#Country Drones AU | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

delopsia · 6 months

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every storm runs out of rain | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 17,000 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: AFAB!Reader, Hanahaki disease, soulmates AU, childhood friends to lovers, alcohol, food mentions, vomiting, first kisses, thunderstorms, (temporarily) unrequited feelings, almost kiss, unprotected sex, eventual happy endings 🌹. Vaguely based on the Gary Allan song of the same name. Brief Summary: It's a cruelty you wouldn't wish upon your worst enemy. The perpetual ache of your heart, longing for a man who was never meant to be yours. Everything about him is as if he's made for you, and yet, your tattoos don't match. You're not made for each other.

It's hard to tell if the feelings started with the stuffiness in your lungs or if it's something that has always been there.

An indescribable sort of longing that has flown beneath your radar for the better half of a decade. The kind of thing that has let you assume a false sense of comfort under the title of childhood friend.

Best friend, if Rhett has a few drinks buzzing through his system. Two shining plaques with your name written across them in bold letters.

But neither of them are what you and your dumb heart crave. The pride of being called his significant other is a feeling you will never know, so long as your tattoos are around to remind you that they don't match. So, so close in nature, and yet, they're not the same.

It's a cruelty you wouldn't wish upon your worst enemy. The perpetual ache of your heart, longing for a man who was never meant to be yours. Everything about him is as if he's made for you, so perfect he could fit into your life like a puzzle piece, and yet fate has destined him and you to fall in love with strangers. Not each other.

Never each other.

That tickling rises in the back of your throat. Snowballing larger and larger until you can no longer—

A horn blares.

Your head jerks back toward the street just in time to see the passenger door of an old GMC squeal open. Rhett. Leaned all the way across his bench seat, hair in his face and all.

"Y' comin' or not?" He chirps, already beginning to impatiently pat on the cloth seat, beckoning you in like he would a stray cat.

In this cold little town, your heart burns a little warmer.

How he got here so fast, you'll never know, but you've never been more thankful for it. Water splashes beneath your feet, darting toward his truck and away from the crowd of people raging on behind you. Up into your designated place in his passenger seat, slamming the door closed before you've even gotten settled, effectively shutting off the thumping music and flashing neon lights.

"How did you know where I was?" Because last you recall, you never told him about where you were headed tonight.

Rhett just hums, the noise lost to the rumble of his truck engine. "Recognized the floor in the picture y' sent."

Of course, that would be one of his many odd talents.

"Being able to identify a bar just from the floor tile might mean you have a bit of a drinking problem, Cowboy," your eyes roll, shifting to rest against the door.

"Listen," the streetlight catches in his eyes, lighting them up with a memory, "that checkered pattern is cute 'til your head stars spinnin'."

He's...got a point.

Ugh.

The silence that falls into the truck is a comfortable one. It's the kind of quiet that lets you hear the impatient drum of his fingers, dancing to the soft drone of his radio set to an old country station. Backdropped by the sound of water spraying beneath his tires, washing away weeks upon weeks of built-up dirt from the ranch.

His whole truck could use a good wash, but it won't see a bucket of soap and water until he scores another date with some no-name from the rodeo grounds. Or alternatively, you show up in the middle of the night and scrub it from top to bottom.

Your phone lights up with a text asking about where you went. Sent from some guy you cared so little about that you haven't even bothered to save his number in your contacts. But as you move to unlock the screen, it opens up to a different set of messages.

You: Nothing quite like being stuck at a bar, waiting on your designated driver to decide she wants to leave. 10:47 PM

Rhett: What's wrong? 10:51 PM

You: I told a guy I didn't want to dance, and he 'accidentally' spilled his drink on me 🙄 10:51 PM

You: But my ride doesn't want to leave for another hour or two. 10:52 PM

You never noticed the message that was sent right after yours.

Rhett: On my way 10:55 PM

Maybe not every man in this world has gone to shit.

Rhett's hand bumps into your chest, some kind of gray fabric balled up in his hand, "here."

You've seen this old shirt before; it's the first thing he ever bought online, hadn't realized until it arrived that it was a few sizes too big for him. Not particularly ideal for a cowboy who can get caught on equipment, but perfect for your impromptu sleepovers.

"You still have this old thing?" You're already beginning to tug your damp T-shirt over your head. Potential onlookers be damned, you're ready to be free of the overwhelming whiskey bitterness reeking from it.

The back of his knuckles graze up your naked side, guided by the thin path of a decade-old scar. A branding from younger, brighter days; the ones when Cecelia would let you spend weekends on the ranch. Waking up at dawn to help Rhett with his ranch chores because the quicker things got done, the sooner you got to run down and play in the creekbed.

"Still can't believe that piece of glass marred ya like that," Rhett mutters after a long moment. You can't see into his thick skull, but you've got a feeling that he's got a similar memory flickering through his mind.

"To be fair, I did fall on it," slipping your arms through the clean shirt, you pull it over your head, and once again, that old scar is out of sight.

That half-hearted chuckle sends a warmth rushing through your veins. The exact one that shouldn't be there. But he hasn't the slightest clue of the wildfire sitting next to him, back to tapping along on his steering wheel as he drives through the main stretch of town. Past feedstores, tourist shops, dinners, the grocery store, and every other little niche boutique hidden between.

"Thank you." You hardly recognize that it's you speaking. Hadn't realized it was your voice until the sound of it met your ears.

It's a little too quiet in this truck.

But Rhett just reaches over to shake your shoulder. "Y' don't gotta thank me for shit like that," for a fleeting second, he's got just enough time to look away from the road and offer you a lazy smile. "'s what friends do, ain't it?"

Your chest feels like it's been stuffed with cotton. Meek, you nod, attention suddenly on the floorboard and nothing else—nothing else to say.

Yeah. That's what friends do.

He doesn't make mention of it, but you've got the feeling that your SOS text must have interrupted another one of his dates. A pile of rose petals rests at your feet, scattered as if they've been swept off the seat in a hurry to make space. Caked in mud and the rainwater that tracked in from your shoes. Storebought, that much you know for sure.

Roses don't grow in Wabang.

The next time you see him, it's planned.

You have, for some reason, allowed yourself to become roped into the craze of Wabang's beloved Sugarbeet festival. Right smack dab in the middle of some old ranching land that the county bought some years back. It would have been a pleasant idea if the festival was hosted in spring or autumn and not in the blistering heat of summer. Not an ounce of shade to be found, nothing but cheap tents to protect you from the beating sun.

It's the kind of misery that makes the outdoors feel like a goddamn oven, and heading out to start your car is its own kind of devil. The air jammed in your AC blasts your face with the boiling winds of hell itself. So damn intense that if Rhett's truck weren't crawling down your driveway, you would have canceled and called it a day.

And you're so glad that you didn't, because good lord.

The last thing you expected was for Rhett to hop out in that unbuttoned flannel, broad chest on display for all to see. The sleeve falls just far enough from his shoulder that you can see the scar hiding below his left collarbone.

"Quite the festival outfit you've got," you chirp, dragging your eyes away from his bull tattoo and over to a nearby tree, feigning interest. The back of your throat is starting to tickle, lungs tight as you fend off the urge to cough. Not here, not here, not here.

He laughs, "What, y' don't think I look good like this?"

You do, but he doesn't need to know that. Not in the slightest.

"Its...certainly a choice," faking a grimace, you turn your attention back to your car, slowly but surely growing cooler the longer it runs. A pleasure that Rhett and his broken air conditioning unit haven't known since last summer.

You don't mind the idea of it staying broken if he keeps showing up at your house looking like this. Even if that does mean that you become his ride on the hotter days, fearing an onset of heat stroke.

The passenger door is silent as he opens it. No longer squealing due to whatever he and Royal did to it last weekend. Being friends with a family of DIY ranchers has its perks.

Thunk_

"Shit."

You blink. Was that...?

Yeah.

It was.

As if last time wasn't enough of a lesson, Rhett's got his knees pinned up against your glovebox, the seat too far forward for him and his big body to fit. Though this time, he isn't hurriedly pawing at the seat levers like he'll die if he doesn't get any more space. Instead, he's resigned to a frown. More annoyed with himself than anything.

"You alright there?"

Rhett's sigh is so heavy that his shoulders visibly deflate. "Yeah," reaching off to the side, pushing the seat back as far as it can go. "Humbled, but 'm alright."

It's toward the end of your drive that you notice the flower petals sitting on your dashboard. Roses, you think. It must be what you get for leaving your windows rolled down all morning, vulnerable to adventurous squirrels and other varmints that enjoy trespassing into property they don't own.

They're certainly not from you, and you would have asked Rhett if your destination hadn't come up so quickly. Fighting for a parking space in the withered grass is a bigger task than folks let on. Even with folks on the ground, pointing you to the perfect spot, someone will always try to steal it out from under you.

For a festival in such a small town, there is a hell of a lot going on inside of it. Food trucks, concession stands full of sweet treats, craft booths, and cheap knick-knacks bought offline to resell under the guise of being handmade locally. Apple bobbing, the duck pond, and ring toss. There's a precariously placed dragon roller coaster and a horse carousel that Rhett tries convincing you to get on.

Worse. There are so many people. Faces you recognize and those you've never seen before. Waiting in lines and shoving themselves between you and Rhett because the small gap between your shoulders looked like a good opening to get somewhere quicker.

"'s a lil crazy out here, don't ya think?" Rhett's asking through a laugh, once again stepping over to you. Two kids dart between you, their hands occupied with bags of fake goldfish.

Only took a decade for them to learn not to hand out live fish. You can still remember the three you and Rhett got when you were small. One didn't survive the drive back to his house, and the other two managed to stick around long enough to see New Year's.

Rest in peace, Goldie Junior and Patches.

"I think it's always been crazy," tilting your head to cough into your elbow, dislodging that goddamn tickling sensation—you look away before you can see what it is.

There's a girl off to the side, staring in your direction. Or rather, Rhett's direction. Long, wavy hair and a delicate sundress, the kind of woman who looks like she's walked right off the beach cover of a magazine. Her warm gaze has long since settled on Rhett; it's a look you've seen a million and one times at the rodeo. The one that gets him a little weak in the knees.

You look away as quickly as they flickered over there. If you don't make eye contact, maybe she won't come over to introduce herself.

"We weren't that bad, though," but then, pausing to look at you, concern lacing his narrowed gaze, "...right?"

Rose-tinted memories flicker through your mind. Rhett falling and breaking his wrist after taking you out on a green horse. Trespassing onto the Tillerson property to play with Luke and Billy, only to get hauled home in the back of a police cruiser, 'cause their momma didn't care much for you two. Getting busted, sneaking out your bedroom window to go spend the night with Rhett. All those times, you had to run through back alleys together because you'd been caught out after Wabang's curfew.

"I like to think we were relatively well-behaved," concluding after a moment. Though your families may have a vastly different opinion on that.

Laughter rumbles from you at the same time it does from Rhett, shoulders bumping together. Sends a little shock of warmth rippling through your bones, twisting around your heart like briars.

Maybe the conversation would have lasted longer if you didn't get distracted. Rhett lays eyes on a truck dedicated to a locally crafted beer, and the small frame of a self-serve station from the local candy shop catches your attention. It only makes sense that you would step aside and regroup in a few minutes. You're in desperate need of a breather before that girl works up the nerve to approach him and turns you into a third wheel.

There's more to this little station than what initially met the eye. It's shelves full of caramel apples, peanut brittle, fudges of every flavor you can imagine, covered pretzels, cookies, and hard candies galore. And here you thought that it would have been wiped clean by the folks who came early in the morning before the sun could reach mind-numbing temperatures. Even your favorite candy is here, the last box left on the shelf.

The price is a little steep, but the flavor of them on your tongue is enough to distract from the pained cries of your wallet. If Rhett knew these were here, then he absolutely would have skipped out on beer in favor of convincing you to split them together—the candy mooch.

But you must have taken too long to make your decision because you don't see Rhett. Not by the crudely decorated truck, and he said he would be waiting next to the old wooden bench under the oak tree, but it's entirely empty. Not a cowboy in sight. That stuffiness arises in your throat again.

Maybe he's...

"Hey!" A herd of kids are darting around you. Like a bunch of cats scrambling from the bang of a tractor. One slams into the side of your leg as she rushes past. It doesn't affect her in the slightest, but your feet stumble. Knocked off kilter. Your open container of candy threatens to spill onto the dirt.

But then another kid is bursting through the crowd, and this one...

You recognize this one.

"Amy?"

She doesn't need to say a damn thing. Her wide eyes tell all you need to know.

The crowd is too tall for her to see over it, but as she tugs you along behind her, you've got the feeling that she knows exactly where she's going. Navigating the festival based on terrain alone, over thinly spread gravel, and down a broad dirt path. Her hand clings to your wrist so tightly that her knuckles have gone white.

You don't know who she's bringing you to or what could have happened. But it has to be something. Perry could have fallen into another one of his rages. Rhett very well may be doing something dumber than getting a DUI on the back of a horse. Or, or—

It's both of them.

Perry's clawing at Trevor like a goddamn cat. His teeth bared like an animal. Crazed. Feral. Someone's got him by the collar. But it's not doing anything. He barks something incoherent. Jabbing a pointed finger at Trevor. Amy's shoulders jolt. Squeezing your wrist impossibly tighter.

Plaid shirts scuffle behind them. Cowboy boots and Prada sneakers kick up plumes of dirt. Two brick walls slamming into one another. Caught in a spiral until someone makes the first pull backward. Luke's fist connects with Rhett's jaw.

Flower petals burst into the air.

All of a sudden, Luke is jumping backward, his palms raised to the sky. A rare white flag. One that you didn't even know was in the Tillerson arsenal. "I'm sorry, man," is all he can say. Pale as a damn ghost.

Almost pale as the baby pink petals fluttering onto the dirt floor.

"Is that..." Amy's the one to break the silence, looking your way as if you hold all the answers. In a sense, maybe you do. "I thought it was a myth?"

Air catches in your windpipe. Feels like you're about to choke. "I did, too."

What the fight was over, you're not sure. It couldn't have been something serious; they've dropped the issue far too quickly for it to be something worth fighting over. There and gone within the blink of an eye. The Tillerson brothers are dispersing into the crowd without another foul word, Rhett's wordlessly pawing at the fresh red mark on his jaw, and Perry's barking something you don't care to hear.

Amy's long nails are biting into your skin, threatening to tear through and draw blood, but you can't ask her to loosen up or let go. The sting is half the reason you haven't unraveled like a loose ball of yarn. It isn't enough to stop your lower belly from twisting and turning, a bitterness rising in the back of your raw throat.

"Sorry," Rhett's voice comes so suddenly that you jolt.

"I leave you alone for five minutes." Your tone comes out blander than you intended, doesn't match the roll of your eyes, deliberately avoiding the sight of flowers lying in the dirt.

He must catch onto it because his frown deepens. But he doesn't say anything, and neither do you. Only offering a wave and a forced smile when Amy ultimately ventures off with Perry for another one of his ice cream apologies. Those seem to be happening more and more lately.

Hypothetically, someone should say something. Explain what the fight was about, how he got across the festival so damn fast. Was the beer any good? Want to share this candy before your jaw starts to ache like a bitch? The words are flickering through your head a million miles a minute, but not a syllable makes it to your tongue.

"It's over someone at the bar," Rhett's admission comes in the tune of a guilty child confessing to breaking a vase. Meek. Like he'll fall apart if pushed any harder. "If that's what y' were wanderin'."

Falling back into the character of annoying best friend is easy. All you've got to do is throw your weight into his side, not strong enough to deliver a playful shove. "So there really is another person stuck with that god awful tattoo," letting your mouth rise into a smile, almost thrilled to be pulling this off so well.

"Hey!" He's pushing you back, laughing, though he's careful not to knock you off your feet this time."'Least mine ain't a shoe."

Defiant, you raise your left arm, the tattoo on your wrist just as dark and bold as it was the day you were born. "It's a lucky horseshoe, thank you very much."

And just for a little bit, you can deceive yourself into thinking you can still breathe.

You never do put the passenger seat back into its place. It's so far back that you catch yourself thinking it's not there at all; more than once, you clamber into the vehicle and think someone has robbed you of it. A part of you wishes it would happen. That some ridiculous bandit would break in and take that seat.

It would be doing your dignity a favor; you're acting as if he's dead.

You passed his truck on the way over here, parked outside the Handsome Gambler. If you weren't worried about wrecking, you would have tried to get a glimpse through the open door to spot him with his shiny new soulmate.

A good friend would stop in and say hello; if she makes Rhett happy, then you should be happy. It should be on the forefront of your mind; you're three stores down from the bar, but your feeble heart jerks in your chest with a familiar sourness. Hand trembling, struggling to hang onto this little bag of chips.

A good friend would be happy for him.

But you're not a good friend.

And if this cashier doesn't hurry up, you might also become a horrible customer. Your stomach is twisting like you're about to puke, something bitter rising in the back of your throat. Damn near dropping the receipt when she hands it to you, shoving it into the bag, and darting out the open door.

You hardly make it to the edge of the sidewalk. Keeling over with a wretched noise.

But the only thing that comes up is the shit that's been lodged in your chest all afternoon, stubbornly sitting in your chest with the weight of a damn elephant. Refusing to move, restricting your airway until you crack, and confess your feelings to a man who was never meant for you.

"Hey!"

Bleary, your eyes peel open. Really hope they're not talking to you.

"I have your sidekick!" Sherrif Joy's voice cuts across the night air like a knife. Swift and straight to the point.

Turning your head might be the thing that puts you on the ground, vision spinning like your eyes have gone loose in your skull. Funny. You can almost deceive yourself into thinking that's Rhett she's towing along.

Maybe because it is him. Boots dragging against the sidewalk, shoulders so loose that they sway in the wind, eyes hardly open, simply led along by the hand Joy has on his bicep. You've got just enough time to paw at your mouth with your sleeve before she's close enough to notice that something may be off.

"I know he's not your responsibility," the glint in her eye suggests she's getting more amusement out of this than she should be. Probably because this wouldn't be the first, second, or third time that she's sought you out. "But he wouldn't shut his mouth when he saw you."

Rhett's grin is too bright for his flushed face. "Hi."

You don't need to look at your phone to know that it's too damn early for this, and yet, you can't seem to muster up the slightest bit of irritation as you ask. "How are you already drunk at eleven at night?"

"I—" Hiccup. "Been here all evenin'." Shreds of red rose petals cling to his lips, flaking off with the movement of his mouth and fluttering to the ground like rain.

Oh, Rhett.

"If you don't want him, I can bring him to the station," Joy always says this, the same damn line over and over, as if she doesn't know what you will ultimately say, "it's no big deal for me."

Looping your hand through the handle of your grocery bag, you reach out to take Rhett by the wrist. He comes to you easily, long arms reaching out to wrap around you, clinging like an oversized piece of velcro.

