.

“I know it’s not enough,” he says softly,

“but I hope one day you’ll look at me and see someone who actually cares. Someone who will fight for you, no matter what.”

I look at him then, really look at him, and for the first time in a long while, I believe it.

He’s not perfect. He might have messed up. But he’s doing everything he can to make it right.

“Okay,” I whisper, my heart beating faster. “I’ll let you try.”

And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough for now.

A few months later,

the tension between Pedri and me starts to ease. He’s patient, more so than I’ve ever seen him.

And with every day that passes, he seems to be putting more and more effort into proving that he’s not just saying the words.

He’s showing it.

But there’s something else. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.

Pedri hasn’t stopped trying to make things right, and it’s clear he’s not giving up on us.

It’s not just the grand gestures anymore, but the small, thoughtful ones, like leaving me my favorite coffee in the library, or texting me random jokes in the middle of the day to make me smile. (bare minimum fr)

And when I finally start to look at him again, I can see it. There’s real change in him.

And so, when he asks if I’ll go out with him on a date, I don’t say no.

But I don’t expect what happens next.

It’s a Saturday evening, and Pedri messages me earlier in the day, asking me to meet him at 6 PM sharp.

When I arrive at the spot he texted me, the park near campus, I’m greeted with something that takes my breath away.

There, in front of me, is a blanket spread out on the grass. The soft glow of fairy lights surrounds the area, strung between trees, creating a romantic little nook in the middle of the park.

On the blanket, there’s a picnic basket, candles, and even my favorite flowers, lilies, pink and white, arranged in a vase.

It’s not what I expected from him. At all.

Pedri stands beside it all, hands in his pockets, looking nervous as hell.

His eyes light up when he sees me, and for the first time in ages, I see a boy who’s trying harder than anyone ever has to make me feel special.

“Y/n,” he says, his voice shaky but hopeful.

“I know I’ve messed up. But I wanted to show you... that I’m serious about this. About us.”

I stand there for a moment, blinking at the effort he’s put into this.

The last time we were together like this, things were so different.

It feels like we’ve both come a long way.

“Are you serious?” I ask, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

“I’ve never seen you do anything like this before.”

“I know,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“But you deserve something better than what I gave you. You deserve to feel appreciated. And not just with words, but with actions. I know this isn’t enough, but... I hope it’s a start.”

I can’t help but smile, my heart beating a little faster as I walk over to him.

“I think it’s a perfect start, Pedri.”

He grins, relief flooding his features.

“I’m glad. I thought I might’ve messed it up with the flowers and all that.”

“Honestly? It’s the most effort anyone’s ever put into a date for me,”

I admit, my voice soft, but sincere.

Pedri chuckles, and his eyes soften.

“Well, then I guess I’m doing something right.”

We sit down on the blanket, and the evening goes from awkward to comfortable, and then, as the conversation flows, it becomes something even more.

We talk about everything, the past, the mistakes, the ways we’ve grown.

We laugh about stupid stuff, and he even admits to being terrible at making dinner (something I’d suspected from the start, but now it’s confirmed).

He makes a joke about how he can barely toast bread without burning it, and I can’t help but laugh.

“I’ll cook for you sometime,” he says with a playful grin. “And you can judge my terrible cooking skills.”

“Sounds like a challenge,” I tease, nudging him with my elbow. “But sure. I’ll take you up on that.”

We settle into a comfortable silence for a while, just listening to the sound of the wind rustling through the trees.

It feels... nice. Simple. And yet, it’s everything I’ve been wanting. I can feel the trust building again, piece by piece.

“Y/n,” he says quietly after a long pause, turning to face me.

“I know I messed up. But I need you to know that I would do anything to make things right. I’ll spend every day proving to you that you’re the one I want, the one I need.”

I look into his eyes, eyes full of sincerity, full of hope, and for the first time in a long while, I believe him.

“Okay,” I whisper, my heart thudding in my chest. “I’ll give you that chance.”

Pedri’s eyes widen, and a grin spreads across his face so fast it takes me by surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah,” I say with a playful smile. “But only if you promise to keep the flowers coming.”

He laughs, his face lighting up like I’ve just given him the biggest gift in the world.

“Done. I’ll keep the flowers and the dates coming. Just don’t leave me again, okay?”

I laugh softly, nudging him again. “You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

“And you’re lucky I’m good at dates,” he grins, leaning in close, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper.

“Otherwise, I’d be in serious trouble.”

“Oh, you’re already in serious trouble,” I tease back, rolling my eyes.

“But I guess I’ll give you another chance. For now.”

Pedri leans back, throwing his arms around me in a mock dramatic fashion.

“I’ll make the most of it, I promise! I’ll win you over... one bad joke at a time.”

I can’t help but laugh as I rest my head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body next to mine.

It’s easy now. It’s natural.

“I’ll hold you to that, Pedri,” I say softly, closing my eyes for a moment.

And for the first time in months, everything feels right again.

The end

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