"I'll take him," feigning annoyance is impossible when he's smiling at you like that. Drunk but completely and utterly happy to be with you.

If only he looked at you this way when he's sober.

Getting him to the car might be the hardest part of this excursion; it takes you and Joy to get him into your passenger seat without banging his head on the roof like last time. But this isn't your first Drunk Rhett Rodeo; Lord knows it ain't Joy's either. It might even break your previous record of five and a half minutes. Not that you were counting.

"Where we goin'?" He chirps the moment you've clambered into the driver's seat.

"Home." It's the only response you've got. Not entirely sure if he's got the capacity to follow long sentences.

But his head cocks to the side like a goddamn puppy. "My home, or...home home?"

Ice forms in your wrist. Suddenly caught before you can turn the key in the ignition. Is he...? It's gotta be. What else would he be referring to?

"Home home?" More of a question than anything, but he's not sober enough to notice the difference. That grin simply grows a little bigger. His boots kicking against your floorboard, happy as a clam in high water.

It doesn't fade, either. Even as you get the car going, and he fusses about leaving his truck behind, he doesn't lose the excitement that bloomed the moment he laid eyes on you. Content to sit here and let you drive, looking out the window and commenting on whatever he sees. The crazy lady on Second Street has added more flamingos to her lawn hoard, and someone's mailbox has been knocked over. What does that sign say over there?

"So what's your soulmate like?" You ask, reaching to turn down the radio. "You haven't said anything about her."

Rhett's shoulders rise and fall with a shrug so subtle that you nearly miss it. "They're alright," pause. Then, a weary laugh. "I jus' wish they'd like me back."

Yeah. You understand the feeling.

He doesn't seem to notice the petals clinging to the lower strands of his hair and into his flannel, hanging off the edge of his pocket and accumulating in his lap. They're identical to the ones sitting on your dash, dry and shriveled from the sun, bouncing as your front tire hits a pothole.

Now that you give it some thought, you suppose that's why he's drunk.

"My throat hurts," he grumbles out of the blue, rattling you from the sanctuary of your thoughts.

You hum, not entirely there. "Getting sick?"

Quiet, he reaches into his flannel pocket, producing a small assortment of something green. Rose stems, their thorns stained with crimson. There's no way that he's...

Your tire smacks the edge of a curb. The steering wheel yanking out of your hands.

Shit.

Right. The road.

"You've been coughing those up?" Voice strained by your heart, sitting high in your esophagus. You're so damn lucky that was a concrete curb and not another car.

And yet, you dare to peer at him through your peripheral. Those stems still resting in his big palm, as if he doesn't have the strength to put them away again. You reckon he's not sober enough to have noticed your mistake. He would have commented on it by now, making fun of it as if he's any better of a driver.

"Fuckin' hurts," it comes out softly, a confession that his own ears are afraid of.

And it's the kind of statement that echoes throughout your car for the rest of the drive. Rattling between the pauses between songs and bubbling to the surface at every lull of the music. Clouded over by too many wonderings of how long he's been quietly dealing with the roses growing in his lungs. A condition so extreme that the stems are beginning to come up, too.

You would ask why he's never told you about this, but...

Rhett's head cracks against the window with a heavy thunk as you pull into the driveway. So sharp and sudden that you fear he's broken the glass. But the only wound to come out of it is the red spot on his forehead, the color already rising to the surface by the time you put the car in park.

"Did that hurt?" It's impossible to ward off the lightness in your tone; a smidgen amused.

"Nuh-uh," but he's rubbing at it like it does.

You shouldn't have believed him, either, because by the time you get him through the door, it's already begun to swell. Miniscule at first, but if you give it some time, it'll grow into a proper bump. One that he'll grimace at in the morning but will lie through his teeth when you ask if it's hurting him.

If he were sober, he would be nipping at your palm for daring to venture near his face; you can hear it now, the prematurely yelped "'m alright!" before you've even opened your mouth. But he's not sober. Has to put his hand on your waist to stabilize himself, not entirely aware of how you're curling your hands around his cheeks, holding him still.

You don't think this one will rise too horribly, but you've been wrong before. Like how you insisted the cut on your side was just a scratch and wound up needing more stitches than you knew how to count.

"Will you let me put ice on it?" You find yourself asking, your fingers drifting up to smooth over the bump.

Defiant, his head shakes.

"What if I order a pizza? Will you let me then?" Trying again. But even at the prospect of his favorite drunk snack, he's not interested.

"Ice cream?" No.

"A movie?" Wrong again.

"Two movies?" Nope.

"A promise to never speak of this again?" Nada.

Huffing, you let go of his face, throwing your hands in the air instead. "Is there anything I can bribe you with?"

His brows furrow. A thought flickers behind his eyes.

Slowly, he nods.

You've got a bad feeling about whatever this could be, but God, it's too late for you to care. "What is it?"

Even if he would have let you go on for the next century, you would have never guessed that he wanted this.

Here in the soft sanctuary of your cozy little unmade bed, nestled beneath the myriad of sheets and blankets that you swore you'd throw into the washer three mornings ago. There might be a few crumbs left over from your snack last night, too distracted by the video on your phone to notice the mess until it was too late.

The state of it all would bother you under normal circumstances, but you reckon you're getting contact drunk. Head spinning at the sight of this cowboy, snug as a bug in your bed, his cheek squished against the spare pillow. His arm has wound up draped over your side, over the sheets, and you can't remember when your hand drifted to his face, thumb swiping back and forth over his scruffy, unshaven jaw.

For once in your life, you can breathe.

You've started to forget what that was like.

He's so unnervingly close that you reckon he can hear the hammer of your heart rattling against your chest like a caged animal. Furious. Determined to burst through and spill its contents for him to see. The devil on your shoulder suggests that you should let it happen; chances are, he won't remember any of this come morning. But the soft, whiney voice of the angel reminds you.

Rhett's got a soulmate. And it isn't you.

"What made you ask for this, anyhow?" The sound of your voice comes as a surprise; one of those thoughts that have journeyed to your mouth, rather than staying up in your head.

Those sleepy blues peel open; maybe the slightest bit cross-eyed perfectly matches that crooked little grin. "'s like a sleepover."

There's a word you haven't thought of for a while. Probably hasn't surfaced in your vocabulary since your early teenage years, arising in arguments about how unfair it was that hitting puberty meant no more sleepovers. It was okay before, so why did it become a problem when your ages started ending in 'teen'?

Hesitant, your attention drifts to the tattoo on your wrist—that not-so-lucky horseshoe. A symbol that only became a problem in your second year of high school when your heart decided that it wanted your best friend over a soul mate. "Like the ones we're banned from?"

"Uhuh," his foot juts out to kick your ankle, "'cause we're too damn old."

You're kicking him back before you can think twice about it. Old habits be damned; you're not letting him get a shot in without getting one yourself. But he's already fighting back, socket feet smacking against yours. Tangling. Fighting to get one punch in over the other. His leg bangs against your knee. Your hands lightly shove against his chest.

All of a sudden, Rhett's lurching forward.

The room spins.

And you're lying on your back. Caged beneath the broad frame of a man proven to handle animals over a thousand pounds heavier than you. His hands planted on either side of your head, knees straddling your hips. Long hair strays into his face, slipping out from behind his ears, but it's not enough to block your eyes from locking.

You're itching to reach up and tuck it back into place. To drift your palms across the roughness of his cheeks and trail a thumb over those thin lips. They're bitten to all hell, but try as you might, you can't imagine they're anything other than soft.

Time itself might have stopped.

God. You can't breathe. Don't know if it's from the infestation building in your lungs or the overwhelming scent of alcohol on his tongue.

Or maybe...maybe it's because he's gradually growing closer. Minimizing the gap between your bodies, inch by debilitating inch. An image plucked right out of your own imagination, replayed a hundred and one times.

But this version of Rhett doesn't belong to you.

The one in your head didn't reek of whiskey and beer.

"Rhett..." You're whispering as if anything louder will shatter you like glass. But he's still...he's still leaning in, and, and— "Rhett. You're drunk."

He freezes. Stiff as a board. Eyes so wide that his irises look tiny.

"Shit," jerking away as if he's been burned, "sorry."

This time, when his back hits the bed, your belly doesn't fill with butterflies. It fills with something much, much worse.

It's the silence that eats at you the most. He's right next to you, and yet, not a word can leave your mouth. What if you hadn't stopped him? Did he confuse you for the pretty thing at the bar, wandering around with the same marking as him? Your heart lurches in your chest, tummy twisting sourly. God, why are you even entertaining this sort of thing?

He's your friend. Friends don't think of each other like this, especially when one of them has a soulmate waiting on them.

A funny feeling swells in the back of your throat, stomach gurgling so loudly that it's got Rhett tilting his head to look at you.

"Are y—"

You're getting up before he can finish talking. Darting for the bathroom for the umpteenth time today.

You wake to an empty bed.

Sunlight trickles through the cracks in the blinds, illuminating the freshly made sheets that Rhett once occupied, tucked in the best he could get it. He's been gone long enough for them to feel cool to the touch, but you can't hear him moseying around your house, either.

Your bare feet drift across the chilly, wooden floor, still frozen with midnight's temperature drop. Where Rhett would typically bump the thermostat up a couple of degrees, today, it sits the same as you left it.

"Rhett?" Voice a smidgen too fragile for the hammering of your heart.

All you receive is an echo, variants of your own tune. His boots are missing from where they once sat by the front door, and when you creep far enough to peer through the kitchen window into the backyard, you don't find him there, either. The ice pack has been resting in the freezer long enough to begin hardening again.

And your phone left sitting on the counter overnight, contains a notification from everything and everyone, except for one man. Still the same text messages from three days ago, no matter how many times you refresh the page. But the magnetic whiteboard on the side of your refrigerator has a new smiley face on it.

...and the marker is once again missing.

With a sigh, you reach for the phone, fingers tapping away at the keyboard.

You: Hey, cowboy, you've got something of mine. 09:47 PM

It's not until after you've got a morning drink in hand that you recognize the tire tracks in your front yard. The grass flattened in the corner of your driveway in a fashion that only Perry Abbott can pull off. No matter how many times he's driven here, he's always overshot the turn and ventured into the lawn.

Your phone is still quiet when you cruise through town a little after nine. Rhett's truck is missing from its place in front of the bar, the space now occupied by a vehicle that the Abbotts can't afford.

On its own, your heart lurches in your chest. The tail end of a blue pickup is poking out from a streetside parking spot just down the main drag, and that's got to be him. You know this town like the back of your hand. There aren't many trucks that look like Rhett's. If you catch him now, maybe you can smooth things over regarding last night. Before the dust begins to settle and erode away at your psyche—

But Rhett's truck doesn't have stickers.

This time, you don't make it to the bathroom before that damned sickness overtakes you. Spewing onto the side of the road at the only red light in town, right in front of the old cafe with its outdoor seating.

A hangover would be more dignifying. At least then, a little old lady wouldn't be tilting her head at you, her kind, wrinkled eyes soft as she offers you a smile. You understand that look more than you'd like to admit.

It's the same expression you carried when those petals burst from Rhett's mouth.

You: Hey, cowboy, you've got something of mine. Yesterday.

Odd. Usually he responds fairly quickly, at least when it comes to him hijacking one of your belongings, but maybe he's busy. Summer has never been kind to the Abbotts, between blistering heat and cattle who love to take down the southern fences to get at the neighbor's grasses. Judging by the forecaster rambling on the news, things aren't about to get easier, either.

You: Hey, cowboy, you've got something of mine. Two days ago.

You: I'll give you a hint. It writes in purple ink. 07:33 PM

No dice.

How are you meant to leave reminders in the kitchen when a rogue cowboy has pocketed your only marker? It's barely been three days, and you've already started to forget things. Today was laundry day, but now you're standing here, swaddled in Rhett's oversized shirt because it's the only clean thing you have left. Maybe there is a benefit to not returning his clothes. You were meant to go get a spice for this new recipe but didn't remember until you were halfway into working on it. Come to find out, that recipe really, really relied on it.

You can try to blame your lack of an appetite on your cold, unseasoned dinner all you want, but it only goes so far. Heart lurching in your chest, as the screen lights up with a text.

Autumn: Still coming with us Friday night? 👀 07:51 PM

You: Hey, cowboy, you've got something of mine. One week ago.

You: I'll give you a hint. It writes in purple ink. Five days ago.

You: I'm going to call a bounty hunter if you continue this hostage situation. Three days ago.

You're getting sick of feeling your heart twist every time you look at this damn screen. But that stupid son of a bitch still hasn't—

"Excuse me," a lady whispers, squeezing past you, "I'm sorry."

The entrance of Odessa's probably isn't the best place for you to be checking your phone, now that you think about it.

That's alright; you're already sliding the device into your back pocket, reaching to catch the door before it can close behind her. You've wasted enough time for your friends to have already secured a spot at the Handsome Gambler. It's a wonder nobody hasn't given you a ring to make sure you weren't nabbed off the street.

Stepping outside does nothing to ward off the drone of multiple shop televisions. All of them moan about how another wicked storm is due to ravage Wabang and every town around it. Same channel. Same woman talking. Same obnoxious blue background. It's a tale you've heard so many times that you can nearly quote it word for word.

There's a serious storm rolling in tonight. Tornadoes and hail are possible. Here's what to do in a tornado. Do not do these five things in a tornado. Download the news app to stay connected. Tune back in soon to find out if the forecast has miraculously gotten better or worse!

Looking overhead, you can already see the dark accumulation in the distance, a humid breeze tickling your neck as it drifts past. It feels just like the night you and Rhett rode out into the west pasture to watch the storm roll in.

Sitting in the grass, watching those dark gray clouds roll closer and closer whilst the horses relaxed behind you, their attentions focused solely on the greenery below. You can still hear the tune blaring from the speaker of his phone. He'd really thought he was clever, playing that Gary Allen song about how every storm runs out of rain. It wasn't so cute when the south pasture flooded.

A laugh cuts across the evening air. Sharp and pitchy enough to have your head tilting in the direction of it. Right behind you, on the corner of the block.

Maria Olivares. That's a face you haven't seen in a long while. Wasn't she off to medical school, a couple hours away from here? Who in the world could she possibly be...

You know that cowboy.

Puzzle pieces click into place. The darkened mark gracing her inner wrist. Too small for you to make out. How she giggles and batts her eyes up at Rhett, as he talks about something in that wonderfully deep voice of his.

Of course, Rhett's soulmate would be Maria. How could it not be? No wonder why he was so crazy about her in high school; they've got the same damn marking on their bodies.

As if to spite you, a muscle spasms in the juncture of your wrist. Sourness bubbles in the back of your mouth, but for once, you're able to swallow it down. Not here. Not when either of them can turn their heads and realize that you're standing in the middle of the sidewalk, staring like some kind of creep. Even coming from a childhood best friend, that would be weird.

"Are you in line?"

You jerk backward. Wide eyes landing on the wirey frame of some middle-aged man standing in front of you. He motions, with the brim of his hat, toward the door. The Handsome Gambler. Your destination.

"Distracted," you blurt, scurrying to grab the handle before he can, "sorry."

"There you are!" A glass of beer rises from the opposite end of the bar. Autumn. "I was fixin' to come looking for you!"

You have to wait until you're within earshot before you can respond to her, squeezing past the group of cowboys crowded at the corner, watching a PBR ride on someone's cellphone. "I was eavesdropping," You supply, can't keep a damn thing to yourself these days, "Maria Olivares must be Rhett's shiny new soulmate."

Autumn's jaw slackens, eyes so big they might comically burst out of her skull, "are you kidding?"

One of her friends, you forget her name, gives you a gentle nudge with her arm. You suppose Autumn has already filled her in about your situation. "How did you find out?" Her tone is gentle, nearly washed over by the music blaring from the stereo.

"Saw them laughing together in the street." There's more to that statement, context, and a reason behind why you've come to that conclusion, but Autumn is taking a brightly colored drink from the bartender, passing it your way.

The Handsome Gambler and mixed drinks do not go hand in hand; there's always too much or too little of something. But out of the corner of your eye, you can see the door opening, two familiar frames entering the bar, the happy new couples themselves.

Tonight, you don't give a damn what these things taste like. So long as it makes you forget the sour twist in your chest, lungs tightening as if all the air has been sucked from them. Without second thought, you bring the glass to your lips.

It doesn't leave until it's halfway empty, and that's only because the need for oxygen has grown superior.

The lady behind the bar lifts a freshly cleaned shot glass. You've got a feeling that she's overheard your ramblings. "Need something stronger?"

She doesn't need to say another word. "Absolutely."

One shot.

Fuck this town.

A second.

And fuck Rhett Abbott.

You're feeling delusional enough to ask for a third, but Autumn's nudging you a glass of water instead. It doesn't have the same bite, but it's equally unpleasant against the back of your throat, still raw and sore.

Next to you, Autumn and her two friends are already delving into a new conversation. Something about the oddities going on around town and how some old man says he walked into a cave and saw a mastodon. You suppose there must be some inside group dedicated to continuing the claim because it's a rumor you've heard every year.

A smile fights its way onto your face. You and Rhett used to gear up and go mastodon hunting up on the old trails behind the Abbott property. Royal loved to ask what y'all planned to do with it once you caught it, but you and Rhett never thought that far ahead.

Your gaze follows the bartender, ready to ask for something sweet, but she's on the other end, gathering a dozen beers for a party that just walked in. Someone leans onto the bar. His head blocking part of your view. But then he looks over, and—

Rhett's eyes widen at the sight of you. By the feel of it on your face, the expression is mutual.

At least, it is for a second. That sourness jumps into your throat. Lower gut churning with a fervor unlike ever before.

"I'm heading out back," you blurt, hand rising to cover your mouth, "you don't wanna follow."

The girls frown, but they're certainly not making the risk to stop you. Autumn's already reaching for your drink, accepting your nod as a sign that she can finish off what you've got left. A voice jumps across the blare of the music. Almost sounds like the call of your name. But you don't have the luxury of stopping and looking.

Your feet are barely falling into line. Rushing to push through the men gathered by the back exit. Past the blasting jukebox. There's that tightness in your lungs again. A thick sensation rising higher. Higher. Higher in your throat. There's the door. There's the door. Your hands are reaching out. Grappling at the handle.

Hinges squeal open. Shoes scuffing on the concrete.

Vivid purple petals burst past your lips like goddamn confetti. Stems and all. Ripping past your already battered windpipe and sticking to your tongue, little bits of purple carrying in the wind.

Those three-petalled flowers were pretty until they started growing in your lungs. You can't stand the sight of them, but you've got no choice but to cough more of them up. As if any amount of effort will make them disappear.

A bundle of them have caught in the back of your mouth, stubbornly thwarting your ability to breathe. Light as a feather, your head spins, feet stumbling as you scurry to one of the chairs, sitting against the wall. The plastic groans under your weight, so brittle that it ought to give away at any moment.

Lightning flickers as another wave of flowers rain to the floor, and it's a wonder you can get these out at all.

The back door opens with a screech. Music pours through the gap, an incoherent tune so loud that you can hardly hear the thunder rolling through town. Someone in boots stumbles out, keeling over.

A bloodstained rose tumbles to the ground, pink and red petals dancing behind it, landing amongst your mess of purple.

When you lift your head, you know what you're going to see. But that doesn't make the look in Rhett's eyes any easier to bear. Some kind of hellish cross between horror and bewilderment that manages to look akin to a wounded puppy.

Not a word leaves his mouth. Doesn't get the opportunity to, for that matter, another plume of petals forcing their way past his lips before he can do anything about it. Just the sight of them has that tickle building in the back of your throat, but for the time being, your tank is empty.

Thunder booms as Rhett falls into the chair opposite you. His hand dips into his flannel pocket, producing...

your marker.

"'m sorry," he mutters, sentence broken by a cough, "Didn't realize I stuck it behind my ear 'til you texted me."

"Which time?" You can't help the bitterness seeping into your tone, plucking the little writing utensil from his outstretched hand.

His eyes dart away.

The tension in the silence doesn't come from the storm. Wind howling around the corner of the building, rustling through the trees. Lightning flickers, illuminating the world around you for the briefest of moments, and just like that, rain begins to fall. Coming down in a thick sheet, so strong that even under the awning, it manages to reach you, mist tickling your skin and dampening your clothes.

Idle, your fingers twist the marker back and forth; it's still warm from where it rested in his pocket, snug against his chest. A part of you wonders if he always runs this hot or if your hands are just cold from the Wyoming air.

"So you and Maria, huh?" Even with the roar of the storm, your voice is too loud; a megaphone in the library would be more tolerable.

"Nah, I just ran into her 'bout a half hour ago." Rhett's head shakes, eyes on the floor. "We were both goin' to the same place, 'n that was about it."

"Damn, and here I thought she was your soulmate." You hate that a selfish part of you floods with relief. So overcome with it that you can feel the way your shoulders drop. "It would have made for the perfect story."

You could have been the perfect story, too.

"I don't know why I liked her in high school," he's continuing, running a hand through his hair, fingers visibly catching on a tangle, "'s like talkin' to a fuckin' wall."

Of all the things you've imagined him saying, that wasn't even close to making it on the list. Though, you can't say he's entirely wrong; ever since that time you got paired with Maria for a history presentation, you haven't been able to see what's so interesting about her, either. Nothing but one-word answers and giggling with her friends while you worked on the assignment by your lonesome.

It may be petty, but you're still bitter.

"I'm sorry, I..." Rhett's talking again, caving to the silence that you've unintentionally put between you two. His hands fall into his lap, clasping together. Then, break apart just as quickly, one of them reaching up to rub at his forehead. "I shouldn't have tried to kiss you the other night."

"It's alright—" your tongue pauses before the rest of your sentence can follow. I wanted you to. But you're looking down at your tattoo, and it's still the same horseshoe. It doesn't match Rhett's.

It will never match Rhett's.

Finding your voice is damn near impossible, but you do it anyway. "You've done stranger things while under the influence."

"Like gettin' a DUI on the back of a horse?" He says it so bluntly that you can't help but sputter.

It's easy. Dissolving into laughter. Peering at each other through smiling eyes. Yeah, getting a DUI on horseback is much, much worse than trying to steal a kiss. You've still got the voicemail from when Joy called you in the dead of night, asking you to come get Rhett and his horse.

White flashes. Lighting up the world for the briefest moment. An ear-splitting crackle erupts from above. So loud that the town lights flicker in unison like a bunch of candles nearly blown out by the squealing wind.

"'s gettin' pretty bad out here." The sound of Rhett's voice is nearly lost to the ringing in your ear.

"Tell me about it," you lean forward, peering over at the miniature river that runs down into the alleyway, carrying with it a parade of purple, pink, and red flower petals. "The road'll be flooded by the time Autumn decides she's ready to leave."

Rhett's head tilts to the side. "You didn't drive?"

"Couldn't." Shocker, you know. "I had a hot date with a shot of whisky."

"Two from what I saw," so he was watching you do that, huh?

You wink. "I would have made it three if I knew you were watching."

Something crackles in the distance. Maybe a tree struck by lightning, bits of bark falling like rain. A little too close for comfort, whatever it was.

That tickling rises in the back of your throat once more. Forces another cough out of you. The purple petals catch in the wind before they can hit the ground, soaring off like tiny planes. Rhett's eyes follow them until they're out of sight.

All of a sudden, he rises to his feet, spurs chiming with the motion. Must have forgotten to take those off again. "Need a ride?" Offering his hand.

You take it before you even realize what he's asking.

A part of you is beginning to suspect that Autumn can see into the future because she's hardly phased when she turns her head to see you meander back into the bar, hand in hand with Rhett. Her white teeth flash you with a smile, perhaps a little too interested in whatever Billy Tillerson is babbling into her other ear. With their hands intertwined, you can hardly tell that they've got timers imprinted on their wrists, bearing identical numbers.

Autumn doesn't need to ask when you hand her the twenty from your pocket; in the time you've known each other, you've proven to be a creature of habit. Instead, she offers you a wink, not a word said.

Rhett's already by the door, working his beat-up wallet back into his jeans before he can set it down and forget that it's there. "Y' ready to get wet?" He chirps once you're within earshot.

You're not, but there's no stopping the rain now that it's coming down. "Ready as I'll ever be."

The door creeks open. A gust of wind rushes in through the gap. Slams you with the force of a freight train. Damn near strong enough to knock you on your ass. But Rhett's grabbing hold of your wrist and him hauling you forward is the only thing keeping your feet from being swept out from under you.

Freezing rain splatters against your skin like a million tiny bullets. So sharp you think they might pierce through and come out the other side. A sheet of white blinds you. Forced to lower your head and prey Rhett's hauling you the right direction. The sidewalk is already flooded. Splashing up to lick your ankles. Soaking through your shoes.

You're moving. You know you're moving. But you might as well be on some hellish treadmill because it doesn't feel like you're going anywhere.

All of a sudden, Rhett's pulling you to the right. Toward the curb. Reaching for the handle. Yanking so hard you can hear it over the rain.

It opens. You're inside within the very same second. Clambering into the cloth passenger seat, pulling your legs in, just as Rhett slams the door shut. Through the blurry dash, he's only identifiable as a big blue splotch, travelling around the front of his truck. His door rips open just as quickly, the vehicle rocking as he all but throws himself inside.

"'s fuckin' cold!" He sputters, blindly jabbing the key at the ignition. Miss. Miss again. Another miss. He tilts his head. It slides home.

It's been a minute since the last time you heard this old truck roar to life. Even longer since you've last felt your skin go this numb. Shivering like a leaf, nerves so ruthlessly beaten by the elements that they're shot. There's a texture to this seat. You know there is, but you can't feel it.

A weary hand darts out. Wavering back and forth. Narrowly misses the little heat dial.

"Ain't got heat, remember?" Rhett almost sounds guilty, though you can't say for sure. It's hard to get a read of his face when he's focused on putting the truck into gear, looking straight ahead as he pulls onto the road. Though you're not entirely sure why, he's still got that old—

...no. His spare shirt is still sitting in your clothes hamper, next in line for a wash. Even if you had miraculously known to carry it with you tonight, there's no way it would have done you any good. Not with how soaked your clothes are, dripping like you've just gone for an impromptu swim in the coldest river you could find.

Your arms rise to wrap around yourself, clinging to what little body heat you've got left. A jacket. Why didn't you think to carry a jacket? Lightning flickers. Crackling so loudly that you can feel it travel through the ground; almost sounds as if it's laughing at you.

Even in the safe confines of this truck, the win threatens to wriggle in and get ahold of you. Screaming around the truck. Whipping past light posts. Rattling them so hard that they sway back and forth. Something is telling you that a power outage is in your near-to-distant future. With how you can look out the back window and see it ravaging the main part of town, there's no way it's not going to take out a power line. One little mess up is all it takes to plunge this little town into darkness.

There's already a tree down. Its long branches obstructing part of the road, forcing Rhett onto the other side to squeeze past.

"'m I over far enough?" He sounds like he's got a handle on it, head tilting back and forth, drawing the truck closer and closer to the edge of the road.

Your eyes squint. Struggling to see through the window. "I think so."

It's an obstacle easily overcome, but as you begin to pick up speed once more, a new problem arises. Those poor little windshield wipers can hardly keep up with the rain. Coming down in sheet after sheet, splattering against the glass quicker than it can be swept off. Driving in the ocean would have better visibility.

"Can't fuckin..." Rhett's talking to himself. You hope he's talking to himself because you can't hear him over the chatter of your teeth. Trembling like some kind of exaggerated cartoon character.

The truck gently veers to the right, off into some kind of gravel space on the side of the road, grinding to a halt.

"The— the wipers can't go any faster?" Tongue limp in your mouth. Impossible to move.

Rhett's head shakes. "No, they don't..."

His eyes lock onto yours. Even that might be enough to eat away some of the ice forming in your bones. His jaw softens. Eyelashes fluttering with an incoming thought.

Slow, his arm rises from his side, extending your direction. "C'mere."

Your breath catches. Is that...no, you....you shouldn't—

"Promise I won't kiss ya," his fingers tap your shoulder, "'m jus' gonna warm ya up."

Another bolt of lightning flashes.

You're scooting across the bench seat before thunder even has the chance to arise. Slipping beneath his outstretched arm, helpless to do anything but fall into his big chest, equally soaked as you are, but he's warm. A big furnace, wrapping around and squeezing you into him.

He shifts the slightest bit, leaning against the door, opening himself up for you to properly squirm into his side. With such little space in this truck, it's a squeeze, but you fit nonetheless, cheek resting atop that old bucking bull tattoo, the scruff of his jaw tickling your forehead.

Another rumble rolls through, wind slamming into the side of the vehicle, rocking it back and forth like some kind of giant cradle. Rhett's legs shift, properly rising up onto the seat, knees knocking into yours as they settle. There's no way that you can feel his body, not with those thick jeans in the way, but a part of you swears that you can. So certain of it that you think the ice in your bones is beginning to thaw.

A big, warm hand runs up and down the expanse of your arm as if to create a little friction there. "Can y' still feel your hands?" He murmurs, voice rumbling against the top of your head, and you think that's the tip of his nose bumping into you.

You're wiggling your fingers, can see them moving in the darkness, but hardly any sensation comes of it. Feels as if you're operating a separate object and not a part of your own body. "I don't know."

He reaches down, both hands wrapping around yours, and immediately, it's as if you've been set ablaze. Fire burning in your frozen joints, sensitive to even the slightest change in temperature. Rhett's thumb swipes against yours, a rough glide, his skin weathered by a lifetime of labor on the ranch.

They're so much bigger, too, dwarfing yours in comparison, long and thick with muscle and built-up callouses. He must be noticing it as well because he's sliding his index finger down next to yours, and even in the dark, you can tell that he's at least twice the size. So big that you can hold just the four of his fingers, and not even need the rest of his hand.

You don't know why you're doing this or why he's letting you.

Careful, your gaze crawls upward, roaming over the wet fabric of his flannel, up his damp neck, and the dripping curls resting at his nape. And he's...

he's already looking at you. Half-lidded eyes fixated on your face, the corner of his lip twitching upward for the briefest moment. A tickle rises in the back of your throat. Nothing comes of it. Lightning lights up the world like a light switch flicked, but you don't hear the thunder that follows.

His nose bumps into yours. Breath fanning out against your skin.

This...you shouldn't...but...

Those blue eyes drop down to your lips. Then back up to you. His eyelashes flutter. You think yours might, too. He's so close. Can feel the stubble on his chin brush against you, a fleeting thing that you can somehow still feel, even after the contact breaks. A breath trickles out of your chest. The slightest little movement that brushes your bottom lip against his. And he's not moving away, he's—

An ear-splitting boom tears past the truck. Rattling it back and forth. Sends you and Rhett jumping. Your head bangs against the seat cushion. His elbow hits the horn.

"The hell..." he grumbles, with a shake of his head. "Was that s'pposed to be thunder?"

"Is that what it was?" Parroting him, looking toward the window as if that could possibly give you an answer.

The rain has slowed into a slow trickle that is easily swept away by the windshield wipers, unveiling the world around you once more. You recognize where you're at now, just two or three miles down from your house. So damn close, and yet...

"Let's get you home," Rhett's sitting up, and you've got no choice but to do so as well. The scoot to the passenger side is almost shameful, the cold, soaked seat squishing beneath you like a sponge.

A thick collection of petals swell in the back of your throat as Rhett's foot finds the gas pedal once more. Were you about to kiss him? What the hell were you thinking? That isn't how this works. You're not soulmates.

Somehow, the air has grown even colder without him wrapped around you, his very presence haunting you like a ghost. Lingering in the back of your mind so strongly that you can almost deceive yourself into believing that you're still snuggled into his side. But no matter how hard you focus, you can't force it to manifest into reality.

Cruel is what it is.

Even as the rain picks up once more, it's not enough to pull you over again, swept away from the windshield as quickly as it lands. There's another tree down, but it has barely made its way into the road, such a simple obstacle that only takes a second or two to get past. And just like that, your porch light is emerging in the distance. A golden glow that grows larger by the second, like a tiny sun rising to greet you.

The gravel driveway crackles beneath the tires; it's usually a pleasant sound, but today, all it does is cause your stomach to sink. Such a sour feeling that it rises, flower petals tickling the back of your throat until you cough. Little bits of purple scatter across your lap. Rhett's foot jumps to the brake pedal, a soft squeal emitting from beneath the vehicle as it comes to a stop.

You've never been so disappointed to see your front door.

"Thank you," barely a whisper as it leaves your mouth. Anything louder might break you.

He nods, eyes darting from your lap and up to your face. "Yeah."

The only sound in the truck is that of the frozen rain pitter-pattering on the metal roof. Nothing more. Nothing less. With a forced, tight-lipped smile, you reach for the door handle. It opens with a groan, creating just enough space for you to slip out, the oversaturated ground squelching beneath you. He doesn't say anything as you shut the door, so neither do you.

Resigned to silence, you trudge through the rain. Wind rips past, determined to lift you up off the ground and whisk you into the sky. But you don't lift off the ground. You don't even slip. Your feet find the front steps of your porch, hand fishing into your pocket and producing a set of drenched keys.

The confines of your home are so much warmer than it was outside, and yet, as you toe off your muddy shoes, you can't help but compare it to Rhett. Your heater may be strong, but it doesn't wrap around you the way his arms did. Big. Secure. The kind of thing you thought only existed in your daydreams.

Strange, you don't hear his truck pulling out of the driveway. You know he hasn't; that old GMC runs far too loudly for it to slip by unnoticed. Curious, you hook your finger into the blinds, pulling them down.

No, he hasn't moved at all.

...what's he doing out there? Even from here, you can tell that the storm is picking back up again, rustling through the trees, swaying them back and forth.

Nothing has fallen or otherwise obstructed the driveway, and something couldn't have gone wrong. Not that quickly. Unless he's suddenly developed the ability to hear your heart hammering against your chest, wordlessly begging him not to leave your driveway, there's no reason for him to still be parked.

The cab light flicks on. Then off again. All of a sudden, he's rounding the back of his truck. You're opening the door, socked feet stepping out onto the cold, wet porch. His spurs chime, boots thumping up one stair. Two. Three. Four. No, no, something must have happened. His eyes are wide, and his jaw is slack, looks half scared to death.

But he's not stopping.

"Rhett—"

"I forgot somethin'." One more step, and he's leaning down, and, and...

It's the simplest of things, merely pressing against each other for a long moment, but heaven itself cannot compare to the feeling of Rhett's lips against yours. His nose crushed uncomfortably against your cheek, big hands cradling your cheeks like you'll break if he doesn't.

Just as quickly, he draws away, soft blue eyes meeting with yours. Lightning flashes, but even the following slam of thunder cannot stop you from grabbing a fistful of his flannel and yanking him in once more. Lips crashing together, feet stumbling with the force of it. One of his arms is wrapping around your waist and your hands are sliding up into his hair. Bold. As if this is familiar, something you've done every day of your lives.

The press of his mouth and the stubble of his chin are so much more than your imagination ever could have crafted. Warm and scratching against you so deliciously that your head goes quiet. Soul mate markings be damned. This is where you're meant to be. Right here. Twisting your fingers through his unruly curls, gasping against him. Drowning as he kisses you again, and again, and again.

Your head is spinning. Stumbling blindly as he leans into you, forcing you backward. Your heel catches on the doorway. "Rhett—" But you don't fall. You can't. Not with that strong arm around you. "Cowboy!"

"You're the only one that's ever called me that." He breaks away, kicking at the door with his foot. There's no doubt a mud stain on the white frame now, but you've hardly got it in you to care.

"What?" Your nose bumps into his cheek. A little too close.

"Cowboy." He mutters, lips brushing against yours. So, so close.

A breath hitches in your throat. "Should I stop?"

"Never." And he's kissing you again.

Muffled thunder rumbles outside, and you're pretty sure the power has gone out, but you can't open your eyes to check. Helpless to do anything but tug on his hair, drinking in his deep grumble like you're starved. You should be embarrassed. Shouldn't be this desperate over a first kiss.

But Rhett's got it just as bad. Pushing you backward until you're bumping into the wall. His big, calloused hand is venturing beneath your soaked shirt. God, and you're letting him. Back arching as his fingertips trail up your spine, chest pressing into his. Gasping against his lips like you're trying to put on a show.

More. You want more. Reaching down to toy with the buttons on his shirt, undoing them one at a time, shaking fingers struggling to push them through the holes. Too eager to feel the expense of his chest beneath your palms.

"You're gonna have t' stop me," Rhett's speaking against your lips, batting your hands away. Makes no effort to finish your handiwork as he yanks the flannel off his shoulders, the final three buttons snapping off and scattering across the hardwood floor.

Before you can stop it, your hand drops to his belt, pulling him closer. Earns you an affectionate chuckle that echoes throughout the house. Those hips of his press forward, obnoxiously large buckle digging into your belly, not an inch of space left between your bodies.

"Why would I stop you?" It's too early for you to be reaching down to grab at the hem of your shirt, but you don't care. You want this damn thing off. The soaked fabric stubbornly clings to your frame, heavy as you drag it over your head. It hits the floor with a wet thunk, a mess for the future version of you to handle.

Those deep blue eyes might eat you alive. "Good point."

It's hard to tell who makes the next move. All you know is that you're leaning in to kiss him, noses crashing together, and his hands are appearing on your ass, squeezing until you get the hint to jump. It all happens so fast. The thunk of your back against the wall. His hips slotting between your thighs.

"Y' feel what you're doin' to me?" He grunts, and he doesn't need to specify for you to know what he's talking about—heavy bulge straining against his jeans, pressing perfectly against your core, igniting a familiar heat there.

"Uhuh," is all you're capable of. Greedy hands sliding across his chest and up his shoulders, feeling over all the little freckles and marks that have haunted your imagination. Fuck, and he just lets you. Too busy leaning in to steal a kiss off you. One. Two. Three. Before he shifts to the juncture of your jaw, stubble tickling as he kisses down your neck.

Your hips buck forward.

"Fuck," Rhett's voice tickles your ear, "shoulda let me kiss you earlier, sweetheart."

A shiver ripples down your spine. That's new.

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Finding your words is a task in of itself. Hard to do much of anything when his lips find the soft spot beneath your ear, sucking lightly.

"You were drunk," voice strained, wound too tight in your throat.

"Felt pretty sober in the moment," He hums, tongue poking out to wet your skin. Fuck, you wonder what that would feel like in other places, thighs squeezing impossibly tighter around his hips, works a groan right out of him.

Thunder booms outside, but it's not enough to stop your lips from crashing once more. Teeth clattering, hopelessly grinding down into him, and even these layers of clothing can't stop you from feeling the way he twitches.

It's all a blur.

One moment, you're up against the wall. The next, you're on the ground again, socks sliding against the floor as you stumble down the hall. Hands tangled in his hair. Gasping against his lips. Moving blindly, too focused on each other to spare even a second. You don't know you're in the bedroom until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, falling backward with a yelp.

Fuck, you shouldn't be doing this. There's no reason for you to be letting Rhett Abbott climb into bed with you and slot his big, warm body between your legs. He's your friend. You've known him since you could walk. And these tattoos. They don't match. You're not soulmates.

Rhett's hand rises, pinning yours to the mattress, fingers slotting together. Must know what you're thinking about. "Who gives a fuck 'bout soulmates," he whispers, leaning forward to bump his nose against yours, rubbing them back and forth. "A damn stranger ain't gonna make me as happy as you do."

And you don't...you don't know what to say.

Maybe you don't need to say anything because he kisses you like he's heard everything your heart has to tell him. Stealing your breath away, plucking every little flower from your lungs, so dizzying that your legs have to curl around him to keep from floating away. As if you could possibly escape the big, warm arms that have settled on either side of your head.

Slow, his weight settles on top of you. Bellies snug together. So close that you can hardly grind up into him, reduced to a needy squirm, whining high in your throat.

"Shh," he coos. A big hand curling around your cheek, thumb stroking the thin skin there. "I'll take care of you."

He's already making good on his promise, pulling away to kiss down your neck once more. Hot tongue poking past his lips, running over a vein, leaves behind a glistening trail as he makes his way to your collar. One of his hands dips behind your back, pinching the clasp of your bra, opens it so easily that it almost surprises you.

The last thing you expect is for him to gasp when he pulls it away. Awestruck by the sight of you, bare, for his eyes only. "So fuckin' pretty," whispering, as he kisses down your chest. Too eager to run his tongue down the swell of your breast, so content that his closed eyes seem to smile.

Oh, that's...

"Rhett..." Heat swells in your lower belly. The feeling of his tongue swirling around your nipple is...truly something...

Just as quickly, he's darting to the other one, all too excited to feel the little bud harden beneath his touch. Sensitive. Only takes the slightest bit of suction to make you jolt. But he must have noticed something even more enticing because he's pulling away from that one as well, a big hand rising to toy with it as his head dips down lower.

A delicate kiss presses to the scar on your left side.

Then another. And another. And another. Loving on the old wound, as if he can possibly reverse the damage if he gives it enough attention. Maybe just one more kiss will do it. If not, then surely the next one can make it happen.

"It was nobody's fault," you say softly, reaching to run your fingers through his hair once more. Truly, it wasn't. Nobody could have anticipated that shard of glass.

"I know," the rumble of his voice tickles, pausing to run his tongue up the expanse of the mark, "jus' wish it didn't hurt ya like it did."

Gradually, he draws himself away from your side. Kissing his way down your belly until he meets the thin, delicate band of your underwear. His eyes peer up at you with a silent question. Your answer comes in the form of lifted hips, allowing him to pull the material down your legs. Then, he reaches for his belt, pinching it open with mesmerizing ease.

One boot thunks against the floor. Then the other. You really hope he didn't track mud all over your hardwood.

"You and that obnoxious buckle," the comment slips off your tongue before you can stop it. Too busy watching him undress. It's unfair how well the fabric clings to his thighs, fitting him like a damn glove.

He laughs, kicking his jeans off his feet. "What, don't think it looks good on me?"

"If I answer that, your ego will go through the roof." Your eyes roll; the last thing you need to do is tell him that, yes, you do like it. Lord only knows he'll run himself through four more rodeo seasons, trying to score an even bigger buckle.

"Already has," he winks, hooking a thumb into the waistband of his boxers.

You don't know what he's got to be so confident about until...

"Jesus, Rhett."

"What?" He grins. Absolutely fucking obnoxious. But you can't formulate a single word. "What?"

Your thighs cinch together, hiding yourself from view. There is absolutely no reason why that should be springing up from its confines, so heavy that it smacks against his hip, unable to stand up against his belly. So wet that even in the dark you can see him glistening.

"Naw, y' don't gotta be shy," Rhett's hand travels up your knee, slipping between your closed legs, callouses dragging deliciously against your sensitive skin, "'s just me."

A little too easily, you fall apart once more, feeling a little too exposed as his hungry eyes rake down your body. Every imperfection and curve is on full display. An exhibit of the life you've lived. And Rhett just might be your biggest admirer, his warm frame slipping between your legs, big hands gliding up your sides, pressing lazy kisses as he settles on top of you.

"Rhett..." you don't know why you're saying his name, thighs curling around his sharp hips. His cock head bumps into the meet of your thigh, sends you jumping before you can realize what's happened.

"Ain't gonna hurt ya," uttering beneath his breath, a sentiment meant for your ears only. "I promise." He reaches between your bodies, gently guiding himself to—

Your head tilts back with a gasp. That's new. The delicate drag of Rhett's cock, gliding between your folds, the underside of him nudging at your clit. Hadn't realized you'd gotten this worked up until now, so wet that you can almost convince yourself that you don't need any lube at all. Not a hint of dryness to be found, sliding so, so easily against you.

But then you're gathering the courage to peer down between your legs, and even the darkness can't hide how big he is. Thicker than your daydreams have ever depicted, just a hair longer than any of the toys hiding beneath the bed.

"Bedside table," you blurt, heart fluttering in your chest. Walking is a privilege you'd like to keep.

An unforeseen positive to letting your best friend between your legs is the fact that he knows exactly what you're trying to say. No need for questions as Rhett reaches off to the side, hand disappearing into the drawer. Comes back with the bottle, then delves back in, producing some tiny, round hunks of plastic.

You don't recognize them until he flicks one on—the tiny, fake candles from a few Halloweens ago.

"How romantic," there's a strangeness to this that you didn't expect; oddly casual, even with this newfound situation.

"What?" He asks, innocent as can be, like you have a choice in the matter, already putting one flickering candle off to the side. Another, next to your hip, and he's still got four or five of them left to turn on. "Ain't in the mood for some mood lightin'?"

Lying to yourself is fruitless. The soft golden glow is a welcomed addition to this dark little bedroom. Highlights the room just enough for you to catch the way he drizzles the lube into his palm, reaching down to spread it over himself. That big hand almost tricks you into believing his cock is smaller than it really is, the flushed tip nudging at your cunt with every upward glide.

They say monsters hide in the dark, and you know you caught sight of one between his legs.

Two fingers press into you. No warning to be found, the thick digits easing in like they've done it a million and one times, crooking upward, dragging against your walls. There's the slightest hint of a stretch, a soft ache that—

You suck in a breath, a soft noise escaping past your lips.

Rhett's cock twitches against you. "'s that it?"

Weak, you nod. Don't trust yourself to speak. Not with him gradually beginning to move, shallowly pumping those long digits into you, never pulling out far enough to make you feel empty. But it's so hard to stay quiet when he continuously rubs up into those little nerves, nudging them on every pass over.

"Rhett..." hips writhing against the bed, not sure if you want to lean into it or squirm away.

That must be all that he's planning to give you because all of a sudden, he's drawing away. Wet fingers glisten in the candlelight as he reaches for his cock once more, guiding it back between your folds. Not entirely the same as what you had before, but the drag of his cock head against your clit is so, so worth the exchange.

His warm chest settles against yours once more, lips finding your cheek, scratchy jaw tickling the skin there. Sounds like he murmurs your name as he travels to the corner of your mouth, pressing another kiss there. Finally. Finally, he meets you for a proper kiss, almost immediately broken by the swivel of his hips, reformed just as quickly.

Your hands are on the move. One in his hair, the other on his naked shoulder, feeling the way his muscles flex and ripple beneath your fingertips. Strong from a decade of bull riding and all that time spent on the ranch, chiseled and perfect in every way you can imagine. Fuck, it's like he was built just for you and this. Rutting between your legs like he's in heat, dragging against your needy clit until your hips twitch off the mattress, pressing into him.

Swallowing down his groan is enough to put you up on cloud nine.

A pressure appears at your entrance—the soft nudge of his tip. Your antics must have caused him to wander a little too far down. But you're pushing down onto him like it was your intent all along, and by God, he's not trying to stop you.

Rhett stiffens. "You want me to...?" Muttering against your lips, unable to draw himself away any further.

"Yeah," it's the easiest thing you've said all night.

It's all the encouragement he needs, mouth meeting yours once more. Slow, that pressure between your legs begins to grow, his blunt tip spreading you wide. There's a part of you already beginning to wonder if you should have asked for more lube, but his incessant lips are so damn distracting. Tangling with yours, drawing you into a captivating dance, spinning your head round and round, drawing your mind away from the burn.

His head slips into you with a soft 'pop,' such an odd little feeling that has you gasping into his kiss, fingertips digging into his shoulder blades. Now you can really feel him. The delicate drag of his length gradually filling you, centimeter by debilitating centimeter. You'll be waddling come morning. You can already feel it.

There's no way you won't be. Not with how your pussy aches with the overwhelming stretch of him.

"Y' want me to stop?" Rhett's low voice rumbles against your bottom lip; when did the kiss break?

Thunder rumbles outside, your only reminder of the storm that looms just past the thin walls of your home. Even the memory of running with him in the rain feels like it was forever ago. There were flowers filling your lungs just a few hours prior, but as you draw in a breath, you can't feel a shred of evidence that they were ever there.

"Yeah," nodding, your nose bumping into his, "you're just...a lot."

God, you shouldn't have said that.

But it's too late. There's already a wild grin emerging onto his scruffy face, so pleased with your words that his eyes seem to sparkle. As if the sight of you struggling to take his cock wasn't enough of a boost to his ego.

"'s that it?" Speaking through his smile, still has the audacity to sink even further into you. "Ya never had anything big as me?"

Your eyes roll so hard that they might get stuck.

All at once, his hips are flush with yours, not an inch of space left, your legs tightening around him as if there's a risk of him pulling back out. But that's not happening. Not with the way he's blindly nuzzling his nose into you, so lost in the feeling of you wrapped around him that he can't hold his eyes open.

"Y' alright?" His eyelashes tickle your cheek as they flutter open.

"Uhuh" is the best that you've got at this given moment. It's so hard to speak when you're so full. Couldn't take another millimeter of him, even if he begged you to. "You can..." pausing for a breath, "you can move."

In perfect synchrony, your attentions flicker down to where your bodies meet. A sight lit by the golden glow of the artificial candles, illuminating the slow withdrawal of Rhett's cock, where you're stretched so wide that you don't think your smaller toys will ever satisfy you again.

"Shit, look at that," there's no reason why Rhett, of all people, should be so mesmerized by this, but he is, and it makes you fucking dizzy. "'s fuckin' hot."

And then he's sinking back in and—

"Fuck," it's too early for you to be whimpering so high in your throat, but his blunt tip is dragging right against the sensitive nerves hidden within you, and it's so, so much.

This close, it's hard to miss the way Rhett's breath hitches, "'s that the spot, baby?"

All you can do is nod. Nails biting into his shoulders as he draws back once more, rubbing past that little spot once more. Toys don't normally get this sort of reaction out of you, but there's just something about it being Rhett that's getting to you. Your childhood best friend. The man that your weary heart has yearned for since high school. Eye candy at every rodeo he's ever set foot in.

His lips find yours, tangling lazily, humming all the while. A part of you wonders if he always demands this many kisses. If he makes a habit of smiling into them. The rest of you knows that he doesn't because otherwise, he'd know that the heavy thrust of his hips would send your teeth clattering together.

"Ow," he's jerking back as if he's not the main culprit behind it.

His cock head drives right up into those nerves. Sends your back arching up off the bed, pussy spasming around him, and you don't know which of you cry out louder.

"There, there, there," you're babbling like a fool, but he's already missing it again. Such a minuscule thing that every correction is an overshot.

Rhett's brows furrow, focusing so damn hard, and yet, "I can't...shit, that ain't it either."

But you've got an idea.

Without a word, you begin to lean up, foreheads bumping together as Rhett tries to follow along, his big blue eyes so wide that they glisten in the light. Slipping out of you entirely as he falls onto his haunches, looks like a big puppy when he's confused like this.

"On your back," your command is soft. It could easily be bent if he really wanted to, but he's already following through on it, twisting and falling back onto the bed without a fuss.

Settling into his lap is a feeling you've imagined a million and one times, and yet, somehow, it's unlike anything your mind has ever come up with. Warmth radiating off him like he's a damn heater, broad chest making your hand look impossibly tiny, as you lean on him for balance. He's already one step ahead of you, carefully guiding his cock back to your dripping cunt; all you've got to do is sink down and—

A pair of gasps tear through the room. Louder than the storm raging outside.

"Y' look so fuckin' beautiful on top of me, baby," Rhett sputters, peering up at you as if you've hung the moon and the stars in the sky.

Already, you're beginning to move. Knees digging into the mattress, palms firm against his chest as you lift yourself up. The curve of his length alone is enough to make your thighs shudder.

"You're not so bad yourself," you're breathless already, hips swiveling, searching for that deceptive little angle. Maybe if you...lean a little further forward...

There it is.

A tingle ripples up your spine, clamping down around Rhett's cock, and he must feel it because his head rolls to the side, lips parting with a groan that ought to make your head spin. Those big hands settle onto your thighs, gripping like he'll fall off the bed if he doesn't.

"Is that—oh fuck," his hips jerk up off the bed, leaking tip kissing those little nerves head on, "is that it?"

You can't answer. Palms shivering against his chest, already fighting to keep yourself upright. An ache blooming in your thighs with every rise and fall, head tilting back, a familiar heat beginning to bloom in your lower belly.

Rhett must be feeling it, too. There's no way he isn't. Head rolling from side to side, back arching off the bed, unable to keep himself still beneath you, a whiny mewl escaping his parted lips. And all it's doing is jostling his length inside of you, sporadically tapping against all those sensitive spots.

A calloused thumb appears on your clit. Not sure when he started reaching down, but it's damn near got you collapsing onto his chest, a tremble setting into your exhausted bones.

"Fuck, Rhett!" You're squealing, poorly built rhythm already beginning to fall apart.

Again, his hips snap upward, heavy balls smacking against your ass. "'m sorry, I'm not trying to buck my hips. I just..." he doesn't get to finish that because you're falling forward into his chest, face burying into his shoulder. It's too much. It's too much.

Big hands settle on your hips. Gripping tight as his knees bend, feet digging into the mattress to pump into you properly. Lewd smacks of skin on skin echoing through the room, artificial candles bouncing with his every motion.

"Anyone else ever fill your sweet pussy like this?" He rasps in some rumbling, guttural tone you've never heard before. "Hm?"

Your head shakes, but it takes a moment to realize that he can't see what you're doing. Not with you nuzzled up under his jaw. "N-no," whimpering right into his ear.

Those hands are moving again, gliding up your back, big arms securing themselves around you like a hug, the only damn thing that keeps you from bouncing further up the bed. Your forearms settle on either side of his head, shivering as you try to lift yourself up, but you can only go so far, barely able to meet his eyes.

Lips clash, so loose that it hardly even counts as a kiss. Drinking down Rhett's feeble whine. Makes your head spin so much more than the alcohol ever did. Heat pools between your legs, pussy tightening like a vice around his pistoning cock, thick tip rubbing into those nerves over and over and over.

You're close.

"I love you," it slips out of him so quietly that you nearly believe it's a figment of your imagination. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

One of your hands delves into his hair, noses colliding. Think you might be whispering it back, but you can't hear what's coming out of your mouth. Overridden by the blood rushing to your head and the slap of his skin against yours, and, and, and...

Spots appear in your vision. Body going taut as you cum around him without the slightest warning. Crying out high in your throat, forehead knocking against Rhett's, an invisible flame racing across your skin. Every thrust pushes your head higher into the clouds, could damn near float up to the ceiling if his arms weren't tightening around you, his hips stalling. A melody of whimpers bubbles out of his throat, orgasm washing over him like a tidal wave.

You think you can feel it. The spasm of his cock and the warmth of his cum painting you white, flooding your pussy so full that you think it's already beginning to pour out of you. His hips jerk up into you, punctuated by a sickening squelch and his own broken moan.

And yet, somehow, you've got the strength to meet his swollen lips, lazy tongues poking out to twist together like a greeting. Wet and messy as can be, saliva running down your chin, drooling like dogs in the summer sun. Rhett twists beneath you, and you're vaguely aware that the world around you is spinning, falling into the mattress beside him.

A tickle rises in the back of your throat, forcing a cough out of you. Two purple flowers dance out onto the bed, obnoxiously vibrant and dainty. They've always been small, nothing compared to the roses Rhett's been choking up, but they look even tinier in his sweaty palm.

"Spiderwort," he murmurs after a moment, running a fingertip over their petals. Bleary blues peer flicker up to you, half-lidded and turned upward by his dumb smile.

They've always been his favorite.

"So there was no girl at the bar?" You ask, hand wandering onto his cheek, curling around it like he's the most delicate thing on this planet.

His head shakes. "Never."

There's still a storm lurking outside, rattling the house, lightning and thunder striking the ground with an unmatched fury, but you hardly notice it. Too distracted by the warmth of a cowboy, his legs tangling with yours, uncaring of the mess you've made together. Kissing just for the hell of it, wandering across cheeks and peppering over old scars, musing about the memories attached.

When you fall asleep, you're not sure, but you wake snuggled into his naked chest, his big arm looped around you like a blanket. Sunshine peeks through the gap in the curtains, the shrill tune of a bird singing her song, and for once, it's dreamy rather than irritating.

On its own accord, your fingers drift across his sleeping face, warm and maybe the slightest bit flushed. Wandering over the scruff clinging to his jaw, finally at that length where it's grown soft to the touch. Drifting around the minuscule scar above his brow, the only remnant of the night you snuck out together and wrecked the four-wheeler.

As far as you're aware, Royal never did find out why it started making that funny noise.

...or maybe Rhett was never asleep to begin with because when you look back down, his eyes are open.

"Keep doin' that," he grumbles, voice deeper than the rumble of last night's thunder, leaning in to press his lips against your forehead. You don't need any further encouragement, trailing your fingertips across his face just for the hell of it.

There are things you should be saying. Discussions to be had about where this puts you and what you are to each other, but the upturn of his lips tells you a million and one words. Seriousness can wait. For now, all you want to think about is this next kiss he's planting on you.

And then another between your eyes, and another on your left cheek, one more on the tip of your nose. Slowly but surely sprawling across your face, peppering you with them so quickly that it feels like the wings of butterflies fluttering against your skin.

"Rhett!" You squeal, pushing at his jaw, but it's no use. He's rolling on top of you, and you're helpless to do anything but squirm and cry out, forced to endure all these kisses.

As quickly as they start, they stop.

You're half anticipating them to begin the moment your eyes peel open, but he's not even looking at you. Too focused on something next to his face, just past your wrist.

Or maybe...

"What?" You're not following.

He leans back, brows furrowed as he looks down at his arm.

You don't get it. What, was he expecting the tattoos to change overnight? It still looks the damn same to you—

...oh.

That's not the same marking that has marred your skin from birth. And Rhett's turning his arm to let you see, and it's—

It's the same. Rhett's old bucking bronc, your shoe flying behind its upturned feet. It was never meant to be identical; they were meant to complete each other's picture.

"Are you serious?" You're sputtering through the smile emerging onto your face, so wide that it shapes your eyes with it.

And Rhett's not doing much better. Red-cheeked. Grinning from ear to ear. "We just been wrong 'bout it the whole fuckin' time."

This time, when he leans down to kiss you, there isn't a single flower to be found in your lungs. No roses. No spiderwort. Just you and him collapsing into these messy sheets, tangled together as one, matching tattoos at all.

Separation is only temporary. Breaking apart just long enough to venture into the shower together, uncaring of the tight fit, so long as Rhett's hands are gliding along your body. Tangling together in the kitchen, waiting on the microwave to beep, feet knocking into each other beneath the table like you're five years old, and sharing breakfast at the Abbott house again.

He kisses you in the hallway while mopping up the mud he tracked in. Peppers them along the side of your neck when you stumble out onto the porch to find that a tree has fallen, blocking your driveway completely. Perry says he'll come by with a chainsaw tomorrow afternoon; he could be here within the hour, but you've got the feeling that he's already caught on to what's happened.

In the middle of summer, you begin to suspect that some familiar flowers are beginning to grow around your home. Vibrant little buds sprout from amidst the dewy grass, nestled against the foundation of your home and roaming out into the lawn, running rampant now that the storm has run out of rain.

Roses don't grow in Wabang. Unless, of course, they're accompanied by spiderwort.

A few kisses from a cowboy are all they've ever needed.

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #oneshot #afab reader #hanahaki disease #soulmate au #friends to lovers

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pyeonghongrie · 7 days

Text

Anything You Could Do, I Could Do Better!

Summary: You and your academic rival do what academic rivals do, trying to one-up each other in grades. But the thing is, both of you are teachers.

Characters/Pairing(s): Hongjoong X Reader

Genre: humor

AUs/Trope info: Reverse Academic Rivals,

Word Count: 500+

Warnings: none??????

Rating: 16+

A/N: for @cultofdionysusnet's reverse trope event! Thank you to @kwanisms for helping with this!!!

It’s a new school year, which means, it's a new opportunity to crush your rival, Kim Hongjoong, in a battle of wits.

You see, that would’ve been much more appropriate if both of you weren’t high school teachers. And if you both weren’t vicariously continuing this feud through which class could get a higher grade point average.

"My God, Hongjoong! You’re delusional if you think your class is going to get the higher GPA this quarter! It’s impossible,” you yell at him from across the faculty parking lot, your anger reaching a boiling point after he provoked you with yet another bet for this school year. “You suck at teaching and everyone knows it!”

“Oh, get over yourself,” he yells back, slamming the door of his car shut. “You’re just salty that my students love my class while they drone over your miserable little classroom that feels more like a prison cell,” he continues, power-walking in your direction. “You won’t even let them bring snacks, you Karen!”

“Oh, please!” you retort, rolling your eyes. “The only reason they like you is because you let them slack off! And Besides,” you continue, narrowing your eyes as he draws closer. “My classroom has these fuck ass linoleum floors that basically adheres food crumbs to it. I don’t want my room to have rats, especially if they look like you.”

He gasps, dramatically so, one hand over his gaped mouth and the other over his chest. “This has to constitute a hate crime, this is rodent discrimination. Everyone knows I’m a squirrel.”

You roll your eyes, “Save the ‘woe is me’ cries for someone who cares, Kim. I’ll see you after this quarter when my class destroys yours!”

Hongjoong’s class was, in fact, not destroyed by yours.

The final results came in and in fact, both your classes had the same GPA down to the decimal point.

Of course, from that confrontation, the both of you stormed over to the guidance counselor, demanding a recount, or at least a reason for this “impossible” tie.

“This is ridiculous!” You said, slapping the flimsy piece of paper over her desk, “There is no way that this guy’s class got the same GPA as mine!”

Hongjoong scoffs, “You act like we weren’t in the same education classes in college. You’re no better off than I am.”

“Well,” The counselor started, “Both of you were being really annoying about this feud, it was funny at first, but both of you need to get over this. You’re adults, not only that, you’re responsible for the education of the future professionals of this country. I’d expect both of you to prioritize the students’ education over this silly competition.”

The counselor clears her throat, “Enough,” she said as she stood up from her chair, “There is no mistake in the transcripts. Both of your classes scored the exact same, down to the decimal.”

Both of you look at each other. “But, how is that possible?” Hongjoong asked, just as confused as you were.

Both of you lower your head in shame.

“Now, this feud ends today. No more trying to live your rivalry through these kids.” She sits down again, waving both of you off.

You stand in front of the door to the driver’s side of your car, as did Hongjoong. With a silent agreement to end this rivalry, and call for peace.

Which only lasted until the next school year, much to the chagrin of everyone else.

#cultofdionysusnet #codn: summer24 #pyeonghongrie #anything you could do i could do better!#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #kvanity #ateez scenarios #ateez smut #hongjoong x reader

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bestiesenpai · 3 months

Text

sukuna bridgerton au pt 4

To the person that asked for jealous Sukuna, I’m here to deliver(hopefully you like it, it's not super overt jealousy)! I had to take liberties on regency era fashion cause i’ll be damned if i put sukuna in a fucking nightgown lmao

Once again, bold text indicates a different language being spoken

part one --- part two --- part three

It was criminal that Sukuna made you get up before sunrise to begin your journey to the countryside but he was insistent on getting there at a ‘reasonable hour’. Getting dressed in a sleepy haze, you nibbled on breakfast as Sukuna got everything ready and collected any documents he wanted to work on.

You were much too tired to even think to complain about being in the same carriage as him, something that underneath the fog gave you a slight nervous edge. Despite the conversation the day before you weren’t sure if you were ready for this level of intimacy with him. But there wasn’t much choice to be had and away you went, not caring to stifle a yawn as you rode away from the chateau.

“Now Princess, I’ve had the valet draw us up an itinerary.” Sukuna started, fluffing out some papers and handing you one. “We are to visit a vineyard, perhaps make a public appearance at the local clinic.”

“Yes.” Nodding along, you let your head rest on the back of the carriage. The road wasn’t terribly bumpy, allowing you to relax as Sukuna kept speaking. He hadn’t even looked up to see if you were listening, just droning on about something you couldn’t find it in you to care about.

It felt like just a moment had passed between you closing your eyes and feeling the carriage jostle to the side with a great force, the footmen calling out to steady the horses as the road was in a bad condition. Blinking rapidly as your senses came back to you, there was the sudden realization that Sukuna was sat next to you. Feeling a pressure on your cheek, you noticed your head had tilted to lay on his shoulder and although your neck was growing sore you found it wasn’t terribly uncomfortable to be this close to him.

“Oh, you’re awake.” He commented upon your rousing, noticing the way your eyes moved rapidly. He helped you sit up and seemed unfazed by the fact that your head had been resting so gently on his shoulder, unfazed except for the blush painting his cheeks. “We’re almost there.”

“My apologies, Your Highness.” Clearing your throat, you inched away from him. It must have been a burden for him to move for you and that thought had you looking down at your hands adorned with a pair of lacy gloves.

“No need.” Sukuna also cleared his throat, grabbing the papers that were left on his other side. The rest of the ride was quiet with the two of you sitting so close yet not looking at one another. Looking out the window, you noticed you were indeed in the countryside, passing by expansive rolling hills covered in wildflowers and tall grass, some cultivated into farming and others holding livestock.

Getting to the center of town, you were happy to see it was full of life and not as small as you assumed it would be. Sure, it wasn’t as lively and built up as the city you grew up in but it was a far cry from the sticks and mud you thought you’d encounter.

Being helped out of the carriage by Sukuna, you were greeted by the town's mayor who insisted on gifting you a bottle of wine as a present for your marriage. He spoke fast, almost too fast for the royal interpreter to translate for Sukuna; and his barely there grasp of the local language was frustrating him, it was written on his face.

You toured the town for much longer than you thought you would, seeing every historical landmark and every church ever built. There were several instances during the tour that you or Sukuna had to nudge the other to stay awake as the mayor droned on and on. By the time the tour was over it was evening and you had to retire to the inn that was reserved for you.

“The best inn in the whole country, Your Highness!” The mayor boasted, leading the two of you inside and directly to your bedroom.

“T-there’s only one bed!” You exclaimed, causing the mayor to laugh and wave you off.

“Still a blushing bride, I see!” Bowing to the both of you, he excused himself and left the two of you alone to enter.

“What’d he say to you?” Sukuna mumbled, rustling in a chest of drawers for something.

“I mentioned that there appears to only be one bed and…and he said I was still a blushing bride.” Repeating the statement to Sukuna made your cheeks burn and having him laugh made it even worse. “I just assumed-”

“That we would have separate rooms?” Cutting you off, Sukuna turned to face you and you could finally see what he had been digging around for: a silver flask. “We may do that in the privacy of our own home but in public it is best not to arouse suspicion about the state of our marriage. You understand, correct?” He quirked a brow as he titled his back and took a drink.

“Yes, of course I understand. I just…” Trailing off, you looked around the room again. It was very spacious, with a chess table off to one side and a simple loveseat in front of a fireplace. There were partitions in the room that you could move to your liking as you dressed which gave you peace of mind.

“While you think about it, I am going to have a servant get us dinner. Is there anything you would like to have?” Sukuna began to walk to the door with his flask still in hand.

“I have no preference.” And with that answer, he was gone. Wringing your hands together, you paced around the room unable to find respite in being alone. What lay ahead of you had your nerves in a thousand different places and there was a doubt in your mind about getting any sleep tonight.

You and Sukuna ate your meal quietly at the small dining table in the room. You couldn’t make eye contact with him for very long and he did not mind your nerves at all. The sound of people moving around downstairs and playing the piano in the parlor made ambient noise as you finished your meals and then moved on to other things: Sukuna, his paperwork and you some needlework.

“Do you wish to bathe tonight, Princess? I am going to have a bath drawn.” Sukuna announced suddenly, breaking you from your trance. Blinking owlishly, you couldn’t find the words so you shook your head. “Alright. I will have a guard stand at the door while I am away.”

With Sukuna gone again, you finally took notice of the time and realized you should also get ready for bed. Calling a ladies maid in, you undressed and got into night clothes, trying to quell the shaking of your hands when she left and you were alone again. Staring at yourself in the full length mirror, you drew your robe tighter hoping to hide the dressing gown underneath. Without the stuffy and constricting layers of your everyday clothes, you were much more comfortable physically, but mentally was another story.

There were a rapid few knocks on the door before it opened and closed swiftly and Sukuna entered, not caring in the slightest about walking around the inn in an unbuttoned white shirt and loose linen pants that hit just below his knees.

“Please cover up!” You gasped, utterly scandalized about the flash of skin you saw before slapping a hand over your eyes. Sukuna barked out a laugh, one that lasted much longer than you’d like.

“You ladies are so prim, aren’t you?” He shook his head, doing as he was told with a large smirk on his face. “Does this suit you, Your Grace?” He teased, doing a small spin when you lifted the hand from your face. He had indeed buttoned up, still more exposed than you’d like but it was better than before.

“Yes it does.” Clearing your throat, you became painfully aware of the fact you were in a nightgown and Sukuna was openly staring at you. Crossing your arms over your chest, you motioned to the bed. “Do you not wish to rest now?”

“Do you?” He countered immediately, taking a few steps toward you and making you fumble backwards.

“I-I do.” Truth be told you were tired, all you wanted to do was lay down and close your eyes. But you had to account for Sukuna and whatever he would try and do.

“Then by all means, lay down, Princess.”

“I-I-” The two of you were caught in a stalemate, neither wanting to move until the other did. Unbeknownst to you, Sukuna was indeed nervous about laying in the same bed as you. He wondered how it would feel, to finally lay with his wife and to possibly smell whatever lotions she had put on while getting ready for bed.

“We can’t stay like this forever.” Sukuna broke the silence, speaking quietly as he licked his lips. The bed was already unmade for the two of you, so all you had to do was climb in as he snuffed out any candles still lit but your feet were glued to your spot as the last candle went out and you were engulfed in darkness with not even the light of the moon to bring you comfort.

“Princess.” Sukuna groaned and you could just barely make out his figure in the dark but you knew he was rolling his eyes at your hesitance. “Lie down. Please.” Tacking on the formality at the end, he waited impatiently for you to move.

“I’m just nervous.” You mumbled, shifting away ever so slightly when you saw him move again.

“Shall I light the candles again? We can stay awake longer if that is what you require.” Worrying your lip and sighing over his words, you rolled your eyes at yourself. This would have to happen eventually, one way or another, you might as well get used to it now.

“Give me a moment.” Walking to the side of the bed, you took your robe off and dived under the covers as fast as you could. Sukuna most likely couldn’t see your actual nightgown but he could see that you had finally laid down.

Sighing to himself, he laid down as well and the two of you didn’t move a muscle. Neither wanting to get too close to the other, not even wanting to breathe too loud for the other to hear. You were both laying on your back staring at the ceiling above, the blanket drawn up to your chin to protect your modesty.

“Goodnight, Princess.” Sukuna dared to whisper, dared even further to shift in the bed and turn his back to you.

“Goodnight.” You whispered back, following suit and turning the other way. You were able to sink into a comfortable position from this and sleep took you sooner than you realized, too soon for you to start worrying something might happen.

Sukuna was the first to rouse from sleep in the morning, the sunlight beginning to bleed through the curtains. Keeping his eyes closed and stretching his body, Sukuna noticed an unfamiliar weight on his bicep. Cracking an eye open, he gasped at seeing your head resting on his arm with your peaceful, sleeping face making his cheeks warm.

“Princess?” He whispered, unsure if he wanted you to wake up or not. When you didn’t stir he didn’t speak again, opting to just watch you sleep and find comfort laying on him. Sukuna had to remind himself to breathe several times as he caught himself holding in for fear of moving too much and disturbing you. Time stood still as he just stared, ignoring the itch in the back of his mind that he needed to start his day and not waste time.

When you finally woke, all slow blinks and delicate breaths, Sukuna had fallen back asleep and now it was your turn to admire him. The slight furrow in his brows was gone, allowing you to see him truly relaxed. This was the first time you were looking at him so up close and you saw that his eyelashes, although still pink, looked almost translucent as the sun filled the room with light. The bruise on his neck from the other night seemed to have settled into its peak coloring, a dark purple mark staining Sukuna’s skin and was sure to hurt if pressed.

Your bodies were still relatively separate, your head resting on his arm the only place you two were touching. If you flexed your arms, stretched out your body just a bit, you would touch Sukuna’s torso and the temptation to do so was strong. His shirt had come undone in the night either by his own doing or as he slept and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. There were a few scars that littered his body, almost all of them old and healed with a few still a soft red. Sukuna had a much more chiseled physique than that of the men in the ton, much more muscle that he obviously obtained through some hard work.

A chuckle broke you out of your trance and you looked up at Sukuna, shocked that he was now awake and looking at you with a light smile on his face.

“That tickles, Princess.” He raised his brows, exhaling a breathy laugh as you both looked down to see your hand had indeed started lightly touching his abdomen.

“Oh my!” Ripping yourself away, you scrambled out of bed and immediately put your robe on, embarrassment rippling through your body. Sukuna made no move to stop you as you began to look through your drawers, trying to decide what you would wear today.

“I quite enjoyed that, you know.” Sukuna spoke up and you could hear him rustling in the bed. “Being so close to my beautiful wife for the first time was lovely.”

“Silence.” You hissed but the words held no bite, evident as you didn’t even turn to face Sukuna when he spoke.

“Admit it Princess, you enjoyed it as well.” His hands came from behind you, caging you in against the armoire you were standing in front of. You could feel the heat of his breath on the back of your head and just barely feel his body around you. The both of you stood there quietly, your heart beating painfully in your chest.

“I-I-” Licking your lips nervously, you gripped the clothing in your hand. “I have no comment on the matter.” It was a mistake to turn around. It was a mistake to turn around and see just how close Sukuna was to you. It was also a mistake to lick your lips again, something Sukuna immediately focused on.

“Just like a lady, so diplomatic.” His voice dropped to a whisper, making a shiver go down your spine. His eyes danced around your entire form, from your eyes to your lips down to the rise and fall of your chest. Shuffling forward just slightly, Sukuna brought a hand down to cover one of yours, running his thumb along your skin.

You held your breath as Sukuna leaned forward, his eyes half closing the closer he got to you. Your own eyes fell shut, unable to fight the urge to follow his lead. His breath fanned across your face and his hand tightened its grip, his nose scraping against your cheek before he planted a kiss right on it.

His lips lingered there for a few beats, just pressed against your face. His breathing was so quiet you feared he would pass out soon but he moved again, sliding back so his nose was behind your ear. He took a breath then, smelling the traces of lotion you’d put on before bed. Once he’d gotten his fill, Sukuna sighed and backed up, sighing again when you opened your eyes and looked at him.

“I shall get us breakfast.” Sukuna whispered, not making a move to leave.

“I would like some fruit.” You replied, speaking slowly with a heavy tongue. Sukuna let go of your hand, gradually brushing his fingers up along your arm. Getting to your elbow, Sukuna wrapped his hand around you, squeezing for a moment before dropping it completely.

“Fruit. Right.” Taking a step back, he didn’t break eye contact with you until he opened the door and left, not bothering to change into anything else.

As soon as the door closed it was as if all the air rushed back into the room. Nearly falling to your knees, you gasped and brought your fingers up to your cheek to try and possibly feel the lingering touch his lips left. Calling for your lady’s maid, your body trembled as you prepared for the day. Eating downstairs in the inn's common area, you and Sukuna shared fleeting glances and his knee bumped yours under the table several times.

“We’re going to a vineyard today.” Sukuna announced upon your exit from the inn, stretching his arms above his head before motioning you to get into the carriage.

“Do you expect me to drink wine so early in the day?” It was barely a quarter till ten and you were in no shape to begin drinking.

“We will merely sample, Princess. No need to worry.” He assured you as the carriage began its journey. “The townsfolk prepared a special bottle in our honor, we are to open it on our ten year anniversary.”

“Ten years?” Your brows rose in surprise; the idea of being with Sukuna for that long had never crossed your mind until now, but it would be your reality. The two of you would be together until one of you died, there was no getting around that.

“Try and look happy at the notion.” Sukuna teased, lightly pushing your knee with his own. You responded in kind and nudged him back, both of you sharing a sly smile.

The vineyard was out of the way, up a few large hills and over a river. You passed by a few farms with people diligently working the soil, some standing up to wave at you properly while others kept their heads down, determined to bring in the harvest they had cared for so tenderly.

“What an honor it is!” The vintner was waiting for you as you arrived, dressed in a fresh suit and with a few others waiting behind him.

“The pleasure is ours, thank you.” You replied, curtseying upon your exit from the carriage.

“Thank you.” Sukuna said, his eyes flicking to you as he said it. You’d only heard him speak the language the night he had caught you and Lord Fushiguro together, every other time he used the royal translator.

“Right this way, Your Highness’. I have prepared a special tour for you.” Being led further into the winery, you marveled at the amount of barrels lining the wall, enclosing the space and making you feel tiny in comparison. As the vintner began to explain the history of the region, you heard him mention a familiar name.

“E-excuse me, you said Lord Fushiguro?” You cut off his speech.

“Yes, Your Highness! He is the owner of this vineyard and several others in the area. Do you by chance know him?” He motioned to the barrels which you just now noticed had the Fushiguro name stamped onto them.

“We know of him.” Sukuna said, rolling his eyes at the mention.

“Yes the young Lord is a wonderful man, very passionate about wine and his business! Sadly, he was in a terrible fight a couple days ago otherwise he would have been here to give the tour himself!”

“A fight?” You gasped, feigning innocence.

“Just awful, Your Highness! He said a few thugs cornered him at the town festival as he was leaving!”

“Did he say anything about the thugs?” Sukuna pressed, trying to wait patiently as everything was translated.

“Unfortunately no, Your Grace, he said he didn’t get a good look at any of them. But his injuries were too severe for him to travel here, a true shame.”

“Yes…just awful…” Sukuna trailed off, having to look away to try and stifle the cruel smirk on his face. You wanted to say something, but found no words were coming, letting the tour resume as your mind went back to Lord Fushiguro. He was too injured to make the journey? Was there someone helping him recover or was he all on his own? Could you possibly send him a letter and at least apologize for what happened? Or maybe sneak away and visit him without Sukuna knowing?

“Hey.” He nudged you as you walked through the winery, getting to the wine cellar. “Do not think about him.”

“I’m not.” You countered immediately, shaking your head.

“You are, it is written all over your face.” Sighing shortly, Sukuna flexed his fingers as you descended down the stairs. “It’s vexing me, do not do it any longer.”

“Are you perhaps-”

“Do not dare.” Cutting you off immediately, Sukuna held out his hand to help you down the last few steps. “I know you may think I am jealous, but I can promise you I am not.”

“Yes of course.” You could barely contain your giggle at his words. Sukuna was indeed jealous if the way his jaw clenched was any indication. When the vintner brought up another winemaker, Sukuna was almost too interested in the bottle being shown, taking much more care to pay attention than you’d seen from him in the past.

After a rich and filling lunch, you were led out to the wineries terrace where there were several bottles waiting for you. Taking a seat, the staff assigned to the tasting wasted no time in filling your glasses and explaining the different blends and notes associated with each wine.

By the time you were finished, the sky was a burning orange and red and you were just starting to get hungry for dinner. You lost track of how many wines you’d tried and certainly which ones you liked or not; after a bit the flavors had all blended together. Bidding farewell to the vintner, you and Sukuna climbed into the carriage with a few more bottles of wine, even taking the unfinished bottles you had at the tasting.

Riding to a small but lively restaurant back in town, you were given the best seats in the house, able to watch people dancing and playing music. Sukuna had urged you to finish off a bottle by yourself in the carriage, so by the time the food came out you had nearly forgotten all table manners.

“I wish to dance.” You announced, your voice a bit too loud for a conversation between the two of you.

“Sit down.” Sukuna tried - and failed - to keep you from getting up as one song ended and another started. Approaching the dance floor, you quickly found a partner in another woman, one happy to take the lead through the dance.

You quickly devolved into a fit of happy, drunken giggles as you danced. Dancing here was different than in the ton, it mattered not what gender you were with and who did what position. You even changed partners several times throughout one song, becoming rapidly bewildered at who was who and even who you were.

“Oh Miss Marjorie, you are lovely!” Giving your original partner a large hug after a great number of dances, you swayed on your feet as she embraced you back.

“Oh likewise, Your Grace! It is an honor!” She seemed to be drunk as well, both of you slurring your words. Leaving you for a brief moment, she returned with two small glasses in her hand. “For you and the Prince!” Gasping happily, your smile was never brighter when you turned and waved at Sukuna. He had stood from his seat to watch you move around but did not venture further onto the floor.

“Thank you.” He was persuaded by your insistent waving and sauntered over, taking one glass and downing it swiftly. Not seeing him react to what was in the cup, you did the same but almost coughed it back up. You were not prepared for the sharp and burning sting of alcohol to hit the back of your throat, nor for it to burn so fiercely as it went down into your stomach.

“Sorry Your Grace, I should have warned you!” Marjorie laughed, patting you on the back as you coughed a few times.

“I-I’m fine.” Waving off her concern, you took a couple deep breaths and turned to Sukuna. “How can you be fine after that?”

“I’ve drunk stronger things in the military.” He simply shrugged, nonchalant to the whole thing. “Now if you excuse me, I’d like to go sit back down.”

“No!” You gasped, grabbing onto Sukuna’s arm as he tried to leave. “You have to dance with me!” Sukunas brow rose considerably at that, unable to tell if you meant it or not.

“I’m sure there are others you’d much rather dance with.” Sukunas attempt to try and shrug you off were in vain, you wouldn’t budge on the matter. After trying and failing a second and third time, he sighed in defeat. “Fine! One dance.”

Clapping giddily, you and Sukuna got positioned on the dance floor and began the moves. This one was similar to the other dances you were doing, switching partners and getting close to other people. Unbeknownst to you, Sukunas eyes stayed on you the entire time, making sure you came back to him as the dance progressed.

“Do not be jealous, Your Highness.” You teased him upon seeing his expression. This was the third dance he just finished and you could tell he was fuming.

“I’m not.” Sukuna vehemently denied, shaking his head a little too hard.

“You are, it is written all over your face.” Throwing his statement from earlier in the day in his face, you laughed as he rolled his eyes in defeat.

“I just- I do not like seeing all those other people dancing with you. You are my partner, not theirs.” Did he mean in just the dance or in another way as well? Your mind couldn’t dwell on the deeper meaning of it - or the meaning of anything, truly - and instead you acted on instinct and boldly grabbed onto Sukunas hand.

“You are my partner as well.” Your smile was goofy and it made Sukuna laugh.

“God, you vex me at times.” He had a smile on his face for the rest of the night, happily dancing with you for songs where you didn’t need to change partners. As the night wore on, the two of you got increasingly inebriated, so much so that Sukunas valet had to herd you into the carriage to take you back to the inn.

It was a struggle for your servants to help dress you in your nightclothes, both of you unable to be still in your respective changing areas. When Sukuna returned to the room, he saw you weren’t wearing your robe like last night.

“Ready for bed, Princess?” He said, forcing himself not to make a comment on your choice of clothing or the fact that your gown was a tad sheer, allowing him to see hints of the outline of your body. He felt himself getting hot under the collar, which made him chuckle; he had refused to put on a shirt when dressing, claiming he was much too hot for that.

“I am.” You stumbled to the bed and collapsed onto it, giving no care for how you looked at the moment. You didn’t even make a sound when Sukuna climbed in after blowing out the last candle, his body brushing yours as you chose to lay in the middle of the bed.

“Princess, how can we sleep like this?” Sukuna was trying so hard to be respectful but with the way you were lying diagonally and kicking your legs up every so often proved it very difficult. You grumbled something unintelligible, unable to form a sentence as drowsiness got the best of you.

After a few failed attempts at getting you to move, Sukuna had frustrated you enough that you let out a loud groan and sat up, allowing him to get comfortable before laying half on top of him. One of your legs was wrapped around his hips while your arms flailed about before settling to wrap around his upper body. With your head securely tucked into the side of his neck, you were finally able to calm down and rest.

“Goodnight Sukuna.” You whispered, slurring his name horribly. It wasn’t clear what possessed you to say his first name like this, but you didn’t seem to mind the way it rolled off your tongue. Sukuna stiffened for a moment, unsure of how to respond.

“G-goodnight, (Y-Princess.” He faltered, unable to say it at the last minute. As he recalls, he was the one who wanted to drop the formalities but as soon as the opportunity arose, he wasn’t able to take it. He practiced saying your name in his head but by the time he got the courage, you were snoring softly. Saving it for another day, Sukuna reciprocated your embrace and wrapped a hand around your back, keeping you snug against him as he let out a heavy sigh.

“Oh Princess, I think I’m falling in love with you.”

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen scenarios #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #bridgerton au

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months

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Drabble Roulette: Lloyd Hansen - Bounty Hunter

Hey hey! This weekend (July 6 -7) I’m going to be playing drabble roulette! I’ve curated a list of characters, tropes, AUs, and kinks and I’m spinning the wheel! Hopefully I can do this once a month as a little writing exercise.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Warnings: this drabble includes allusions to violence and mentions of death. Please mind these warnings and take care.

Explicit, 18+. Please reblog and leave some feedback.

"Sweetheart," the man taunts, "this is so much easier if you just come out."

You can hear him. His soles crunch the gravel, the road lit up by the headlights of your crashed car. The spike strip thrashed through your tires like jello and sent you spinning into a tree. You feel the impact thrumming in your shoulder.

"Really, I can be a nice guy. I am a nice guy. I'm just..." he sucks his teeth as you see the shadow of a gun barrel, "really good at my job."

You clasp your hand tighter around your mouth and let your breath out slow over your fingers. You turn back to face the forest, just across the clearing that crests the country road. You’re going to have to run but you need to wait for your moment.

He continues to strut around the round. He clucks and sighs, "I am going to tell you one last time. If you listen, I can still be nice so why do you come the fuck out."

You blanch and blink off into the darkness. How far can you get? How far will he follow you? No, not the man mocking you on the road, your ex.

"Sweetheart, you must be a hell of a thing if he's paying me that much to find you," he says, "I've seen pics but maybe you're even finer in real life."

Fuck it. You have to get out of there. You push yourself up and climb the ditch up to flat ground. You get to your feet and break into a sprint, pumping your arms and lifting your knees. Your muscles and lungs burn as one arm refuses to lifting higher than your waist.

"Ah, well, hard way it is," you barely make out his words above your panting.

You're halfway to the trees when the pain pierces your injured shoulder. You tumble forward with a yelp and sprawl in the grass. You're shot.

You roll onto your side and touch the entry wound. There's something there. Not a bullet, a dart. You grind your teeth as you rip it out.

His advance is slow but steady. You can't move. Whatever he's shot you with is potent.

"I tried to negotiate, sweetheart. You know I don't really do that," he snickers and squats to look you over, "but a thing like you..."

"Please..." you drone.

"A job's a job," he says.

"He'll kill me."

He looks down at you callously and arches a brow, "boring."

You close your eyes and whimper, "will you just do it? Do it yourself?"

He snorts, "well, now... that's different."

You part your lashes and look up at his black silhouette, "please."

"I didn't think you have the guts to ask," he purrs, "now that's interesting." He holsters his gun and scoops you up, "I think I might just raise my price."

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #drabble #drabble roulette #the gray man

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star-synth · 2 months

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Miscellaneous Country Drones stuff Can I get a yeehaw?

#murder drones #glitch productions #murder drones fanart #serial designation n #Country Drones AU #md tessa #murder drones j #md humanization

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kittelsin · 1 month

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Finally finished up my MLP AU designs of my main four blorbos! Ended up making a whole infographic too because I thought way too hard about their cutie marks and stories lol.

Transcript of the infographic under the cut!

Flutter Flames - Earth Pony - Talent of Studying and Notating Magic.

An earth pony in a world of magic, she became desperate to use the very thing her talent surrounded. Traveling to the depths of dragonland she found the relic, granting her the very magic she wanted.

Yet, this very power was too much and it completely wiped her talent and thus, her mark.

An alicorn with all the magic in the world and no talent to use it on. Her magic is incredibly unstable and dangerous.

Diamond Crest - Crystal Pegasus - Talent of Sneaking into Anything, Anytime.

Born into opulence, he never needed for anything but wanted everything. Unable to stand the droning nothing of riches, he found his heart and talent in thievery. He found his love in the chase.

The thrill became dull and he began a search for the ultimate score. The Alicorn Amulet became his easily, or well, he became its.

Unwilling and unable to remove it from his neck, it grants him a horn of diamond and a new crystalline armour to match.

Solar Wraith - Unicorn - Talent of The Manipulation of Time Magic.

A unicorn with a hoarded collection that'd make a dragon envious, he used his talent to further this goal. Cunning and sly there was no item he deemed himself unworthy of having.

The Alicorn Amulet had been in his hooves for moons and the night it was stolen he was bitten by a bat in the chase. Thus his transformation into a bat pony was final and set.

His wings only sprout from his body during the night and moments of stress, this newfound lifespan also keeps him on his goal of completing his collection yet again.

King Goldenhoof - Earth Pony - Talent of Finding and Turning Scrap into Gold.

Using his talent in finding a perfect use for anyone and anything he slowly grew into a ruler that made peace with an alicorn's country via a promise. Yet, in his ignorance to her mercy he broke his end of the bargain.

Daring to make himself equal to an alicorn, he's cursed with wings too heavy to fly and a horn of gold with little magic at all.

Humbled by centuries to reflect, he's grown weary but resolute in ending his curse

#fortnite #valeria fortnite #montague fortnite #kado thorne #midas fortnite #mlp au #fortnite au #artsy

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fantasy-cursedkrystal · 1 month

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Hello and welcome to my Blog

You can call me Krystal, curse/d or fantasy

I'm a female and aroace

I'm not really good at English or spelling so sorry if i mess up

I like to draw and make post about things I like

AO3 account : https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crystal_cursed_fantasy or Crystal_cursed_fantasy Tiktok:

I'm in a lot of different fandoms. some of these fandoms I've left or only know a bit off

like:

EPIC THE MUSICAL. heather the musical. six the musical. mha. solarballs. fnaf. undertale. deltarune. sans au. dc. batfam. dsmp. gravityfalls. tmnt. rottmnt. lego monkie kid. ena. lego ninjago. fnf. murder drones. cuphead. batim. batqftim. journey to the west. Minecraft. country humans. country balls. Pokémon. my little pony. ever after high. monster high. little nightmares. Mr. hopps playhouse both 1 and 2. sonic. danganropa. kyn/ demon slayer. omori. adventure time. Wednesday. addams family. aphmau. nimona. danny phantom. tinkerbell. fundamental paper education. rise of the guardians. ok ko lets be heroes. Percy Jackson. the amazing digital circus. helluva boss. hazbin hotel. Sofia the first. school bus graveyard. scooby doo. gakuen babysitter. attack on titan. Stanly parables. hello neighbor. yandere simulator. komi cant communicate. I'm in love with the villainess. death is the only ending for the villainess. villainous. eddsworld. The baby concubine wants to live quietly. Steven universe. the loud house. yandere simulator. school girls simulator. baldies basics. Nimona. Mitchells vs the machines. murder drones. Amphibia. gravity falls.

This is also my main Persona or Oc and you might be seeing her around my page

Meet KRYSTAL or KARMA

She's aroace (like me) and her multi colored hair is part of her lore (that I made when I was 6-9)

First pic is the one that I'm using as my pfp

Second pic is her sexuality (and a little pride thing I did)

Third pic is her NOT YET UPDATED character sheet

Fourth and Fifth pics are just the pics I like the most

(Note: I'll probably add more as time goes on)

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 3 months

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At An Impasse

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Princess!Reader

Word Count: ~1.2k

Warnings: angst

Summary: You're taken back to your home country to continue tradition and marry someone you don't love. When objections come around, you look to the crowd in hopes someone saves you. Someone does and now you have a new choice to make.

Play Pretend Masterlist

Square Filled: royalty au for @anyfandomgoesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

You thought the next time you were in Yacleira, you’d have a much different life. Here you are, back in your dressing room wearing the same beautiful dress you were wearing when you left this country. The dress is a pinkish-beige color instead of the traditional white a wedding dress is supposed to be. The strapless bodice has golden swirls and diamonds are placed sporadically along the spiral lines. Extra fabric was sewn onto both sides of the dress to give it a more full and voluminous look. Those pieces of fabric start from your waist and go all the way down to the ground to meet the bottom of the dress. The fabric is curled over each other to create a sort of wavy look that looks natural. The bottom of the entire dress has fluffy ruffles and a train flows behind you.

Why did you think things would be different for you? Why did you have hope that you were going to be treated differently? Spencer has shown you things you only read about in books, and made you feel things only characters in movies get to feel. The time spent with Spencer has been the best months of your entire life but your parents don’t care about any of it.

Their princess is back and they expect her to get married off to someone she doesn’t love. You want to scream and cry but you don’t, and Ben watches you with a careful eye knowing you want to. He hasn’t said anything to you since you got back mostly because you think he feels guilty for sending you to America without checking who you’re staying with. It’s not his fault but he won’t hear it.

Your mother enters the room and smiles when she sees you in your wedding dress.

“Look how gorgeous you are.”

“Thank,” you mumble.

“Don’t be so sad, honey.”

“You won’t understand. There was something special with Spencer. I thought I really loved him.”

“Everything is going to be okay. You’ll see.”

This time, she isn’t letting you out of her sight. She is eager to walk you down the aisle knowing you’ll be married to Henry in only a few hours. The tradition fulfilled, the peace treaty unbroken. Ben stands on your left while your mother stands on your right. Both of them start to walk you down the aisle where Henry is waiting for you at the altar. You keep your gaze focused on the banner right above Henry because you will break out in tears if you look at him. Maybe if you pretend he’s Spencer, it’ll be better.

The minister’s voice drones out so you’re not paying attention to anything he is saying. It’s like you’re locked inside your body, forced to watch this disaster play out. There is nothing you can do about it so you sit idly by and wait for the storm to pass. This is being televised to the citizens of Yacleira with the most important people in the audience.

“If anyone should object to the marriage of Y/N Richmond and Henry Harrington, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

You don’t look to the audience knowing there is no one there who will speak up.

“I do.” Your eyes widen and you look to see Spencer standing up. “I object.” You can’t find the words as whispers fill the ballroom. He steps into the aisle just as everyone turns to look at him. “I know I don’t hold nearly as much value as a prince but I do know that I can’t stop thinking about you. You make me happy, happier than I have ever been in a long time. I have no idea where this relationship will go but if you let me, I will do everything I can to make you happy. I want to be with you. Do you want to be with me?”

Everyone turns to look at you who has a shocked look on your face.

“I have a confession,” Henry says and all eyes are on him. “I can’t… I’m in love with someone else.” Shocked gasps go through the room, and Henry looks at you. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to hurt you.”

“I think I’m in love with someone else, too,” you say and look at Spencer.

Your mother and father are already storming up to the altar with not-so-pleased looks on their faces.

“Throne room, now,” your mother scowls.

You look at Spencer once before leaving the room. Ben and Kylen follow you to the throne room while your parents deal with the rest of the wedding that may not happen. You’re only in the throne room for five minutes before Spencer and your parents walk in.

“Mother, I’m sorry--”

“How do you feel about Spencer?” she asks.

Spencer walks over to you and you grab his hand in support. You can’t believe he flew all the way out here just for you. He must have left only days after you did since the wedding happened four days after you got back to Yacleira.

“I love him, Mother.”

“Then you two need to make a decision. I have misjudged you and I apologize for that. Your father and I were talking in the days before the wedding. I had hoped you would marry Henry but I realize now how unhappy you have been. I loved your father when I married him but I see now you don’t love Henry. Forcing you to marry someone we want isn’t going to work for you.”

“Mama,” you whisper tearfully.

“I love you so much, my dear. I want nothing but happiness for you, and if being with Spencer makes you happy, then I want you to be with him.”

“Thank you,” you smile.

“However,” your father’s voice booms around the throne room, “there is a choice you need to make. If you don’t want to marry royalty, then we won’t make you. We’ll deal with Vosharia and sign a new peace treaty.”

“What’s the choice?” you ask.

“You can either give up royalty and live as a commoner with Spencer or you can embrace your status as Queen with Spencer by your side. You’ll need to be married for that and without Vosharia, I can give you another year before you have to be married.”

You look at Spencer who is already looking at you. How can you possibly ask Spencer to do this? You want nothing but to be with Spencer but does he want you enough to be in this life with you?

“We’ll give you two a minute,” your mother says.

Everyone leaves the throne room to pick up the pieces of the abandoned wedding.

“Y/N--”

“I could never ask you to give up your life for me.” The tears fall but you make no move to wipe them away. “I could never ask you to give up all your friends and family to come here and live with me as King.”

“Technically, I’d be a prince.”

“That’s not the point,” you sigh.

“Still, I could never ask you to give up your friends and family for me.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Neither do I.”

This time, you have no words. Do you stay with Spencer in Virginia or does Spencer move to Yacleira and rule by your side? No one else can make this decision but you and Spencer.

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fiction #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid fan fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fiction #criminal minds fan fiction #criminal minds fan fic

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meiideryz · 5 months

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map to my heart.

pairing: wong hendery x reader

length: 1.06k

tags: alternative universe, university/college au, friends to lovers, indirect confession, mutual attraction, tooth-rotting fluff, best friend! hendery, assistant librarian!reader, based on true experience.

note: i was inspired by a conversation i had with my ex-crush when i was with them in the library where our lesson on a subject took place

"how well do you know your geography?" hendery's voice was gentle and low, keeping himself quiet in the back of the library with students who cannot be disrupted.

he watched you looking at the library globe before your eyes met with his. after finishing an activity that his professor had given him, he was able to freely look around, and there he saw you at the back with the globe you were spinning at a slow place. it was a fortunate meeting, knowing how well you often visit the library since you were an assistant in helping the librarian after all.

“do you know your geography?”

this time, you returned the same question to him, and of course he knew. he just wanted to test how good you were, and with a smile on his face, he responded. “of course, would you like a challenge?”

“i'm down,” hendery loved how there was no hesitation in your tone, and he especially loved your competitiveness when it comes to interests you both have in common. “only because i can totally win over you.”

“oh? really?” his hand made its way to touch the globe, preparing himself for a little game of spotting the country. “give me a name, then.”

“laos.” you said, and he smiled at you.

“easy,” he began spinning the globe in front of him, looking for the location you had asked him to find. “if you know countries from asean very well, then there's no difficulty in searching for it.”

pausing the sphere, hendery's forefinger pointed to the land just above thailand before he gave you a victorious grin. “see? now try looking for sri lanka for me.”

he heard you let out a huff, watching you already turning the spherical ball, and when you showed him that you had already spotted it, he gave a fake sound of a terrible whine which almost made you laugh. covering your mouth with your palm, your other hand made its way to his arm with a light smack. both of you suppressed a laugh, knowing how much they could get in trouble if they ever disturbed the library, with him being thrown out and you enduring another scolding session from the librarian.

“you really should stop making weird noises if you don't want to be thrown out from here.” giggling in a whisper, he couldn't help but fall in love with the way you beamed at him.

hendery was so, so in love with you.

he moved to stand beside you with his head leaning closer to your ear, saying, “shoot me a name, sweetie.”

you hummed, pretending to think for a little long time. gazing over your hand ghostly touching his knuckles, the little butterflies flew around inside his stomach. the fingertips of your hands running over his then the surface of the globe before he heard you utter out, “cyprus.”

nodding to your next challenge, he made his way to look thoroughly around the ball. a chuckle left his lips, feeling as if he was starting to sweat despite the cold breeze of the air-conditioned room. “maybe i’m reconsidering your knowledge on geography, after all.” your voice softly echoed in his ears. he wasn’t going to give up so easily for some country he wasn’t familiar with.

continuing to search, he whispered to you, “from what i remember, it’s close to romania, am i right?”

“close.”

hendery droned out a steady continuous sound, staring at the map of europe in front of him. if it was close to what he stated earlier, and the name sounds close to some greek mythology name. “then i'm guessing it would be near greece, so…”

forefinger gliding through the map, he eventually found cyprus below turkey. another victorious win, he smiled at you. “there.”

“you’re not as bad as i thought.” your compliment had earned him another good slap in the heart, and it would always make him do somersaults every time you do. with the way you look at him like that, with that contagious smile and laughter, he could never stop feeling things for you.

“okay, my turn.” you said, “give me a name.”

“show me…” hendery trailed off, his body moving backwards to face your back. watching you turn around, you let out a small gasp as you were taken aback when he caged you in between his arms. “hendery, what are you doing?”

“show me where the map to my heart is.” his voice was serious, and yet there was still a glint of delight in his tone. the smile never wiped off from his face while he stared into your eyes. sure, it was abrupt and unexpected, but he wasn't being playful in a way that would annoy you, and his seriousness was giving a turn.

“i…” now you were the one who was tongue-tied, and him being the patient person he was, he waited for you to respond. it was simple, if you reject him at this time and moment, he would respect that and back off this instant.

"the question is just simple," without wiping the smug off his face, he let out a fake yawn that is not loud enough to disturb the other students in the library at the front. "show me where it is." with the way he carefully and audibly emphasized each word, you started to laugh in such a nervous state.

"a-are you joking right now?"

"huh, what's that?" he brought his hand to his ear, pretending to not hear you despite being a short distance away from you. that smile of his never dropped.

“sweetie if you're just gonna stand there and stare at me then i might as well win this challange—”

“i think i know where it is.” you quickly uttered out, breaking your silence. he was curious to know what was on your mind, and so he crossed his arms against his chest, lips curling up to put up a smug look.

“really? i'm curious to see if you actually know it.”

“well, if i can remember, it starts from here…”

he observed the way your finger reached out to point your own chest where your heart is at rest before making out a line until your palm was against his chest to his beating heart. hendery sucked up a good amount of air at the contact, his gaze still never left yours.

“...to here.”

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dusty-pistol · 3 months

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Howdy hey, intro post time!! Cuz I'm sorta new here.

My name is Arthur, but my friends call me Dusty. I'm a guy, and I use He/Him pronouns. I'm a deerboy and T-60 series suit of Power Armor. I refer to myself with deer and power armor phrasin. If that bothers you in any way, shape, or form, then please don't interact with me. It saves us both any problems.

I'm an artist, and I love to draw fanart of whatever interests me at the moment! That bein Dialtown, Fallout, and other stuff I'm too lazy to mention.

My fave music is Poor Man's Poison, Yaeloker, JT Music, femtanyl, ivycomb, LuLuYam, and a loootttt of others. My music taste is very vast. Though I'd say I mainly enjoy folk and (Gothic) country.

I recently came here because I dropped Instagram cuz it's gotten unbelievably shitty over the years. But yall can find my art on there if you wanna take a gander. I'll start postin my art here from now on. Yall can also find me on TikTok, Discord, and Twitter/X. Though I don't really post on X.

Speakin of my art, here's some works I've done! I must put a trigger warnin for drawn gore, of course, because there's a bit of that. Note the gore art is of a Dialtown AU. Not meant to be canon

And I must say that the camera head is my (favorite) oc Tobias Moore! He's a (librarian) Dialtown oc, and I ship him with Norm cuz I can. Their ship name is Western Stories =3

Anyway, that's pretty much it for now! Sorry if this droned on. I just wanted to make sure I got everythin I needed in here before goin ahead and startin to post. If yall have any questions, feel free to ask in the ask box thing on my profile. =]

#dialtown #fallout #dialtown norm #dialtown oc #dialtown oliver #fallout codsworth #fallout power armor #dialtown western stories #fallout old longfellow

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inkareds · 2 years

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Colonisers || MCU Namor

nav // marvel m.list // ko-fi ✧.*word count: 6k ✧.* warnings: violence, blood, murder, white ppl being demonised, a lot and I mean a lot of murder, kinda ooc Namor, focused more on the reader's journey instead of the romance aspect, kinda soulmate au (oh black panther 2 spoilers FYI) ✧.* genre: NSFW, fluff, no smut, but violence

Transitioning from a soldier, fighting for your nation's independence, to a supposed beacon of diplomacy after your nation finally was free was difficult. Especially when the man in your dreams on the days that you were more violent beckons you to the ocean.

A bit of an author's note before we start, the reader here is heavily referenced to be Indonesian, or at the very least of South East Asian heritage and the time period around 1945-1949. But both of these are kind of irrelevant if you ignore the food and geography. This is important because there are some details like the colonisers here being blonde and blue eyes (Dutch) and them colonising the 'nation' for 350 years is true to Indonesia's history.

I wanted to write more about other cultures but because I am not really the best person for that I wrote what was most personal to me. And just a bit of a warning ik I said soulmate au but Namor plays a small part here. It's mostly about the reader's struggles! Other than that please enjoy (p.s most of the references here about the war, genocide, etc etc is actually true to Indo's history)

How was it that even after 350 years of pain and suffering, you and your people had to suffer more and more? You had thought that by becoming a sovereign nation, you and your people could be free from the colonisers who plagued the fertile soils of your homeland. But they have yet to leave, and they have yet to apologize.

Even here, as you now sat, a diplomat to your country in front of the leaders of the nation who oppressed your own, they judge you. Their eyes analyse you as they try and rip you to shreds with their gaze. Was it not enough? Was three hundred and fifty years of oppression not enough for them? Would it be so terrible for them to free you all now?

All those thoughts come to a halt when your leader called you to speak. You stood when the council allowed you to, “As my President has spoken to all of you before. We are not here to ask for reprimands, we do not demand aid nor do we demand money for all the suffering your people have caused us. We simply ask that you leave. There are still many of your people on our lands, spiting our men and women. For the sake of peace, we ask that you urge them back to their home country. If this continues on, our people will act accordingly.” You warned the leaders in front of you.

Just as you and your president had predicted, they went on the defensive, one of them stood up once you sat. “Are you implying that we should take people who only share our blood but never even touch our soil back here? Those people were born and raised in your now sovereign country. They are your people now. They are no longer our issue anymore. It is not our fault that you are too blind to see you are not able to lead a country without us.”

Now it was your president’s turn to speak, you could already tell he was enraged by the insults thrown your way. “With all due respect, General, I beg to differ. The people of living within your country still think of ‘these people’ as their own. As even if they have never gone to your country, your country’s people still view them as family and vice versa. These people in our land still mock our natives. They still adopt the mentality that they are greater. If this were to continue our nation’s people will be pushed to violence.”

As the meeting droned on, you realise slowly what was happening. There will be no resolution nor an end to this. They will never take their people back because it would be too much work, not to mention the fact that they still have their people in your home means that they still have some control over your people. They can always go back once they’re ready and take back your nation.

Anxiety overtook you on your flight back home. Your only companion, your president, held your hand tightly against his own. A vain attempt to ease you. It was your idea to go to them, to ask and to plead with them. You did not want more blood to spill on your lands. Your people had seen too much war and had seen too much violence. Brutality would be etched into your history books, though you did not wish it to be so.

You wish for a better life for your people. A life where they could live just as they want to. A life farming the lands for what is in season, not what they are told to harvest. A life sailing the seas, diving the oceans, not bombing the sea beds as they were forced to.

But even as you were a beacon of peace and prosperity to your people. They can only take so much.

That much was clear when you landed on the runway and left the plane, reporters hounded both you and the president.

“Was the discussion successful?” “Do you have anything to comment about the recent meetings?” “What did they have to say about their brutal history here?” “Have they apologized yet?” “Are there any plans for future collaboration or communication?”

You stayed quiet, knowing anything that leaves your mouth would only stroke the fires of anger within your people’s hearts. You only wish for peace. An end to this war. But your president, a beacon of the brutal fight for independence, a stark contrast to yours of peace within diplomacy, had different ideas. “I will not entertain the idea of collaboration with such a nation ever again. Not after the insults thrown at my companion’s way.” he gestured towards you.

Your eyes only grew wide at his statement. This will surely anger your people. Quickly trying to control crowd damage you spoke to another reporter. “We were lucky enough to be met with respect and dignity, although it is true the meeting did not end well. I have high hopes for diplomacy between our two countries.” Before you could say anything more you were already dragged away by your bodyguards.

Packed into a small Chrysler Imperial, chosen by none other than your president himself, you were quick to criticize him. “Why did you have to say that?! No one needed to know that those foreigners insulted me. You know the effect it would bring to the people!” He looked towards you with familiar anger in his eyes.

The same anger you saw when you first worked together with him in the field against the very same foreigners you now try to have civil conversations with. “Maybe that’s what I’m hoping for. Enough with this bullshit. Enough with the tension. I absolutely hate how they treat you, how they treat me, how they treat our people.” He spoke with certainty. “Let our nation deal with them. After years of torment, we should at least let them have that.”

“You don’t understand, there are already reports of violent uprisings against the foreigners. Soon enough there’ll be murders-” “And would that be so bad?!” He looked towards you in a way a friend would, not a leader and his subordinate, not a superior and his worker. But a tired friend to another tired friend. A veteran of the war to another veteran of the war.

At that moment, the driver pretends he could not hear the private conversation his two leaders were having. “My mother was killed by those people in front of me.” he spoke your name so softly and held your hands in his. “They killed our friends, tortured our people. Would some of their deaths be so bad?”

For a second, you almost caved. You had almost forgotten how he was able to become president in the first place. After all, his charisma allowed him to lead the rebellion, lead the decades-strong fight for freedom, and now here he sat with you. A president, a leader of a broken nation. He was militant, you were supposed to be his other side, the peace, the diplomacy. You could not support this.

“It will only lead to more violence. What happens when angry people realise it isn’t enough to just kill those that are pure-blooded foreigners? What happens to the people who are mixed? Half of their being belongs to this nation. What about those who supported our oppressors so that they may continue to live? It was not their choice to fight against their own. We must protect them.” You tried to reason.

But with the way, he threw his face away from your gaze you knew he was far beyond reasoning. Despite the fact that you were the one who was insulted, he took that insult to heart. After all, he was the one leading the country, and any judgement made towards your decisions or your position in his council is judgement to his own abilities to lead this great nation. You knew that if you stayed here in the car, arguing with him, you will lose your composure and say things you did not mean.

“Driver, stop here, I can find my way back on foot.” The driver seem to hesitate, but with no further qualms from the president, he stopped and let you off the car.

When you got off, you recognized the place immediately, it was simply by chance that you got out here, of all places. Looking around, you smiled to yourself. This was your hometown, where you were raised. Sure a lot has changed ever since you left to join the fight for independence. But a lot of it was still the same.

One of those things was the kindness of the people. As you were taking in the view of your home and the smell of the salty air, no doubt thanks to the ocean not so far from where you were. An old woman walked by you, when she called your name your head quickly turned around to meet her. “You are the diplomat who’s always by the president’s side aren’t you?” she spoke excitedly.

You felt your heart soar when you heard her. “It seems my reputation precedes me.” The old woman laughed at your little joke. All before pulling out a couple of small circular red fruits, alike lychees but quite different in taste and texture. “My garden’s rambutan trees just went into harvest, take some!” she didn’t even let you protest as she pushes the fruits into your hands.

You laughed whilst thanking her. But because you left your bag in the car, you were left carrying the handful of fruits in one of your hands. “OH! I also just finished baking some pineapple treats! Have some!”

“Ma’am I really shouldn’t.” “Hush now, I have too many anyways. My grandchildren don’t like them very much. I make them for me you see, but I have to watch my blood pressure now. So you’d be doing me a favour!” A sense of joy and easiness flowed into you as you accepted her jar of baked goodies in your hands. Smiling to yourself at her excuses.

This was something you’ll never get over about your hometown. This was what you so desperately want to protect. The kindness and graciousness the people around you raised you with, you only hope to be able to inspire such emotions towards your nation’s people. You know they were raised surrounded by violence, hatred, war, and oppression. But maybe, just maybe, with your help and guidance, they can be so much more.

So you thank the old woman and went on your way to the beach. A place you’ve spent so much of your childhood and adolescence in. The water brings peace. And as now it was getting dark, there were very few people on the beach. You went to sit down on the part of the sand which was still dry and placed down the container of baked goods. Choosing to indulge yourself in the sweet fruit.

Watching the waters etch the sand, leaving behind sea foam in its wake, brought a calmness that you could only guess the fishermen you were raised around could feel. How you grew up seeing brave men and women go out to the oceans with their sails high, letting the winds take them where they need to go, only to grow up defending the very ocean that foreigners claimed to be their own.

In another lifetime, perhaps you could live from the ocean, just as your ancestors had. Instead of dealing with paperwork day in and day out inside an office. Hoping to whatever gods were listening to you that your hard work will pay off.

As you pop one of the fruits in your mouth you hum in enjoyment at the sweet taste that filled your tastebuds. “What fruit is that?” in your fun you did not sense the presence of another person on the beach with you. Your head snapped towards his direction and realised he must’ve been here a while before he spoke, as he was already sitting on the sand beside you, the heels and half of his feet buried in the warm sand.

By the look of him, decorated with piercings and beautiful necklaces, you assumed he wasn’t from here. A guess that was solidified by the answer to your question. “They’re rambutan. Have you never seen them?” he only shook his head. “You’re not from here. But you don’t really look like one of the foreigners.” You analysed. “Have one.” Trying to ease the tension of your obvious suspicion you offered one of the fruits to him. Which he gladly took.

He shrugged as he peeled back the skin of the fruit. “I am from around, but,” he paused, “Just not from here.” You wanted to giggle when you saw his eyes ever so slightly lit up when the fruit hit his tongue. “Careful with the seed.” you warned before continuing.

“Not from here but from around?” you thought to yourself before getting an idea. “Ah, you must be one of the tribe members I’m supposed to meet next week! I didn’t know they were coming so early.”

Having been a combination of different tribes and kingdoms before the foreigners came and combined everyone. You were aware of the separate needs each tribe needed once your nation was formed into one sovereign nation. So, you had invited their leaders to a meeting in the capital. You weren’t expecting one of them to meet you on the beach of your hometown though.

The man didn’t answer, you thought perhaps he just wanted to not talk about politics right now. Gods knew you needed a break.

“Anyways, would you like to try some baked goods too? The people here make the best things with pineapple.” You offered the container to him. At first, he seemed very apprehensive, but after you took one of the goods into your mouth he went to grab one. “Those are truly delicious.” he spoke absentmindedly.

You continued watching him as he ate the food. Now that you got a good look at him, he was quite an attractive man. Dark skin alike your people, contrary to his curlier hair. He was incredibly handsome actually.

“What do you think of the ocean?” he suddenly asked. You were obviously caught off guard but after sputtering a few nonsense you finally got a hold of yourself. “Uh- I think it’s- well it’s beautiful first and foremost. But I think other than that, it’s just great.” you shrugged. “In every way possible.”

Turning towards the slowly descending sun and the ripples of water that reflect its gorgeous glow, you could only sigh in contentment. “If I could, I wouldn’t mind just being in it forever. It’s probably more peaceful than whatever is happening here. Much calmer.” you whispered to yourself.

A faraway dream, you thought. When you were a child, you would dream of joining your people on their voyages out to the ocean. But because you were too young to join a ship, you imagined yourself swimming under them, meeting them as they dive into the ocean to catch fish. A few years after joining the fight with your people, when you were a young adult, you dreamed almost every night about swimming in the ocean with someone. He’d take you from the terrifying life of death and violence and bring you to the calm of the cold waters. You laughed at your own childish thoughts.

How would the younger version of you see you now? They would be proud of you a few years ago. Making plan after plan on how to outsmart the soldiers, how to defeat your colonisers. But now? Stuck in formal attire, in dingy offices, always getting disrespected by the people you were once fighting in the field against? What a disgrace you are.

“I don’t know.” After the long silence, you spoke. “I think the water just reminds me of all I could’ve done. Had I stayed here in my fishing town, perhaps I wouldn’t be as stressed as I am now.”

The man sat silent for a moment, before answering, “What is stopping you from leaving it all behind and staying here, at home?” You don’t know what it was about this stranger you just met. But it was as if you had known him your whole life.

He was electrifying to be around and you just had to get a good look at him one last time before you have to leave. Turning towards him, it would appear he had been looking at you this entire time. Flushing slightly you almost wanted to turn away. But you didn’t. You dejectedly smiled.

“I want to make a difference. Maybe it’s partly due to the way I was raised too, always wanting to make sure everyone was kind to everyone. But I’ve been on both sides of this war. The violent and the diplomatic. The diplomatic is more boring sure, but it kills fewer people. Fewer people die and I’d have to bury fewer people. If I leave now, these people won’t have that beacon of hope. I’m fighting so that my people may always see peace. After all,” you turned around to look at the town behind you.

“If those people, the ones I was raised with, can live this long with kindness in their hearts. Who's to say this nation can’t?” With that, you realised it was getting very late.

High tide will come soon enough and no matter how far you are from the shore, the waters will become dangerous. So you stood up and offered your hand to the man sitting on the sand. He had an empty look in his eyes as if he was lamenting about what you said. It then popped into your mind once more that this man might just be a tribe leader, cursing to yourself inwardly, you only hoped that you gave a good impression to him.

When he noticed your outreached hand to help him up he declined. “I want to stay here a bit longer, the ocean calms me, just as it calms you.” You nodded, completely understanding what he meant. “Well, let these fruits be your company then, cause I’m taking these delicious pastries with me.” You chuckled as you gave to him the rest of your fruits and took the container from the sand.

He then gave you the most electrifying smile you have ever seen in a person. It was a smile you felt as though you have seen before. Perhaps in your dreams, but how would you know? Those days of dreaming were far behind you.

Violence was in your days when dreams were in your nights. And you were steering clear of violence.

That night you went to your childhood home and slept there. You’d be able to find your way to the capitol tomorrow morning, but tonight, with your stomach full of fruits and baked goods, and your mind filled with the amazing memory of that mystery man on the beach, you fell into a deep slumber.

Well, it would’ve been a deep slumber, had you not awoken to screams.

Your eyes jolted awake as your body jumped itself from adrenaline. The first thing you noticed was the smoke, there was smoke, everywhere. Trying to think quickly, you let the instinct from your fighting days override your senses, you immediately took a rag and spilt some water on it. Bringing it to your nose you made your way out of your home.

There was fire everywhere. Your home was set ablaze, and it seems as though your home was not the only one. The moment you stepped out of your house, the sounds of the screams, ones which you had ignored at first filled your ears.

You had never thought you’d ever see such a sight greet you ever again since your nation gained its independence.

The world seemed to move in slow motion. All around you, buildings, homes, shops, all of them were set ablaze. Black smoke and smog filled the air as the streets were covered with blood. People were being dragged out of their homes, beaten, bruised, and slashed. You stared in horror as the foreigners flooded your hometown, dragging your people with them. They screamed obscenities as your people thrashed against their hold.

Their laughter haunted you.

Looking to your side, your eyes landed on an old woman. Immediately, just like that, everything went back to normal pacing. The fires spread as water flowed, people were running, screaming, and begging for help. And the old woman? She was on the ground pleading for someone to rescue her. A man twice her size and half her age towered above her, his hair a golden yellow and his eyes a bright blue.

He held a large wooden stick in his hands, raising it to strike at the old woman. Without thinking twice you ran straight towards the individual. Barrelling your body against his own to throw him off the old woman. She screamed in horror once she realised it was you. But you had no time to think.

The man you threw off struggled against your hold as he slammed the wooden stick onto your back you quickly reeled back. The impact from such a hard object along with the smoke slowly filling up your lungs was too much. You collapsed to the ground as you coughed and wheezed. From the corner of your eye, you saw another foreigner slam the head of the old woman into a brick wall.

At that point, you were sure she was dead.

Your screams fell on deaf ears as your struggling figure laying on the ground was kicked in the stomach by the man you originally pushed off the old lady. Pain spread through your entire body as you cried out for help.

Not here. Please not here. Anywhere but here.

Why out of all places, must they ruin the one untouched home you have left?

Tears flowed down your face as the heat of the fire filled you with pain. You heard their laughter. They laughed as they killed your people. Your friends.

“Let this be a warning.” One of them grabbed your hair and pulled it back to look you in the eyes. “A warning to your stupid president who thought our government would even listen to you monkeys. This land will be ours once more. So, give up, or die.” Your vision slowly clouded away, but in one last act of deviance, you spat at their shoes. “Merdeka atau mati (Freedom or death).”

“Mati it is. (Death it is).” You closed your eyes waiting for impact, but it did not come.

What did come was the release of your hair, and when nothing else came you opened your eyes with worry.

What you saw was unlike anything you would ever expect. There, standing in front of you, was that man on the beach. He held the foreigner’s neck in his hands with ease as he choked the man to death. You didn’t have enough oxygen left to really comprehend what you were seeing but now you were sure where you had met this man.

He was the man who brought you to the ocean in your dreams. It was him. But as the oxygen was slowly depleting from your system, your eyes started to blur. Just in time to see him rush to your side. “I’m sorry I was late.”

Was all you had heard left before you dropped to unconsciousness.

Swimming in the darkness that was the unconsciousness left you with many uncertainties. There was no telling how much time has passed or what was happening during the time that your mind was not present in your body. It was terrifying. But, in a way, it was almost comforting. Away from the duties of having to be the ‘calm’ one in the leadership position.

A part of you almost missed the days when you fought alongside your best friend. But those days were far behind you now. You had to bring balance to his anger and determination to the fight. You had to be that person. You were raised to be that person, and you will honour your people by being that person.

In the meantime, you swam and swam in the cold darkness. Where were you swimming to? You didn’t know. It was as if you were being called somewhere. Somewhere further from your understanding. Somewhere away.

“Mr President, there are already reports of murders towards the foreigners.”

“Let them be.” “But sir-” “I said let them be! Can’t you see what they’ve done to them?? They’ve burned their hometown! If anything, they’re lucky I’m not the one directly persecuting them. The people shall be the judge and the jury.”

Their conversation was simply muffled to your slowly conscious mind. But as your eyes slowly opened, your best friend was on you immediately. Seeing your eyes squint he immediately jumped to be by your side.

Groggily you looked around, parts of your body were bandaged and there were machines connected to you. “What happened?” You whispered.

He hesitantly answered. “You were found on the outskirts of the town, near the beach.” “And my town?”

He was silent.

Why was he silent?

Oh. no.

So that’s why.

The realisation hit you like a bullet. Every part of you wanted to scream out and if you could, you would’ve. But with how dry your throat was from the fire you could barely make out a few words. The only thing you could do was cry. Tears after tears fell down your face.

“What am I doing?” you hoarsely spoke, “All those years ago, when we were fighting. I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted to kill as many bastard oppressors in our lands. Even when you asked me to be by your side as you ruled. I knew where I was going. I wanted to protect my home. What am I doing now? I have no home to protect, no people to inspire peace. Nothing else. I have,” he felt his heart break at your proclamation. “Nothing.”

“Tell me, please, Mr. President. Tell me what I need to do. I’m- I’m so fucking tired.” This was it.

You couldn’t do it anymore.

Your childhood was seared with war and blood and pain. The only reprieve was your home, the beaches of your home, the ocean of your home, the shores, the water, the fish, and the people. What did you have now? If you ever come back, the only memories would be of the slaughter.

You had nothing else to fight for. No reason anymore to be merciful. “Just- tell me what I need to do.” Your voice cracked from your desperation.

The president simply held your hand. Exactly as he had thousands of times before to ease your worries. “Nothing. Do nothing, say nothing. Let our people show you how much they care about you. Let them avenge you.”

And avenge they did.

Two years.

It was two whole years of slaughter, violence, and dreams of the ocean and that mysterious man. Two years followed after the threat and attack of your hometown, your nation could not take the colonisers any longer. They broke. Anyone pro-colonialism or of colonial blood was slaughtered. When all of it ended, when the foreigner’s nation finally relented and pulled back any and all efforts. Signing a very official document of peace between the two of you, everything seems to end.

The murders stopped, and the violence stopped. But the dreams did not.

Perhaps it was because the violence was now etched into your mind.

Then one day, the president walked into your office. You stood and saluted him as part of your formalities. “Mr President, to what do I owe the pleasure of meeting you today?”

He walked towards you and spoke your name softly. “You’ve served this country a great deal. You fought alongside me and you’ve lost almost everything.” You nodded. “I wish to relieve you of such burdens. You have given everything to this nation, and I wish to give everything to you back.”

Your face paled at his insinuation. “Are you firing me? You can’t, Mr President please. This is all I have left now. What will I do if not this?”

“Nothing! You will do absolutely nothing!” he sighed, dragging his palm down his face. “Listen, okay? I’m talking to you now as your childhood friend and not as your superior. I’ve seen how you’ve changed. I see the way you’re not taking any time to mourn. I see the way you submerge yourself in apathy. The only time I ever see you calm or even happy is when I catch you asleep in your office! The military pension plan I’m giving you should be enough to live a lavish life. Find something else to live for. Find someone to love. Find, anything!”

He was practically begging you. “Don’t let guilt consume you. Please.” You furrowed your brows as silence overtook the two of you.

All before you looked away from him. How dare he? You’ve stood by his side throughout all this time and he thinks he can just throw you away now? Does he not see how much you needed this? You need a distraction. You can’t just be left to your own devices. But he won’t listen. He never does. He’s a stubborn man and perhaps that’s what makes him the leader your nation needs. A man who’s unafraid to make the decisions necessary, not someone like you, someone who tried so hard to be kind only to have it amount to nothing.

After all, your hands know pain and suffering, it was a fool’s errand to be something you weren’t.

“I’ll have my things packed by tomorrow,” you whispered. “But promise me.” turning quickly towards him you looked at him with fire in your eyes. “Promise me you’ll do what is best for the nation. You remember that diplomacy is as needed as violence. As much as I want to see coloniser blood flood our streets, it is not what’s best for our people.”

He nodded. “I swear to you.”

That night, you dreamt of the beach. Your hometown’s beach. And of the mysterious stranger. He had winged feet and he was staring at you, beckoning you to come closer. With hesitancy, you approached him. When you were close enough, he reached out his hand towards you and every part of you compelled yourself to take his hand.

Slowly bringing you towards him he held your cheek in his other hand as he slowly angled your face towards his own. How had you not noticed his pointed ears before? Every part of him was absolutely beautiful.

Slowly pulling you in closer and closer, his lips were mere centimetres away from your own when he whispered. “Come to me.”

Then your body jolted you awake. As if working on autopilot, you jumped off of the bed and quickly dressed. All before jumping on a motorbike and speeding towards your hometown. Despite your body willing you to go immediately to the beach. You took your time.

You hadn’t had the heart to visit your home ever since it was burned from the ground. And as you looked around, everything was different. The buildings were crumbling, the stores were gone, and the people were dead. But the salty air still stayed.

The salty air.

The ocean.

That’ll never change no matter how much destruction the colonisers curse your lands with.

Making your way towards the beach, there he was. Standing in all his glory. The man who has plagued your dreams ever since you went to fight alongside the other freedom fighters. His back was turned towards you, he faced the high tides of the ocean at night time.

You were taught better than to approach the harsh waters at night, but you felt as though you were protected with him around. As if with him around you could do anything you wanted.

As soon as your bare feet touched the cold sand, he turned around. He stood so regally that it made you quite self-conscious. He smiled at you with both his hands behind his back. “It is really you.” You whispered as you approached him.

Once you were face to face, you continued. “The man in my dreams.” his smile brightened at your statement. “Who are you?” With bravery, you didn’t know you have your hand raised to his face. The man practically preened at your touch, leaning into your warm hand.

“My people call me K’uk’ulkan.” You tried repeating his name. The word was very foreign to your tongue and you wondered if you pronounced it properly, but with the way, he chuckled your face flushed realising you probably didn’t. “Others call me Namor.” That sounds more feasible for your tongue.

Though you inwardly swore to learn how to properly say his name.

“I am a king, a god, a leader to a nation not unlike yours,” he spoke in such a soft tone that it made your heart melt. “A nation built on violence and bloodshed. A nation whose people have war etched onto their veins. But we have long since fled from it, the threat of war is ever looming over our heads, sure. Yet my people know peace and easiness in their daily lives.” he explained to you softly.

If any other man would tell you he was a god, you’d scoff at their face and assume they had the ego of a coloniser. But this was a man with wings on his heels, he could say he was from outer space and you’d believe him. “Must be nice,” you spoke with sadness, “If only I could live in such a way.”

“You could.” Namor’s eyes bore deep into you, he took your breath away. “Come with me. I have searched nation after nation for you. The person of my dreams. You haunt me day and night and now here you stand before me. I first came to you that day to kill you. I do not wish to have my life plagued by a human, but I could not bare myself to do such a thing. And your surface world fruit tastes incredible.” He chuckled.

You didn’t even bother asking what he meant by the surface world. His offer was incredibly attractive. But you still had your apprehension. “What of my life here? What of my people here? I swore an oath to always protect them, to be by their side.”

It was then Namor held both your hands in his. “When they need you, I shall let you be with them. But I promise you now, they are content with how they are now. Be selfish, my love, and have the peace you’ve always wanted. Leave this violent land.”

Perhaps you would’ve declined his invitation weeks ago. But now, without a job, without a title, and without a hometown. Especially with the man you’ve been dreaming of standing in front of you, his face mere centimetres away from your own. It’s very hard to decline.

“Take me with you.” With those four words, his lips moulded into your own. With that kiss, he gave to you everything. And you gave him your everything.

All your pain, all your suffering, all your hopes and dreams, all of it you poured into the love you have for him. When did you fall in love with the man in your dreams? Perhaps it had happened so long ago that you didn’t even realise it. But you would’ve never thought he was real. Yet here he was. As real as daylight. And here you were, the one he thought he could only ever dream about. With all your bravery, compassion, and violence.

You were perfect, and you were finally his.

tagging people who seemed interested hehe: @omgsuperstarg @queenotaku23 @gamorxa @girlymusiclover09 @honestlyka @internetmultifandomfangirl @tzurue @marvelupsetsme @superpartyclamthing @ben-solo0 @bontensbabygirl (I fucking love ur username) @tacorei @starkgaryan @sera-wonderland (I'm sorry if it's not as soulmate au ish as you'd wish lmao I'm working on sumth else that's more soulmate-y but w/ the same concept as this) @n3v43hj @fictional-darlings

I'm sorry if this wasn't what you guys were expecting hehe. Watching Namor defend his people and watching the colonisers was just a very personal moment to me (and I'm sure a lot of people), so I made this story as a personal self-indulgent story.

#namor x reader #namor the submariner #mcu namor x reader #mcu namor #namor the submariner x reader #k'uk'ulkan #black panther 2 spoilers #black panther 2 #mcu #black panther wakanda forever spoilers

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